#( yes hello i am obsessed with the idea )

[luna-loveboop]

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Here, have a shittly edited LU meme

[dakusan]

N O   S A I N T   I N K

Tattoo Artist!Han Jisung x Reader | He tattoos like an artist and eats like a god. You're ruined. Congratulations.

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You just wanted a tattoo. What you got was a cocky artist with a praise kink, a filthy mouth, and the ability to make you cum so hard you forget your name. What starts as innocent skin-on-skin becomes texts at 3AM, breathless calls, panties on the floor, and getting ruined over a tattoo chair by a man who calls his dick “emotionally supportive.”

💌a/n: HELLO DEMONS. welcome back to my sin bin. and YES. i spun the wheel of filth™ again because i have too many prompts, too many requests, too many ideas and i am ONE feral braincell away from combusting. this week’s winner of the roulette: jisung x reader, tattoo shop edition. hence why this was posted late — i had no idea what to write and then accidentally birthed a full plotline, two orgasms, a man with separation anxiety, and the best dick of your fictional life. oops 😇 p.s. reblog this or i will haunt your mirrors at 3AM whispering “dumb little slut” in han’s voice. p.p.s. if you message me your fave skz member, i might drop you a mini filthy tattoo artist!AU ficlet just for them. no promises. only threats. p.p.p.s. light a candle. hydrate. send this to a friend

⚠️ warnings: 18+ | MINORS DNI | EXTREMELY NSFW | Oral (f. receiving) — graphic, intense, life-altering | Pussy eating obsession (Han is a munch) | Filthy, unrelenting dirty talk — degradation + praise mix (chaos edition) | “Good girl,” “slut,” “mine,” “cum for me” energy | Clit stimulation + g-spot pressure = brain cell deletion | Multiple orgasms (yes. multiple.) | Fingering, choking, possessive hand-gripping

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » MOVE — Taemin « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:32 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Late afternoon, Seoul.

The sky is bruising purple with evening haze. You’re standing outside a tattoo parlour in a tucked-away alley—NO SAINT INK—recommended by a friend who said, “Go there. Ask for Han.”

You’re nervous. Not just because it’s your first tattoo—but because your stomach won’t stop twisting with that type of anticipation. The kind you feel when you know something irreversible is about to happen.

The parlour looks nothing like the industrial, hyper-masculine shops you've passed before. It’s dark, yes—but with soft underlighting. Neon signs buzz low in the windows, one glowing "SINNER'S HANDS" in deep red. Another in cursive:

“we only leave beautiful scars.”

You push the door open, bell jingling. It smells like antiseptic and incense. Lo-fi hip hop pulses from hidden speakers. The walls are matte black, scattered with flash art—some delicate, some obscene. A few erotic, one absolutely feral. You step toward the desk—

And then you see him.

Han Jisung.

Slouched in a leather chair behind the counter, legs spread wide, one hand holding a sketchpad, the other spinning a tattoo gun idly between his fingers like a toy.

Dark, slightly wavy hair. A few strands falling into his eyes. Rings on nearly every finger. One silver bar in his eyebrow. Another glinting on his lip.

He's wearing a sleeveless hoodie, arms covered in ink—some intricate, some scrawled like afterthoughts. His forearms flex as he shifts, glancing up at you lazily, and then—

Freeze.

He smirks. Not the kind of smirk you’re used to. This one slides slow across his face like silk on skin—cocky, amused, interested. He sets the sketchbook down and stands, sauntering over.

“You lost, angel?”

His voice is warm gravel. A little teasing. He’s already clocked you as a first-timer.

You swallow. “No. Um… I think I have an appointment? For 5PM?”

He leans against the counter, gloved hand flipping through the schedule.

“Name?”

You give it. He taps the page. “First ink?” he asks, gaze flicking over you.

You nod.

His eyes drag down your form and back up again—like he’s marking you before the needle ever touches you. “Cute.”

A pause.

“Alright. You’re with me.”

The moment he leads you past the curtain, everything quiets. Not literally—there’s still the low thrum of lo-fi beats playing through overhead speakers, and you can hear the soft buzz of a machine in the next booth—but something in the air shifts. You’ve stepped into his space now.

The room is dim, intentionally so. Not cold or sterile, but intimate. The walls are painted a charcoal grey, with scattered framed sketches and flash art displayed like gallery pieces. A small desk against the back wall is cluttered with ink bottles, gloves, stencils, and scribbled notes on napkins. There’s a chair in the center—sleek black leather, mechanical levers gleaming faintly under the spotlight aimed above it. It's positioned deliberately beneath a halo of warm light, like a stage for sin.

Han gestures for you to sit.

You do, heart already hammering harder than you'd like to admit. Your hands grip the armrests automatically, more out of nerves than necessity.

He sanitizes his hands in silence, then slips on a pair of black nitrile gloves with practiced ease. The snap of the first one makes you flinch. He notices.

A flick of his mouth—half amusement, half something darker.

“So. You still sure about it?” he asks, voice calm but low, like smoke over velvet.

You nod, holding out the reference image you brought—a small, simple design. Meaningful. Something you’ve thought about for months. A delicate poppy, petals slightly unfurled…But at the base of the flower, instead of a regular stem, it grows from the open mouth of a tiny anatomical heart.

Han doesn’t look at the paper right away. His eyes stay on you for just a moment longer than they should. Then he takes it gently, fingers brushing yours through the gloves.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, gaze flicking from the paper to your face. “Subtle. Clean lines… this’ll look good on you.”

You try to smile, but your throat feels tight. “Thanks.”

“Where do you want it?”

You hesitate. Then, softly: “Ribcage.”

That earns you an arched brow and the barest flicker of a smirk.

“Shy spot. I like that,” he says, turning to prep his materials. You watch the muscles shift as he reaches for a stencil pad. “Okay, shirt off. Just what you need, nothing more. I won’t bite.”

You freeze.

He pauses for a beat. Then tilts his head, eyes crinkling slightly. “Unless you beg,” he adds with a wink.

Your cheeks go hot. You laugh—nervously. It feels like your skin is already burning.

You carefully lift your shirt just high enough to expose the side of your torso, tugging the fabric over your bra, folding it under your arm to keep it out of the way. You're acutely aware of how much skin you're showing—even more so under that bright, direct light.

He kneels beside you with the stencil, gaze focused. You expect him to avoid eye contact, to be clinical—but Han is anything but.

His fingers brush your waist, and they stay there, warm through the gloves. His hand spreads slightly, holding your skin steady as he gently presses the cool stencil to your ribs.

“Breathe for me, yeah?” he murmurs, glancing up at you with a crooked smile. “I’m gonna press it right here…”

You suck in a breath, chest rising.

He places the stencil deliberately. Slowly. His face is close—close enough that you can see the curve of his lashes, the faint sheen of gloss on his lip ring. You smell cedar and musk on his hoodie. His fingers flex slightly against your side.

He looks up.

“You’re already twitchy,” he says softly, voice dropping just enough to make you forget how to breathe. “Gonna be a fun ride.”

You don’t know if he means the tattoo. And neither does he.

He stands and moves to the table beside him, switching out tools like it’s second nature. The machine buzzes to life with a sharp mechanical hum.

You tense.

He catches it immediately.

“First pinch might sting,” he says, voice suddenly gentle, almost coaxing. “I’ll talk you through it. You’re good.”

You nod again, trying not to clench your fists.

Then his hand is back on your body.

He anchors you with one palm spread wide over your side, right above your hip. It’s not forceful, but there’s weight to it. A possessive steadiness. The leather chair creaks faintly under the shift of your body.

And then the needle touches. A sharp, sudden sting. You wince.

“Breathe. Just like that. You’re doing so well, pretty,” he says, voice a constant hum in your ear. “Your skin takes ink like a dream. Fuck, this is gonna look good.”

You exhale through your nose, trying to focus on the sound of his voice instead of the burn.

It helps. But not in the way it should. Because Han doesn’t shut up. Not once.

“Don’t squirm too much… unless you want me to slip.” “You’re soft here. So fucking soft.” “Bet you’re the type who likes being teased, huh?”

You let out a choked laugh, more from panic than humor. He grins, eyes glinting.

The buzz of the machine, the heat of his palm on your skin, the constant commentary—it all blends into a haze. You’re dripping adrenaline and something else entirely. You feel like you’ve been stripped down far deeper than your shirt allows.

After what feels like both a lifetime and a blink, the needle slows. He lifts it. “Almost done. You’ve been such a good girl for me.”

The words land like a slap and a stroke at once.

He sets the machine aside, reaching for a fresh cloth. He wipes your skin slowly. Not rough. Not rushed. Every pass of his hand is careful, gentle.

You’re trembling now. Just a little.

He leans back finally and exhales. The air feels different. Like it’s shifted again—thicker.

“There,” he says. “Wanna see?”

You nod, throat dry.

He helps you up—guides you to a mirror near the corner. His hand stays on your back.

You look. And for a second, you forget how to breathe again. The tattoo is perfect. Clean, delicate, exactly how you pictured it. But it’s not just the ink that makes your chest ache—it’s the fact that it’s his. His hands made this. His touch. His art. On your skin.

“My work’s on you now,” he murmurs behind you, voice low and close. “You’re not gonna forget me, are you?”

You shake your head. You couldn’t if you tried.

The moment you slide your shirt back down, your skin feels… different. Not just because it's slightly tender from the ink, but because his touch still lingers. Like heat soaked into your bones. Like a fingerprint on your soul. You shouldn’t be this affected—he’s just your tattoo artist. Right?

You sit there for a moment longer than necessary, blinking as he finishes cleaning his station. His gloves come off with a snap, and he tosses them into the bin. You glance up, and—yep—he’s watching you.

Leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed, hair a little mussed, rings catching the light. Smug as hell.

“You survived,” he says, voice bright with that chaos-riddled lilt again. “Didn’t cry. Didn’t puke. I’m impressed.”

You roll your eyes. “High praise.”

“I’ve had grown men pass out from rib pieces,” he shrugs. “One guy farted. Loud. Mid-linework. I almost dropped the machine.”

You snort despite yourself. “Well, thanks for not comparing me to the Fart Guy until the end.”

He grins, wide and gleaming. “No, no, you’re top-tier,” he says, stepping closer to grab your care sheet. “Didn’t even whimper. Except for that one part where your breath hitched and I thought—y’know, for a second—you might come on the chair.”

You nearly choke. “Excuse me?!”

“Kidding,” he sing-songs. “Unless…?”

Your glare is ruined by the flush racing up your neck. You stand and grab your bag in a hurry, trying to save face. “You’re awful.”

“I’m delightful.”

He leads you back toward the front desk, swaying just slightly with each step, like he’s got too much energy stored in those shoulders. You swear he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. It’s giving feral golden retriever with a tattoo gun and a praise kink.

You hand over your card while avoiding eye contact.

He hums dramatically as he takes it, flipping it over like he’s studying an ancient rune.

“You sure you don’t wanna tip in other ways?” he says, deadpan.

Your jaw drops.

He grins, swipes your card, and taps it dramatically against the reader before handing it back. “Joking, obviously. Unless that wasn't a ‘no,’ in which case, I’m free next week—Tuesday, after 7?”

You grab the receipt from the printer and scowl at him. “You flirt with all your clients like this?”

“Only the pretty ones who shake when I touch their ribs.”

You stare.

He smiles wider.

“Okay, okay—last line, I swear,” he chuckles. Then, softer: “Hey. Can I get your number?”

The way he asks it—it’s not sleazy. It’s bold, sure. But there’s this undercurrent of actual interest, like he’s asking for something more than just your digits.

You blink. “Why?”

“‘Cause I want it?” he says, grinning. “Also, in case your tattoo needs a touch-up. Or emotional support. Or if you just feel like sending me hot selfies. It’s a multi-purpose thing.”

You hesitate. Your pulse says yes before your mouth does. He notices. He always notices. You hand him your phone, and he immediately types his own number in, labelling it:

HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” JISUNG 🖤

He sends himself a text from your phone, winks, then gives it back. “Now we’re connected,” he says “Digitally. Spiritually. Carnally—well, not yet.”

You open your mouth to sass him. “You were so close to being cool,” you say.

“Close is my middle name.”

You snort and shake your head as you step toward the door. “Bye, Han.”

“See you soon, angel.”

You’re out the door.

The texting started immediately. Like, within minutes of you leaving the shop.

What began as tattoo care check-ins (“don’t scratch it or I’ll spank you—unless?”) turned into daily chaos. Then nightly chaos. Then a full-blown flirtationship spiralling out of control.

Han texts like he lives inside your brain—firing off filthy one-liners between jokes that make you wheeze-laugh at 1AM, switching between “you’re my filthy little secret” and “pls tell me I’m cute or I’ll cry.”

You finally cave after he begs you to get ramen at 9PM “as friends who have sexual tension.”

You show up. He’s already sitting cross-legged in the booth, hoodie sleeves rolled up, lip ring glinting, chopsticks twirling in one hand like he’s about to duel someone.

He greets you with: “You look edible. I meant that in a respectful way. Mostly.”

You try to play it cool. He doesn’t let you.

The whole night is full of dumb jokes, spicy noodles, and under-the-table foot nudging that turns into ankle grazing that turns into—

“You keep that up, baby,” he murmurs across the table, “and I’m gonna drag you to the bathroom and remind you what these fingers can do.”

You nearly choke on your drink. He laughs, head tilted back, so proud of himself.

You leave flustered. He kisses your cheek in the parking lot. Just your cheek. But his hand lingers at your waist. His mouth is right next to your ear.

“Call me when you can’t sleep,” he says, low. “I’ll make sure you get tired again.”

You almost trip on the curb.

The calls eventually started and slowly became routine. Especially those 1AM phone calls, they were like clockwork. You, in bed, breath heavy as his voice would melt through the speaker.

“You touching yourself yet?” “You want me to talk you through it?” “Want me to tell you what I’d do if I had you on my lap right now?”

He moans in your ear when you do what he says.

Filthy. Unfiltered. And when it’s over—when you’re breathless and ruined—he says the softest things:

“Wish I was there to hold you.” “You’re so fucking hot, but you’re also cute and funny and it’s unfair.” “You still like me, right?”

It’s not just lust anymore. It's want. Sticky, addictive, confusing want.

It started with a text.

Just one. Sent on a whim while lying in bed late at night, staring at the first tattoo he gave you—delicate black lines peeking from beneath your shirt, still soft to the touch even weeks later.

[You, 11:23PM] thinking about getting another one

You didn’t expect a fast reply. But Jisung’s name lit up your phone in under two minutes.

[HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” 🖤, 11:24PM] oh?? 👀 where when how much skin we talking is it just an excuse to see me again (pls say yes)

You rolled your eyes. Typed back:

[You] hipbone small script and maybe what if it was both

His reply came in a blink:

[HAN “WILL NOT SHUT UP” 🖤] come by the shop this friday after hours no distractions just me. you. ink. doors locked. lights low. …for professionalism, obviously 🙃

You stared at the screen for a long time before replying.

And then:

[You] see you friday.

Friday. 9:04PM.

Seoul’s city pulse is just starting to dim when you push open the door to NO SAINT INK for the second time.

The bell doesn’t ring. He told you it wouldn’t.

The neon signs are still lit—SINNER’S HANDS flickering a slow blood-red glow in the window—but the rest of the shop feels different. Empty. Still. Like something waiting to be touched.

The lights are dimmed. Only one small lamp buzzes near the back, casting long shadows across the matte-black walls.

Your steps echo a little as you walk inside. Then—

“Back here, pretty.”

His voice, low and smooth, floats from behind a curtain in the far booth.

You follow it. Pull the curtain aside. And there he is.

He’s already set up.

Tattoo machine prepped, gloves laid out neatly beside his sketch pad. He’s wearing an oversized black tee tucked loosely into ripped jeans, sleeves rolled just enough to show off the ink that curls around his biceps like living things.

He doesn’t look at you at first.

He’s focused on the script you’d sent him earlier—your design. A small phrase, handwritten in your own messy scrawl: “still hungry.”

When he finally glances up, it hits you like the first time all over again.

The way his lip curls. The way his eyes bite first and ask questions later. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dipped in something dark and fond. “Back for more.”

You lean against the booth’s edge, heartbeat already in your throat. “You said professionalism, remember?”

He stands slowly. Walks toward you. You can feel the heat radiating off him in waves.

“I lied.”

A beat. Then—

“Where’s it going again?”

You lift the hem of your hoodie just a little. Hook your thumb beneath your waistband and tug it down, just far enough to expose the sharp curve of your hipbone.

His gaze drops.

Stays.

He doesn’t speak for a moment too long. Just stares—like he’s trying to memorize you before he ruins you. “That’s dangerous, you know,” he says softly. “Letting me touch you there.”

You try to swallow. Fail. “You’re the one who said no distractions.”

He smiles. “You’re the fucking distraction.”

He gloves up without another word.

You lie back on the chair, heart slamming in your chest, every inch of skin suddenly too hot.

You’re not sure what you expected. Something casual? Familiar? But the moment his gloved hand touches your bare hip—steadying you, fingers spread firm and warm—the entire world narrows to him.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs, positioning the stencil. “Just like last time. You remember how good you were for me?”

You exhale shakily.

“You gonna behave again tonight, pretty thing?”

You whisper: “Maybe.”

He leans in. His mouth is close to your skin. His voice—barely a breath. “God, I hope not.” He’s still positioning the stencil.

And you? You're laid back on the chair, hoodie bunched beneath your ribs, waistband tugged low, every nerve ending on alert. The soft lamplight paints shadows across his jaw as he kneels between your legs, eyes focused.

And then—

“You know,” he says lightly, pressing the stencil into place, “I’ve seen a lot of hipbones. But this one might be my favourite.”

You snort. “Wow. So original.”

He grins without looking up. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“I’m sure you say that to all your clients.”

“Only the ones who sext me about popsicles and then block me for ten minutes.”

You go still. He finally glances up. Smirks. “Yeah. Thought I forgot about that?”

You mutter, “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he says immediately, like it’s a fact. “You want me to ruin your life. Slowly. Lovingly. With tattoos and aftercare.”

You cover your face. “Shut up.”

He laughs—a low, breathy sound. Then, softly: “I’m starting the line now. Hold still, baby.”

The machine whirs to life.

It’s quieter than you remember. Or maybe you’re just more aware—of everything. The way his gloved hand steadies your hip, thumb dragging along the edge of your waistband. The needle’s sharp kiss. The buzz settling into your bones.

And Han’s voice. God, he never stops talking.

“This spot’s sensitive,” he says, totally casual. “Most people squirm. But I like that.”

You tense. He notices. Of course he does.

“Relax,” he murmurs, dragging the line smooth. “You’re doing perfect.”

Another pause. Then—

“Don’t suppose you’re into pain, are you?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to. He chuckles under his breath. “God, you so are.”

But then, just like that—his tone shifts. He quiets. Focuses. And the teasing melts into something heavier. “Almost done,” he says, more softly this time. “You’ve been so good for me again. Always are.”

You blink. Your heart skips.

He wipes your skin again, slow and reverent, then leans back to look. He’s still crouched between your thighs, eyes focused, lips parted slightly as he takes it in.

“Fuck.”

You blink. “What?”

He looks up at you. No grin now. Just quiet, open admiration. “It’s gorgeous,” he says. “Like… stupid good.” He presses a kiss to his gloved fingertips and taps them against your skin.

“Still hungry,” he reads aloud. “God, I could write essays on that.”

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“Too late. MLA format. Double spaced. Thesis: you’re gonna kill me.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re flushed. Breath shallow. Because now that the needle’s done…

He’s not moving. His hand stays on your waist. His eyes flick to your lips. Then back down. Then—

“You want me to touch you?”

The question lands like a live wire in the room. But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t smirk. He just waits. Like he’s offering something sacred. Like he’d back off the second you said no. But you don’t. You can’t.

You nod. Barely.

His fingers tighten on your skin. “Nah,” he murmurs. “Say it. I want to hear it.”

You swallow.

“…Yes.”

“Yes what, baby?”

Your brain short-circuits.

“Jisung—”

“Use your words, pretty thing. Or I’ll stop before I start.”

You suck in a breath, eyes locking with his. “I want you to touch me.”

He moves instantly.

The gloves are still on when he presses his palm flat against your hipbone, fingers spreading possessively. His hand feels huge there—like it was made for this exact spot.

“Fuck. Been thinking about this since the first time you came in,” he mutters, voice dropping into something rough, reverent. “You looked so fucking good in that chair. All nervous and squirmy.”

He bends down.

Kisses the edge of your new tattoo, so soft it almost hurts. “My name’s not even on you,” he whispers, “and I’m still acting like you’re mine.”

Your stomach flips. You whimper.

And he grins, but it’s different now—hungry, not cocky. “Take your pants off.”

You blink.

He meets your eyes. “Let me take care of you.”

You obey—slow, breathless, trembling under his gaze. You slide them down and toss them aside. He leans in again, eyes tracing over the new ink and everything below it, slow and starving.

You’re not wearing much underneath, lacy pink panties, with a very obvious wet spot on your center.

He groans softly. “You’re already wet.”

You gasp when his fingers brush over you, lazy, like he has all the time in the world. “All this from a little needle?” he teases. “Or is it the artist?”

“Fuck you,” you breathe.

He laughs. One low, wicked exhale. “Oh, you will. But not yet.”

He leans back, peels his gloves off slowly—dragging each finger loose one by one, like he’s unwrapping a gift. Tosses them into the bin without taking his eyes off you once.

Then he lowers himself between your legs.

Spreads your thighs just a little further apart with both hands. You hear him exhale.

“Fuck. This is gonna kill me.”

He doesn’t touch you yet. Just leans in.

And presses a kiss right above your knee. Then the inside of your thigh. Then a little higher. And a little higher.

Your breath hitches when his lips ghost just beside the fabric.

“Soaked through lace,” he murmurs. “That’s so fucking pretty, baby.”

You’re shaking now.

He mouths over the wet spot—not even pulling them down yet. Just letting the heat of his breath and the drag of his lips torture you. You feel the scrape of his lip ring as he kisses you again, open-mouthed, right there.

“Bet you’d cum just from this,” he whispers. “My mouth through your panties. Barely even trying.”

You whimper. One hand fisting the edge of the chair.

His fingers slide over the wet spot next, slow and teasing. Two fingers rub a lazy circle, barely pressing—just enough to make your hips twitch. “I should leave these on,” he says, almost to himself. “Just push them to the side. Make you beg for it.”

You breathe, “Jisung—please—”

That does it.

He hooks his fingers under the waistband and drags them down—slow, deliberate, watching every inch of you get exposed.

He groans loudly the second you’re bare. “Holy fuck.”

Then he’s leaning in again, this time nothing between you. He kisses your inner thigh first. Then lower.

Then—

His tongue drags one long, obscene stripe up your center. You cry out, hips bucking—he presses a hand to your stomach, holding you still with an effortless command:

“Stay fucking still.”

Then he goes back in. He licks you like he means it—messy, slow, then fast and deep. His tongue circles your clit with practiced chaos. He moans against you, loud, like you taste like something sacred.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” he groans, voice muffled.

His hands spread you wider, his tongue dipping into your heat, nose pressed right up against your skin.

Then he sucks. Hard.

Your head falls back—gone.

“That’s it,” he purrs. “My perfect little slut. Look at you.”

Your hands tangle in his hair. You tug. He groans again and ruts into the fucking air, desperate for friction while he eats you out like he’s starving.

“You gonna cum on my mouth?” he growls, voice wrecked. “You want me to keep going or make you beg for it?”

You try to answer—can’t.

He pulls back for just a moment, lips and chin shining. “Use your words, baby. You know the rules.”

“Please—fuck—don’t stop, please—Jisung—”

“God,” he groans. “Keep saying my name like that and I’m gonna cum in my fucking jeans.”

Then he dives back in, faster now, tongue fucking into you, hand moving to circle your clit with soaked fingers while he sucks and moans like you’re his last goddamn meal. He’s everywhere—his mouth, his hand, the filthy hum of his moans vibrating straight through your core. He doesn’t pause to tease, doesn’t stop to talk this time. He’s all action now. Starved. Feral.

“Fuck,” he growls between licks, the words hot and wet against your folds. “You taste so fucking good. Gonna make me lose my mind.”

His tongue pushes in again. He flicks it fast, then slow, then sucks at your clit with a deep, wet moan that makes you cry out, back arching clean off the chair.

“There you go,” he pants, not even breaking rhythm. “Just like that. Give it to me, baby. Come on.” His voice is breathless, desperate—like he’s the one about to cum.

You’re shaking. Legs trembling. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

Your hands are clutching his hair, holding him right where you need him, and he just groans louder, grinding his face deeper like he wants to live between your legs. His lip ring catches against your clit—again, and again—and your thighs clamp around his head instinctively.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even flinch.

He just moans into you, hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you down as your whole body starts to unravel. You feel it in your spine. In your toes. In the fucking air.

“You close, pretty thing?” he slurs against your clit. “Yeah, you are. You’re fucking dripping—making a mess for me. So fucking perfect. All mine.”

That breaks you.

You cum harder than you ever have in your life—with a sob, a gasp, a full-body spasm that crashes over you like a goddamn tsunami.

You hear yourself. You scream his name.

Jisung. Jisung. Jisung.

And he takes it.

He drinks it down like a man possessed, moaning into you like you’re water in the desert, like he’s been waiting his whole life to taste you fall apart. He doesn’t even stop when you cum—he licks you through it, tongue softening only slightly as your body twitches and bucks and pleads for mercy.

It’s too much. It’s so good it hurts.

“J-Jisung—fuck—wait—too much—”

Only then does he pull back, chest heaving, face absolutely wrecked. His mouth, his chin, even the tip of his nose glistens with you. He looks dazed.

Blessed.

He runs a hand down his face and just stares at you—spread out, soaked, shaking, glowing.

Then: “Holy fuck.”

You blink up at him, still gasping, brain static.

He grins—wide, flushed, proud as hell. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Best pussy of my life.” You try to sass him. You really do. But all that comes out is a whimper.

“Aw,” he coos, leaning down to kiss your cheek. “Dumbed you out already?”

He brushes your hair back, kisses your forehead. “You okay?”

You nod. Barely.

“You want more?”

You nod. Desperately.

He chuckles, voice thick with affection and wrecked restraint. “Yeah, baby. Me too.” Then he stands up, undoing his belt with shaking hands, and murmurs: “Get comfy. ’Cause I’m gonna fuck you so good, you forget your own name.”

You’re still gasping. Still trembling. But your eyes follow the movement of his hands—shaking slightly as he undoes his belt, then the button, then the zipper.

He pushes his jeans down—

And your breath catches. You knew he’d be pretty. But not like this. Not this.

Thick. Flushed. Slight curve to the left.

And not just the look of it—the feel of it, even before he’s inside. You know instinctively it’s going to destroy you. That kind of snug fit that presses into all the right places and leaves no room for secrets.

He strokes himself once, slow and slick, precum already leaking from the tip. “Gonna be good for me, baby?” he asks, voice shaking as he fists his cock. “Let me feel that perfect pussy now?”

You nod. Dumb. Ready. So wet you feel it drip onto the chair beneath you.

He lines up—rubs the head of his cock over your folds, up and down, teasing your clit before circling your entrance. You’re still sensitive. Still twitching. And he feels it. “Still throbbing for me,” he murmurs. “God, you’re unreal.”

He pushes in. Slow. Deep. Too much. Too good.

You cry out—your body arching, your hands gripping the armrest and his forearm and anything you can reach.

Because he fits. Perfectly. Thick enough to make you stretch wide, gasp, feel it in your lungs. But not enough to hurt. No—just enough to ruin you.

“F-fuck,” he groans, head falling forward. “You’re squeezing me so tight—Jesus—don’t move yet, I’ll cum too fast—” He bottoms out, hips flush to yours. He stays there for a second. Still trembling. His cock twitches inside you.

“I’m gonna die,” he whispers. “I’m gonna die in this pussy.”

You laugh—a breathless, broken thing—and he grins like he’s proud.

Then? He pulls out halfway. And slams back in. Hard. And again. And again. Fast. Unhinged. Like he’s been waiting to do this for weeks. “Oh fuck, that’s it. That’s it, baby—keep takin’ it—so fucking perfect—”

He’s rambling now. Whimpering.

Each thrust hits so deep you swear you see stars. It’s a rhythm that shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be real. Every stroke dragging against your g-spot, every snap of his hips making your thighs quake.

And he’s talking. So much.

“You feel that? Huh? You feel how good you make me?” “You’re all mine. This pussy? Fucking mine. Say it.” “Say it, baby, c’mon—tell me who it belongs to—”

You choke out, “You—it’s yours, Jisung—fuck, you’re so deep—”

He moans—wrecked. “God, I’m not gonna last—fuck—you’re too good—you’re too fucking good—” Then he bends down—mouth at your ear, hips still pounding into you like he’s trying to brand your soul.

“One more,” he whispers. “Just one more, yeah? Be my good girl and cum for me again—come on—cum on my cock—let me feel you—”

You barely get the chance to nod. Because then—he changes rhythm.

Not slower. Not gentler. Worse. He fucks you harder. Deeper. Like his body knows exactly how to hit every nerve inside you. Like he’s memorized your walls. And maybe he has. Maybe from the moment he first touched you in that chair, his entire brain rewired for this—for you.

“So fucking tight,” he pants, voice cracked open, almost panicked. “Shit—look at how you take me—look at that, fuck—”

He’s holding your waist again, but carefully—just above the fresh tattoo. His fingers dig into your ribs, grip locked in, not letting you squirm away as he slams into you, pace frantic, unrelenting.

“Can’t touch your hips,” he growls, “so I’m gonna hold you right here—just like this—until you fall apart again.”

Then his hand slides down. Finds your clit. And rubs. Fast. Tight.

You moan loud.

“Tell me what it feels like,” he pants, eyes locked on your face, wild. “Come on, baby—talk to me. You know the rules.”

You try. You try so hard.

“It’s—fuck—Jisung—it’s too much—I-I can’t—”

His hand doesn’t stop. His cock drives up into you like it’s chasing your orgasm, like he can feel it coming and he wants to drag it out of you with his bare hands. “Yes, you can. You’re my good girl, right? My perfect fucking baby—tell me what you feel.”

You sob. “It’s everywhere—it’s so deep—I feel you in my stomach, Jisung—”

That makes him moan—full, wrecked, helpless. “Yeah? That’s it, baby. You feel me stretching you out? You feel how hard you’re clenching around me?”

He’s unhinged. Fucking you like he needs to feel you cum on his cock. Like it’s his only goddamn mission in life.

“Don’t hold back. Let me have it. Show me how good I make you feel.” His fingers tighten, rub faster. His cock keeps slamming up into that perfect, perfect spot.

And you break.

You fall apart on him with a cry that splits the air—your orgasm ripping through you like a detonation, a white-hot snap that makes your whole body lock up and tremble.

You cum hard. Harder than before. Harder than ever.

And he feels it. Feels you clench around him like a vice, walls pulsing, soaked, squeezing every last bit of him until he’s gasping into your throat. “Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—baby—I’m—”

He slams in once, twice more—then stills. Buried deep. Groaning so loud it echoes. And cums. Hot. Fast. Deep. He fills you up with a desperate, whimpering exhale—head falling into the crook of your neck, fingers flexing tight on your waist as he rides it out, hips twitching helplessly inside you.

“Jesus—holy fuck—how are you real—”

You don’t know what you say. You don’t know if you’re breathing. All you know is he doesn’t let go. Not even after. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up to your ribs, the other cupping your jaw gently as he leans in and kisses your forehead.

Sweet. Messy. Possessive.

“I’m so fucking in love with your pussy.” he mumbles against your skin.

You laugh—wrecked and breathless. “You just came in me.”

“I did. I’ll take responsibility.”

“You didn’t even mean to.”

“That’s what makes it romantic.”

But then he goes quiet. Both of you do. Still joined. Still pulsing. The only sound in the room is your breathing—shaky, shallow, shared.

Han’s body is draped over yours, his skin hot and sticky, his face buried in your neck like he might actually die if he moves. He’s not even thrusting anymore—just lying there, full-on koala mode, arms around your waist, cock still twitching inside you like it doesn’t know it's over.

“I think I saw God,” he whispers.

You blink, still boneless and floating.

“Pretty sure she winked at me and said ‘Good job, Jisung.’”

You snort into the crumpled pillow beneath you. “Was she hot?”

He lifts his head just enough to deadpan: “She looked like you.”

A pause.

“Except taller. And clothed. And not full of cum.”

You let out a noise that’s half wheeze, half scream, face flushing as you try to twist away—but he tightens his grip, groaning as his still half-hard cock shifts inside you.

“Nooo, don’t move,” he whines. “You’ll make me hard again and I’ll die. You’re too powerful.”

You roll your eyes. “You just came in me, and now you’re being dramatic?”

He lifts his face, eyes wide. “I’m always dramatic. But now I’m dramatic and post-nut mushy.”

You smack his arm—lightly. He grins and kisses your shoulder like he’s never been happier in his life.

Then, suddenly gentle: “You okay? Need anything?”

You hum. “Water. A towel. A new pelvis.”

“I can offer you one of those things.”

He pulls out slowly, careful. You both wince a little, and he immediately fumbles for the nearest clean towel, muttering, “Shit, sorry, sorry—damn, we really did that, huh?”

He cleans you up softly, thoroughly. Tongue poking out in concentration, hands warm and reverent. You watch him in the dim light—his flushed cheeks, mussed-up curls, that stupid satisfied look on his face like he just won the lottery and the trophy was you.

He helps you sit up, eyes wide looking you over as if wanting to make sure you are okay and not just saying you're okay.

You smile at him, dazed. “That was insane.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then, quieter: “I really like you, by the way.”

You glance at him. He’s suddenly shy—voice small, fingers playing with the hem of the towel. “I mean—I know this was hot and wild and unholy, but like. You’re not just hot and wild and unholy. You’re…” He scratches the back of his head. “Cool. Funny. Gorgeous. Smart. And you have great pain tolerance and taste in art and—I dunno—your moans live in my soul now.”

You blink at him. He shrugs. “I just think you’re neat.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. You lean in, kiss him soft. He melts instantly.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both curled on the couch in the back lounge. Your legs are over his lap. You’re sipping water. He’s holding your hand and doodling hearts on your thigh with a sharpie.

“So,” he says, yawning. “When do you want your third tattoo?”

You give him a look. “Planning ahead?”

He smirks, smug. “Just making sure I get to fuck you again.”

You flick his forehead.

“Ow—okay, okay. For art. Not for horny.”

But you both know the truth. You’re absolutely getting another tattoo. And this man is going to absolutely ruin you again. With love. And dick. And filthy words. And then cuddle you like a little spoon with separation anxiety.

So the answer? Yeah. Yeah you will be seeing more of him. More dates. More dick. More tattoos. Guess it's fate.

[on-the-clear-blue]

An idea that just popped into my brain...

Bernard, in the house boat living room, typing away on his computer, looks up when Tim enters: Oh, Babe your home early? Was patrol okay....ehst do you have.

Tim, tearing off his Red Robin outfit and holding something in his arms: So you know about that super evil, super old guy that runs an eco-friendly murder cult that is like super obsessed with me?

Bernard, closing his laptop and sighing: Do I have to move? Do what ever witness protection shit you superheros have?

Tim, humming and shaking his head before holding out what looks to be a bundle of clothing:No no...it seems he somehow found out about us dating and me planning to propose yo you and sent an early wedding gift.

Tim shifting the cloth to show a sleeping baby: Say hello to our child, I don't know just yet how he got both of our DNA but I did run a test and he is 100% ours, I think he used Lexs stuff like how he made Kon..

Bernard, staring at the baby and his rapidly undressing boyfriend who was rambling: Wait...propose? You wanted to get married?

Tim, still going on: -Lexs cloning tech is pretty hit or miss, *my* gear waz based on that but was...Wait you didn't know? I...I thought you have been hinting at it for a while...that's what I planned for next weeks date night.

Bernard, mouth agape: I haven't. Like at all, I mean, I will say yes because we now have a kid and I love you a lot but it would have taken me by surprise.

Tim, midly surprised: Huh...well anyways, Ra's sent us a child? I was thinking Alvin is a good name?

Bernard: Fuck that I am not going to have my son named after a chipmunk.

[muqingslover]

Hello, Dove!! If you're comfortable with me asking this, do you think any of the lads men are into filming themselves with MC during the act? I can picture them being open to sending/ receiving nudes, but then I started to think about the video taking too, and I honestly am not sure, lol. What do you think?

Love your writing!!

[ hi hi hi pookie! Yes, of course I can do that! thank you for the request!! I hope it's to your liking! ]

Alright so Zayne is not into the filming itself, but! He loooooves the risky photos!

I've mentioned before that if you send him a photo of yourself wearing lingerie this man is going craaazy. You got him gripping his chair and praying to the heavens above for help.

He is not confident at all in sending anything back though.

Zayne asks his partner to tell him how you would like to see him, if you even want pictures of him at all too, and is so awkward about them.

Personally? He would choose no pics of himself if he could for a very long time.

Then, one day, out of the blue, you would receive a treat of him fresh out of the shower in just a towel. Baby steps, yk.

Oh boy, this one.

Rather than filming Rafayel is the type that would prefer to be filmed.

Push him down on his back while you're riding him and put his desperate, hungry expression on blast.

He thrives on the feeling of your eyes only on him and the extra attention the camera brings him.

Part of him feels very dirty about it and even if he would never admit it out loud that's his favorite part.

He texts you inappropriate photos during inappropriate times on purpose just to watch you squirm from the other side of the room when you open your phone.

What can he say, film making is a form of art and Rafayel loves being your muse.

He is into it the MOST out of all the other LIs.

Caleb has a hobby of recording and taking pictures in general, though most of the time it's all centered on you.

He has endless albums of you. I mean, more than enough for him to make a full art gallery just of you.

Filming you is his guilty pleasure; Getting the right angles that shows your face clearly when your eyes roll back in pleasure, flushed and so, so incredibly beautiful.

On the other hand, he is just as obsessed with getting the two of you together on camera. Seeing himself being the one who makes you feel so damn good, the reason behind those sweet cries of yours, is something he can't resist.

He's dreamed about it for so long, let him have this.

Those recordings are so well protected and hidden that the world could end and they would not see the light of day.

On an extra note, Caleb is too possessive and protective to enjoy risky pictures to their fullest extent. What if someone sees your pretty self on his screen? Nuh huh, no sir. He is NOT sharing.

Sylus is....technologically challenged. In more ways than one.

This sweet, sweet man just can't record to save his life.

The focus is off, the camera keeps shaking and the worst part of it all in his opinion? He does not like to have his hand busy with anything that isn't you during sex.

Which meaaans: Tripod!

At first he doesn't truly see the fun of the film by itself even though he understands the concept of it. Still, he is big into BDSM (iykyk) so he can get behind the idea if you ask him.

With a few tries he'd actually develop a taste for it and come to enjoy it quite a lot.

Furthermore, Sylus would invest in additional settings to make the recordings more pleasant to the eye too such as ambiance, lighting, sound quality and ECT.

Now Xavier is the type that wouldn't do it himself, but he would to let you if you opened the camera during sex.

He'd be slowly thrusting into you while he had his arms wrapped around your waist from behind to spoon you.

When he notices the camera pointed at him he'd lean down to hide his face into your shoulder and mumble some gibberish you can't understand.

Xavier doesn't want his face in the shot so the recordings are either on a lower angle where's his face is covered or with only your face in it.

He does enjoy it though! The camera makes him even more motivated to get you to moan louder.

You will often catch him later on watching and rewatching the videos on his phone like it's the morning news. He has no shame whatsoever.

[emmkayyy03]

✨ How Your Dominant Planet Secretly Shapes Your Teenage Brain ✨

Have you ever looked back at your late teens and wondered why you were so obsessed with certain things? Like, one friend was glued to their guitar and poetry journals, another was training for their fifth marathon, and you? You were probably neck-deep in your thing. Here’s the deal: your dominant planet was pulling the strings behind the scenes, shaping how your mind worked and what you gravitated toward without you even realizing it.

Let’s break it down:

🌞 SUN Dominant: "I need to shine—what’s the point otherwise?" Late teens for Sun-kissed folks are like a personal hero’s journey. You’re obsessed with figuring out who you are. Your brain’s constantly asking, Am I good enough? Do people see my worth? You might’ve been the captain of the debate team, the drama club star, or just that person who somehow made walking to the cafeteria look like a runway. How your mind works: Everything feels like a stage, and you want to perform your best—even in front of yourself. You seek validation, yes, but deep down, it’s about finding your inner confidence.

🌙 MOON Dominant: "I feel… everything. Is that normal?" For Moon folks, the late teens are an emotional hurricane. You’re all about understanding feelings, whether it’s yours or everyone else’s. You probably overthink texts (why’d they only reply with “k”?), cry over movies you’ve seen a million times, and have deep, borderline-therapeutic convos with your bestie. How your mind works: You process the world emotionally first, logically second. You’re learning how to handle your empathy without drowning in it.

🔥 MARS Dominant: "Let’s go! But… where are we going?" Mars kids are powered by action and passion, and your late teens are when you’re learning to channel that fire. Your brain thrives on challenges, so you probably signed up for every sport, pushed yourself in the gym, or got way too into proving someone wrong in an argument. Impulse control? We’ll work on that later. How your mind works: You process through doing. Sitting around theorizing makes you twitchy. You need action, even if it’s messy. Picking fights on the basketball court because the ref made a bad call, then realizing you’re actually just mad your crush didn’t text you back.

💬 MERCURY Dominant: "Wait, how does that work? Tell me everything!" Mercury-dominant teens are curiosity machines. Your brain’s like a search engine that never stops running. You want to know why, how, who, and what if. You’re that kid who can’t let a fun fact go without looking it up. Debates? Bring ’em on. Trivia? Your jam. Group chats? You run them. How your mind works: You connect ideas at lightning speed. Learning isn’t just a necessity; it’s your love language. Staying up until 3 a.m. watching YouTube videos about conspiracy theories, then showing up to school explaining why aliens totally built the pyramids.

💎 VENUS Dominant: "Why settle for okay when life can be beautiful?" Your late teens are a crash course in pleasure, relationships, and aesthetics. You’re probably experimenting with your style (cue questionable fashion phases), figuring out love (hello, hopeless romantic), or diving into art and music. Life needs to feel good, or it’s just not worth it. How your mind works: You’re tuned to beauty and connection. Your decisions are emotional but driven by desire—whether it’s for love, art, or the perfect selfie.Spending an hour perfecting your eyeliner just to go to the grocery store because what if you meet someone cute?

🌍 SATURN Dominant: "I’m too busy for nonsense." While your friends are out making impulsive mistakes, you’re busy building your future. Saturn-dominant teens have an old-soul vibe. You’re focused on responsibility, probably working a part-time job while juggling school and worrying about saving for college. Fun? Sure, but only if it’s productive. How your mind works: You crave structure and long-term success. While others wing it, you plan 10 steps ahead. Skipping a party to study for finals because failing isn’t an option—not because of pressure, but because you expect better from yourself.

🚀 RAHU Dominant: "What’s the wildest thing I can do right now?" Rahu teens are like explorers charting unknown territory. You’re obsessed with breaking rules, chasing thrills, and doing the forbidden. If it’s edgy, you’re into it. You’re the one sneaking out, dyeing your hair neon green, or trying things that make adults nervous. How your mind works: You’re wired to seek more. More excitement, more knowledge, more of life’s extremes. Going on a spontaneous road trip with friends, breaking the rules, or getting into something your parents wouldn’t approve of—just because it felt like the next big adventure.

🌌 KETU Dominant: "I’m here, but also not really here." Ketu teens are all about spiritual detachment. You’re introspective, reflective, and a bit aloof. While everyone else is chasing their dreams, you’re figuring out why dreams matter at all. Meditation, tarot, or even just staring at the stars for hours—you’re vibing on a higher plane. How your mind works: You reject surface-level stuff, diving into the depths of existence. But you also need to learn to be present. Skipping out on big social events to sit at a park by yourself, journaling about the mysteries of life, or getting into spiritual practices like meditation because they felt more authentic than anything else.

🚀 JUPITER Dominant: "Knowledge is freedom, and I’m going after it!" Jupiter-dominant teens are all about growth, knowledge, and the bigger picture. Your late teens were likely filled with plans for the future, exploring new ideas, and constantly looking for ways to improve. You may have been the one always talking about your next big trip, your dream career, or the philosophies that shaped your world view. How your mind works: You crave expansion and understanding. Learning is your path to freedom. Deep-diving into a topic you just discovered, researching potential career paths, or discussing ideas about travel, culture, and self-improvement with anyone who would listen. Your teenage years were wild, weren’t they? Which planet had your brain on lock? Reblog with your planetary dominant and let’s compare chaotic late-teen stories. 🌠

[wwooyology]

#WIP : The Nanny Diaries | J.WY

「pairing」 : wooyoung x fem!reader 「word count」 : TBD

「synopsis」 : after being let off yet another part-time job, you were sent into a panic as your mother's hospital bills started to pile up. you had no help from your family, seeing as they saw you and your mother as insignificant, so you and your mother only had yourselves to rely on. seeing your desperation, your best friend tells you about a nanny position for a well-known CEO, and you are quick to apply. however, you had not expected the world of chaos you had just thrown yourself into or how you would fall for the little girl's dad so quick.

「genre」 : romance, fluff, angst, small amount of crack, drama, smut, age gap, ceo!wooyoung, dilf!wooyoung, nanny!reader

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, readers mom has cancer, familial trauma, mental breakdowns, arguments, mentions of death, death, grief, wooyoung is both a tease and mildly closed off, age gap (8 years), reader is depicted to be twenty-two, bullying, violence, betrayal, multiple unprotected sex scenes, dilf wooyoung (yes this deserves its own warning), sir kink, kissing, blackmailing, child endangerment, (will add more as I write)

「also starring」 : choi san as wooyoung's best friend who also runs a well known company, giselle and natty as your childhood best friends, kang yeosang as wooyoung's childhood friend who teaches yoonha's class, huh yunjin as the girl who is concerningly obsessed with wooyoung and also a huge pain in your ass.

「notes」 : hello everyone!! I have had this idea in my head for a LONG time now and as I was working on the outline I realized that this wasn't going to be a smaller fic - so I have decided that I am going to make a wip post for the reason that it's going to be pretty long and has a lot of plot to it. I hope everyone will enjoy this as much as I enjoyed and will enjoy writing it, thank you all!! <3

spoilers ➻ one | two | three

「release date」 : TBD

「current word count」 : 18.3k

「taglist」 : OPEN

➻ please send an ask or reply to this post if you would like to be added to the taglist after this fic is finished. 18+ ONLY, you must have your age visible on your blog. any blank blogs and MINORS will NOT be added!!! also, if you are on my perm. taglist, you will automatically be added to the taglist, so you do NOT have to ask to be added!! <33

also please double-check your blog settings!! with certain settings, I will NOT be able to tag you, so please make sure you check that before asking to be added!

additionally, I will be ignoring and deleting any comments and/or asks from blank and/or ageless blogs asking to be added to the taglist!

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[sparrows4bats]

Triplet AU of my Pregnant Damian AU.

For that, Anon ask that endured my info dump on Jonathan Kent and the biology of twins

Jonathan Kent didn't think he would have any particular feelings about his pregnant partner.

Jon hadn't even really given a thought about wanting kids or not before he fell in love with Damian.

Damian is so caring and loving, with Lizzie, with his animals that Jon knows deep in his soul that he'd be a wonderful parent, and Jon wants to do that with him.

Then he hears a second heartbeat coming from his boyfriend as they lay in bed together.

And what always seemed like a distant possibility turned into reality.

Jon cries. He is so full of love for this tiny little thing that he and Damian created together.

Jon adores Damian and loves every part of him to the point that multiple people have called him obsessed. If this child is anything like the love of his life, they can only be amazing.

He loves his future child the moment he knows they exist.

He definitely didn't expect how much Damian being pregnant would affect him.

Jon knows he's being protective and a little overbearing, but the idea of anything hurting Damian has always made him despair but the idea of anything happening to him while he is in such a fragile state makes Jon want to die.

Damian books an appointment to get it confirmed. Jon is barely able to control his excitement!

Damian is watching him with fond exasperation as Jon holds his hand and grins like a loon.

He remains fond until the technician points out their baby. Or babies.

"So here we have, baby A and Baby B they're identical twins, and off to the side, there is Baby C."

"Triplets?" Damian asks horrified.

"Yes Dr Wayne."

Jon looks away from the screen to see his wonderful, amazing partner glaring at him.

"Anything I need to know about symptoms."

"You'll need to rest a lot more, and this will be classed as a higher risk case. With a higher chance of complications so I will be seeing a lot more often, we also need to discuss your diet."

The mention of complications breaks whatever shock Jon was under.

Three kids.

Three entire people.

Damian is growing three babies.

Jon loves the idea of having a big family. Growing up, he was his parents' only biological child with Kon so much older and twins coming much later. He spent much of his time alone as a child.

His kids will apparently never have that problem.

He is shocked, happy, and terrified.

Damian is squeezing his hand so hard, Jon is glad he is invulnerable.

Complications. Pregnancy is hard. Having triplets is even harder.

Damian might kill him. Batman definitely will.

When they leave the office, He and Damian sit for a bit.

"Holy shit." Damian breathes and starts laughing histaricly. After a moment, Jon joins him.

It takes a while for them to calm down.

They catch their breaths, and Jon kisses his boyfriend soundly. "I love you, and I love our babies."

Damian smiles. "I love you too, but I am still very annoyed with you for impregnating with three of them. Don't think I didn't do the math and notice this happened the first week we got together."

Jon tries to look sympathetic, but seeing how Damian hits him, he must look as proud and happy as he feels.

"We are going to be so outnumbered, and they're half me and half you, so they'll be little trouble makers!"

"Thank God we have access to a lot of free babysitters. But you do realise we have to tell my father right away now, don't you? I can't be on the field, and the Justice League is going to need to find someone to cover me when i get farther along"

Dread creeps into Jons bones. "Tell our children I loved them."

"You aren't going to die! You're not allowed to. I can't raise three alien babies alone!"

Batman and Superman meet them at Damians Apartment a few hours later. Jon opens the door while Damian stays seated at the table.

"Father, I need to take a sabbatical from field work."

"Hello to you too, Damian."

Clark sits down. "Would you mind telling us why?"

Damian takes out his ultrasound and places it on the table. "Because I'm pregnant."

Bruce freezes while Clark looks on with shock.

Jon moves to stand behind his boyfriend with a hand on his shoulder. "With triplets."

"Are they yours?" Clark asks his son.

Jon nods and smiles as his father drags both boys into a hug.

Clark starts to cry. "I didn't even know you were together!"

Damian sighs. "We wanted privacy, but we are very happy about our unexpected development."

Jon hugs his dad back. "I love Damian and our little accidents."

Damian smacks him in the back of the head.

The three then realise Bruce is still silent and turn to look at the Bat.

"Father?"

Bruce is standing looking gobsmacked at the photo and promptly faints.

When Bruce awakes on the couch, it's to his pregnant son taking his pulse.

He sits up to find the Supers sitting opposite, crying while on the phone.

"Damian you are moving home. Immediately."

"What? No."

"You are having three babies, you need to be taken care of and observed especially given your choice of ...... partner."

"I can take care of Damian!" Jon blusters.

"Not as well as Alfred."

"But-

The argument goes on for weeks, but eventually, Bruce wins after Damian admits more hands would probably be helpful. Plus, Bruce builds him a beautiful nursery.

The entire batfamily basically moves in with him. Bruce is very smug.

Jon gets threatened within a literal inch of his life by all of them.

[insomniadreamzz]

OK OK OK FOLLOWING THE PREGNANCY STORYLINE LETS IMAGINE ISHA IS HERE A CUTE FLUFFY THING WITH EITHER ISHA MEETING THE BABY OR FINDING OUT READER IS PREGNANT AND THAT SHES GONNA BE A BIG SIS

Our family

Jinx x Fem!Reader ft. Isha (plus a little bonus with Sevika)

Fluff

A continuation from the fic „My Everything“ https://www.tumblr.com/insomniadreamzz/772011828255621120/hey-how-are-you-i-wanted-to-request-gp-jinx-x

Part 2 https://www.tumblr.com/insomniadreamzz/773579527173668864/hey-im-absolutely-obsessed-with-your-series-about

Part 3 https://www.tumblr.com/insomniadreamzz/775006861557661697/our-family-part-3

You still remember when Isha found out she gonna be a big sister, the way her eyes were literally glowing with happiness. Isha was mute but she expressed her happiness clearly, already doing little doodles of her and her sister together with you and Jinx. The way she put her little head on your baby bump to feel her sister kick, it was just too cute.

Jinx already set up some stuff for the little one, making sure youre gonna have everything you needed when the baby will arrive and soon it happened.

You can still remember how Jinx held your hand and never left your side. Singed, the only doctor here in Zaun also made an appearance to make sure everything went well. He wasn’t used to be part of something like that very often but he was glad he could help you out in that situation. Jinx kisses on your forehead and the way she encouraged you during that hard time, it was still stuck in your head how gentle and loving she can be and then it happened. When you first heard your little one cry, both of you shed tears of happiness, feeling relieved that everything went good. It was a little girl.

When you both got back home after that, Jinx immediately ushered you to bed, figuring you must be tired as you had your newborn in your arms, Jinx never leaving your side.

„Look how cute she is…our little one…“ She cooed, holding you close as she admired your daughter, making you smile so happily. „Of course she is, she is ours.“ You mentioned, looking into your girlfriend’s eyes. „What should we name her?“ You asked and Jinx already got an idea, something that she was thinking about for a longer time now since she knew you are pregnant.

„Powder.“ Jinx said, making your eyes widen in confusion, knowing it was Jinx‘s actual name. „Powder?“ You asked, Jinx nodding in response. „Yes. I want to have a good connection to that name now. Every time I hear it I have to think about myself when I was younger and…certain things happened but I want to forget that. I want to be happy hearing the name Powder and not feel triggered anymore by that name. She will be a better Powder, not like me. I am Jinx now, Powder died in me but we can make her be a better Powder than I was.“ You heard her voice crack a little, seeing little tears running down her cheeks. This really meant a lot to Jinx, you knew it. „Then she will be Powder.“ You agreed with her, using your free hand to caress her back gently, getting back her attention towards you. „Thank you my love.“ She said before placing a little kiss on your lips.

The moment got interrupted by little footsteps, it was Isha who curiously walked up to you, Jinx shifting to make space for Isha between you both. „Isha! Come here, say hello to your little sister.“ Jinx said, letting the girl slip beside you as she looked at the little one with wide happy eyes, her small hand gently touching Powder as if welcoming her.

„Now you are a big sister. You can show her everything when she gets a little bigger, cool right?“ You said, Isha nodding at your words, feeling really happy to be a big sister now plus she was excited to have someone to play with in the future as well.

You talked a little more this evening until all of you just fell asleep. Powder on your chest and Isha sleeping between you and Jinx, all cuddled up in one bed. It was a very peaceful moment. Jinx slept for the first time very happily and calm, the voices in her head not bothering her at all. She was truly happy for the first time and she won’t let anyone destroy this happy life she had.

The next morning Sevika was on her way to Jinx’s hideout, it’s been a while since she showed up, probably hanging around in the Last Drop or doing her usual work. Sevika knew Jinx from when Silco took her with him so she felt like she had to look for her every now and then, making sure Jinx was alright.

„Jinx where the fuck are-…“ She started but stopped immediately in her tracks as she saw Jinx holding a baby while you and Isha were still sleeping cuddled up together. „Where did that baby come from?“ She asked with a raised eyebrow, not trusting this situation for now.

„That’s my daughter which came right out of my girlfriend if you want to know.“ Jinx replied with her usual sassy behavior. Sevika didn’t want to know any more details, shaking it off as she stepped closer to Jinx, having a closer look at the baby. „That’s…really yours?“ She asked again, being a little bit shocked, Jinx nodding in response. „Yep! Does auntie Sevika want to say hello to little Powder? Or are you gonna chicken out?“ Obviously Jinx had to tease Sevika but the older woman didn’t let her make her annoyed as she just nodded. Jinx helped Sevika to hold Powder with her arm, the baby looking even smaller in her strong arm. „There you go.“

Sevika stared at the baby with a unusual soft gaze. „Aw…did you just say auntie Sevika?“ She asked to be sure. „Of course! You’re the only one left who’s like a family to me after Silco died.“ Jinx became soft as she said that, thinking it was about time to speak the truth to Sevika, making the other womans eyes water a little. „Silco would be so happy and proud of you Jinx.“ Sevika mentioned, making Jinx almost cry but she held back her tears. Instead a little tear rolled down Sevika‘s cheek. „Are you crying?“ Jinx tilted her head as she gazed at Sevika who just shook her head. „No I am not.“ She said, making Jinx chuckle in response. „Damn you are a bad liar.“

And with that both started chuckling.

[marvelslut16]

Broken hand

Pairing: Dr. Trinity 'Trin' Santos x reader

Synopsis: Reader breaks her hand and meets the prettiest knight in shining armor doctor she has ever seen.

Word count: 1.7k+ of pure nothingness

Warnings: Broken bones, no gruesome explanations though. Emotionally abusive father, so nothing new for me. Sucky writing, I wrote this at 2 am and didn't proof read, whoops. I don't even know if I like it all that much.

A/N: Hey, hi, hello. So was forced to watch The Pitt with my parents, and jokes on me, I fell in love with it. So, this is loosely based off myself. I fell at work back in November and I'm like 90% sure I broke my hand, but I never got it checked because I thought I could be a tough girl and deal with it. Anywho, haven't posted a fic since fictober, and here I am back with a brand new fandom. Please send in requests for The Pitt, I'm obsessed atm.

Also have an idea for a part 2 to this, reader takes Trin to a family event and reader's dad is pissed that Trin is around and she still refuses to put up with his shit.

With every hour you were stuck in the ER waiting room, your fathers temper grew shorter and shorter. After five long hours in the waiting room you’ve come to the conclusion that you should have just sucked it up and dealt with the pain, or at the very least gone to urgent care instead, but that  was closed when you arrived at the hospital hours ago. You’re approaching six hours when someone finally calls your name, and you can head to the back. You’re shown to your bed, and by the time you get situated three doctors are in the room waiting for you.

“I’m Dr. Langdon, and this is Dr. King, and Dr. Santos,” your eyes widen ever so slightly when they land on Dr. Santos, and if you didn’t know any better you would think hers did the same thing. All of those years on stupid dating apps, and all you needed to do was injure yourself to find the prettiest woman in Pittsburg. “It says in your file that you think you broke your wrist?”

“Are three doctors really necessary?” your irritated father asks from your bedside before you can even respond to the question. 

“This is a teaching hospital, sir,” Dr. Langdon responds, his own frustration thinly veiled. 

“It’s fine,” you speak up for the first time, voice small. “Nice to meet you three, I’d offer to shake your hands, but it hurts to grip things.” You let out a little self deprecating giggle.

“Does it hurt when you do anything else?” Dr. Langdon asks while lightly grabbing your hand to check for swelling. “It doesn’t look that swollen.”

“See, I told you it was fine,” your father mutters. 

“Actually, you can fracture your hand and have no noticeable swelling,” Dr. Santos adds, stepping to the other side of your bed, half blocking you from your father’s view.

“Um,” you give Dr. Santos a small smile before responding to Dr. Langdon’s earlier question. “It hurts when I grip, twist, bend my wrist to make my pinky closer to my wrist, and when I put pressure on it. It’s the outer part that hurts, the area below my pinky and ring finger.” You gesture towards the area, hand still being looked over by Dr. Langdon.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, twisting your wrist outward.

“Yes,” you whimper a little, Santos glaring at Langdon over your head. 

“Okay, do either of you have any questions for the patient?” Dr. Langdon asks his residents. 

“How did you hurt it?” Dr. Santos asks in a calming tone, one that earns strange looks from the other two doctors. 

“Um, well I slipped and fell at work, and I caught myself mainly on my right hand. It started to hurt pretty much right away, and I could barely move it without crying,” you admit the last part quietly, embarrassing yourself in front of the cute doctor. 

“Did you know, it’s better to fall without tensing your body, and rolling upon impact, it keeps you from landing roughly on one body part and breaking it,” Dr. King adds from the foot of the bed, pushing up her glasses. 

“Not helping,” Dr. Santos snaps, while Dr. Langdon also makes a face to the other doctor to let her know that he agrees with Santos for once. 

“That’s what I've been telling you for years, don’t be such a dumbass next time,” your dads irritation clearly growing throughout the consultation. 

“That’s me, just a dumbass,” you look down at your hand, refusing to meet the gaze of anyone in the room. “But yes, I did know that, um, I was falling in the direction of a wall, so it was either my hand or my head hitting the wall. I figured hand was the better option.” 

“Sir, why don’t we step out in the hall for a moment,” Dr. Langdon addresses your father. “Dr. King and Dr. Santos can ask some follow up questions in private.”

“I’ll stay where I god damn please, she’s on my insurance still, so I’m staying with her,” your dad yells, and you can practically hear the rest of the ER grow quiet for a few seconds. 

“Sir, she has to change into a gown and they have to take her for a urine sample, before we can take her for and X-ray,” Dr. Langdon tries to reason with your father.

“Do you have a smoking area around here?” your father grunts, conceding in his own way. 

“Yeha, I’ll have Nurse Evans show you where it is,” Dr. Langdon holds the curtain open for your father and closes it behind them when they exit. 

“I’m 25, so if I get injured again next year you won’t have to deal with him,” you laugh, breaking the awkward silence with the two female doctors. 

“Does he always act like this?” Dr. Santos asks, an annoyed clip to her voice.

“To an extent,” you nod for no one's benefit, you don’t even know why you’re telling her this. “He doesn’t do well when he or someone he cares about is hurt, so his way to cope is to get angry. Something about him not being in control, blah blah blah.”

“It doesn’t mean you should have to deal with that,” she’s staring at you so intently you feel like you could melt right into the bed. 

“Maybe not, but he’s not gonna change and the less I fight him the faster his moods go away,” you admit, never looking away from her gorgeous green eyes. 

“We have to ask you some routine questions,” Dr. King interrupts your staring contest. “Like Dr. Langdon said you’ll have to have an X-ray done so we need to know if you're pregnant.”

“Nope,” you answer right away.

“Even if there’s a possibility of it, we don’t want to hurt a fetus by exposing it to radiation,” Dr. King continues.

“I’m not pregnant, I’m a lesbian so… never slept with a guy,” you swear you hear a quiet inhale from the dark haired doctor standing next to you. “But I know you won’t take my word for it, so where’s my cup,” you hold out your good hand expectantly. 

Sure enough your urine test proves that you aren’t pregnant, so you’re put in line for an X-ray. An hour after that you finally get it done, and according to Dr. Langdon you fractured your triquetrum and hamate bones. Dr. King is walking you back to your bay after letting you change back into your street clothes in the bathroom. You both stop short when you hear an agitated voice from the other side of the curtain, a voice that certainly isn’t your fathers. 

“Your daughter fractured two bones in her hand, and she handled her pain a lot better than most of the men I’ve seen come through here this week with less severe injuries. Ya know, I’ve known men like you, men who think they can walk all over the women in their lives, but you can’t. One day she’s gonna realize that she doesn’t have to put up with your bullshit anymore, and you’ll lose her forever. Show some damn respect for your daughter.”

“Who do you think you are-”

“Someone who cares more about your daughter and her health than you do right now. So get your act together, they’re going to put a cast on her and when it dries you guys can head home.”

Dr. Santos throws the curtain open and you come face to face with your gorgeous knight in shining armor. Nobody has ever had the guts to stand up to your father, especially not for you. You can’t read the expression on her face, and she’s stomping off through the ED before you can even form a sentence. 

“Guess I can’t say I’ve never broken a bone anymore,” you try to lighten the mood with your dad, sitting back down on the hospital bed. He doesn’t respond, and Dr. King informs you that someone will be back in a few minutes to wrap your hand, before she takes off across the ED. 

You’re shocked, but thrilled, when Dr. Santos returns with the supplies to put a cast on your arm. You’re dad huffs and leaves to have another cigarette when he sees who it is. Being alone with Dr. Santos for the first time, you're forced to confront the fact that you more than likely stink after eight hours at the hospital. The last thing you want to do is embarrass yourself in front of this gorgeous woman.

“You’ll have to come back in six weeks to get this cast off and have another round of X-rays to see if your hand healed properly. We can set up an appointment, that way you don’t have to wait for hours,” Dr Santos says, as she dips the plaster in water and starts wrapping it around your hand and arm.

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” you can barely breathe when you fill her fingertips ghosting across your skin. 

“I also brought some pamphlets on mental and emotional abuse,” she’s staring directly into your soul as she tells you this. 

“Uh, thanks, but I don’t really need those. I’m fine, I’m moving out next month, it’ll be okay. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before, and he’s just turning into a crotchety old man,” you absently play with the hem of your shirt with your non-plastered hand. “Thanks though, and thank you for what you said to him, no one’s done that before.”

“Well they should,” she says assertively, slipping you a piece of paper with a number on it before going back to wrapping your hand. “And if you don’t want the pamphlets, at least take this, it’s my personal number. If you ever want to chat, I’ll be there to listen, I've dealt with men like that, I understand. It may take me twelve plus hours to respond, but I promise I will,”

“That I’ll do,” your face morphing into a goofy love struck grin, clutching tightly to the paper like it’s a life line. 

“And, maybe, you’d like to go on a date with me sometime,” she ventures, laying down the last bit of plaster. 

“I’d love to,” you giggle like a love struck teen.

“My name’s Trinity by the way,” she smiles back at you, leaning in ever so slightly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Trinity, definitely makes my fall worth it.”

[novaursa]

Hello Nova! I'd love to read an explicit, romance + smut + drama, Sandor x reader where the reader is Jon's twin sister, and it's a forced/arranged marriage trope.

I think the plot where it's as a punishment by Joffrey, but that's kinda cliché, so how about:

Reader had been married before to some Northerner lord, but he died or had it annulled, and while discussing Sansa and Joffrey's marriage with Cat, Cersei comes up with the idea to marry her off to the Hound, so she could "breed" the next gen of the kingsguard, promising if she had girls they'd have a place in court or be married to worthy suitors.

Cat obviously wants her away, and Robert or Cat can convince Ned it's a good idea since nobody else wants to marry reader.

Idk if it's too crazy, but I can't wait to read it. I am obsessed with your writing. Keep up the good work! ♡

A Dog's Honor

Requests are closed

- Summary: You never belonged anywhere. Not in the North, not with your family. But you might belong with him.

- Pairing: snow!reader/Sandor Clegane

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: This ones is fresh from the oven. I hope I've managed to write everything you had in mind. ☺️

The godswood had not changed in all the years since your childhood, nor had the bitter chill in its air dulled with age or memory. The red leaves of the heart tree still whispered above the quiet pool, still bled their sap in the likeness of weeping. You sat beneath it now, wrapped in a cloak of grey and white, your breath fogging in the cold as you tried to lose yourself in the old gods and your own thoughts. But they would not leave you be. Not when the castle was teeming with southern strangers, golden lions and oiled courtiers who eyed you with a mixture of polite disdain and open curiosity. You, a Snow, a widow with no remnant of a title save what had briefly been granted through your dead husband’s name, and a Stark only in blood and shadow.

Voices carried from the great hall beyond the trees. Loud, boisterous—Robert’s laugh, like the roar of a bear. Then Cersei’s cutting tone, low and biting. You flinched before you even heard your name.

“…And what would you have us do with her, Lady Catelyn? Leave her to become a silent sister? Or let her wither away here, haunting these halls like some northern ghost?”

You heard your step-mother’s voice, quiet and clipped, trying to hold firm against the lioness’s derision. “She is still mourning. Y/N’s husband died only last year.”

“Yes, and no new offers have come since, have they?” Cersei drawled, amusement coiling in her words like a snake. “Pretty enough, in a cold sort of way, but too Stark to tempt a southern lord. Too quiet. Too solemn. And now too old to dangle in front of a noble boy with his cock still wet.”

“Cersei,” Eddard said, warning thick in his tone, “That is enough.”

But the queen only smiled. You knew it without seeing. That smile was a blade sheathed in velvet.

“I have a proposal, if your northern honor allows some sense,” she said. “Let the girl be wed again. To one who will not care for her sharp tongue or her wintry silences. One who will breed loyalty, if not beauty.”

You felt it then—the pause. The cold hush of something heavy falling into place.

“To Sandor,” Cersei said at last. “My son’s dog. He is no knight, but he serves better than most who wear the title. And we’ve always spoken of what should come after. The next generation of the Kingsguard must be stronger than the last, especially if they are to serve Joffrey when he is king. A Snow and a Clegane—harsh stock, but strong. She would breed warriors. Sons for the sword, daughters for the court. Perhaps one might even wed a knight or a minor lord. It is more than she has now.”

Your blood had frozen. You rose from the godswood without a sound, the trees no longer speaking to you.

Inside, the hearth roared as if in mockery of the cold that had taken root in your chest. You stepped through the doorway as your father turned sharply, his face white with fury.

“She is not some broodmare to be bartered for steel,” Eddard snapped.

“No,” Cersei agreed sweetly, turning to you now. “She is a widow with no prospects. Unless you have a better suggestion, Lord Stark?”

Robert, red-cheeked from wine and the hunt, waved a hand. “It makes sense, Ned. She’s not likely to find better, and Sandor has served Joff well. Let him have something of his own at last. She’s your daughter by blood, not your name. And she’s of age. Let them be married before we leave for King’s Landing.”

You stood at the edge of the hall, every eye on you. Your breath shallow, your mouth dry. Sandor Clegane was there too, leaning against a stone pillar in the shadow of the firelight. His expression unreadable, though his eyes burned like coals beneath his brow.

“You’d marry me off to a dog?” you asked, voice low but steady.

Cersei tilted her head. “Better a dog than no master at all.”

“Enough,” Eddard said, rising now, voice as hard as ice. “You will not speak of her that way again, Cersei. She is of my blood.”

“She is of no house,” Cersei replied. “You know it. That is why it fits.”

You turned your eyes to your father, your true father, who had always loved you as his own. Eddard’s mouth was pressed into a grim line, his jaw tight.

“Y/N,” he said at last, soft and solemn, “It may not be what you wanted. But I would not see you waste away here. And Robert… is not wrong. There may not be another offer. Not one that protects you.”

You did not speak again until long after the feast, after the queen had smirked her way through supper, after Robert had poured more wine into his beard than his cup, after Sansa had clung to the idea of marrying her prince like a child with a doll. You found yourself in the stables, your fingers stroking the mane of your mare, trying to ignore the ache behind your eyes.

“You’re too proud for this place,” came a gruff voice at your back.

You turned. Sandor stood in the doorway, face half-shadowed, half-burned. His eyes flicked over you, not with lust or cruelty, but with something bordering on pity.

“I don’t need pity,” you said quietly.

“I didn’t offer it,” he replied. “Just telling you what I see.”

You studied him. He was not handsome, not gentle, not kind. But he had never lied to you, not once. Never dressed his words in honey.

“You don’t want this,” you said.

He gave a grunt of laughter. “What man wouldn’t want a Stark girl in his bed, hm? Pretty enough. Strong hips. But I’m not fool enough to think you want it either.”

“I don’t,” you whispered. “But I won’t be caged here like a relic.”

He stepped closer. The scent of leather, of horse and steel and smoke clung to him like a second skin. He loomed, tall and scarred and brutal, but not cruel.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, voice low. “Not unless you ask for it. And I won’t chase you in your bed. Not until you tell me to.”

You stared up at him, and something inside you shifted. Not surrender, but a kind of grim acceptance.

“I’ll never love you,” you said.

“Good,” Sandor muttered. “Love’s for fools and bards.”

And when he turned and left, leaving you alone in the silence of the stables, you realized you didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

The wedding had been cold in all but weather. The gods had not smiled, though the sun had shone brightly over Winterfell’s courtyard where Cersei Lannister presided like a vulture draped in silk, offering venomous smiles and mocking toasts. You had worn silver and grey, a gown stitched with direwolves and lined with pale fur, but it might as well have been a shroud. The words were said quickly, without warmth or joy—your father’s voice strained, your hand stiff in Sandor’s gloved grip. When the maester had called for a kiss to seal the vows, Sandor only dipped his head and let the edge of his mouth brush your temple. He had not touched your lips, not claimed you with the hunger you half-expected. Just a brush, a breath, and a step away.

Catelyn had watched it all with a tight, triumphant smile, as though your removal from her household had been a long-awaited purge. She had hugged Sansa too tightly afterward, whispering too loudly that "your sister will be fine, she was never meant for the North." You had seen the way her eyes avoided yours during the feast, heard the way her voice grew more cheerful the further you were from her sight. And Jon—gods, your twin had looked ready to throw his goblet at the queen when the toasts began, red-faced and shaking, but he had no power to stop it. No title. No name. Just a bastard like you once were, before widowhood had offered you a different kind of prison.

The bedding had been skipped, at your insistence, and for once even the queen had relented. "Let her scurry off with her beast in peace," Cersei had murmured with false kindness. "We’ve had our amusement for one day."

Now, inside the old bedchamber the servants had hurried to prepare, you stood with your back to the heavy door. Sandor had not lit the hearth yet, but the faint light from a cluster of candles painted your silhouette across the stone wall. You could still smell wine and pine needles from the feast, the ghosts of winter mingling in your lungs as you breathed slowly, deliberately.

He stood near the window, half in shadow, unfastening the black surcoat that had been brushed clean for the wedding. You watched his scarred face from the side, the way the firelight licked the ruined skin, how his eyes were darker than you'd remembered, full of watchfulness instead of hunger.

"You don’t have to be afraid," Sandor said finally, voice rough like gravel, but quieter now. Almost hesitant.

“I’m not,” you replied, turning to face him.

His eyes flicked to you, then away. “I told you before. I won’t force you. You’re not some whore the Lannisters threw at me.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your hands moved to your waist, untying the laces of your gown with stiff fingers. The fabric sighed as it slipped from your shoulders, pooling around your feet like mist. Beneath it, your chemise clung to your skin, thin and silken, more southern than northern in its cut. You saw the way his gaze shifted—his jaw clenched, his fingers flexed—but he didn’t move toward you.

“I know you won’t force me,” you said softly. “That’s why I’m not afraid.”

You stepped out of the dress fully, baring yourself to the cold and to him. Your hair hung loose down your back, the ends brushing your hips. You shivered, but not from fear.

“Let’s just get it over with,” you said, lifting your chin. “Isn’t that what’s expected?”

He made a sound in his throat, not quite a growl, not quite a sigh. He crossed the room slowly, each step heavy, until he stood before you. Not touching. Just looking. You wondered if he would be cruel, if the roughness in his voice would translate to violence in his hands—but instead, he touched your wrist, just a brush of callused fingers. Then your collarbone. Then the slope of your jaw.

“You think I want to hurt you?” he asked, not quite a question.

“I think you know how,” you replied, staring up at him.

He barked a laugh at that—harsh, humorless. “Aye. I know how. But I won’t.”

His hands were large, the palms broad and scarred, but when they cupped your waist, they were gentle. Almost reverent. You let yourself lean into him, closing your eyes as he lowered his mouth to yours. His kiss wasn’t practiced, not soft or sweet like a bard’s tale. But it was real. Earnest. Solid. You clung to him with surprising desperation, your breath caught in your chest.

He undressed slowly, letting you see every inch of him—the fire-scarred skin on his shoulder, the crisscross of old wounds, the strength in his arms and chest. When he took you to bed, it wasn’t hurried or brutal. He laid you down carefully, the mattress creaking beneath your bodies. The cold didn’t seem to reach you anymore.

There was pain at first, yes. But he murmured something against your ear—low and gruff, but soothing. One of his hands tangled in your hair, the other braced beside your head, never pinning you, never pressing too hard. And when he moved inside you, slow and careful, it was more considerate than you had ever imagined him capable of. You bit your lip, breath hitching, but you didn’t cry out. You didn’t need to. He read the tension in your limbs, the way your fingers gripped his back, and adjusted to you without a word.

After, you lay half-covered by the furs, staring at the timbered ceiling, heart still beating too fast. He rested beside you, eyes half-closed, one arm slung across your waist.

“You were gentler than I thought you’d be,” you murmured.

He snorted, but there was no scorn in it. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

You turned to face him. “Why’d you agree to it? The marriage.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “Because they would’ve married me off to some court lady otherwise. Or given you to some fat old fool with gout. I figured if we had to be used, might as well be by each other.”

You blinked, stunned by the rough honesty. Then he shifted closer, his heat wrapping around you.

“I’ll keep you safe, girl,” he said against your hair. “You and any babes that come from this. No one will touch you, not while I live.”

You believed him. And for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to exhale.

[stillbornfrost]

Hello! So I messaged you to ask you about what you're open to writing about and i was wondering if you could write a cookie run kingdom fic but specifically i was wondering if you could write headcanons for Yandere Ancients? I really like the way you write your stuff!!

HELLO YES HI!!

I absolutely take requests and omg thank you so much for the kind words!!! You're feeding my writer ego and I am EATING. Also yes, I do write for Cookie Run Kingdom and Yandere Ancients??? Say less. I’ve got you. Buckle in!

Yandere CRK Ancients x Reader Headcanons

Pure Vanilla Cookie

He looks like the safest choice, doesn’t he? All so soft voice, warm smiles, gentle healing hands. But that’s the danger—he never raises his voice. He lowers it.

The kind of yandere who thinks he’s saving you from the world, and maybe even from yourself.

If you get sick or injured, even slightly, he takes it as a “sign” that you shouldn’t be out and about without him.

“You don’t have to suffer anymore. I’ll take care of everything, my dear.”

Gaslights you with a smile. Says things like “Oh, I never said that,” or “You must be exhausted. Maybe you just imagined it?”

You’ll find the castle staff has stopped speaking to you. They avoid eye contact.

You want freedom? He gives you a “garden” to wander in—an enchanted dome you’ll never get past. But oh, he visits daily with fresh pastries and love-drunk eyes.

Hollyberry Cookie

She doesn’t mean to scare you—but she absolutely does. Loud affection, bear hugs that crack ribs, and the way she throws a punch at anyone who dares to stand too close.

Brags about you constantly. Literally introduces you to people as “my little berry tart.”

You tried to leave once. She cried. Then smashed a stone pillar with her bare hands.

“Don’t do that to me again. You’re mine. You belong with me!”

Has absolutely tackled you mid-escape and then sobbed into your clothes while holding you like a lifeline.

You get everything you want—except freedom. She can’t handle the idea of losing you.

Loves you so hard it’s smothering. You’re surrounded by feasts, music, laughter... and invisible guards who are all under strict orders to never let you leave her sight.

Dark Cacao Cookie

The most chilling part? He’s calm. He never yells. He just speaks in low, cold tones that freeze the blood in your frosting.

Keeps you in the highest room of his kingdom. Says it’s to keep you “above the dangers of the world.”

“It is my duty to protect what I cherish.”

Doesn’t understand why you’d want to leave. Of course you belong here. With him. Always.

He watches from the shadows—personally and through his warriors. You might feel alone, but you never are.

He lets you think you have a choice. That you could walk out. But when you try, the snow thickens, the blizzards howl louder, and suddenly you realize... the mountains are alive, and they answer to him.

There’s a terrible kind of tenderness in how he brushes frost from your hair and says, “The world cannot have you. You are... mine to keep.”

Golden Cheese Cookie

She’s a queen in every sense, and in her mind? You’re her favorite treasure. The crown jewel. Her possession.

She gives you everything. Gold-threaded robes, diamond-studded accessories, meals fit for deities.

“What more could you want? You have me.”

Throws banquets in your honor. Has bards write songs about your beauty and “devotion.”

If you ever try to assert independence, she laughs like it’s a joke... until her eyes go sharp.

"Why would you ever leave the one who gave you everything?"

Anyone who gets too close to you is quietly removed. Publicly discredited. Exiled. You notice the disappearances after a while.

The palace is vast and golden—but feels like a glittering tomb. She’s always watching. Always smiling. Always yours.

White Lily Cookie

Pre-transformation Lily is delicate, poetic, and painfully obsessed.

“We’re two halves of a dream. You understand me, don’t you? You have to.”

Writes long, rambling letters to you—even when you’re just in the next room.

As Dark Enchantress? That obsession turns cosmic. She’ll bend reality for you. Break kingdoms for you. Burn the world and offer you the ashes like a bouquet.

“You’re the only one I spared. That means something. That means everything.”

She convinces you that the rest of the world hates you. That only she can love you completely.

Every time you resist, her mask of calm cracks a little. Her rage is like a storm contained in a teacup—one wrong move and the porcelain shatters.

You’re not her prisoner. You’re her chosen god. And she will not let you fall into anyone else’s hands. Ever.

[mads-hemmo]

imagine you sent in a bedroom for one of schlatts bedroom videos and schlatt is quite literally cheesing because you’re his girlfriend and he knows exactly what your room looks like

Masterlist

You have watched your boyfriend react to his viewer’s room tour multiple times now. When he announced that he was going to be reacting to rooms again, you decided to submit a tour of your own. You even messaged his mods to make sure your room made it in.

You watch Schlatt’s stream from your couch, anxiously awaiting for your room to come onto the stream. “Okay this one is from (Y/N),” Schlatt says. You can see him do a slight double take when he reads your name off. He lets it go as he presses play.

“Hello Jschlatt. Let me show you my room,” your pre-recorded voice says. The chat is going crazy saying, “woman” as the video plays. You’re not showing your face, but Schlatt obviously knows it’s you by your voice.

“Calm down chat. Yes, it's a woman. Let’s see their room,” Schlatt says to the chat.

You turn to your bookshelf full of books. “Here are all my books because I’m a nerd and very intelligent.”

“Don’t look up any of those books, chat. You may be scarred.”

You laugh at the screen. Schlatt knows your taste in literature is romance with some smut sprinkled in. “Here are my rammies, youtooz, and gamer supps.” You show your small Schlatt shrine which makes you look like a parasocial weirdo, but Schlatt is just smiling the entire time. “This is my gaming setup.”

“Wow, it's very pink. Are we sure this isn’t some vtuber?” Schlatt comments.

You continue to show your room which shows blurred pictures. “These are of my boyfriend and I, but we are very private. He does not like people to see his face. He’s very insecure.”

Schlatt subtly rolls his eyes and smiles at his screen. “She is smart. Protecting her privacy. I’m sure her boyfriend is very hot and not insecure,” Schlatt comments. Chat is going crazy sending question marks and gay emotes.

“This is where all the magic happens,” you joke as you show your bed.

Schlatt lets out a small laugh at your comment. The truth is most of the “magic” happens on his bed not yours. He also has small heart eyes when he sees the Rammie you sleep with when you aren’t together. “I know it’s small and boring, but that’s my room. You have made my day by watching this. Thank you Schlatt! I’m a huge fan,” you say, ending the video.

“What a weirdo. Mods, who let that one get by?” Schlatt asks with a stupid grin still plastered on his face. Some of chat seems to get the hint about who’s bedroom it is, but others are completely oblivious.

Schlatt keeps going, showing a disgusting hellhole with street signs. A little while after, Schlatt ends the stream. As soon as the stream ends, you see that you are getting a FaceTime call from him.

“That damn girl was obsessed with you,” you comment with a laugh. “Maybe I should be jealous.”

“Yeah she’s a weirdo. Can’t believe my mods let her through,” he laughs with you.

“She may have sent some messages encouraging them to let her room through so she could see how flustered her boyfriend gets.”

Schlatt rolls his eyes at you. “Thank you for blurring everything.”

“I may like messing with you, but I’m not evil. I still want our relationship to be for us, not your fans.”

He smiles at you. “I love you,” he says with a wide grin on his face. “Also the cats miss you. They think you should come over and stay the night.”

“Only the cats miss me?” You ask with an eyebrow raise.

“Maybe I miss you too.”

“Hmm if that’s the case, I guess I can come by.” Once you hang up the phone, you drive to his apartment so you don’t have to spend the night cuddling your Rammie.

A/N: such a cute idea!! I need him to stream again! I am almost through all of my reqs, so send more if you want to! Hoping to keep writing while I’m on break!

[elllisaaa]

hii, how are u?? can i ask for a seventeen reaction of you watching caratland and teasing them or something like that, thank uu

teasing seventeen about caratland

-> words count : 2.3k words

-> genre : fluff

-> sorry if I made any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> author's note : omgg you're so on point because the moment i saw mingyu dancing to sticky, i knew i wanted to write something like this lmaoo thank you so much for sending in an ask, hope you'll like it !

-> masterlist | svt masterlist

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

You had often joked about the Smart challenge to your boyfriend by reading some of the comments the fans posted on social media, trying to get him to really do it. So when you realized that he was really going to actually dance to the choreo during Caratland, you broke down in a fit of laughter. When he came to see you in the morning, you welcomed him with a big smirk stretching out your face : “Hello Mister shaking-my-ass, how are you ?” - “Oh, shut up.” Seungcheol groaned as he bypassed you to flop down on your couch, arms crossed on his chest and pout on his face. “Don’t be like that, you big baby, it was cute.” - “But I don’t want to be cute !”, your boyfriend groaned, “I want to be manly. And handsome. I am right ?” You couldn’t really tease Seungcheol for long, he was too adorable for you to do so as you settled beside him, pecking his lips softly. “Yes, you are. But you’re also very cute.” - “Y/N !” You giggled as his pout returned. He was definitely cute. 

YOON JEONGHAN

You were used to your boyfriend being an absolute babygirl, you were used to him being an absolute menace. However you did not plan how seeing him dancing to Tap would leave you speechless. Honestly, you wanted to tease him a little for taking it so seriously and giving it his whole. But the fact that Jeonghan walked in on you watching the clip over and over kinda wrecked your project. “Like what you see, darling ?” You jumped on your spot on the couch, pushing your phone under the cushion as if you didn’t do anything. “Not at all.” - “I feel like your lying sweetheart.” - “Am not. Not everything’s about you, Hannie.” But your boyfriend only chuckled as he launched forward to grab your phone and unlock it, watching the video of him dancing playing on repeat as your cheeks heated up. “You’re so obsessed with me !” - “Stop ! Give me my phone !” But Jeonghan didn’t and only kissed your temple as he scrolled through your last liked tiktoks, seeing that it was all him and being very satisfied with the outcome of this all. You could never tease Jeonghan. 

HONG JOSHUA

“Josh ?” Your boyfriend raised his head up from the book he’s been quietly reading by your side while you were scrolling on your phone beside him in bed. You haven’t been able to watch all the content from Caratland yet and you were only now catching up. “Yeah ?” - “You should rap more often.” You picked his curiosity enough for him to close his book and turn to you. “And why’s that angel ?” You simply shrugged, but he knew you well enough to notice the little smirk tugging at your lips as you pretended to be unbothered. “Just because. You’re good at it, that’s all.” It was Joshua’s turn to smirk as he nudged you with his elbow. “Mh, yeah, of course. And it’s not because you think I’m hot when I rap ?” - “You’re taking your dreams for reality I think.” You really tried to stay composed but the way he was tickling your sides to force you to admit the truth made it difficult. You should’ve known that teasing Joshua would be a bad idea.

MOON JUNHUI

Jun always took it very seriously when it came to dancing to girl’s groups songs, and that was because you do too, especially when you were both doing random dance challenges and it became sort of a competition. So when you saw that he gave his all to dancing on Sheesh by Babymonster, you giggled while looking at your phone. “You did really good, baby.” Jun groaned softly as he lifted his head from where it was resting against your chest, looking up at you seemingly lost. “What are you talking about ?” - “Sheesh. You danced very well to it ! I teached you well.” A smile took over his features, and a blush spreaded on his cheeks. Girl’s group choreos were your passion, your area and he always felt so proud when you complimented about it (despite him being a professional dancer, yes.) “Yeah, you’re the best, baby. I’m not at your level yet, though.” You giggled as you kissed his forehead, and Jun hid against your chest again to not let you see how red he was.

KWON SOONYOUNG

Your boyfriend was a good dancer, you knew it, everyone knew it, so you were not surprised to see Carats swooning over how good he danced to Siren. And even if you had grown used to watching him wreck the stage, you were always impressed at the energy he was able to put into his moves. But that didn’t mean that you will not tease him, because that was your job as his girlfriend. “You’re such a loser.” - “What !? I didn’t even do anything this time !”, Soonyoung cried out, seemingly offended by your comment. You rolled your eyes as you turned your phone around to show him the clip of him dancing during Caratland. “How does that make me a loser ?”, your boyfriend whined as you tried to hold back your grin. “You want to show off so bad, we know you can dance, no need to try that hard.” You were then left with a whiny Soonyoung for the rest of the day. But when he asked you if he did good with his cute pout, you couldn’t keep up your act longer and you showered him in praise because he was perfect and you loved him. 

JEON WONWOO

Wonwoo was maybe the only one in the group that tried to hold his idol image as much as possible - well, he sometimes slipped up but people often thought that he was the most normal and that said a lot. So seeing him dance to Queencard made you break in a fit of laughter, while your boyfriend was clearly not having it. “You’re done ?” You looked at him as you replayed the video once again, tears gathering in your eyes from smiling too much. “No ! You don’t understand how funny this is.” Wonwoo rolled his eyes at you, trying to focus again on his game rather than on you giggling nonstop at him. “I’m just dancing, you’re overreacting.” - “You’re dancing to Queencard, Nonu, that’s very different. I always knew you were a bad bitch deep down.” Wonwoo grabbed the plushie you had gifted him that was sitting on his desk in your direction, your cackles intensifying. He loved you, but sometimes he thought you should've been a part of Seventeen instead.

LEE JIHOON

Jihoon was always adamant on the fact that he wasn’t cute. No matter how much you insisted on the fact that he was indeed adorable, he always refused to listen to you. so your teasing about how cute he was dancing on How Sweet by NewJeans was not an exception. “Come on ! You have to admit that you’re at least a little, tiny bit cute.” - “I am not.” - “Nah, I won’t accept it, you’re definitely cute.” Jihoon sighed and let you go on and on about how endearing he was one more time, as if he hadn’t been teased by his members about it enough. They really had to give him that type of song again, uh ? Last year, you had made a fuss about him dancing to Ditto too, when was this going to stop. But when you started to pepper his whole face with sweet kisses, Jihoon couldn’t hold back the smile stretching out his lips. And maybe, just maybe, that it wasn’t that bad in the end. 

LEE SEOKMIN

It was a well known fact that Seokmin was born to be a comedian, and his sense of humor was one of the main reasons you fell in love with him. And it never failed to amaze you how he always found a way to make everyone laugh. So when he dropped by your apartment after Caratland and you opened the door already chuckling and giggling to yourself. “Why are you making fun of me now ?”, he pouted as you let him make himself comfortable while you couldn’t stop thinking back to the fake abs during Guilty. “Can’t I just appreciate how hilarious you are ? I must say the shirt under your sweater was kind of genius.” When it finally clicked in Seokmin’s mind what you were talking about, he laughed too. He had this idea last minute, because he wasn’t too fond of showing much skin on stage, and he was glad that the majority of their fans, including you, followed his antics. “Well, of course, I wouldn’t let anyone other than you see my abs baby.”  

KIM MINGYU

Mingyu could argue with that as much as he wanted, you knew that deep down he was a baby girl. So you weren’t really surprised upon seeing videos of him dancing to Sticky by Kiss Of Life on every social media. And actually, it made you almost mad how he was better than you at shaking his ass. “Kim Mingyu !”, you called from the bedroom. Your boyfriend walked in mere seconds after, puppy-like eyes staring at you and a pout already forming on his face. “What’s going on, baby ?” - “Why didn’t you tell me about that ?” You turned your phone around to show him the clip of his dance, and his cheeks immediately reddened, as he grabbed your phone to turn it off. “Stooop… It’s embarrassing.” - “It’s not when you shake it that well, baby.” That only made him more shy and you giggled as he sulked about how mean you were. But as soon as you apologized with a little kiss, he was all smiley again.

XU MINGHAO

You were actually in the audience, witnessing your boyfriend willingly dancing to Maniac, both amazed and ready to make fun of him for the next few years at least. When you joined him backstage, Minghao knew from the grin on your face that you were going to tease him. He rolled his eyes at you as soon as you got closer to him. “I didn’t even say anything.” - “But I know that you’re going to.” You pouted a little, but he was right. “Come on, did you see yourself on stage ? Of course I have to tease you. The one and only Xu Minghao shaking his ass for the whole world to see ? That’s going down in history !” As always, you couldn’t help going overboard, but Minghao would be lying if he said that he didn’t like it, so he simply waited for an occasion to shut you up with his lips on yours. You immediately stopped and you went to wrap your arms around him instead. “You did very well, Hao.” - “Thank you, princess.”

BOO SEUNGKWAN

It was actually Seungkwan that brought it up himself, going on and on about how proud he was of his cover and how happy he was that Carats liked it. And it was true, he looked very good dancing to Boom Boom Bass, but you would never pass on an opportunity to tease your boyfriend. “It’s okay, baby, we all know you’re an amazing dancer, no need to brag like that.” - “And no need to be so uptight.”, scoffed Seungkwan as he gave you one of his infamous side eyes. You had to bite your lip to contain your smile as he started to rant about how you could never let him have his moment, until you weren’t able to hold back anymore and you broke out in laughter. That only left you with an even more sulky Seungkwan. “I was joking, baby ! You know I’m proud of you right ?” - ���I don’t want your compliments now, they’re forced.” - “Don’t be like that.” You kissed his cheek and cuddled closer to him as you focused back on the show. And soon enough Seungkwan sighed and embraced you again. He loved you even if you drove him crazy sometimes. 

CHWE HANSOL

You were quite excited when Hansol told you that he would probably dance to Supernova by Aespa because you really liked the song. So when you watched the video with him by your side, you really had to hold back your laugh and smile as you witnessed your boyfriend slaying the choreo with a straight face, as always. “So, what do you think about it ?” You turned to face Hansol, trying to keep your composure, but a small grin had made his way onto your face. “What ? Was I that bad ?” - “No ! Stop saying that everytime I see you dance, you know you’re great. It’s just… Do you really have no emotion ?” He groaned at the neverending joke. When it was coming from you, he knew it was only to tease him at least. “That’s getting old, you know ?” - “But I’m not tired yet.”, you answered innocently. And Hansol shook his head at you despite a little smile stretching the corner of his lips. 

LEE CHAN

Chan always took dance challenges very seriously, no matter who it was and what the choreo was. So even if it was only supposed to be a silly cover, he gave his all into dancing to Fast Forward. Plus, he knew that you liked this song and he wanted to make you proud of him - it was his number one goal every time he was on stage. So when he came to see you, a few days after Caratland, he was expecting you to have already seen the video, just like every time. “Uh ? You dance to Fast Forward ? I didn’t even know… I’m sorry baby, I’ve been quite busy.” - “No, it’s okay, no big deal.” But you could clearly see the disappointment in his eyes and Chan was too adorable when he was like that. So you sighed and simply gave up on your plan, covering his whole face in kisses instead. “You don’t know me that well if you don’t think I’ve already liked every single video of you.” Chan giggled shily, but he liked your attention, liked how you always made sure to shower him in praises. It was impossible to tease him, not when he looked at you with his sad puppy eyes.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my work.

svt taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@hann1bee @heevllog @lil-kpopstan @lichyuu @bewoyewo @foxinnie8 @jaderabbit-98

[weediee]

New Orleans Beignets

HUMAN ALASTOR X FEM WIFE!READER (She/Her pronouns)

Summary: Y/N is one of the leading bakery owners in the entirety of New Orleans! People travel minutes, hours to try the sweet treats that reside within her bakery. But there's one special radio host who's obsessed with none other than her famous New Orleans Beignets.

E/N: This is based off of Princess Tiana's Beignets. It was too perfect not to make into an Alastor story so why not + she's one of my favourite princesses.

This story isn't proofread so it's not perfect. Also I haven't written for a while so I might be a little rusty, but I hope you all enjoy it anyways! x

No trigger warnings besides some light kisses! (Lmk if I forgot any.)

Rainy afternoons were never the brightest time for those in New Orleans.

The freezing cold, the shivering of finger tips, the multiple layers worn in hopes of being able to keep at least a little bit warm. It was always certainly a surprise when people realized that instead of the usual sunlight and humidity, it was going to rain.

So, what do those in New Orleans do during these miserable days? Well there's one of two things. Stay inside, bored half to death, or go find a nice place to have a cozy meal and settle down for the day. And what better place to go rather than Y/N's bakery?

That's the thought that Alastor thought of every day when these storms swept through New Orleans (and every usual day too.)

No rain, hail, nor shine could prevent him from leaving the studio on his lunch break to go check on his dearest wife who was slaving away in her bakery, and in the process of greeting her, he could never resist stealing one of her heavenly Beignets.

"Hello, anyone home?" Alastor spoke loudly, his radio voice on show as he entered the door. He watched as Y/N perked up from behind the counter after hearing the short chime of the door opening. "Hello, stranger." She laughed softly, standing up straight to brush off her dusty apron. It was adorned with pastry batter and powdered sugar from all the sweets made throughout the day, if anything it was just a sign of how hard she worked.

"Yes, I did prepare your Beignets darling." She admitted without a question needed, walking over to her husband to pass over a small brown paper bag, inside two hot Beignets showered perfectly with powdered sugar. They smelled divine, it was like heaven itself had been baked into two small pastries.

"Just how you like it." She nodded slightly, moving forward to kiss her husband's cheek nonchalantly.

"Thank you my dear, without you I fear I would starve!" Alastor laughed, looking at his wife with such a thankful and loving look plastered across his face. "You truly are such a darling when it comes to spoiling me."

"Only for New Orleans finest radio host." She said proudly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Alastor leaned forward, kissing her forehead softly for a moment before pulling away, smiling down at his gorgeous girl. "And only for New Orleans finest Beignet maker."

E/N: I'm tweaking I hate this. Am I still going to post it? Yes.

PLEASE don't be hesitant to send me some Alastor ideas or head cannons you'd like me to write. I really don't enjoy writing without a plot like this story, you can see the laziness within my work.

All dandy though, have a wonderful evening everyone!

- Weedie 🥀

[nylwnder]

muddy mess

a/n: hiiiiiiiiiiiiii my bbs!!!!!!!!! okay, i have made you guys wait so long for this and i honestly never expected this to end up at 6k?? didn't even know i am capable of such a word count but its all for uuuu guys!! i hope you love it as much as i loved writing it (even if it took me longer than i would have wanted, in which sorry pls forgive me <3 i hate uni) i added some suggestions from u guys (like making the reader latina again!). also yes, this is indeed the end of the smutty series and i absolutely loved this opportunity to be soooo slutty with you guys!!! dw, i have a lot of ideas still flowing and i can't wait to share that during the rest of 2025 :) enjoy whores!

pairing: william nylander x latina!reader 

warnings: SMUT!! oral (f! receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dog walker!reader, use of spanish (with translations in brackets), swearing, mutual pinning, just being lowkey obsessed with each other, pablo and banksy referred to as willy's kids (cause they are), beau mention!!!!! (my dog <333333)

word count: 6.3k

taglist:  @shoot-the-puck, @lukepangburn118 , @hawkeyefierce , @boqvistsbabe , @sweetiet , @p1tstop , @occasionallyaurora , @laurenairay , @fallinallincurls , @andrea9 , @dylpickle4791 , @biznastysloneshift12 , @dramatic-queen , @willianmylander

series masterpost 

the day was nice, one of the reasons why autumn was your favourite season. the air is a welcoming crisp, enough to wear a long sleeve or a lightly layered outfit, complimenting the bright and shining sun that grazed everyone’s faces. the city was bright with warm tones, the yellow and orange leaves littering the ground like a sunset. 

you had gotten ready in the morning to head to your first client, your only client, your favourite client. you hooked the leash on your own dog, beau, and headed out the door. walking to the apartment building you know all too well, welcoming yourself to the front desk per usual. 

once the elevator doors sprung open to the correct level, beau had made his way to the door in excitement. smelling through the crack and wagging his tail. cracking open the lock with your key, you’re met with your usual sight: three dogs greeting each other in pure joy. afterwards, the other two greet you with licks to any and all exposed skin. 

“hola chavalitos, ay si mi preciouso!” (hi kiddos, oh yes you cuties!!) you exclaim. 

you close the door behind you, as the pups run to the living room to continue saying hello. beginning to play with some toys while you grab the necessities for pablo and banksy. willy always left everything you needed neatly for you on a table everytime he left them for practice, a game or a road trip. you always appreciated his consideration, sometimes wasting far too much time trying to find a leash or a harness in a crowded mess with other clients.   

you call pablo and banksy over, kneeling down to get them all geared up while beau waits patiently beside them. “you are such good boys aren't you!” you smile, patting one before turning to set up the other. 

you must admit, you have never walked more well behaved dogs in your life. sure there was the odd excitement for a squirrel or an eager pull to the dog park, but never a hassle and always something you could manage. in all honesty, you didn't even really need the leashes, since william has accustomed them to behave perfectly fine without them. but for safety and formality, you chose to do so. 

that also meant you couldn't deny working full time for william, when he asked. with the way his schedule seemed to mesh perfectly with your life, not to mention the way beau had managed to bond with his adorably curly rascals—and william—it seemed like an easy decision. willy also made sure to meet up to expectations, to make sure it was worth it to invest all your time in him and his pups. sure, you would have done it for free, out of pure love and care for pablo and banksy… and william, but this was your job. your source of income for the moment. and will understood that. 

that also meant the butterflies and fuzzy feeling you felt whenever you would catch willy still in the apartment, fresh out of the shower, shirt nowhere to be seen and sweats hanging deliciously low around his waist, was to be pushed aside. and buried. deep, deep underground. 

you had to ignore the way your heart pounded a little faster and a little louder when his hand would gently touch your waist to catch your attention on a matter before he left. or the way his fingers would grace your own when he would take the boys’ stuff out of your hands. 

or hide the blush that laced your face when he would offer to hang out when he was back. or call you on his free days. you didn't have to say yes, maybe you really shouldn't have, to maintain a sense of independence and professionalism, but you said yes, because you wanted to. you wanted to so fucking bad. 

and you definitely had to stop feeling the small ounce of jealousy whenever you found a particular article of clothing that certainly belonged to a girl, scattered somewhere on the edge of the bed or near the back of the couch. not to mention, that one day you were met face to face by a girl in the kitchen, startled by your presence. you were about to explain yourself before william came out to introduce you to her. 

you could notice the way her eyes watched you with a layered sense of bothersome, and you couldn't help but smile. when she noticed the way william spoke to you, with joy and ease. words laced with love and gratitude. with the way he hugged you, in front of her, holding you against the stern build of his chest. his hands falling low, to the small of your back. he thanked you quietly and gently in your ear. not just for taking care of pablo and banksy, and loving them like him (if not more), but for being there for him. and with him. for making him smile. for being you. 

he did that often. 

—

you guys did your usual walk around the yorkville area. heading to the park and letting the boys roam around and enjoy their time together. you always stopped to let them smell and explore, it was their walk after all. 

you made it to the off-leash area, unhooking their leashes and closing the gate behind you, making sure no other pups escaped while you entered. the boys ran around, greeting other pups and engaging in playful games and fights. beau wasn’t too much of a social dog and easily gets overwhelmed, so after a few sniffs he makes his way back to you. he hops up on the bench that you were sitting and watching from. 

you gave him a few pets around the ears, “all done today, bubs? buen chico!” (good boy!) your phone then suddenly began to buzz in your pocket. 

standing up slightly to grab it, you see your mother’s picture on the screen. “hola mami” (hi mom) 

“mija, como estas?” (my daughter, how are you?) 

“bien mamá, estoy en el parque con los chuchitos. y tu y papi?” (i’m okay, just at the park with the dogs. how are you and dad?) 

“ay chavala, siempre estás en el parque, siempre con esos perros. cuando vas a encontrar un buen hombre mija, ah?” (you’re always at the park, and always with those dogs. when are you going to find a good man, huh?)

“mamá…” 

“william! siempre estás con ese william. y él? estás seguro de que solo cuidas a sus perritos?” (you’re always with william. what about him? are you sure you only take care of his dogs?)

“si, mamá. for the hundredth time, i'm just the dog walker.” 

“mhmm, y yo solo soy tu madre. y le has dicho que te gusta? no estoy diciendo que tengas que casarte con él mañana, pero—” (and i'm only your mom. have you told him that you like him? i'm not telling you to go marry him tomorrow but—)

“ay dios mío, mamá no estoy saliendo con william!” (oh my god, mom im not dating william!)

“entonces, por qué sientes que desearías estar saliendo con él? estoy segura de que a él también le gustas, nena.” (then why does it feel like you want to date him? i'm sure he likes you too, sweetie)

you play with your hair, standing up and turning to check on pablo and banksy, completely distracted by your mother’s interrogation. not like you should have been surprised, this isn't the first time. 

“okay. lo único que digo es que si no te arriesgas, el universo podría empujarte en la dirección correcta.” (im only saying, if you don't put yourself out there, the universe might just push you in the right direction)

“okay mamá, tengo que ir. te amo, cuidate.” (okay mom, i have to go. i love you, take care)

“te amo también, cariño. tu papá te llamará después del trabajo, vale?” (i love you too, sweetie. your dad will call you after work, okay?)

“okay, bye.”

only a single breath after your words, you find your foot slipping in a hidden patch of mud near a part of the fence. you go flying forwards, your phone tumbling down in front of you. you crunch the dry leaves on the floor and begin feeling the cold and moist ground under you. the dogs bark, coming to your face and sniffing all around you. banksy jumps on you, you gently push him down to allow yourself to get up as quickly as possible. 

this cannot be happening right now. 

groaning, covered in mud from knees to torso, you mumbled to yourself…“she cursed me”.

there weren’t many people inside the dog park at the time, that doesn’t mean you didn't feel a heavy wash of embarrassment flood over you. not to mention the fact that the people who did witness the accident didn’t offer a hand or ask if you were alright. perhaps because you leashed the dogs and left equally as quick as you fell. 

you walked all the way back to william’s apartment with a huge brown patch of dirt covering the entire front of your body. you kept your head low, and walked until you reached the comfort of the familiar sliding doors of the elevator. turning to look at the mirror behind you, you looked hilarious. 

the elevator opened and you unlocked willy’s door, letting the dogs free. you made sure to not step too far into the apartment, not wanting to make too much of a mess with your muddy shoes. you left them neatly in a corner, planning on cleaning them after you cleaned yourself up first. 

yes, you could have walked back to your apartment and gotten into your own shower. but you did not feel like walking another 10 blocks with eyes scattering towards you while you smelt like dog shit. because you did. since it probably was a mixture of both that you so beautifully chose to land on today.

william was supposed to make it home from a road trip sometime in the afternoon, so you knew you had time. plus, he had mentioned that you could use anything you wanted when you were over, “whatever you need” he assured you. anyways, you have stayed over at his place when he's been gone for long roadtrips, to ensure his boys eat well and are taken care of besides a walk. you knew the place like the back of your hand if you were being honest. hell, he’s even caught you singing to selena and dancing with the pups when he’s come home. 

did he join you? perhaps. he can't deny that he enjoyed the view. the domestic-ness of it all. it was always him & his dogs in the city they call home. but when was it going to grow by one? the one. 

that being said, you never actually used his shower before, going as far as stopping by at your own place to do anything like that. plus it allowed you to switch out the clothes you had packed. it was something you felt you should do, to establish those boundaries and solidify your professionalism. but right now, he would understand the situation that you were in. no, he wouldn't mind you assured yourself.

you walked into the bathroom, grabbing a plastic bag on your way over to put your clothes in so they wouldn’t dirty the floor. you got in, relishing in the welcoming drip of water, and awaiting the fresh and clean scent of soap. 

his body wash. it stood on the shelf before you grabbed it. the smell was intoxicating, as you poured it into your hands. it smelled like him everytime he passed by you after practice. everytime he left before a game. the days he's hugged you, the scent still lingering in his neck and his hair. 

it felt wrong. maybe you really should have gone home. but you were already in here. “its fine i’ll be done before he gets home.” you mumbled. 

clothes. what were you going to wear? no you couldn't possibly grab one of his hoodies and sweats. maybe you could put them in the washer. yes of course, thats what ill do… but what if he comes home by then? what will i wear? i’ll be naked!

you quickly scrubbed yourself clean, all over your legs and stomach, the dirt having transferred through your clothes and stained your skin. you could do this fast and he wouldn't even know you were in there. but then the door opened and you heard footsteps and waddles and happy whines coming from the dogs.

he's here. 

you heard him greet the dogs like usual, and could sense his figure getting closer towards the bathroom. he called out your name. 

ay dios mío, “in here!” 

“everything alright?” he asked, standing near a corner so that he couldn't see through his standing shower, respecting your privacy. 

“had a bit of a, um- muddy mess…” 

you heard him giggle, and you couldn’t help but feel a tad embarrassed again. he mentioned he saw your shoes at the door. 

“i’m sorry, i didn't really wanna walk all the way home like that. plus i'm pretty sure i fell in dog shit.” 

he shared a chuckle again. “that's okay, told you, whatever you need.”

you continued to rinse. “i’ll be done in a sec.” silence fell between the two of you but you could feel william hadn't moved from his spot. 

“do you want some help?” he asked. it could pass as a gentle, genuine and innocent question from the outside. but was it more layered than a friendly check in? oh most definitely. 

yes. yes. yes. “no i’m fine. i can manage.” 

another silence hit the air, but your mind was racing, and your mouth spoke before you had time to acknowledge that fact. 

“just, my clothes. need to wash them.” 

you heard the bag rattle from outside the shower. “could help if i rinse them under the water first” william says, tone calm and calculated. 

this between-the-lines conversation between the two of you was beginning to feel more real by the second. the feelings the two of you have for each other are beginning to get stronger and stronger. you didn't know how much longer you could rub it off. 

“is that okay?” he asked, the words like a spell lulling your rationality away. 

“yeah. thats okay.” more than okay. 

you hear a bit of shuffling before the shower door opens. your heart is racing, pounding in your ears. 

his eyes catch yours the second he makes his way inside. he makes sure to keep them there, never going down, not even if he wanted to. because he really wanted to. 

you're known to be such a poised person. presentable, confident and almost always at ease. but william makes you nervous, not like anything you’ve ever experienced. it's insane really. 

he inches closer to your figure, your clothes in his hand. you're backed up against the wall, noticing the way he's fully clothed. and the more he got closer to you the more his shirt started to get wet. and his pants and the ends of his hair. 

“willy” you mutter, soft and sweet. 

william had been fighting the urge to grab you by the hips and kiss you for two years now. a cruel amount of time really. “baby, can i?” he asks, quietly and gently. 

“mhmm” it comes out more whiney than you had anticipated. your composure completely lost. 

his lips connect with yours and they mold into each other like you’ve done it before. forming a rhythm together like it was habit. your hand dug into his hair, making a home at the nape of his neck. his body pressed into yours, your nipples hard against his cold wet shirt. you felt a shiver overcome you when his lips parted yours for a breath. 

“you pinche cabrón” (fucking asshole) 

“excuse me?” he asks playfully, with a smirk on his face. he knows the word, he's heard it plenty from you. 

“you made me wait that long?” you say, looking up and gaining a bit of your confidence back. 

“i made you wait? what about me?” he said, a smile on his face. 

“it's not my fault you didn't ask me earlier.”

“well i asked you now..” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in for another kiss. 

“you better show me what i've been missing for two years” you say against his lips, with a smirk.  

“oh älskling, you don't even know.” he says, looking down at you with his signature grin. you giggle back, god you're a sucker for him.  

he hangs your clothes over the gap of the shower door while you tug at his own. he pulls his shirt up and over his head looking down for the first time since he came in here. 

a part of him feels the need to look away, to give you your privacy, but as you stand there before him, your skin covered in water droplets, warm against his own, he can’t do anything but stare. he takes in the curve of your breasts and how the light coming into the shower softly hits your nipples. his hands feel their way down your body, caressing the curves of your hips. his hands continue making their way down, rubbing over your ass and squeezing the bottom of them. a hushed moan escapes you. 

“you're beautiful. truly beautiful.” he says, one of his hands reaching for the back of your head, making you look up at him and smile. blushing just a bit, you're not immune to his charm. you’ll never be. 

his finger comes up and wipes off a smudged mark of mud from your jaw. your fingers ache to reciprocate a touch, so you bring your hand to rake down his torso, feeling the tufts of hair that litter his chest all the way down to the lines that sculpt him. you can feel the heat radiating off of him, alluring and comforting. 

your fingers go for his pants button, willy looking down as you unbutton them and yank them down, along with his boxers. he helps kick them off, grabbing them and hanging them near your own. 

you really don’t know what else to do but stare. “bueno mierda” (well, fuck) you whisper subtly. 

he grabs your chin and tilts your head back up towards him, letting his lips meet yours once again. his arms wrap around your lower back, making you arch off the wall and press yourself against him. water fell through the cracks between the two of you. sliding over your body, you don't know how much it's masking the pool between your thighs.  

you try your best to buck your hips, trying to seek any friction against william, his cock getting hard against you making you spiral. sensing your neediness for a while now, he gives you one last kiss before making his way down, leaving a kiss between your boobs and one on the curved line below your stomach. you hear your heart beating in your ears again, equally as hard as the thud in your core. 

his mouth leaves a sloppy wet kiss right on your clit. “got such a pretty pussy, princess” 

“willy” you moan, he looks up at you with a smirk.

“what's wrong baby?” he asks sweetly, hands on the sides of your thighs. 

you give out a whimper, “please” 

“what do you want, älskling?” he wants to pry those words out of you.

“eat me.” por favor!!!!! 

“that's it, sweets.” he praises, not a single word said without that stupid smile. you keep feeling it against your folds, when his tongue licks a long stripe against your pussy. he groans at your taste doing it once again and again and again. you should be embarrassed by the way your thighs are shaking by his head, william in love with just how reactive you are to his touch. to him. 

“feel better, baby?” 

you internally scoff. “more” you mutter, jerking your hips. 

his smirk takes a bite out of your clit, rolling and sucking it. he moves back down, his tongue piercing your aching hole, his nose bumping into you, your eyes roll back. he was trying to be sweet, soft, gentle—he really was—but you, god, you drive him fucking crazy and all too quickly he's getting rough as he delivers hard sucks to your clit, mouthing at your pussy. your sweet sounds echoing in the small space, it's downright sinful that you could hear the way he's eating you out, even against the shower, the slurps and licks of a man starved ring in your ears.

his eyes flicker up to you to watch the way your face contorted in pleasure so gracefully. he's surrounded by your smell, the warmth of your thighs and your moans and he wouldn't want it any other way. you can't form a coherent thought, your mind is gone and all you can focus on is how good his tongue feels on you, how he eats you with such hunger, dedication and consideration no other man has taken the time to feed you. he lets you grind against his face, lets you use him for your pleasure.

“fuck!” you moan. the tight tug on his hair and your heavy breathing alerts william that you're close. moving his hands up to your hips, he pulls himself up, wasting no time to stick two fingers inside of you. you open your eyes and find his own, glowing with lust, and your lips part when you feel his cock lined up to your entrance, pushing in with one strong thrust. god, he slips all the way in. fills you up so full that you cry, stutter a sob, breath caught in the back of your throat. brain going cloudy, body melting into his and you question if this is real.

but then william grabs you by the ass to wrap your legs around his, pinning you to the cold tiled wall of the shower and you want his arms to keep you stable and grounded. one of his hands is glued to your side, the other kneading one of your breasts, pinching your nipple and making you bite your lip to suppress your moans. 

“you’re so tight, älskade” willy says, suppressing his own whimper. your walls contract around him as he speaks, as his mouth leaves kisses to your collarbone and teeth graze your pulse point. 

a few thrusts was all you needed. 

all you needed until a mumbling spanish mess escapes you. where your hands scratch into william’s shoulder and willy groans at the overwhelming grip you have on him, both inside and out. where your core is a warm and wet and snug nirvana. 

the water hitting you wakes you back up, helps you blink back into reality. held by your utopia, except the man in front of you is real this time, and not just the leading man of your dreams. the face you would pray for at a time you never thought that any of this could happen, that you could never be together.

you keep asking yourself what was that rule you felt you were breaking, when you look into his eyes now. sure, he was your employer, but what HR department can forbid this? when you are two grown adults in a mutual agreement with shared love for two poodle mixes. when the two of you bonded and understood each other more than some of the couples you would see out on the streets and at events. it wasn't pretend between the two of you. it never would be. how could it be? this is the realest thing that could be happening to someone. 

“been thinking about this the second i met you” he murmurs against your lips.

you whined again, pulling him closer with your arms, desperate for more. “then don’t stop”

his grin is contagious, you swear. and you can't help but giggle when he turns the water off and carries you all the way to the bed. throwing you gently on the mattress, letting his cock slip out of you momentarily. 

your wet curls flicker water droplets to your face and neck. william shakes his head and more fall off, each one falling on you. you’re a giggling mess, pushing him gently by the chest and telling him to stop. he shares a laugh, leaning in to kiss you for what seems like the millionth time in the past sequence you two have shared. and yet it's not enough. he needs more, to feel and taste every single crevice of you. love every single atom of your body.

his tongue licks the smeared wetness on your neck, leaving open mouth kisses on the droplets that remain untouched on your skin. your skin grows hot yet goosebumps appear one by one over your figure. the reaction your body has to him is confusing and exhilarating. william is caressing parts of yourself you hadn’t known existed, and each with little fuss. he moves, and you fall apart at the seams. he breathes, and you would crumble at his feet. he looks your way, and you are prepared to kneel at his altar. you get lost in the moment, in his mesmerizingly blue eyes and upturned mouth. 

he licks a stripe up your stomach and a shiver rolls over you. his mouth then attaches to one of your breasts and a gasp escapes you. he rolls it around in his mouth and sucks, reciprocating the action to the other one. your hand moves to the nape of his neck, sharing a light tug on the strands that sat there. “will” you whined, relishing in the movements of his mouth, however eager to feel him deep inside you again. 

“m’sorry sweets” he says, apologizing for his little sidequest. you were just so mesmerizing, he couldn't help but get distracted by you. you smile while he looks up at you. he grabs your hips and shifts you higher up the bed, so your head could lay near a pillow that he dragged down for you. 

he fits in between the slot of your open legs perfectly, leans down to greet your lips so swiftly, grabs the back of your thighs with grace and lifts them to sit on his shoulders with ease. “this okay, älskling?” 

“perfect” you reply, hands gripping his forearms tightly. slowly, he guides himself to your entrance again, rubbing the tip against your clit before swiping down and pushing in. he gives a good hearty thrust, making sure to bottom out, and your breath stutters. you will never get enough of the way he stretches you. 

your fingers move upwards on his arms, letting your nails gently graze him. you look up at him, memorizing every single crease and crevice on his body. he's licking his lips, watching the way your eyes explore him and your cheeks blush at him reciprocating the action. both of you engrossed by the idea of being together like this, while he's stuffed deep inside you, like your cum isnt all over his mouth and fingers and cock. 

will you two ever get enough of each other? no, you simply couldn’t. 

william leans into you more, feeling the way your thighs push into your body. his thrusts began to find a steady pace, one that feeds every single spongy part inside you. the sound of your pussy squelching fills your ears, followed by william’s soft moans, the grumble spilling into your open mouth as he lays a kiss. 

“goddamn sweets, hear how wet you are for me?”

a pathetic whine leaves your lips. the sounds coming from the two of you are so lewd but your toes curl and your head spins and your heart pounds and it's the best fucking feeling you have ever experienced in the world. 

you have never had a man take the time for you. make sure he reaches parts of your body that you weren’t even sure were there. now you know and you don’t ever want to go back.

“cariño” you moan, yanking at the chain that sits around his neck. you pull him down to you, biting down on his lips as you clench around and you hear a whimper escape him. 

the effect he has on you is the same as you have on him. the way you look up at him, with so much love and appreciation. like he is capable of giving you everything you have ever wanted, his heart cant help but swell. he cant help but make sure you feel that love back, cause fuck do you deserve it more than him sometimes. for everything you have ever done for him, for being undeniably you every single fucking day and giving him the priveledge to witness that as close as he has. he's been enamoured by you for so long, he didn't know what to do for much longer if he couldn't have you. 

as both your needs become more demanding, his hips begin to slap against yours. moans and whines slip past your lips before you can even begin to try and stop them, and you cry out as he continues to speed up. the noises he is drawing from your body are embarrassing if you didn't adore the way he feels inside of you to the point that you can think of nothing else. you wish to be like this as much as you can, full to the brim with his cock.

he begins to twitch inside you the more you begin to tighten around him. he even felt it hard to exit you with the way you squeezed him so hard, like you feared he would leave and never come back. he has never felt this deliciously overwhelmed. 

not too long after, you feel a warmth calm the pressure in your stomach, both of you having a sense of heavenly pleasure wash over you, one you both only dreamed of sharing together. one william would wake up in the morning to, cock hard and sore against his boxers. like he didn't have to act normal around you when you came to pick up the kids, but his cheeks couldn’t help but blush. 

“attagirl” he whispers in your ear, as you take all of his cum with open legs in one single final thrust. you blush at the feeling, at his words, at the fact that he has marked you, a silent call that you are his and he is yours and there's no looking back. 

he slides out of you, letting your legs fall slowly to the sides and wrapping his arms around your back, arching you off the bed and pulling you to sit in his lap. he moves the two of you so that he can sit against a pillow and his headboard. your lips connect with his, kissing as your conjoined cum begins to drip out of you and into william’s lap. 

you look back to see, and begin to feel a little shy, a ball of butterflies forming in your stomach, the ones that frequently visit you when you’re around will. you tuck your face into his neck scooting closer to him, wrapping your legs around his form. “you're so hot, baby” willy says, knowing his praise will make you feel less embarrassed by the crude site. 

little does he know his praise makes you all the more needy. 

you feel a desire deep in your core again, and you grind your wet pussy against his softening cock—a surge of confidence has come back to you. 

he gives out a little moan into your hair, hands moving to your hips where he squeezes. “you want more, älskade?” 

you bite your lip, “is that okay?” you can't get enough of him, sue me! you think to yourself. 

“i thought you'd never ask” he replies with a smirk, and you can't help but giggle back. 

you place your hands on his thick shoulders, letting yourself slide down onto him. both of you gasped, he went in so easy with your conjoined juices still around your walls. you rested there for a second, leaning your head back with a moan. you feel william twitch inside you, more sensitive to your core than before. 

“you’re so pretty like this,” willy mutters, slotting his lips over yours, “stuffed with my cock.”

“oh my god,” you quiver, shaking your head, begging for him to just shut up cause he’s making you lightheaded. he’s so deep inside of you, hitting that spot so far back that you so deliciously discovered today. his cock keeps twitching every now and then, forcing a pout onto your lips as he looks at you. you haven’t even moved and you feel so fucking close already.

you begin to roll your hips around, letting his pubic bone rub your clit every time you grind down. willliam’s hands move up your sides, cupping your boobs as they sway with your movements. he shares a whimper at the sight, as you start bouncing on him. though it isn’t much longer before your thighs begin to shake, already inching closer to that sweet release. 

willy wraps his hands around your frame, tightly pressing you into him as he lays down and thrusts up into you. you whimper repeatedly, body instinctively tightening, and he groans roughly, as if the way you clamp down around him is testing every last ounce of his control. 

as william’s thrusts get faster, they also get sloppier. he’s insanely pussydrunk and the only thing going through his mind is you. your name, how good you feel, how pretty you look. you're biting his neck as he pumps into you, sure you're seeing stars as the divine sting between your legs continues. 

you both don’t seem to last long, getting lost in each other once again. willy’s hand is in your hair, digging his fingertips deep into your scalp and yanking just a bit. his own thighs stutter and shake a bit as he cums into your already drenched cunt again. your pussy makes sure to milk every last drop from him as you needily bite another mark into his neck. you’ve wanted to mark him for so long now. 

now you can.

—

you lay against his pillows, the aftershocks still honey-sweet where they thud in your core. your legs still recovering from their jelly-like state as you have them sprawled out. william’s head resting on your propped up thigh. looking up at you while you played with his hair. he reciprocated the tender affection by rubbing small circles on your other thigh. 

he looked at you in awe. proud that he finally had succumbed to his love for you. that he didn't have to keep holding back, telling himself he couldn’t touch you, or kiss you, or spend every waking moment with you. that you didn't have to go home and leave him every time. he couldn’t stop thinking about you since the moment you were mentioned as an avid dog lover by his teammates, a recommended nanny for his boys. he couldn’t get over the way pablo and banksy were so loving and friendly with you on your first meeting and every single one thereafter. the way they would wait for you every single time. 

you are the one.

“when do you have to go?” you asked. 

“like 4 hours or so…” you liked that answer, smiling and running your hands through his hair again. even so, it wasn’t enough. this was your first taste of intimate, domestic life with willy. you didn't want to let go of it yet…. dreaming of staying in this apartment with him, not leaving until you’re left weak in the knees, reaching unwritten orgasm records. just all of it, you want all of it.

“can you wait till the very last minute?” 

“come with me. wear the jersey i got you and come with me.” the jersey in mention obviously being his own. you wore it to a game already once, and felt the tension with him when he came over to greet you after the game, the way his eyes hit yours and his hands lingered around you and the way his jaw seemed strained and tight every time he would see his name written on your back. you went home incredibly flustered that night, that you can admit.

“i can finally do what i was dying to do last time.” he says mischievously, your pussy throbbed at the thought. a thought you had since that night, and one your pathetic fingers couldn't have possibly held up to. 

“hm, but i was going to invite mi papa,” you joked, your purposeful mood killer. seeing the way he rolled his eyes and huffed. “he would love to see you, he loved the game last time.”

“another day, i promise. just not tonight, please.” he says, grabbing you by the hips and bringing you down the bed to reach eye to eye. his cock now tucked against your thigh, semi-soft. 

“fine, but he would have loved to see you guys fuck the bolts.” you both giggle. 

“you better win, by the way. or no extracurricular activities like you have planned out in that head.” 

“is that a threat?” his grin unsurprisingly present.

“you bet on it” you inch closer to his face, words spoken against his lips. “necesitas ganártelo, cariño.” (you need to earn it, honey) william understands your challenge.

“well i will, you can mark my words.” he says, giving your plushy hips a squeeze. his lips envelope yours in a series of kisses, arms wrapping around his neck. 

maybe this would have happened eventually—once you both stepped over this nonexistent barrier between the two of you—but god are you grateful that being covered in shit brought you to this bliss. 

…maybe your mom was right after all.

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[eevees-hobbies]

Hello my beloved. I know you are very backed on requests but I am thinking perverted thoughts rn and wanted to share. I am thinking about Suo’s girlfriend. And how he likes to share her with his friends. How do you think the Furin boys would each react getting 1 minute each with the her/1 minute each to get her to cum. And how do you think Suo would react?

Author’s Note: Hey, Violet! Thanks for letting me continue the, “Suo and his girlfriend are kinda kinky” universe thing I got going on! I love your mind for even thinking about something so torturous! I know I could have made this into a thirst, but you know I’m always on my bullshit.

Content Warning: Fem!Reader experiences Haruka Sakura, Akihiko Nirei, and Toma Hiragi but separately and in different ways :) Sexual activities with an audience (i.e. your boyfriend). Girlfriend sharing. Edging. Fingering. Singular Mention of Breeding. Cursing. Teasing. Suo’s turned on, and I fear for you but that’s for part two for another day. Minors Don’t Interact.

Word Count: 2.9K

Divider by Saradika. Banner by me.

“Isn’t the game called ‘7 Minutes in Heaven?’” You growl through clenched teeth.

The scene set forth in front of you would be considered absurd and debauched by ordinary standards—but you and your boyfriend, Suo, are anything but ordinary. 

A melody of skin slapping against skin, groaning wood straining under the weight of bodies, and primal grunts are the only sounds that echo through the open space you all occupy.

Suo, Nirei, Sakura, and yourself are on the empty roof that houses Umemiya’s garden with only each other and the various plants bearing witness to your sins. You’re panting as you straddle Sakura in a simple, wooden chair commonly used to keep the rooftop door ajar. His hands are gripping the love handles of your pelvis as he pistons his hips upward into your sopping wet–but abused–cunt.

Suo is standing nearby with a stopwatch—his choice of instrument serves as dramatic flair since the timer on his phone would be far more convenient. His eyes dart between the descending countdown displayed on the electronic watch face and back to you, the woman who holds his obsession and love.

He can’t help but think of you as beautiful in this moment, his eyes crawling all over every exposed inch of your naked body as you engage in a lurid affair with Sakura. 

His eyes flicker to various parts of you that have him entranced; his friend's dick continuously impaling your pussy, and the way you’re hanging on to Sakura for dear life as he fucks you with one mission in mind: to win. And the stakes have never been higher. The prize for whoever can make you cum gets to fuck you however they want, for however long, and cum inside of you. That prize? All your idea.

Oh, right, you had asked a question. 

“Yes, you’re right. The game is commonly called 7 Minutes in Heaven, but did you really want Sakura to fuck you for seven agonizingly long minutes, Dove? He can’t even make you cum now.”

Sakura, emboldened by Suo’s words, grits his teeth and thrusts into you harder. His thighs are burning from the continuous motion, but he refuses to think about it—no pain, no gain, or whatever they say. His increased intensity makes you bounce faster and grip his shoulders so you don’t tumble out of the rickety, wooden chair. 

Sakura sucks in as much air as his lungs will allow to fight off the looming and genuine threat of passing out. “H-how much time do I got?”

At that moment, Suo presses a button on the stopwatch.  “Times up! Nirei, would you like to try again?” 

Sakura goes limp in the chair, and your body sits flush against him, hilting his hard dick within yourself, so very close to the spot that would have made your eyes water if he had taken a different approach to his strokes. 

Suo shoots you his notorious closed-mouthed smile in the interim of Sakura trying to wrangle his heartbeat and Nirei trying to find his courage. Who knew his dove was so good at getting fucked by his friends? 

You huff, and your body shakes, but adrenaline and spite keep you from showing any other signs that you might be tapping out soon. 

Truth be told, you’re fucking tired. You’ve been going at this for ten minutes without even so much as a single orgasm. And ten minutes may not sound like a long time, but ten minutes of start-and-stop action has you feeling so frustrated that you might grab the nearest boy by the neck and throw them off the roof. 

Five minutes between Sakura and Nirei, and neither can make your body writhe and coil into absolute fucked out bliss? It’s maddening. It’s pathetic. It’s—Fuck, maybe Suo’s touch has ruined you.

Nirei, despite feeling like this is a losing game, can’t refuse the opportunity to have a turn with you again. He can admit that his first few attempts were lackluster; chivalry got the best of him, and he only ended up kissing you, hands shyly playing with your breasts with his face buried in the crook of your neck. 

And while the experiences were good for him—so good that he has tucked the memory away for those especially frustrating lonesome nights—he hung his head in shame as Sakura and Suo snickered to themselves when the watch signaled that his time was up.

“D-don’t start the clock yet! She’s still on top of Sakura,” he whines as he looks back at Suo.

Sakura lifts you off his dick, allowing you to shimmy away so he can remove himself from the chair.

Nirei approaches the hot seat again, determined to give it his all. Still, as he walks past Sakura, his eyes finally connect with yours—those beautiful eyes that say you’ll eat him whole and then regurgitate him back up because he isn’t worth your time—and he almost turns around. 

“Fuck, why is this so hard,” Sakura grumbles; his tone is more accusatory than you think is fair, considering that you’re the one who’s suffering the most. 

How is his inability to make you cum your fault? You return the same scowl he’s giving you.“Don’t blame me, Sakura! Your technique needs some work.”

“Tch. Not my fault you’re broken.” Sakura folds his arms over his chest. 

“Now, now, don’t fight, kids. Nirei wants a turn again.”

As you sit back in Nirei’s lap, he looks at you, golden-brown eyes shining, and you almost feel bad for him that this was probably his first time being so intimate with a woman, but the thought seems inconsequential as he looks up at you as though you’ve blessed him personally just by sitting naked in his lap. 

“C-can I suck your nipples?” 

You smile and lean into him until your lips are against the blonde's ear, “you can do whatever you want to me, cutie.”

Nirei’s thighs immediately clamp shut, and his hands shoot to your waist and squeeze you, a low, shakey whimper passing beyond his lips.

Suo laughs incredulously, “Did she almost make you cum? You better watch that pretty tongue of hers; it can set you off if you aren’t careful. Time starts now.”

With the added vigor of someone who has something to prove, Nirei’s mouth latches onto your nipple and suckles. And sure, it feels okay, but it could feel sooooooo much better. 

“You can suck harder, Nirei, it’s ok.”

Suo raises his eyebrow at your instruction. He knew you were enjoying this, but helping them win? Devious. 

Nirei gets more aggressive with the sensitive bud in his mouth, his teeth rolling it around until it perks up and hardens between them. You let out an intentionally dramatic, sensual moan while making direct eye contact with Suo.

You begin to rock your hips against Nirei, dragging your wet cunt against the pitched tent in his boxers, “Oh, Nirei, that feels amazing, baby.”

The blonde moans, his brow furrowing with a mouthful of breast and his cock painfully hard for you. 

You run your hands through his hair and arch your back, his jaw practically needing to dislocate to take your entire tit into his mouth. But god is he determined to cover every last inch of your breasts in his saliva; his hand reaches up, and grabs a fistful of your ass and squeezes.

Suo’s eyes narrow at your attempt to get a reaction out of him. He almost feels bad for Nirei, but not that bad since the lucky bastard had a massive tent in his underwear.

“Times up.”

Your head snaps up, suddenly brought out of whatever the fuck was happening right now, “I didn’t hear the timer go off?”

“Too busy enjoying yourself, I suppose,” Suo offers a simple shrug as though he didn’t just crush Nirei’s dreams.

You open your mouth in protest but are quickly stopped by an unmistakable sound: the door leading to the rooftop scraping against the floor as it’s pushed open.

You all, including Suo, share a panicked look. 

“What in the hell is going on here?”

Hiragi pauses as his eyes land on the four of you. “W-what?” 

He’s taking it all in—you, naked as the day you were brought into this world, surrounded by Suo and Sakura as you dry hump Nirei.

Hiragi immediately turns around to shield his eyes from your nudity, but that doesn’t stop his booming voice from sounding any less imposing. 

“Someone better explain, now!”

The boys glance at each other, sharing silent glances, willing the other to speak first. 

Cowards. 

You sigh and speak up, “We’re playing a game. Whoever can make me cum in one minute gets, um..a prize.”

“Aren’t you all too old to be doing something so ridiculous??”

You all blink because that sounded rhetorical?

“And why on the roof?!”

Ok, that was a question that requires a response. 

Suo shrugs, “it was unlocked, and Umemiya is on vacation. I mean, this was spontaneous and started harmless.” 

You glance at the stopwatch in Suo’s hand which is still blinking at 0:00 on the screen. Spontaneous? What a liar.

“We weren’t planning-“

Hiragi holds his hand in the air, “Stop! Talking! How do we get you idiots off the roof?”

You can see the cogs turning in Suo’s head—of course, he would love this—it’s right up his depraved alley. Suo’s eyes travel over to yours, and a wicked smile spreads across his face, “Make Y/N cum.” 

And despite how batshit crazy this is, you swallow thickly, bite your lip and give a nod.

Hiragi sighs, walking over to you while rubbing the bridge of his nose. He can’t help but pity you as he looks past his fingers. Your eyes are practically rabid, obviously chasing an orgasm that Sakura and Nirei can’t give you. 

But damn, you look good like this. Hair plastered to your forehead, lips, and nipples swollen from all the abuse, eyes churning with something that makes him wary but turned on at the same time; you look too good to be left like this. 

Hell, you look good enough to breed.

Fuck, Toma, focus. 

Hiragi can’t believe he’s considering doing this—putting his hands on someone else’s girlfriend on top of a roof in front of the idiots he used to mentor. 

But the more he lists the reasons he shouldn’t be doing this, the more likely he’s to talk himself out of this, and god, does he not want to talk himself out of it. “One minute?”

“One minute,” you and Suo say in unison.

Suo has never had a problem with sharing you—with stipulations. He likes sharing you with his friends; they can’t even fathom how voracious you truly are. Your body is so conditioned to his touch that it takes a considerable amount of technique to make you cum—let alone truly reach that sexual high he often gives you. 

And you may wonder, “what does Suo get out of this?” It has nothing to do with Sakura or Nirei; it has everything to do with the fact that when you come back to him, so desperate to cum, that you’re practically clawing at his clothes, begging him to mercilessly use your greedy little cunt. 

And he’s certainly never been intimidated by Sakura or Nirei because they didn’t know they were in over their heads when they took on this challenge, but Hiragi? Hiragi might be a problem. 

You, however? You can feel your clit twitching at the idea of Toma Hiragi, the Heavenly King Toma Hiragi, attempting to get you to cum in one minute. And just like Suo, something tells you he can do it. 

“Show me how you’ve fingered girls at those metal shows you go to, Hiragi.”

And there you go, right out the fucking gate. 

“That’s…you have a mouth on you.”

“She does,” Suo chimes in, his gaze dreamy as he can’t help agreeing aloud.

“Fucking match made in heaven with you two then. Start the clock.”

Nirei, who was trying to be as invisible as possible, flails under you. “G-guys, I’m still under her?!”

“Don’t worry. I won’t need long.”

And it’s that self-confidence—Hiragi’s confidence in his ability to make you cream in the palm of his hand that was the start of your undoing. 

Suo begins the timer, and Hiragi’s hand glides in between your thighs, two fingers already zeroing in on your sensitive clit and rubbing the fleshy bud with wide, quick circles. He watches intensely as your mouth goes slack and your eyes roll back immediately. 

It’s almost funny; he doesn’t know how long you’ve all been on the roof, but whatever the boys were doing to you obviously wasn’t working. He can tell by how wound-tight you are; being teased over and over with no release is torture, and the way your hips are bucking against two of his fingers pressed against your clit remain a clear indication that you were tired of that edging bullshit. 

Your eyes go wide, and your core immediately tightens; you haven’t felt this good since this morning when Suo had you cumming on his fingers in the shower, which feels like eons ago. 

“Filthy mouth but a sweet pussy,” Hiragi mumbles as he uses his other hand to dip two fingers inside of you. You buck your hips and let out a moan that practically sounds like a laugh because fuck, finally, some dirty talk!

“Mmm, the sweetest pussy, Hiragi. Wanna taste?”

The corner of his lip twitches upward. Who the fuck is this forward girl? Have you always been like this, and he hadn't noticed? 

“We only have a minute, babe, and I’d much rather take my time treating you right. Maybe another time.”

Your pussy is gulping at his fingers, sucking them in so good for him. He can only imagine the way you’d gulp down his dick, and it makes his cock strain against his skinny jeans. 

“You needed this, huh, baby girl?”

“Needed this so baaaad!” You’re bouncing back onto Hiragi’s fingers, his large frame standing near you so you don’t feel like the chair could topple over. And fuck, even if it did, you’d climb back on his fingers and ride them right on the ground if you had to.

Nirei, still pinned beneath you as Hiragi finger fucks you, lets out a small yelp as your breasts bounce in his face.

“N-no interference.” Suo’s voice is low as he watches you fuck Hiragi’s fingers. Something in his brain is firing off on all cylinders. As he watches your face contort into pleasure, eyes closed and mouth in the cutest ‘o’ shape, he can’t help but grunt as his dick begins to ache. He so desperately wishes it were his fingers you were slutting out on. 

Hiragi continues to pump his thick fingers into your cunt, “You boys did a good job, but sometimes it takes a special touch to get them over the edge, ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

You’re practically mewling as Hiragi rubs your slick bundle of nerves, your pussy squeezing around his digits as your cunt personally thanks him for stuffing you full. 

“There she is. There’s the spot, right baby girl? Look at you dripping like a fucking faucet.”

He’s not even pulling his hand back enough to fully pull his fingers out, they’re buried so deeply inside you, and he’s pushing into you so hard, and fast you can feel his knuckles against your cunt’s lips. 

You dig your nails into Nirei’s shoulder as Hiragi’s words and expert touch finally careen you over the edge. Clear droplets ooze down his hand and wrist, splattering onto Nirei’s thigh. And as Hiragi removes his finger, the remnants of your clear cum that were being plugged in by his fingers drip down like honey cascading from a honeycomb.

Nirei shives, “O-oh god.”

Sakura suddenly shouts, out of breath for some reason, “Not fair! We did all the work!”

Hiragi eyes your drooling pussy one last time, hoping to commit the sight of it to memory in case he never gets the chance to look at it again.“Get off the roof, idiots.”

As Hiragi walks towards the door, Suo’s eyes can’t stop looking at the thick cream coating his fingers and palm. As Hiragi lifts the digits to his mouth, licking them clean before descending down the stairs, Suo feels his jaw clench. He’s not upset that you just came on Hiragi’s hands; no, he’s upset that something so mouth-wateringly precious to him isn’t on his tongue. 

While you catch your breath from the orgasm, the stopwatch beeps, signaling that Hiragi–who is already out of sight–won.

Nirei lifts your arm so he can slide out from underneath you. “I-I’m going to leave, guys,” he turns to you and gives you an awkward bow. “T-thank you for letting me, uh..”

Sakura clamps a hand down on his shoulder. “Just stop.” 

As they get dressed and leave, you also begin to gather your clothes; you stop as your hand reaches for your panties, which are strung across a tomato plant. The air feels unmistakably tense, and you understand why as you look over your shoulder. 

Suo is using the chair to jam the roof of the door closed. “You and I aren’t done here. Put those panties on and you’ll regret it.”

And the way his ruby-toned eye is looking at you, you believe him.