#HE NOW HAS TO JUST PULL HIS MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 6

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samoyed (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts/personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; slow-burnish; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff/domesticity; humour; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Mind the warnings for each chapter!)

☁ ccc; masterlist

It’s barely seven in the morning and Simon is already on his third steaming cup of black tea after yet another night of barely any sleep, where he instead indulged in his most primal urges for the first time in what felt like ages.

Two more times he��d done it after his steely resolve had crumbled at last. His balls feel lighter than ever but his cock, now sore and more sensitive to the slightest touch, makes him wince and clench his teeth whenever it chubs against the fabric of his underwear.

Worse than that though—it’s a reminder of what he’s done, just as much an evidence of him losing control of himself as his cum-stained hoodie still neatly folded and hidden behind a couch cushion until he’s able to bury it between his other dirty laundry.

He hasn’t thought about it before, but when the door to his bedroom creaks open, announcing that you’re awake, Simon becomes all too aware of the heavy, gut-wrenching knot of guilt now lodged in his intestines. How the bloody hell is he supposed to look you in the eyes after what he’s done?

When the sound of your bare feet padding along the floor reaches his ears, Simon doesn’t know what to do, how to behave, and he quietly curses Price, curses the brass, and curses the whole bloody universe again for continuously putting him in situations out of his control and comfort zone. He didn’t ask for any of this, doesn’t want to end up treating you like everyone else previously has—though he certainly didn’t ask for you like they obviously did.

“Good morning, Simon,” you chirp entering the kitchen, your voice still husky from sleep in a way that makes his hackles raise like a mutt’s.

Lifting his tea up to his lips, he mutters a gruff mornin’ into the black ceramic mug, not bothering to face you yet. He clucks his tongue, suddenly feeling like he owes you an explanation. “Didn’t ah–Didn’t know if ya eat breakfast, so I… didn’t make any.” Bloody Christ, Simon thinks, I just sound fucking daft at this point.

“I do like to eat breakfast,” you reply with a soft chuckle and he nearly jumps like a skittish kitten when your arm comes around him to rest low on his hip, your warm palm pressing lightly to urge him to move aside, away from the stove—your touch scorching his skin even through the fabric of his sweatpants.

Simon moves stiffly like a robot, grip tightening around his mug while he grits his teeth and wills his blood from rushing south again. So goddamn sensitive, he bites the tip of his tongue, afraid he might groan if he doesn’t stop himself.

“How did you sleep?�� you ask casually enough to pull his mind out of the gutter as he finally manages to look at you while you continue talking. “I slept fine, but your bed is… oof… something else.” As if to emphasize your slight discomfort, you lift your arms and clasp them together above your head, stretching thoroughly with a yawn while your sleepshirt—still his bloody shirt—rides up high, exposing the front of your white cotton panties—and just like that, he loses control again, glances down, and gets a full view of the thin fabric perfectly moulding itself to your mound.

Simon curses under his breath, and right then, he fears he might faint from how fast his blood is rushing down to his cock. He grits his teeth, slams his mug down on the counter hard enough to make you flinch, causing you lower your arms at once while your ears flatten at the loud noise.

“Yeah, it’s… shite,” he rumbles in reply, furiously ignoring the questioning look in your doe-eyes, the furrow of your brows coming from the fear that you might have done something wrong again—it makes his mind cloud with anger and disappointment at himself, but it’s not enough to quench the throbbing arousal building deep in his gut.

“…‘scuse me,“ he mutters gruffly, already pushing past and fleeing from the kitchen before you can begin to say another word to him, though he can feel your eyes staring at his back as he retreats, internally cursing his cock currently straining in his pants again.

Shame seems to follow him throughout the day—whenever he catches sight of you, it turns out, and the flat that seemed perfect while he was alone, seems even smaller now that you’re here. There is nowhere to hide. You’ve marked your territory too well at this point, he figures, when he walks into his bedroom and finds your scent clinging to his bed sheets.

Subtle yet sweet like candied fruits with a hint of your natural musk—and his pupils blow like a shark catching a whiff of fresh blood in the depths of the ocean.

A shiver goes through the entirety of his spine, the phantom sensation pooling at his tailbone—uncomfortably familiar whenever he gets particularly excited or agitated—and a horrific reminder of what he is and which abhorred parts of him you bring forward so easily.

Eventually, he picks up his pillow and glances over his shoulder, guilt already clawing inside his chest while he listens to you still cooking breakfast in the kitchen, blissfully unaware of his degeneracy, before he takes a cautious sniff, then buries his nose deeper into the soft fabric before he finally smushes his whole face into it with a low, guttural groan.

His cock throbs harder in his briefs, painfully sensitive now, and his fingers twitch with restraint, digging harder into his pillow as if short from ripping it apart, when he feels the meagre excuse of a knot at the base of his shaft begin to swell, too.

Synapses start firing in his brain and something ancient awakens in himself—a primal instinct that urges him to possess, and protect, and claim you. It makes his gums and canines itch with the need to bite, makes him snarl into the pillow while his mouth starts to salivate, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the tiny, still normal part inside his brain screams at him to get a bloody grip!

It’s your melodic voice cutting through the fog in his brain that drags him out of his pathetic frenzy. He drops the pillow haphazardly, cheeks flushing and shoulders heaving as he tries to control his ragged breathing.

“Simon? Breakfast is ready if you’d like some,” you call out again, all soft and unsure, causing Simon to hate himself even more fiercely.

Simon enters the kitchen with his mask of stoicism fixed in place and his boner gone once more, though the scent of you, all warm and sleepy, keeps lingering in his nostrils, taunting him. It mixes with the mouth-watering aroma of a proper English breakfast and a fresh mug of tea next to the perfectly arranged plate—for him. You’ve cooked for him, again. He didn’t ask for this, didn’t have to, and you did it anyway.

When he sees you standing in front of the sink, scrubbing a pan in soapy dishwater, still only clad in his shirt while the morning sunshine peaks through the kitchen window and casts you in a soft, golden glow, it’s a vision of unfamiliar domesticity that makes his chest feel tight and his mouth go dry with emotions he dares not to name.

The chair scrapes over the floor as he pulls it back before taking a seat and staring down at the plate. His stomach growls on cue and Simon’s eyes flicker up to glance at your back again, noticing how your tail lifts the tattered shirt up, exposing your rear to him without a single care in the world—as if he wasn’t just a stranger to you, but a man you trust already.

And in this moment, Simon Riley makes a secret vow to himself.

“Thank you,” he says, meaning it genuinely, and he expects you to turn around, to flash one of your warm smiles at him, but you don’t though the light wagging of your white tail is telling enough.

Catastrophe strikes, when Simon returns home from the base gym in the early evening, secretly hoping for another homemade dinner, but finding his flat eerily quiet and cold instead.

The sun has already set and the temperature along with it. His thick hoodie clings to him like a second skin despite the sweaty tac shirt he’s wearing underneath, and with his balaclava still securely in place, he lets his gym bag drop to the ground, leaving it by the front door after locking it behind him.

His footsteps are measured and silent as he stalks into his living room—only to find it empty with a heavy sigh.

Did you leave while he was gone? No, highly unlikely. You know that’s against the rules, against the bloody hybrid law, actually. Simon shakes the thoughts from his head, ignores the tiniest flutter of panic in his chest and decides to simply call out your name instead—like a big boy.

“Since when are ya hidin’ from me?” he quips uncharacteristically, having pictured you greeting him with a wagging tail and sparkling eyes when his mind had slipped again on his short walk from the gym to the apartment complex, though he’s reluctant to even admit it to himself.

When he finally finds you, Simon freezes in the doorway to his bedroom, blood running cold with a whole-body shiver while his eyes widen comically behind the safety of his mask at the sight that greets him.

He’s been through hell and back multiple times, has witnessed—and done—the most horrific shite in both his military career and cursed childhood, and yet none of it could’ve prepared him for this.

You, sitting at the end of his bed right across from him, clutching his  painfully obvious cum-stained hoodie from last night against your quivering chest like it’s something precious instead of his despicable dirt, fat crocodile tears shimmering in your eyes as they flicker up to meet his.

For once in his life, since crawling out of his own grave, Simon Riley is too stunned to speak.

Why? Why? Why?! Why are you doing this to me?

“Simon,” you sniffle pathetically, sitting there clad in your pretty white knit dress. “Simon, do you–do you h-hate me?”

All air rushes from his lungs with a harsh exhale as if punched in the chest at the sound of your meek voice asking him this. Hate you? Bloody hell, he really should.

However, his mouth merely opens and then closes with something akin to a choked complaint, though it’s muffled by the black cloth covering his face. He’s thankful for it as he feels the searing heat of embarrassment creep up and settle on his cheekbones.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses under his breath before lunging forward in a fit of panic to snatch his hoodie out of your grip while his heart thumps violently against his ribcage. “Gimme that!”

You let out a high-pitched whine and duck your head submissively as he towers over you briefly, but Simon ignores your reaction in favour of his own quick retreat—not a Special Forces soldier but a coward falling back in this very moment as he swiftly turns to leave again, get as much space as he can; clutching the fabric tightly so he won’t end up punching a wall on his way out—and potentially scare you even worse.

Shame sinks and settles deep into his bones along with the freezing cold engulfing his flushed body once he steps out into the darkness, leaving the apartment complex behind him after throwing the wretched fabric into the nearby rubbish skip next to the large building.

Rucking his balaclava up over his nose, he puts a cigarette between his cracked lips and lights it methodically before taking a greedy drag on his way over to HQ—your file now safely tucked under his left arm.

[xoxolaw]

+ I'M HERE

in which he finds his girlfriend all beaten up in an alley.

YEON SI EUN X READER

hurt/comfort

The alley was quiet except for the soft dripping of leftover rain, water trailing from gutters like veins down the brick walls. The sky was bruised purple with the fading of daylight, the city already pulling on its night cloak.

Yeon Si Eun didn’t mean to walk down this way.

He was heading home, earbuds in, half-listening to a lecture he’d already memorized. His mind was elsewhere—maybe on the pop quiz scheduled for next week, maybe on the way her voice had sounded this morning when she told him she'd be fine walking alone. Dismissive. But kind.

He hadn’t liked it.

He should’ve insisted. Should’ve gone with her.

It wasn’t guilt that made him look down the alley. It was instinct. A flicker of movement at the edge of his vision—like something out of place. His feet stopped before his mind caught up.

There was someone curled near the dumpster. Slumped. A shape far too still. Then he saw the flash of a white sneaker—one he knew.

Then the hoodie.

Then the hair.

Then—her.

His body moved before his thoughts. The world narrowed into sharp lines and cold metal panic.

“Y/N?” he breathed.

No response.

The moment he knelt beside her, everything inside him sank. Her skin was scraped raw, one side of her face swollen, a thin trail of dried blood lining her lip. Her knuckles were cut, knees scuffed like she’d tried to run or fight or crawl away. Her hands were trembling.

Her breath caught. She flinched.

And Si Eun? He froze.

“It’s me,” he said, gentler now. “Si Eun. You’re okay. You’re not alone.”

Her head turned slightly. “Si… Eun…?”

The second her eyes found his, he couldn���t breathe. Not because she looked hurt. But because she looked so small. So unlike her usual self—bright, sharp, confident in ways he could never put into words.

Someone had taken that from her. And they were still walking around.

He blinked, and his hand reached out carefully, brushing damp strands from her forehead. She was cold. Shaking.

“Come here,” he whispered.

---

He wasn’t sure how he got her home. He remembered carrying her out of the alley, flagging a cab with a voice he barely recognized as his own. He remembered her weight pressed into his side, her grip tight around his sleeve like she thought he’d disappear. He remembered promising the driver money he didn’t even have if he just drove faster.

And now—

Now she was in his room.

She sat hunched in his desk chair, hoodie still clinging to her shoulders, legs drawn in. Her breathing was shallow, and her eyes were distant—like she was still back there.

Si Eun stared at her for a beat too long before forcing himself to move.

The first-aid kit felt heavier than usual in his hands.

When he knelt in front of her again, she looked startled. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he interrupted. Quiet. Steady. Deadly calm. “Because I should’ve been there.”

Her lip trembled. “It’s not your fault—”

“I told you I’d protect you,” he said, unwrapping an alcohol pad. “And I didn’t.”

The pad hit the scrape on her cheek. She winced. His hand instantly slowed.

“I wasn’t strong enough,” he murmured, not looking at her.

She stared down at him, voice barely a whisper. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

“That doesn’t matter if I’m not there when it counts.”

He said it too fast. Too bitter. It wasn’t about guilt—it was about the fear. The kind that creeps in only after the worst has already happened.

His hands were shaking. Just a little. Just enough for her to see it.

She reached up, fingers brushing his wrist—gingerly, because everything hurt.

“You’re here now.”

The bandage slipped from his fingers.

He looked up. Into her eyes. And for a second—just a second—he let it show.

The fear.

The helplessness.

The anger.

The love.

He stood up without a word, then wrapped his arms around her—tightly, protectively, like a shield made of trembling limbs and silent apologies.

Her arms wrapped around his waist. She tucked her face into his chest and cried, and Si Eun just held her. Not as the top student. Not as the unbreakable boy everyone feared.

Just as her boyfriend.

Just as someone who failed, and wanted to fix it.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into her hair. “No one’s going to touch you again.”

And he meant it.

Later That Night

She fell asleep on his bed. Curled up in a hoodie three sizes too big. The bandages on her wrist looked too white in the dim lamplight.

Si Eun sat at his desk, phone in hand.

The girls hadn’t been careful. They thought no one would care. They’d laughed as they walked away, one of them even snapping a photo to brag to her friend group.

He found their socials in under twenty minutes.

Their names, their classes, their addresses.

He wasn’t impulsive.

He was precise.

The next day, he disappeared during lunch. Didn’t say a word. He didn’t need fists to make a point—but he used them anyway. Just once. Just enough.

One had a dislocated shoulder. Another couldn’t open her right eye. The last one—who’d kicked Y/N while she was down—would need stitches in her lip. She cried when Si Eun let go of her collar and walked away.

He said nothing.

Didn’t threaten them.

Didn’t tell them why.

Because they knew.

And that was the punishment: knowing it was him. Knowing he’d watched. Known. Calculated. And chosen.

---

She found the bruises on his knuckles that night.

“You did it, didn’t you?”

Si Eun looked up from where he was folding a clean towel. “What?”

“You don’t lie very well,” she said softly.

He hesitated. Then: “I didn’t kill them.”

Her lips curved up slightly. It hurt, but she smiled anyway.

“Good.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No,” she whispered. “I just wish you didn’t have to.”

He paused. Set the towel down.

Then walked over and sank to the floor in front of her again. Just like the night before.

“I was so scared,” he said. Finally. “When I found you. I didn’t know if you’d wake up. I thought—I thought I’d have to carry you back in pieces.”

She reached for his hand. Took it in hers. Pressed it to her heart.

“I woke up because you found me.”

He exhaled like something inside him had loosened for the first time in hours.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You are now.”

Silence.

Then she leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. Gentle. Grateful. Painful in the way quiet love always is.

“I’m here too,” she whispered.

And this time, Si Eun didn’t pull away.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

I hope you enjoyed it <33

TAGLIST

@yeon103 @hikaerys @mizxuqii @jihooneyluv @l5byrinth @inom17 @sunnyophelia @dna-black-and-blue @cayrelyra @maxinehufflepuffprincess @intoanothermind @mariii-0001 @eijizwrld @mishh2728 @coffee-ii

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt 4 of the Danny is Tim's 99th attempt at cloning Kon. A 3 year old Danny finally meets his not dead anymore template.

[Pt 3: here] [Pt 5:Here]

Danny is so nervous he feels like he's going to throw up. His Template, who was dead and now isn't, is coming over to meet him. He knows his dad wouldn't let the guy near if he thought he'd react poorly to Danny, and Danny is excited about maybe having an adult (barely, technically, since he's 18) to help him figure out his new alien heritage, but he's still scared shitless. He wants this to go well so badly.

"Danny," Tim sighs in fond exasperation, "Come here, sweetheart."

Danny floats himself into dad's lap, tucking himself to his chest.

"Kon has been just as nervous to meet you." Tim kisses the top of Danny's head, just before Danny turns a wide-eyed look towards him. "He's the sweetest himbo and has been gushing about meeting you, but he's terrified you won't like him."

"Rweally?"

"Yeah, one of his deepest desires and deepest traumas is his want of family. But he doesn't want to pressure you into accepting any sort of relationship with him." Tim explains before cracking a sardonic smile. "Which is a big mood. I'm pretty sure most of the younger heroes have imposter syndrome."

"Why?"

"For many reasons. Kon was, and sometimes still is, discriminated against and frankly abused for being a clone. I forced my way into the Wayne family and was repeatedly told I didn't belong. Jason never had a stable life. Damian was a rape baby and raised in the LoA til he was 10. Dick was kicked out by Bruce once he aged out of fostering age. Jason's "not" boyfriend, Roy, was shunned for developing a drug habit after gaining significant trauma." Tim lists off. "A lot of the younger heroes couldn't lean on the adults in their lives, and it leaves scars. We've all found our footing, and deserve everything good we have in our lives, but the feeling of unworthiness is hard to escape."

Danny hugs his dad around the neck. He knew some of this dad and co lore, but it makes him sad each time. No one in his new family family has had easy lives, but are still so nice.

Tim suddenly looks mischievous, "All that to say, Kon has been texting me all morning about what he should wear, do I actually think you'll like him, if he should bring a gift or would you think he's bribing you to like him-"

"Tim!" A guy whines as he enters. He's wearing a leather jacket over a band t-shirt and black jeans. He clothes don't hide how he's shredded and probably 6 inches, at least, taller than Tim. He's holding a puzzle box and looks flustered and embarrassed.

"It's true!" Tim grins at the newcomer, before adjusting his angle to give Danny a slightly better view. "Danny, this is Kon, your DNA donor. Kon, this is my- our son, Danny."

Danny shyly waves as a blushing Kon sputters and protests Tim's choice of introductions.

"What? I did all the work, you just provided the DNA. Maybe if there's a next time, I'll let you help." Tim teases, and is hilariously oblivious to the gutter Danny can see Kon's mind drop into.

Danny has found his dad to be absolutely oblivious to anytime someone is into him, outside of Ra's. Danny watched so many people try to shoot their shot, and Tim cluelessly rebuff them. Danny thought he was doing it on purpose at first, but soon realized, no, his dad just has low self-esteem and truly doesn't think anyone finds him desirable. It's as funny as it is sad.

"So mean." Kon pouts before holding up the puzzle box for Danny to see the design. It's a thousand piece nebula puzzle. "I ended up getting you this puzzle. Tim- Your dad told me you love space and are super smart, so I thought you'd enjoy this puzzle."

Danny blinks, looking between the barely adults, before deciding to be funny. He says in his gravest voice. "So you chose bribery."

Danny gets the glorious view of Kon's face dropping in shock. Tim is literally shaking as he tries not to laugh, knowing Danny is pulling the guy's leg. The Drakes let him flounder for a moment, trying to find a response to that, before Danny can't help giggling, which pushes Tim over the edge and start cackling, startling Kon into silence.

"You should have seen your face!" Tim wheezes.

Kon gets a dopey look on his face. "You're just messing with me."

Danny nods with a grin. He wiggles to be put down, which Tim complies with, still giggling. Danny trots up to his template.

"You're silly." Danny informs him before holding his arms up and demanding. "Up!"

Kon quickly sets the puzzle on an end table near him before picking Danny up. He looks a little nervous when Danny stares hard at his face. "Um?"

Danny takes in all the shared features between them, some harder to see with the 16 year age difference, but it's sort of soothing to see. He gets distracted when he notices Kon's piercings, gasping and taking a closer look.

"How!?" He excitedly, but gently grabs Kon's ear piercings. Danny had gotten similar ear piercings when he was a ghost, and he misses them, but figured he wasn't going to be able to get them done in this body. It being nearly indestructible and all.

"Oh, my piercings?" Danny nods, leaning forward to take a closer look. "I'm sure you noticed it's hard to hurt us, but there's a rock called kryptonite, and depending on the colour, different things can happen."

"I thought kryptonite just hurt?" Danny asks, pulling back to look at Kon's face.

"It can. Green kryptonite is the most common, and it will hurt you. It turns off your powers and slowly poisons you, and if not taken away quickly, can kill us. Gold kryptonite is the rarest type and will permanently remove kryptonian abilities and usually leaves permanent injuries. So please do your best to avoid those types." Kon explains, "Red kryptonite should probably also be avoided, it makes kryptonians angry and turns off your inhibitions, but it won't technically hurt you to be exposed to it. The last colour I know of is blue. Blue kryptonite doesn't harm you or mess with your mental abilities. It just turns off all of your kryptonian abilities for however long it touches your skin. I have a blue kryptonite necklace I wear whenever I want tattoos or piercings."

Danny turns pleading eyes to his dad. "Can I get ear piercings??"

Danny can't help, but notice an infatuated smile on Tim's face before the man huffs a laugh and walks over. He runs a hand through Danny's hair.

"If you still want them when you're 5, I'll let you." Tim hums, "I don't want it to be an impulsive decision, and people will be less weird about a five year old getting their ears pierced. You might still get weird looks since you're a boy, but that's their problem, not yours."

"Okay!" Danny cheers. He hasn't told his dad about his past life/afterlife, so he can understand the hesitance over letting 3 year old get a body mod, even if it's just a single set of ear piercings, on what seems like a whim. He's honestly surprised he only has to wait til he's 5. Tim can be a bit of a helicopter parent, but then again, Tim really wants Danny to be his own person, never once shaming him for not fitting into a mold.

His aunts and uncles and grandpa have all made comments when they think he can't hear about how different or similar he is to Kon. Or when he shows gender non-conforming interests. Tim gets mad at them anytime he realizes Danny heard them. He doesn't want Danny to feel bad about any of it. Siting that "no shit" there's going to be similarities and differences, that's how children work, clone or not, and how gender is a social construct. He usually starts picking apart all of his siblings' behaviors at that point, pointing out what they inherented from Bruce, what is trauma born, and what's uniquely their's so he assumes they're from their respective parents, as well as all the things they do that don't fall under what society thinks their gender should do. It's funny, but also very nice. Danny loves his dad.

The true question right now, though, is: will he love, or even just like, his template? Danny doesn't hate what he's heard and seen so far, but actual fondness or affection needs time.

"How about we head to the gym?" Tim says, "Kon can show you some of his powers."

"Can I fly higher?" Danny isn't allowed to fly more than 4 feet in the air. Which is annoying, but fair. Again, he's 3.

"Only if you stay in arm's reach of Kon when you do."

"Okay!!" Danny cheers, purposely flailing around. Kon's hold on him tightens slightly to make sure he doesn't fall, but it's not painful. Another point to the DNA donor. That's about five in his favour during this interaction alone.

"Already flying, little man?" Kon grins.

"Yeah!"

"He figured out how to fly before how to run." Tim chuckles, "Now he does both any chance he gets. It keeps things lively."

"I imagine." Kon's grin turns a little gooey, before letting himself float and zip to the gym. "Let's have so fun!"

Danny can't help his chuckles. Kon flies there faster than Danny's allowed currently. It's fun!

Danny also can't help but notice Tim isn't in a rush to catch up. Meaning Tim fully trusts Kon with Danny's life. That's a trust that took the rest of the family months to gain, even though Tim knew they wouldn't hurt him. Danny isn't sure what to make of that knowledge, but it definitely makes him more inclined to like his template.

And by dinner time, Danny does genuinely like the guy. He respects everything Tim and Danny have to say, shows Danny a bunch of fun tricks with their powers, and let's Danny lead their games. He's fun, nice, and most importantly, not creepy. He clearly likes his dad in a more than friends way, but is hesitant to act on it, clearly not wanting to fuck up with either Tim or Danny.

Unfortunately for Danny, he can see Tim likes Kon back, but his dad is an idiot and doesn't realize it. So now he has to figure out how to get his dad to realize he's into his template without it being weird.

But really, what was Danny expecting? Trying to clone your "best friend" a hundred times isn't exactly hetero behavior. He decides he's going to enlist Uncle Damian and Uncle Jason. It's for his dad's own good at this point.

He also debates on if he's going to try to parent trap them. He likes Kon, but he doesn't know him well enough to commit to the bit just yet. He'll decide later, once he knows more.

[monstas1ut]

Characters when they’re breeding you :)

SASUKE UCHIHA, SATORU GOJO, EREN YEAGER

Contains

__ +18 black coded reader, female reader, Squirting ,creaming, the word slut, impreg, breeding, size diff, teasing, pussy eating, talk of getting reader pregnant, unprotected sex

___brown skin can be dark, light, medium color.. whatever. brown is brown.. and it's gorgeous

a/n

__ I’m so sorry I didn’t post in a year I think lmao. Idk what happened. Forgive me :(

Sasuke Uchiha

It’s not unknown, everyone has heard his preaching about his clan and he wants to restore it. However, most people are more of speaking behind his back. How can he restore a clan when he is the only one left and yet he’s cold, frosted and lonesome? Where is the woman of his dreams? It’s merely the fact of his life, and frankly, even he knew it. Appearing to everyone in Konoha, he’s lonely, an outcast, forlorn.

That truly wasn’t it. The male simply didn’t want to settle for a woman that wasn’t worth his while. This man came from a family filled with talent and ruthless power. Indeed, he could’ve easily rushed into a relationship, however he would like more of a stable relationship. Now, justified, he is fucking a woman that bared no ring on her finger yet, but she was still his.

How could anyone not tell? The second she decided to move into the village, Sasuke found himself staying longer rather than going out on ventures. Everyone figured he’d just gotten tired, and that’s when women of all different shapes and sizes would line up. Unfortunately, they just didn’t understand… They didn’t get it.

“How come you’re so strong, but you can’t give me more..” Those words were like a black feather running down your back. All you could feel were your knees giving out, your body seeping into the bed. But Sasuke wasn’t having that… no.. he needs you to cum again. He needs you at your most neediest, he needs to warp your mind. Maybe it was manipulation, but you enjoyed his dick so much.. how come you weren’t trying to give him a baby already?

Okay.

“Sasukeee, shit~! Stop- gonna make me squirt..” Your words fell on deaf ears. Truly, the Uchiha couldn’t care or give a damn. Besides, you didn't taste bad at all. The male’s tongue was not afraid to slip into regions nobody has ever been before. Your pretty, glistening, brown lips were dripping in juices and saliva. It was a mess, and Sasuke purely enjoyed you in such a state. He’s not known to be with many women but he knew what he was doing. Seeing how you were slipping right through his fingers from pure ecstasy, seeing your pussy gush from just a bit of sucking on that clit… It was easy… But Sasuke would’ve been curse you if you weren’t so damn beautiful.

“There it is.. Don’t make it difficult next time.”

This man couldn’t hide it. He was entranced, he was deeply in love. If you could see him right now, your pussy juices dripping from his face, his right eye was now a deep red that showed the uchiha’s purpose. Red, menacing and ruthless.. while the other stayed that pretty purple. His senses, they were all on you. His eyes half lidded and his lips almost parted from each other as his fair colored cock slipped right back into you. Right after slurping on that pussy like a good smoothie.

It turned your world quick. He slid in like a key, it was perfect. Those veiny hands touched your shoulders, causing you to shiver as he ran down your shimmery brown arms, right to your wrists. Your pretty, fucked out face was pushed firm into the bed as you had no leverage to keep yourself up. Drool seeped out of your mouth onto the sheets as your eyes yelled with hearts.

You loved this man. Should you give him children? No… yes? Your mind was all over the place, but it stayed stuck in the gutter.

Sasuke kept both your wrists, pulling them back as he watched you give in. He could physically see it happen to you. It actually made his eyes widen just a smidge as the blood continued to run to his cock. Fuck. Were you really giving up? He noticed your tone, how your moans were more like chirps, whines. He didn’t stop. His thrusts were rough yet so slow and dangerously addictive. Each thrust gave a flutter to your insides, the ripples of your ass got more intense with each one. Sasuke damn sure didn’t take his eyes off of that, he loved the way that brown mound of an ass slapped against him. It was so far from ugly.

“What are you going to do for me…” His voice was grazing your skin, his breathing only getting louder as he held back each moan… The mattress was poor, all of the convincing, the pleas.. the mattress was just as broken down as you. Your walls were so nicely abused by this man that you had to thank him. You truly did! And as your next orgasm began to fall, you did too.

“Oh-oh-.. fuck! M-Imma’ give you a baby.. my- fuck Sasuke! Imma have your baby-..” it was so hard for you to speak, and yet you spit it out. Oh, you got to hear the pathetic groan of Sasuke.. just continuously diving deep into you as he let go of your wrists unwillingly. It’s like his hands got weak. You noticed this and practically gasped before lifting your upper body and he just knew his time was done.

Sasuke uchiha took pride in himself, but this? You were such a little sex demon.

“Yeah.. imma give you all your fuckin babies.. get me pregnant.” Now sass revealed, and Sasuke was trying to bite back his words and imagination. It was going wild while he noticed you bouncing back on his cock. It was disappearing every second, your pussy just swallowed it up with each bounce. He couldn’t even keep up… no, he kept thinking about that round belly.

His fingers were digging so hard in your hips they may leave marks. That’s how you knew he was so close.. he was right there. It was true, Sasuke’s breathing was getting heavier, quicker.. and his grip on you was tight.. but not as tight as your pussy.

“Too fucking tight.. take it… take it all then.” Although his voice was deep, he couldn’t hide that sharp, whistle of a moan that slipped by when he pushed forward, just balls deep in your brown pretty pussy. You couldn’t breathe, but you felt the warmth and splash of cum in your pussy. It was so much, it happened so quickly..

And all you had to say was that you’d have his babies…?

“All that cum…” You whispered as his head was resting on your upper back. You could feel his breathing all hot on your back as he was actually rubbing his thumbs gently on your hips. He was such a meanie but sometimes he just knew when to be nice. He was going to have to be nicer when you’re plump with his kids…

Satoru Gojo

You merely believe he’s joking. Literally, you didn’t blink an eye. Perhaps that sent a terrible message to the jokester. Fanning your hand at him, watching a shitty little documentary about something boring. The clocks in your head just weren’t turning correctly. But seriously, how could they when this grown man was pouting?

“Y/n… I want a baby. I wanna dress him up in identical clothes.” He said, you remember it clearly when he said this. He was not serious, couldn’t be. That little laugh that came from him, his animated expressions of demonstrating having a child. “Yeah okay Gojo” you spit out, only to turn back to your phone without having another thought about it.

You literally signed your name on the dotted line.

“You promiseeeee?”

“Yeah yeah..”

That’s what you said, and Satoru nodded. Now why did you believe that was the end of it? Probably because your boyfriend is a jokester and he plays too many games. You could tell when he was joking or being serious right? Or maybe you just weren’t looking at him and taking him seriously? It was the latter.

The whole day was filled with normalcy , nothing said of a baby nor a child. It was supposed to be a joke.

“Na ah ah… Keep them just~ like~ this~… Makes ya’ look even prettier this way” The male was piercing you with his words, they dug right in you just like his cock. He was just simply admiring his work, watching you fold your legs in a pretzel by his command. He really took a liking to this position, especially since he could hold onto your ankles.

All you did was shakily breathe out, your eyes filled with gloss and regret. Why didn’t you believe him? Now your pussy was getting all ruined and messy. And he was chuckling about it!

“Atta girl..” he spoke, the steam of his words burning right through you as you squeezed your eyes shut. Embarrassed by your gushy noises coming from your needy cunt, you decided not looking at Satoru would suffice. However, he just wasn’t having that.. first you don’t believe him, now you didn’t want to look at him? You were going to be teased today, you deserved it.

“Look at me, pretty. Watch me put a baby in you, since you thought I was jokin’..” Satoru didn’t miss a beat, his cock going in and out and in and out. You were forced to stare at him now, but you got butterflies looking into his deep, light blue eyes. They glowed with intent on getting you full with babies. But you couldn’t look at his cock going in and out. If you did, you’d see your lower stomach just bulging out ever so slightly. He was so juicy and big. His cock was as pale colored as him, veiny and had an ever so slight curve that would tease at your g-spot. And the tip of it was so pink, just as pink as your insides.

“S-Sat-…”

“That’s not my name.. Say it full out for me” His smirk was laced throughout his words as he watched your eyes roll back. Those pretty russet colored breasts were bouncing so much he could internally laugh at your predicament… Sure, you looked beautiful but sometimes it’s funny when you’re wrong. And you were wrong about it all. “Satoru… Satoru baby..” you choked out, your legs slipping from the pretzel position as you became tired.. but he just gave a little shrug.

It was alright, because he pressed his lanky fingers and his palm against the underside of your thighs and he pushed forward. You were folded up again, yet in an entirely different position as you watched him concentrate. He couldn’t stop, not for a second. Those burly arms of his were flexing as his pretty blue eyes watched your pussy eat his cock up. He was enjoying the show… and he enjoyed it even more when your eyebrows were all furrowed. He only looked up at your face once to experience heaven.

“Satoru-… O-Okay~… J-Just dump a baby in me- fuck.” You finally said it, and you threw your head back as he sped up his thrusts. His white locks of hair looked like the sun up above as he had a daring smirk on his face before he got serious. That pussy was talking to him, and he’d be dumb not to respond.

The bed was making noise with each thrust, and Satoru gripped your thighs tight. He tightened his core and gave it all he had, turns out that was just a bit too much for you because you were already creaming on his pretty dick. It was an artistic expression.. just coating his cock in your cum, it made him chuckle.. a moan following it.

“Messy…” Satoru muttered before the thrusts ceased and he slid out of your pretty little gaping hole before gently slipping two lanky fingers into you. It made you jolt with pleasure and overstimulation. It made you look at him with confusion, but you were too late. His cock slid right back into you, and his fingers slipped into his mouth.. just tasting every bit of your naughty substances.

“Oh my god-..” you moaned loudly, feeling like you were going to cry from the deepest sex you’ve ever experienced. But you weren’t the only one. Tasting your sweet cum while digging in your pussy with his tip was the best feeling ever. And Satoru was not one to keep his moans to himself. He made sure you knew your pussy was the best.

“Gonna have my baby right?”

“Yess-.. all of them…” you cried out, gripping the bedsheets and damn near tearing them.. that’s before you heard the prettiest, deepest moan. His blue eyes were filled with intense energy and warmth, that’s before you were filled with the same things… warmth and his energy.

“Damn right”

Eren Yeager

“You think I’d look cute pregnant or would I look ugly?”

Eren looked at you while you had stuffed clothes under your shirt. You shaped it so it looked like a belly, and to be fair.. you looked cute. Not saying that because you were his girlfriend, but just in general. He kind of rolled his eyes though. “Cute. Why would you look ugly” his tone sounds like he’s uninterested, but his heart thumped in ways he couldn’t explain. He never really thought of you pregnant.. and why the hell not?

“Dunno. I just can’t see it.” You added as you removed the clothes, only adding fire to the already burning house that was laying on the bed as it watched you in the bathroom mirror.

That’s when said house stood up and with a sigh he and his tall form was now behind you. His long, brown hair tickled your head while his hands grazed against your ass before stopping at your hips. He was bare at the top… scars and battles from the war on his chest that showed his strength.. truth be told, it made you wet.

“Can’t see it? Well maybe cuz’ it’s not real. See.. women get a glow from pregnancy.. not sayin you ain’t already got that.. but it’s a different glow.” Eren explained gently as you felt the cold touch of his chain behind you.. just whispering against the back of your neck. You stared at him in the mirror as he smirked with those pretty white teeth. “And how do you know all that..” you purred, almost teasing him.

“It’s a real thing.. some women get it. But you’re so gorgeous, I just know you’d turn even more heads than you do already, baby” He stopped to look at you, but not in the mirror.. from the side of your face before he kissed your jawline. “Eren… you don’t know that though-..” “wanna bet?”

The little sex fairy put an arrow right through the both of you. Had you not looked at him in a sultry manner, Eren would’ve probably let it go. He hasn’t thought about babies.. but the second you say something about pregnancy and he’s all over it like white on rice. To be fair, it was quite pathetic in a way, and he’ll admit it.. but he got weak thinking about you just all chunky with his kid.

Eren’s imagination was bright and sunny, and his determination was just that much bigger.

“R-Right there….” You sharply breathed in as you watched the man in the mirror. His veiny, scruff hand around your throat with ease. He was treating you like a puppet, making sure you stayed in the same position, and moved to his heart's content. “I know baby.. I know..” he practically cooed, his other hand caressing your thigh that was up on the sink counter. It was jiggling just as much as your ass was as he gave slow and soft strokes inside of you. This was one of Eren’s soft days.. Free from anger, free from frustration.. he has been like this for awhile now.. maybe after being discharged he’s calmed down.

Sex with him now is like a sweet sensual melody… and as of right now, he needed it to be.

“What am I doin right now, baby..”

“Y-You m-makin love to me..” you slurred out, eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head as you choked back a moan.

“Thats right… and why am I going so deep..”

“So I can give y-fuck… so I can give you a baby..” you moaned out sharply as the once cold, marble counter was now filled with the warmth of your body heat and the warm sex you two were taking part in.. The floor beneath you both was a bit wet, Eren didn’t care… He never did care for mess. Especially now.

“Thats right… Give me that reward for beating this pussy so good.” The words Eren spoke were like vibrations to your clit. It shook you to your core, like it was on the highest setting. He knew what to say and what buttons to press in your mind. Not only that, but he knew this position was so deep. You were opened up like a slut, and the way your pussy was gurgling on his cock was just embarrassing.. but that showed just how open it was.. how stretched it was for him and him only.

Eren loved it, let alone your tears falling down your face. It made him speed up. The small little decor on the sink’s counter was pushed off by accident, and your body was now being lifted from the floor a bit as his thrusts were now close together. You couldn’t feel the floor with your foot.. and the other was perched on the counter still.

“Eren!.. oh- fuck me..” your mind was spinning. It’s like you could feel each vein of his cock on your pink walls. You could feel your pussy crying for release, your orgasm at the tippy top. It was like a waterfall, your body trembled, but you could tell you weren’t the only one reaching that high.

Eren got quiet. And everytime he gets quiet, he starts biting that bottom lip of his.. he gets all red in the face and his brown hair starts to stick to his forehead a bit. His eyes spark focus, and he will then drop his head back. You watched it in the mirror, his every move.. that’s before he looked at you in the mirror once before a husky chuckle left his lips.. a moan escaping from his throat.. it was from the depths of his heart..

And his cum straight from his heavy balls went straight into your wetness. Your body took in every drop, every single one.

“I-Ion know if that did it or not..lemme try again”

ⓒ Monstas1ut .do not copy

[shotmrmiller]

need simon to be retired and living in the middle of nowhere with a car-fixing hobby, and you're pulling into his 'shop' because you were road-tripping across the country and now some funky noises are happening underneath the hood.

you tentatively walk towards the open garage, only to spot him under some run-down vehicle that has more rust than sun-faded paint, deflated tires, and a license plate that's also got rust gnawing at the edges, the numbers on it barely discernable.

you rap your knuckles gently on the weathered car, and the wheels of the creeper he's on squeak in protest under him as he rolls out to look at you, filthy gloves smearing the dust on his brow instead of wiping it away.

"err, hi. uh, i was pointed this way by some lovely folk that work in that diner down the way, and they said that you could take a look at my car."

he rises smoothly, even though his joints pop as he does, dark eyes squinting against the sun. he towers over you with broad shoulders and thick arms. a tough-as-teak country man.

you start when he speaks, deep voice echoing off of dusty walls. "they said tha', did they?" he lifts the hem of his grease-stained wife beater to wipe at the beads of sweat on his forehead, and your gaze involuntarily wanders to the thick trail of coarse, dark hair under his navel.

"what's wrong with it?"

if you knew that, you wouldn't be here, blatantly ogling him in some decrepit workshop located in a sleepy corner of the countryside. "i don't know. it's making some scary popping noises and figured that it needed to be looked at, asap."

your grimace is involuntary when he extends an oil-streaked gloved hand. you really hope he's not expecting you to-

"keys."

right. you wordlessly hand them over and walk a few steps behind him as he heads toward the front of your car. "did ya get it looked at before your trip?"

you want to snap at him, that obviously you did. you may not be some car wizard, however, you can do the bare minimum for it but he's your only hope for getting the hell out of here, so you press your tongue against the back of your teeth for a moment before answering.

"yes. i did prepare for it. got new tires, an oil change, and anything else it may have needed."

he hums at your answer, a low sound in the back of his throat, and curls his fingers under the hood and begins to feel for the release. your mind is in the gutter as your eyes linger on his sun-kissed skin, watching the tendons on his inked forearm ripple with each movement.

your mind is snapped back to reality when he mutters, "i hope ya don't think i'm doin' this for free."

"wouldn't dream of it. you don't seem the charitable type."

the latch yields under his fingertips, and the hood springs open. "i'd say i'm pretty charitable, considerin' i'm even helpin' ya with this."

your eyebrows furrow, corners of your lips pulling downward. "what, were you closed or something?"

he gives you a small smirk while his hand searches for the prop rod inside the engine bay. "do i look like a business, sweetheart?"

embarrassment burns your cheeks, and your mouth gapes unprettily as you turn around to truly take in the place. past the grease-smeared floors, there's rust blooming on the only workbench in the garage, a single red toolbox resting on the ground. there's a car jack tossed in a corner, a vibrant blue cooler by the door, and a few firearms on pegboard shelves. it looks like a simple garage. a personal one.

"oh my god," you stammer, "i'm so sorry, i just- the townsfolk, they led me to believe that you're a mechanic." how bloody mortifying.

he ducks his head under the hood, bending at the waist to lean over the engine, eyes swiftly scanning the machinery. "it's a hobby. i fix my own vehicles... and now yours, i reckon."

eventually, he turns the car on and listens to the engine roar to life before it begins to pop, standing over the open hood with thinned lips and furrowed brows.

he tells you that he can fix it, it'll just take a bit for the part to get here, obviously, so he recommends staying at a rented cabin in town for a few days— maybe even a week— and he'll give you a ride over.

he gets you there in no time, unsurprising because he drove the motorcycle far too fast— illegal, really. he helps you off the bike, your clammy hand in his much bigger, roughened one.

you rip off his helmet, pushing it into his barrel chest. "please never drive me around that fast again." he gives you a couple of pats to the shoulder, chuckling under his breath.

"unless you're plannin' on walkin' to get your car back, i can't promise tha'."

grrrreat.

(the issue was the serpentine belt, it was slightly frayed but the man kept you around for 2.5 weeks under the excuse of something taking too long, or the car being under worse condition. maybe he charges you a kidney for fixing it, and since you can't obviously pay that ridiculous amt of money, he tells you to go on a date with him. gross. or maybe he's a sane man and he just sends you on your way in 2 days time. idk. installs a gps in your car? keepin' tabs on ya cuz he plans on passing by wherever you live by complete coincidence.)

[ldydeath]

Blind With Love | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: You and Jiyong have been secretly dating for awhile. Everything has been running smooth until a new dancer gets a little handsy with Jiyong.  Word count: 2k Warnings: 18+, MDNI. Unprotected p in v, teasing, jealousy, fluff.  Author’s Note: This was sent over to me by my lovely best friend @wcnderlnds . Hopefully you all enjoy this! 

It has started off as a fling, you and Jiyong needing a way to release steam in between sets and after shows. But it had grown into so much more of the years. You’d been a dancer for BigBang since they started, having an instant bond with all four boys, but an especially close one with Jiyong.

You were two sides of the same coin, you’d fallen in love slowly and then all at once, the only catch was that nobody really knew. The guys did, sure, it was hard to hide it from them. But the rest of the crew and dancers had no idea. Neither didn’t fans of the general public. They didn’t need to know. A decision you’d made incase anything had happened during your relationship. 

You’d been paired with Seunghyun for Bae Bae, something you’d laughed about. Seunghyun always one to tease you and Jiyong and had tested those boundaries on more than one occasion. Pushing your head down to mimic a blow job. Jiyong had almost lost his composure for that one. Almost. But he was annoyingly professional and had decided it was best to just ignore it. 

Everything had been running smooth the entire tour until one of the dancers fell ill. Someone you loved and trusted who had also been paired up with your boyfriend during Bae Bae. Now there was a new girl and she obviously had a crush on him. It didn’t bother you at first. Jiyong was clueless and still only had eyes for you. But one day you’d walked in and she’d been just a little too close during rehearsals. You and Seunghyun hardly touched during the dance, something fans had grown to love and something you two laughed about on stage. 

So why was she being so handsy with your man? This wasn’t going to work. You watched closely during rehearsals, her hips brushing against Jiyong and your grip tightened around Seunghyun’s neck.

“Ow.” He whined, pulling away from you to rub his neck. 

“Sorry.” You frowned at him, before turning back to the group. Jiyong looking at you with a raised brow. You shrugged.

Rehearsal continued on, the Yoojin, the new girl standing close to Jiyong even after Bae Bae had finished and your hands balled into fists. 

“You good?” Seunghyun picked up on the tension, of course he had. 

“Peachy.” Your tone was nothing but light and you stormed off. “We need to talk.” You grabbed  Yoojin’s hand and practically yanked her from the stage.  

“We need to switch partners for Bae Bae. You’re too tall for Jiyong in heels. You’re a much better match for Seunghyun.” 

“Ok?” Yoojin shrugged before walking off. 

The rest of rehearsals went smoothly, Jiyong finding his way to you during breaks. His hand brushing yours. He always found time for you during long days like this, something you’d grown to appreciate throughout the tour. You squeezed his hand before heading off to your dressing room. 

Before you could make it there you felt a hand wrap around you and pull you into a closet. You spun around, coming face to face with Jiyong and let out a sigh as your body relaxed.

“Are you ok? You seem off today.” His hands cupped your cheek, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m fine. You’re killing us with rehearsals today, but I’m fine.” You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“We have a new dancer, I just want to make sure everything goes smoothly tonight.” 

“If you exhaust us now we’ll have no energy for tonight.” He raised a brow and you rolled your eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter.” You swatted at his chest. 

He grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to him before pressing a kiss to your lips. You fully relaxed into his touch, your worries of Yoojin fading away as your lips parted to deepen the kiss. 

“I have to go get ready.” You mumbled against his lips.

“You look great to me.” He smirked, his lips brushing against yours again. 

The show started off well, you and Jiyong finding time for a few stolen moments while he got a little bit of a break. As he took the stage again you noticed Yoojin watching closely and rolled your eyes. Maybe it was time for someone other than the boys to know about your relationship. 

As the music started up for Bae Bae you took your usual spot, the guys having no suspicions that you’d taken matters into your own hands to switch up who was partnering with who. As the guys took their positions you moved to stand in front of Jiyong. Seunghyun frowned at Yoojin and Jiyong barely acknowledged the change. His brow raised slightly as you wrapped your arm around his neck. 

His hand rested on your stomach as your hips brushed against him and he sucked in a breath. So that’s how you wanted to play it? He moved against you and you turned slightly to look at him, a smirk on your lips. His hips bucked into yours as he held you tightly against him.  As you moved to stand behind him your hands ran up his sides before landing on his shoulders and he turned to face you, a brow raised as a challenge. Before you moved to the other side of him, you planted a kiss on his cheek. It was quick but it had definitely been noticed. 

Jiyong stumbled slightly, as you moved back in front of him and as you bent over, a move that typically required no contact from the guys, his hand moved to rest on your back. His hand moving to wrap around you as he pulled you to him. Oh. Everyone definitely noticed that. 

The song ended and Jiyong grabbed your hand as you walked off the stage. All eyes were on the two of you, but you didn’t care. Your cover was officially blown, you couldn’t change that now. 

“What the hell was that?” Jiyong yelled as you made it off stage. 

“She was flirting with you all day. She needed to know that you’re taken.” 

“Aein. Fuck. Warn me next time!” He pulled you closer to him, his voice barely above a whisper, “And don’t start something you don’t plan on finishing.” 

“Who says I wasn’t going to finish this?” You leaned up, your lips hovering over his. “It’s just too bad you have to get back out there.” You moved away from him just as everyone filed into the backstage area. 

“Hope we’re not interrupting.” Seunghyun smirked and you turned around to face them all, a smile on your face. 

“Not at all.” You turned back to Jiyong. “See you in a bit.” You pecked his cheek before walking away. Leaving him to answer the questions everyone else had. 

Jiyong stared after you, blinking a few times before he collected himself. He couldn't retaliate on stage no matter how badly he wanted to, he was a professional after all.

After the show was over, Jiyong found you just outside your dressing room talking to a couple other dancers. He didn’t even bother to say anything, just grabbed your hand and pulled you away from your group of friends.

“What are you doing?” You smirked as he pulled you back into the utility closet. 

“Finishing what you started.” He smirked, his lips on yours. 

Your tongue darted out, massaging his in a dance of dominance. His hands moved to your thighs and he lifted you up gently, your legs wrapping around him as your back rested against the door. Jiyong broke the kiss, trailing soft kisses against your neck, his hand moving, fingers ghosting across the thin material of your panties. 

“Thank fuck for skirts.” He smirked as he teased you. You moaned, your head resting on his shoulder. 

He pushed your panties aside, his finger entering your slick folds, your hips rocked into his hand and he entered you slowly, teasing you before entering a second digit. He pumped his fingers in and out of you quickly. 

“You’re so cute when you’re jealous.” 

His fingers pumped into you harder, faster and you let out a moan as you rocked against him. You could feel him growing harder beneath you and you needed him. 

“Ji please.” You whispered in his ear, not trusting your voice. 

“Please what, pretty girl?” 

“I need you.” He smirked and removed his fingers. Bringing them to his lips, he licked you off him, his eyes locking with yours. 

“Sweet.” He smirked before his lips were on yours again. 

Your hands moved to his pants, undoing his pants and pushing them down slightly. Your hand grabbed ahold of his dick and you positioned him at your entrance. He entered you slowly, allowing you to adjust to him. Your walls tightened around him. 

He let out a moan as he pulled out, slamming into you again. His thrusts were fast and desperate. His mouth stayed on yours and your hips rocked against him, meeting everything thrust. He’d been thinking about this since you’d rocked against him on stage. He wasn’t sure how he’d made it through the rest of the night without getting his hands on you. Now that he had you though, he didn’t want to let you go. 

His hand moved between you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. Your breath hitched in your throat and he swallowed your moans. You could feel yourself getting closer, your stomach tightening and your head getting cloudy. You pulled back from the kiss, your fingers clawing into his shoulders as your head fell back against the door.

You came, his name falling from your lips so loudly, you were sure everyone could hear you. You didn’t care though. Jiyong thrust in you faster as you road out your orgasm, he followed closely behind you, kissing your neck and then your lips. 

He kissed you slowly before setting you back down on the ground. His arm staying wrapped around you as you steaded yourself. You helped him pull his pants back up before fixing your skirt. 

“I love you, you know that, right?” You nodded as you looked at him. His hands moving to smooth your hair. “I only have eyes for you, gorgeous.”

He leaned in, kissing you softly and you melted into him. Not wanting to go back out there. You knew you had some explaining to do, maybe some apologizing, but staying in this room with your boyfriend was much more appealing. 

“How bad is it going to be out there?” Jiyong shrugged. 

“I took care of it earlier.” 

“Oh?” You raised a brow. 

“Yep.” He smirked.

He gave you one last look before opening the door and poking his head out. The hallway was suspiciously empty. He walked out first, his fingers lacing with yours as he led you down the hallway. 

“Oh hey. There you guys are.” Seunghyun rolled his eyes as you entered the dressing room. 

“Where is everyone?” Jiyong folded his arms as he leaned against the doorway. 

“Dinner. I said I’d wait for you guys. Is everything resolved? Can I get my dance partner back?” 

“Yes, and no. I think I like the new arrangement better.” Jiyong smirked, his arm wrapping around you. 

“Whatever.” Seunghyun rolled his eyes, moving to leave the room. “Everyone’s still freaking out. But us three are glad we no longer have to keep a secret.” He turned to face you both. “Maybe no more hooking up in closets though? Save it for your hotel.”

Your cheeks flushed and Jiyong let out a snort as Seunghyun left the room. He kissed your cheek before following Seunghyun out. Jiyong didn’t mind that everyone knew. He’d been planning on telling them when the tour was over, so what if it had happened a few weeks early? He was surprised you’d been able to keep it a secret this long. 

He didn’t see the issue with everyone finding out, you loved each other, he wasn’t planning on letting you go. It was a necessary next step in your relationship, so at dinner he’d formally announce it. Then he’d talk to you about going public so that everyone knew. He didn’t want to keep you a secret for another day.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @aizshallnotbefound @loveesiren @gdinthehouseee @tulentiy @petersasteria @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @mirahyun @breakmeoff @1950schick @flymetothexmoon @sherrayyyyy

[cvnt4him]

okay, how do we feel on squirting on izuku? hear me out now—

UA dorms, 3rd year, everyone is 18+!!!!!

you and izuku are having a midnight fuck sesh cause it’s quite literally the ONLY time y’all get to be sexually intimate so things are REALLY hot & heavy. I’m talkin’ like having to hold in moans to not wake your neighbors up, the bed is creaking, you had to put a pillow in between the headboard because it was making too much noise, sweating everywhere and izuku has to keep making out with you so y’all can get your moans out quietly!! 🫣

and all of a sudden after izuku moves his hips slightly, you just start squirting EVERYWHERE, like your soaking his bed and you have to moan into a pillow cause it felt so good 😵‍💫

“Did…Did i make you…?”

“..yes…yes you..did..haa..”

“Can i..keep going?I-I haven’t came yet..”

“Yes baby, please keep fucking me…!”

and then just proceeds to overstimulate you while your whining and moaning into his mouth and scratching on his back.

do what you will with this information 🥸

-🩸

I kinda free balled even though you literally told me what you wanted lol, I hope this is to your liking my loveᡣ𐭩

It was after midnight, you were at least sure all of your dorm neighbors were lying down if not asleep by the time you went over to izukus dorm.

You and your boyfriend haven't been able to explore each other's body in so long given you're in your last year of highschool which means not only will things become more advanced but you have even less time to get all of the things done. With all the stress of colleges and your futures taking over your brains you two only had time to text each other 'good morning' 'goodnight' and 'I love you'

It hurt you but none of that mattered anymore, you were finally in your boyfriend's arms after so long. This was the only time you two had together let alone to be intimate with one another you had to take advantage of it.

Izuku had your face shoved into the pillows and your back arched painfully you can hear him groaning above you, his eyes squeezed shut as he slammed his cock inside of you repeatedly.

His thick cock forcing its way into your gushing pussy. The way you squeezed around him had his head rolling back he couldn't take it. He'd already cum inside of you about 2 times given how long it's been since he'd felt your tight wet walls, the thought of them alone had him busting a nut.

You heard his gutteral moans being hushed by his face being buried in your shoulders he began biting them harshly causing you to scream into the pillows, luckily for you they were quite scream proof izuku made sure of that when he bought them.

“ ....ohh...~ you sweet thing... ngh- need it s’bad huh? hmmn. c'mon cum in my cock baby..”

The way he whispered in your ear, so dirty yet so sweet. He was never rough with you but he couldn't help himself fucking you as if you're some cheap fleshlight he needed all that he could take. His hands coming down to harshly grip the flesh of your ass before slapping it making your back arch and your ass grind back onto his cock.

He loved the feeling of you fucking him back, throwing your ass back onto his cock while he tried shoving it deeper inside. The bed creaking with each rough motion of you thrusting back against him, izuku groans at the sticky sounds of the two of you thinking he should've put a pillow behind his headboard someone was definitely going to complain!

“ ngh..! give it t’me, give it t’me zuku— need it s’bad- ugh...”

Your words were coming out muffled and sloppy you were losing your mind with how sensitive you were, you'd come so many times its as if it was happening all on its own. You couldn't control it anymore letting him split you in half on his cock while you lost your mind.

“ let me.....huff....let me flip you over baby.. wanna look at’cha when I fuck you.”

You hum and with that he pulled out causing you to whine, he instantly flipped you over into your back to get a good look at your soiled face. Tears streaming down and spit down your jaw, your eyes were glossy and you could hardly see all you wanted was to hold your strong boyfriend.

You heard him shakily sigh above you, lining his sticky and cum covered cock back up with your dripping cunt, cum leaking out of it and creating a ring around his cock as he quickly shoved it in causing you to jolt upward into him, he instantly leaned down and held you locking lips with you to sustain your whine and moans you were shaking in his arms and your spit was slowly leaking down both your chins.

Izuku sat inside of you for a moment letting you convulse around his cock, this was more for him than it was for you. The feeling of your nasty icky cunt spasming around his twitching veiny cock had his mind melting just as much as yours. He was trying his hardest not to fall apart inside of you but God was it hard with you squeezing him tighter than anything he's ever had.

Izuku gulped down hardly and slowly jerked his hips up into you there was something inside of you, a coil that just snapped your head was thrown back and you couldn't help but to moan aloud izuku was too late to catch it pitchy moans echoing through his room you had started squirting all over his cock your eyes were rolling and your mind was completely blank.

Izuku was in utter awe with you, gasping lightly as his cock only began plugging you deeper with how thick it was, your juices were spraying all over his abdomen and his bed you would be embarrassed if you were coherent and understood what was going on around you. Izuku rubbed your thigh and cooed sweet words to you telling you how proud of you he was.

“ awh honey.... m’ so proud of you baby, did so good f’me.”

“ do...do you want me to keep going...? can I? I wanna cum again...”

You nod your head at his words hardly even understanding any of them. With that he took all that he had and began thrusting into you once more, not as rough as he once was but just enough to get him there and to have you squealing into his chest tears wetting him as your body rocks with his arms wrapping around his back and scratching his back harshly.

His back arched into you a wince leaving him as he sped up, hips stuttering into yours. The nasty slaps of skin filling the air along with your hiccups and moans and his low groans. The bed creaking faster with his movements.

“ sh...shit baby..! m’gna cum inside of you... fuck-!”

Giving it all he could with a couple sloppy messy thrusts, he came inside of you hard and deep. His moans turned into high pitched whines his cock was twitching so much and you were squeezing him so tightly after he'd already cum he couldn't help squeezing your hips tightly making you wince and squirm.

You felt his shaky breath fan over your neck as your face was buried in his chest drool getting all over him as he just collapsed on top of you not even bothering to pull out. His poor cock was too thick for you to push out so you just sat there plugged and fucked full of cum.

The next day you were both told by your teacher that izuku had many complaints from his neighbors due to loud squeaking that sounded as if someone was being murdered. You both had detention for the rest of the year and were BANNED from going near each other's dorm and would be kicked out of U.A if caught in the other's room.

Was it truly worth it....

[emmg]

It is no hardship, Emmrich tells himself, to wear his face. It is his, after all. The one he was born with, the one that grew and shifted under his own patient gaze, seen in puddles, in mirrors, in the glass of a carriage window as he smoothed down his hair with the flat of his palm. A face he had stared at for far too long that first time he shaved, and again a few years later when he invited that very pretty boy out for a promenade and wanted, with all the force of a young man’s vanity, to be just as pretty himself—no hair astray, the kohl at his lower lids an almost imperceptible shadow, the perfume at his neck a whisper of carelessness, though in truth, nothing had ever been more deliberate.

For a decade now, they have called him distinguished. Before that, they called him handsome. He knows his face, likes his face. Its summoning should be no trouble at all; especially now, especially like this, stripped down to something more elemental, all ivory angles and nothing more. But Rook is uneasy. She does not say so—she is all sorry, shit, don’t mind me, fuck, fuck, I’ll get used to it, I’ll get used to it—but she is not made for the sight of bone in the dark when she wakes abruptly. He has had years to come to terms with the unmaking of his flesh. She has not.

So he does not miss his face, not really. But Rook does. And for Rook, he will pretend. 

No, he tells himself again, he does not mind. He does not. 

Lichdom, as he had once explained to her, sanded down most of his senses. Blunted them, rubbed them smooth. But in their place, others have surfaced. Senses without names, without proper edges, ones that slip through language like smoke through a cracked door. He cannot smell the perfume she wears, though he knows it is dreadful, some sticky, saccharine thing she bought in Treviso with Lucanis and spilled all over her shirt. But he can see her pleasure when she presses a little figurine into his palm, triumphant and insistent. This one, she affirms, is so much prettier than the first, and most importantly, not haunted. 

He watches her giddiness churn inside her, thick and writhing. It is purple, inexplicably. It loops and knots, wriggling sideways, swelling through her veins, a restless thing. It coils, slippery, around her heart before pouring from her mouth when she speaks. When she presses her lips to what passes for his cheek, he thinks he can taste it. Or something like tasting. As if she had chewed it to a pulp, crushed it between her molars, worked it down to something fibrous and wet and pressed it into him, like carrion slipped between teeth, offered as a gift. 

He swallows it, slow. 

Perhaps this is what purple has always tasted like. 

There are other things. Other feelings. They arrive misshapen, crawling over the edges of his thoughts, curious, pestering, impossible to ignore. They perplex him. They amuse him. And sometimes—sometimes—he wishes he felt nothing at all.

Like when she cuts herself, and he watches the blood spill, a slow, indifferent line along the curve of her arm. But it is not blood, not in the dull, medical sense. Not something as pedestrian as iron and salt. It is a ribbon, impossibly red, and he can see the rest of it coiled inside her, packed neatly away, waiting to be tugged. How much could he pull free before she wavers, before her lips lose their color, before the bright, stubborn thing inside her gutters out? 

He heals her arm. Does not look at her when he does it. Says nothing of consequence. 

But he wants to take that ribbon and wind it around her wrist, knot it, twist it, pull it so tight that it ceases to be a ribbon at all. Flesh yielding to pressure, pressure forcing permanence. A bracelet of skin. A smooth, bloodless seam. A correction. 

Rook thanks him. A glance, a nod—already half-gone as she turns toward Rivain. There are things to be done there for her, and he cannot stray from the Necropolis for long. What things, exactly, she does not say, but he knows their shape well enough: dragons, impulse, the peculiar magnetism of disaster. She has always been like this, drawn to the spectacularly unwise with the certainty of a moth misjudging distance. 

He can no longer follow. 

She will return. He knows this. And yet, if his hands still possessed the capacity for tremor, he suspects they would betray him now. 

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she sings, a careless, looping refrain, a child’s chant repurposed for a woman who has never quite learned to tread lightly. She chatters as she moves; this and that, something or other, a bad decision or three. She shows him rings, delicate and stolen, lifted from a dragon’s hoard, then tells him of a strange mug found in the same place and promptly lost to someone forgettable in a game of cards. 

"Look, look," she says, because excitement makes her redundant. "I kept these for you." 

The rings slide onto his fingers—bandaged, skeletal, indifferent to the distinction. He flexes them. Smiles, because each one carries an emerald, and green has always pleased him. 

"I was meaning to ask you," Rook says. She is still holding his hand, turning it gently in her own, left, right, right, left, as though testing whether it is truly there. "You are smiling now." 

"I am." 

"Don’t interrupt me." 

"My deepest apologies." 

"It was a joke," she says, but absently, without weight. Then, again, softer: "You are smiling now. But is it real? Or do I see a smile only because I expect to? Because I believe it should be there?" 

"It is quite real," he reassures her, lifting his free hand, brushing two fingers against her cheek. "The glamour does not fabricate emotions. It is a projection, not an invention. A polished pane of glass through which I am seen, rather than a mask obscuring what lies beneath. It filters nothing. It simply allows you to perceive what is still there, as it was." 

She exhales. He watches it unfurl from her mouth, a slip of breath that curls, dissipates, wrapped in green. Relief, perhaps. 

"Good," she murmurs. "That is good." 

There are things he misses more than others. Some he had not expected to mourn, believing that lichdom would cauterize the want before it could take shape. And perhaps it would have, if not for Rook. But she exists, unavoidably, and so the loss takes shape, outlines itself, defines itself against the hollow places she touches. 

The intimacy of the body: its mechanics, its heat, its crude and glorious simplicity. He misses the way skin clings, damp and sticky, the tack of sweat drying between them. The way lips grow chapped from too much kissing, saliva sapped away until the skin cracks, until the next kiss stings. He misses the raw and graceless rhythm of it, the press of her thighs around him, the slow loss of self in the churn of it all. He misses the way he could press his palm to her stomach, still sheathed within her, and feel himself there, caged by her. 

And afterward, in the languid sprawl of spent nerves and loose limbs, the way his mind would wander, taking him by the hand, showing him its little fantasies, its secreted-away indulgences—let us get married, Rook, I will buy you so much gold, let’s get married, yes, and then let’s have a child, but not immediately, not at once, let’s linger here a while, let’s lose ourselves in this, let’s glut ourselves on one another until we are utterly ruined by it, and then, yes, then, we will have that little thing.

Now, he feels her differently. Not through skin but through something more fundamental, a closeness that eclipses anything flesh ever allowed. It is fuller, sharper, deeper than anything he could have imagined. 

But it is not the same. 

And he does not yet know if he prefers it. 

Time, as always, will decide. 

Pleasure has not abandoned him. It has only changed its nature, its source, its means of arrival. Now, it exists solely through her. He sees, now, how men dissolve into drink, into smoke, into whatever tincture delivers them to sensation. The body remembers its peaks; the body conspires to reach them again. 

"Will you come for me, darling girl?" he murmurs against her ear, his fingers curling inside her as they have done so many times before—when his hands were warm, when they ceased to be. 

And she does what she always does: she writhes, she gasps, she laughs, she moves against him with the helpless, thoughtless grace of something yielding to gravity. Her hips chase the friction, her mouth parts, her breath hitches, her lashes lower, heavy with pleasure. And he—he is there inside her, feeling it as she feels it, tasting it in a way that has nothing to do with taste, swallowing it down, letting it course through him. It is vast. It is staggering. Pleasure enough for two, for more than two, enough to fill the space where he no longer exists. 

Afterward, she is breathless, boneless, staring up at the ceiling and laughing that strange, impossible laugh. He no longer tries to make sense of it. Some things cannot be translated. She has a laugh for anger, a laugh for excitement, a laugh for surprise. He thinks he knows this one well enough by now, the one that trickles out of her in the aftermath. 

A trick, an echo, the imitation of a thing once real. He kisses her where he would have kissed her once—her mouth, the sharp ridge of her collarbone, the small curve of her breast, except now there is no heat, no wet drag of a tongue, no parted lips. Only the careful architecture of a spell, a memory sculpted into sensation, something just close enough to pass for real. He trails lower, following the old pathways, the ones his hands remember even if they are no longer the same. 

She sighs. Again. Again. Another time. 

He lingers where she yields the most, where she is all pulse and warmth, where her thighs, slick and trembling, part for him before he even touches her. Where breath quickens and thought slips away. And through it, he drinks. Draws from her as he always does, as he must, in ways he does not fully understand, or perhaps does, but has decided against understanding. He takes until she is weightless, drifting, until her voice emerges in that low, drowsy enough, enough, until she exhales, unconscious of herself, shifting, turning into him, her cheek settling against his shoulder, her body already gone to sleep.

And he wonders—if he did not stop, could he empty her? 

What is it that they share, exactly? What does she give? What does he take? Is it taking at all? Perhaps she is feeding from him just as he feeds from her.

He could ask. He could go looking for the answer. It is what he has done his entire life. 

But he does not. Because the answer, whatever it may be, does not matter. Because, at his core, he knows this much to be true: 

He is an empty thing now. 

And all empty things must be filled. 

It is a dreadful experience, watching her get hurt. Dreadful in its predictability, in the casual inevitability of it. Rook, as he has come to understand, is the sort of person who leaps from a cliff first and wonders, mid-air, whether there was perhaps a gentler way down.  

He saw it in Hossberg—how she, in some fit of blind fury over a slight he can no longer remember, kicked a blight boil with all the grace of a petulant child, only for the thing to rupture, spraying its filth over her boots, her legs, her hands, her face. Later, when he spat out his anger—you could have infected yourself, and then what? Where would the Veilguard be without their leader?—she had, without hesitation, lifted her middle finger and held it aloft, like a banner, like a flag planted firmly into the dirt, a gesture so profoundly Rook that it settled the argument before it could begin.

She returns from Rivain with a sprained wrist and, predictably, does not acknowledge it until he gestures toward it, a quiet inquiry rather than an accusation. 

So he buys her things. Things with weight, with shimmer, with the ability to distract. A bottle of wine she favors, a dress the precise shade of blue that once made her pause in front of a shop window, jewelry that catches light and throws it back in a thousand fractured directions. Loud things, bright things, expensive things. The kind of things a magpie would die over. Because Rook—misnamed, mislabeled—is no rook at all, no solemn, shrewd thing perching in the rafters. She is a magpie, ever in pursuit of the next gleaming fragment, the brightest piece of a broken world. That is why she is away, isn’t it? Always away. Always chasing.

But Nevarra has more gold than the Rivaini coast. 

He wants to say—won’t you stay? Won’t you, at last, stay longer? But there is something perilous in the asking. The wrong phrasing, the wrong weight to his voice, and she will fold up like a map, unreadable, distant, already turning toward the door.

She lifts a necklace, lets it spill through her fingers, a thin chain pooling in her palm. "Ooooh," she hums. "What’s the occasion?" 

"I have missed you terribly," he says. "You were away too long." 

"I missed you too." 

"Then stay. My townhouse is yours, of course. It is in the heart of the city—" 

"But you won’t be there," she interrupts, without sharpness, without accusation. A simple statement of fact. "You’ll be in the Necropolis."

"Then stay with me in the Necropolis," he says, more softly. 

She looks at him. Long enough for him to grow aware of the silence. Long enough for him to think he ought to say something more, to fill the space with some innocuous remark, something to break the weight of it—a comment on the weather, the slow drip of rain against the windowpanes, the scent of damp stone, the candlelight shifting across her cheek, the peeling corner of the wallpaper he has been meaning to mend but never does. 

Then, at last, in a whisper, as if she is considering each word before releasing it: 

"I'm trying." 

A breath. 

"I'm really, really trying. I love you so much. This frightens me, but I love you, and I'll stay longer, I promise, and you needn’t hide your face, no, no, you can stop hiding it now, but it is so terribly cold here, and I can smell the bones, Emmrich, did you know one can smell bones?" 

Senseless, rambling little words, leaving her mouth with no regard for order, no real expectation of being understood. He listens anyway. He nods as if these words, specifically, are the ones he has been waiting to hear. He holds her hands, pressing his fingers lightly over hers, as though reacquainting himself with the shape of them, the bones beneath the skin. And this time—this time—she stays.

He does not move. Does not speak. Instead, he lets the moment settle around him, lets it press in from all sides, cautious and weightless, as if sudden motion might send it scattering. A trick of the mind, surely, nothing more than habit, the vestigial longing of a body that no longer exists. And yet—something, something faint and absurd and wholly impossible—something like warmth uncoils in the vacant spaces of him, and for the first time in too long, he allows himself to believe in the illusion. 

And he is happy, so terribly, foolishly happy, until she steps where a step should have been, onto stone that no longer exists, because the Necropolis, fickle and treacherous as ever, decides to shift beneath her. One moment she is there, cursing the cold, flicking dust from her sleeve, and the next she is gone, swallowed into the dark, falling before he can reach for her. Then—impact, the sound of something snapping, something that should not snap. 

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," she spits, voice sharp with pain, her frustration seething through clenched teeth. "I hate this fucking place. This miserable, shifting, plague-ridden, necrophiliac fucking mausoleum. This—" she swallows, gasps, rage momentarily overtaken by the white-hot shock of agony, then forces the words out, savage and breathless—"this godsdamned, dusty, corpse-stinking labyrinth of a tomb. Fuck this place. Fuck you for living in it. Fuck this floor for moving. Fuck my fucking leg." 

She hisses even as she cries, squeezing her eyes shut as if trying to will the hurt out of her body. He sees, at last, what has happened. A break, and not a clean one: bone slick and white against torn skin, jutting through muscle, her blood already thickening where it pools on the stone. 

And then—something strange. A pull, an unraveling, something unwinding before him, leading away. The ribbon again, unspooling, slipping from her, stretching outward, as though guiding him somewhere he does not wish to go. His vision narrows. He follows it. He follows it because he cannot help but follow it. 

"Emmrich?" Her voice has changed. The heat is gone, as is the anger. She sounds uncertain now. She sounds concerned. "Emmrich, are you—?" 

But he is looking at the ribbon. Watching where it leads. Watching where it ends. 

And he would weep if he could. 

He has spent his life in a state of want, always reaching, always grasping, always aching to be something necessary to someone. And now—now, at last—he has what he has longed for. Rook, quick and wild and untouchable. Rook, who was born lovely and careless and beautiful, who could have wrapped herself around anyone she pleased but chose, instead, him—old and grey, and then, simply, bone. Rook, with her hands always outstretched, her eyes always searching, who once told him, so offhandedly he almost believed she didn’t mean it, that she would have given him a child.

Now—now, she sits before him, cursing under her breath, her leg twisted, her blood sliding across the stone, and he understands, too suddenly, too clearly, that he cannot keep her. 

One day, that ribbon will slip from her entirely. 

And he will be wanting again, except this time, there will be no remedy, no second chance, no indulgence to dull the ache. 

Because she—she—the only thing that has ever fit the hollow inside him, will be gone.

A year. Ten. Twenty. Perhaps less. Perhaps more. 

She will be gone. 

Gone, gone, gone. 

"It will not break again," he tells her.

"Really?" she asks, pale from hurt.

"Truly."

He stands, glances over the chamber, and selects a sconce, its veilfire guttering weakly within its iron frame. He snuffs it out with a flick of his wrist, wrenches the metal free from the wall, and lets it sag into liquid in his palm. The Necropolis will not miss it. It devours offerings every day; what is one more? The molten iron shifts, pulses, rolls like living mercury as he shapes it between his fingers. She watches, suspicious, wary, but when he takes the pain from her, she sighs, slackens, her body a thing that yields, a thing that trusts. 

Bone is simple. A structure, a framework. Break it, mend it, break it again. He has done this before, he will do it again, and the body always obeys in the end. With a slow push, he sets her leg back into place. Crack, crack, crack—shattered edges realign, splinters withdraw, raw ends fuse like wax pressed to wax. He sees the place where the bone has chewed its way free, white and wet against the torn meat of her calf. 

He presses his fingers into the wound, past the sealing skin. The iron above them stirs at his will, stretching like a cat in the air before obeying, flowing down, clinging to the surface of the bone. Not inside it, no. That would be crude, inelegant. Instead, it forms a layer, thin but solid, a second skeleton over the first. It cools as it settles, solidifies, binds itself to her as if it had always belonged there. He guides it lower, shaping it over her tibia, letting it follow the curve of her ankle, turning his wrist slightly to direct it sideways, until the fibula is covered as well, safe beneath its new armor. There.

The final shreds of her wound pull themselves shut, sealing over his work, concealing what has been done. 

She shifts her foot, tilting her head, considering. "Oh," she says. "I suppose I'll be heavier now." 

He kisses her cheek and feels the faint shift of muscle beneath his lips, the small, secret curve of her smile. This time, for once, her happiness has no color. Not gold, not red, not that strange, shimmering violet he sometimes sees curling from her ribs. Just happiness, unembellished, undisturbed. And because she feels it, he believes it, and because he believes it, he takes it for himself, drawing her close.

"I am so, so happy that you are safe," he hears himself say, a confession with no real shape, a drunken speech without the mercy of intoxication. "I worry when you are gone, and I worry when you are here. It seems that no matter what I do, something always finds you first." 

She hums, arms looping around him, her fingers idly mapping the planes of his back, tracing aimless patterns into the fabric of his robes. "I don’t know what to say to that," she admits, her voice softened by exhaustion, by the slow retreat of pain. "But I am so, so happy with you too. And it’s all right, it’s all right. Every time I break, you can repair me." She pauses, then adds, utterly deadpan, "Guess that makes you my skele-tonic."

It is an objectively terrible pun. 

"Until you stop breaking altogether," he murmurs. 

Another hum, vague, thoughtless. 

He draws from her as he always does: pleasure, warmth, something deeper, something without a name, though it must have one, must have been cataloged somewhere, written down by some scholar who spent his life studying things that could not be grasped. He has never fully understood what it is he takes, only that it belongs to her, and that, by some quiet, unspoken permission, it is his as well. He wants to love her forever. But more than that, he wants to ensure that forever remains within reach, that it does not remain, as so many things have, just outside his grasp, dissolving the moment he closes his fist. 

He has spent too long watching what he yearned for unravel before he could fasten it down. This, he will not allow. It will take gold, it will take iron, it will take something far stronger, something absolute. Until she ceases to break. Until breaking is no longer a possibility, a concept, a word that has anything to do with her. 

He does not yet know how. But he has time—too much of it. More than she does. And he has always been a man of precision, of hypothesis and proof, of elegant solutions to insufferable problems. He will find a way. Through metal or magic, through that ribbon of red that keeps slipping from her, unspooling itself in slow increments, always trying to get away. He will take it, force it back into place, stitch it to the marrow, fix it with something incorruptible, something permanent, something that cannot be unwound without unmaking her in the process. 

He presses a kiss to her temple, then to her forehead, and speaks of flowers. The new blooms in the Memorial Gardens. Hideous, by all accounts. She will adore them. She appreciates beauty, certainly, but she loves foolishness even more. He kisses her cheek, the tip of her nose, her small, stubborn chin, and feels it again—that bright, quiet thing. Happiness. 

And, miraculously, when he takes a piece for himself, it does not feel stolen. 

"Enough, enough," she murmurs at last, the same word twice, as she always does when she needs a break from him, when she has given too much, when she feels him pulling, drinking, taking in excess without meaning to. Laughter ghosts beneath the words, thin but present, a reminder that she is still here, still whole. She taps his wrist with two fingers, light, quick, final—a gesture that, for all its carelessness, feels uncannily like closing a book. 

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 067 - Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: You were wrong ◛⑅·˚ ♡ ˎˊ˗

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅ Part 1 || Part 2♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Keep Lying To Yourself] ¡! ❞

"She moved?" Jinwoo looks up from his book when a classmate, Hajoon, approached him with the intention of starting some small talk.

"Well, yeah?" Hajoon shrugs, fishing out his phone to start playing a mobile game. "You didn't know? You two are always hovering around eachother and she didn't tell you.

"...No." Jinwoo rubs his temple, sighing deeply as Hajoon continues to go on.

He straightens up, looking back at a clearly confused Jinwoo with a curious expression, "Geez, man, did you get ditched by your girlfriend? With that face?"

"We're not dating, knock it off" The ebony haired boy shakes his head, deliberating if he should spy on the shadow he placed on you to figure out just where or what exactly you are doing at the moment. "That girl..."

"You guys weren't? With how much time you two often talk and you know... Do everything together?" Hajoon teases

"....Get your mind out of the gutter" Jinwoo reaches out and lightly smacks the back of his head.

"Sheesh, chill man, I'm messing with you" He scoffs, rubbing the back of his head.

Odd.

It's odd.

You never went quiet on him before like alone, let alone ditched him to move somewhere. Jinwoo tried to wrack his brain but no memory comes to mind of him offending you in any sort of way.

Sure, you two may have had some disagreements here and there— But nothing too bad that you'd ditch him, right?

Sighing, Jinwoo fished out his phone only to become dumbfounded as he realized you have blocked him on every social media platform you two were mutuals now.

"...." Jinwoo sits down on his desk, clicking his tongue.

He's not really annoyed, no, more of... Confused? Lost? Upset?

Did he do something wrong? He can't really recall.

It doesn't help that he knew your awful habit of overthinking every little thing and bottling up any emotions you may have.

Technically, he can actually stalk you right now. Teleport to wherever you are, peek on the shadow he has already placed on you years ago.

He can.

But he wouldn't.

You probably need space right now, if he gives you a week or maybe more— You'll come back, won't you? He'll wake up to a ping on his phone with you saying sorry for randomly disappearing and rambling on and on about whatever thing you're currently hyperfixating to at the moment.

꒰ .... ꒱

But 3 weeks had already passed, summer had already started and Jinwoo hasn't heard anything from your side.

Now, he was completely spiraling in his own mind trying to remember whatever crap he pulled off and offended you with.

You, whose heart was softer than most— Can easily be shunned away. Honestly, he can't even recall how he even started his small friendship between the both of you.

Maybe it was because the two of you were a pair of friendless losers in elementary and hit off somewhere. It was part of that, Jinwoo can't really remember. It's been decades for him when it's only been a few for you.

Adjusting back to everyday life when he spent more than 30 years in a gate battling hordes of monsters isn't an easy task even if he has countless titles and is the very embodiment of death itself.

Even he had fears.

Part of those fears is losing you.

꒰ .... ꒱

Moving to your grandmother's house was hectic. But after the countless nagging of telling you to act properly and behave yourself as your family moved to the other side of the hemisphere— You were finally given a breathing room to let it all sink in.

You're alone.

As breath taking and as therapeutic that breeze that blows through the trees is; you cant help but feel empty. It was as if you were stillwater waiting for a raindrop to cause ripples in your motionless world. This place had always been big, but somehow it feels as though the trees have grown taller and more intimidating during the time you had spent in the city.

Others would probably celebrate the new start they are given. But to you? Only your heavy heart could communicate the unease you have been feeling as of late.

Jinwoo was the only friend you've actually ever made. You may know a few other people, but you wouldn't call them friends at all. After all, they talk to you for a few minutes and forget about you for the next hour. It's not like you didn't try to make a connection. It's just that most of them... Would actively choose to ghost you unless they find it convenient to interact with a nobody like you.

By removing the only connection you have with Jinwoo— You had voluntarily put yourself into complete isolation.

It's wrong.

So very wrong.

But you are the fool that chooses to subject yourself into this suffering. Why? Because you believe that you deserve punishment.

Punishment for simply being alive, or not being enough. Your family always fussed about you just because no one wanted to really take care of you. Even your grandmother isn't that thrilled to have you live with her in her peaceful house, believing that you being in it will cause her stress.

It's not like you're extremely smart anyway. Your grades were averaging between C's and B's. Nobody was outright telling you to have better grades, but they wouldn't shut up about comparing you to your peers and most especially your cousins who were naturally gifted when it comes to academics.

Nobody may say it out loud, but you knew it yourself; that you are the title bearer of the black sheep of the family.

Not as pretty as your older cousins, not as established as the others who have dozens of medals to their names, and no friend that they know of just because everyone believes you're too introverted and uninteresting to many people. None would ask why you had little to no friends, or how is school doing.

So now that you no longer have any ties to Jinwoo— You now fully embody the stereotypes they had about you.

Not smart.

Not athletic.

Not popular.

A loner.

Nothing about is thoroughly impressive.

And whilst you wallow away, drowning in misery— A pair of hands suddenly come out from behind you to cover your eyes.

"Guess who?"

You purse your lips, refusing to answer the question when the familiar voice rings in your eardrums.

"Let me ask again," His voice becomes gentler this time, almost as if he were cooing at a child, "Guess who?"

A familiar game.

A game you often pull on him whenever he is nose deep into his notebook or enjoying a game on his phone too much. He would often scoff whenever you did and answer you by lightly pinching your hand.

So hesitantly, you reach your hand up and pinch the man's skin, mumbling quietly "Jinwoo."

"I thought you wiped my name off of your memories too" He answered, releasing you from the darkness but not allowing you to turn around and face him.

He knew you didn't want to look back at him anyway.

"Why did you do it?" Jinwoo asked, leaning over and resting his chin on the top of your head. "Blocking me, not saying anything about moving, or how I've upset you. Why didn't you when you know I would listen to you?"

"...."

You didn't want to answer him, but god, just why would he be such a patient person?

For once, why can't he let this one go? Why is it always Jinwoo who comes and bursts your tiny little bubble that you have imprisoned yourself in? Why can't he just leave you be when it's clear by your decisions that you do not want to be with anyone?

Not especially with him��� The him who deserves so much better.

"...I just thought... That if I leave... It would be better for you since I've been holding you back" Your voice cracks as his arms gently circle around behind you.

"And?" He hums, attempting to coax more out of you.

"I just felt bad for being a burden towards you... And I feel sorry..." You finally sniffle, your gaze blurring as the tears starts pooling and pouring down on your hands that gripped your shirt down. "I felt sorry that someone like you has to put up with me."

"Stupid idiot." Jinwoo quietly muttered with no actual bite to his tone. "Always overthinking every little thing? I came here to scold you; snap you back into reality by making sit through three hours of me mouthing your ear off."

He then leans his head down on the crook of your neck, lightly nuzzling the skin there as if he were trying to check if it was really you by your scent. "Driving me mad for 3 weeks without you saying anything. I thought we were fine and that you just needed some alone time after exams. How am I supposed to know all of this? Should I cross your boundaries and read your mind? Is that what you want from me?"

Jinwoo held you tighter, wanting, needing— To fuse you into his body almost.

"But here you are, crying your pretty little face knowing it makes my heart burn." He turns you around, forcing you to meet his grey orbs, "It's unfair of you."

Jinwoo then nuzzles his forehead against yours, "It's unfair of you and it's stupid of me to not realize that I should have been paying more attention."

"I'm sorry" You croak, hiccuping as your tears completely drown out his face that is right in front of you. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I was bad..."

"Sssh" He cooes, pulling you in for another embrace, "I'm sorry. I should have known how you felt and I shouldn't have allowed myself to give you mixed signals just to try and feel you out"

Jinwoo kisses the side of your head, your temple, your ear; whatever he can reach as he soothes you.

"Don't do this again," He firmly said, "If you are upset, tell me. I'll let you hit me, throw stuff at me— I'll let you stab me even."

Jinwoo continues, "I'll do anything you want except allow you to leave just because you're insecure. So knock it off, you're stuck with me. I promised you when we were kids that I would always be by your side. I'll tie our wrists together the next time you pull bullshit like this."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: I'm completely burnt out hahah. Creative juices are nowhere and I'm kinda turned off as of late actually sksksks. Anyway, I'll try to make more soon. Please be patient. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[sweetshuga]

𝑺𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✰ 𝑴.𝑺

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

𝒃𝒇!𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕! Warming his dick in you after experimenting with snow. "Fu—ck, y’feel so good, so fuckin’ warm."

𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂. @issysh3ll... Her asks inspires me everyday. «𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅»

𝒘𝒄. 𝟫𝟧𝟩

𝒑𝒔𝒂. English is not my first language! A little bonus since I accidentally posted Smutmas before I was supposed to<3 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰

⚠ 𝑫𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑴𝑷𝑻 𝑨𝑻 𝑯𝑶𝑴𝑬, 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑰𝑺 𝑷𝑼𝑹𝑬 𝑭𝑰𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 ⚠

Matt woke up earlier than usual, groaning softly as he stretched his limbs before carefully disentangling himself from your sleeping form. He stood up and immediately walked to the window above his bed. Lifting the curtains up slightly to see the weather and his eyes lit up, it was snowing. His mind pinged with an idea—his painfully stiff morning wood dragging his mind into the gutter.

He grumbled a complaint under his breath about his dick being too insatiable before slipping on an oversized white jumper that hid his arousal. Ready to go out and get some snow from outside to do his little experiment he just thought of.

The moment he stepped outside a shiver ran down his spine from the cool breeze, "fuck, why’s it so fucking cold outside?" He mumbled as he briskly walked towards his car where there was a thin sheet of snow covering the roof. He carefully extracted a small amount of snow into a plastic bag before walking back inside, letting out a shuddering breath.

"Hm? You’re up early, and is that snow?" Nick laughed in amusement as he walked towards Matt, "I can’t believe you went out at 5 am just to get snow in a plastic bag, what’re you even gonna do with that? Don’t tell me you’re gonna rub—" Matt punched Nick’s arm, making him let out a loud noise.

"Ow motherfucker! What was that for?" "Why are you awake?" Nick raised his eyebrows, "why am I awake? Well, someone has to edit the fucking videos, and I didn’t wake up, I just didn’t sleep." Matt shook his head slightly, a laugh escaping him despite himself, making Nick’s annoyed expression falter and morph into a grin.

𓆩♡𓆪

Matt finally managed to get back to his room, exhaling softly as he closed the door behind himself. He walked away from the door and towards the bed, checking if you were still sleeping before he walked to his gaming chair. Plopping down on it, he looked at the bag of snow that still somehow hadn’t melted yet—much to his excitement. He quickly pulled down his pants, letting out a low groan as he palmed his painfully hard erection.

He tugged his jumper over his head and shrugged it off, leaving him in a black tank top, and his pj flannel pants down mid-thigh. His red briefs had a blotch of precum soaking the front, and he was quick to pull his briefs down slightly, letting his hefty length spring free. "Fuck," he rasped as he swiped his thumb over his tip, collecting the steadily leaking precum before spreading some of it around his shaft.

Matt couldn’t resist giving himself a few pumps, letting out a series of muffled moans as he did so. He reluctantly let go of himself – his length twitching from the loss of friction – and took the bag of snow. He knew it was nearly impossible to put the snow flake by flake on his tip, but he wanted to try anyway—his curiosity clouding his common sense.

𓆩♡𓆪

"Fuck this," he groaned aloud, tossing the bag of slushy of snow onto his desk. His tip was cold, slightly red and swollen from not getting relief, and he could feel himself shuddering. Suddenly, he felt a gentle hand carding through his hair. "What’re you doing baby..." Your voice trailed off when you looked down at his lap – his cock standing at attention – before taking your gaze back to his face which now had a pink-ish hue to it. All sleep, that lingered, vanished into thin air, an undeniable heat pooling in your panties from the erotic scene.

"Matt, what—" he cut you off with a quick mumble that sounded something like "It’s fine, i’ll deal with it myself". You chuckled softly, "you sure?" He gulped audibly, his resolve crumbling bit by bit. "I mean... I don’t wanna burden you, you don’t have to—" he paused and sighed—knowing his hands couldn’t compare to your warm pussy. "I take it back, please, sweetheart?" You smiled and pulled him up and towards the bed.

He stumbled slightly due to his pants and briefs around his thighs, but made it to the bed nonetheless and plopped on it, his erection bobbing obscenely. You chuckled before tapping his thighs, "c’mon, up." He immediately lifted himself up just enough for you to pull his pants and briefs further down, letting it pool at his ankles and shimmied out of your own underwear before straddling his lap.

He hissed in a breath when he felt your warmth on his much cooler skin. "Fuck, baby, hold on—" he let out a shaky moan when you teased his tip against your already slippery slit. He felt his need increase tenfold, the sensation of your warm and wet pussy against his poor sensitive tip proving to be too much for him, and in an instant you were laying under him with wide eyes from the sudden change in positions.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, gripping your hips tightly before suddenly plunging deep inside without any warning. The coolness of the head of his cock against your much warmer insides sent tingles down your spine. "Oh fuck, Matt," you moaned, your head thrown back against the pillow and eyes shut tightly to prevent it from rolling back. Your hands flew out to clutch onto his forearms when he started to move.

"Fu—ck, y’feel so good, so fuckin’ warm." He groaned, his hand coming up to cover your mouth, "shh—sweets, we’re not alone—mffh, you know." He didn’t wait for a reply and instead started to increase his pace. Making sure to hit all the right spots. He knew everything about you—and your pretty little cunt, after all.

𓆩♡𓆪

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @strnilolover @mattsfavoritestar @sophand4n4 @tpwktahlz @lilyyliloo @slut4angstt @pvssychicken @poolover123 @loud-sturniolos @inlovewchrissturniolo @sagesturns @chrisstopherfilmed @billiesbabya @h3arts4nat @moosegirl96 @sofiaaguilaxx @sturniolo-fann @goingtojohnkramershouseee @sturniolosluttt @chrislilcumslvt @mattsninja @bilssturns @sturnioloszn @slvtf0rchr1s @knowingnothingnoel @shadowthesim @brookheartsmatt @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @m00nl1ghts1vt @strnlslut @ribread03 @hearts4werka @larallott @ivysturnss @chrisfavoritewhore @peiivnao @sturniolokaulitz @diasturnsth

© sweetshuga

[darknight3904]

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘭 & 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦 (2024). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 18+

𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥/𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 30𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 4.7𝘬

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 / 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

I love you too.

Logan swears he's hallucinating as he drives back into the city, with you riding shotgun next to him. He rests his hand on your thigh as he drives, the windshield wipers squeak a bit as they push the water off the windshield. 

“What's going on up there?” He asks, noticing how you're rather quiet since he pulled away from the school.

“Thinking about how we just ditched Wade and Laura at a stranger's home.” You say 

“They're not strangers. Wade seems very familiar with Colossus.” Logan says 

You snort, “More like two steps away from being murdered by him.” 

“They're fine, bub. You worry too much.” He says, nonchalantly.

“Tell me something I don't know.” You sigh 

Logan watches as you look out the window at the trees and greenery that zip by. Their color looks more washed out than normal thanks to the rainy weather. 

All he can see though is you. His mind replayed how you looked when he admitted what he wanted to say after that night at the club, how he loved you, how he was in love with you. He feels his chest tighten, and now you know. 

“I’m also thinking about how I'm soaked to the bone.” You say, cranking the heat up on your side.

“Don't worry, I'm gonna keep you nice warm when we get home.”

You look over at Logan, wondering if he even heard himself right now. 

“Not like that.” He backpedals, “Get your mind out of the gutter.” 

“Yeah, okay Logan.” You laugh 

Logan unlocks the door to the dark apartment and the two of you stumble in, you nearly trip over a dog toy Mary has left behind. Logan's big hands loop around you and he presses a warm kiss to your neck and mumbles something about getting dry clothes and running a bath before disappearing into his room.

The apartment is silent as you clean up the dog toys that nearly ended your life a few moments ago. You toss them into the bin that Wade decorated with stickers for Mary before glancing at the closed bedroom door that Logan was behind.

"Wait!" His voice calls as he scrambles to pull his boxers on when you push the door open.

"Nice ass." You compliment as he yanks them up just a second too late

"Pervert," Logan grumbles, walking over to you, still missing his shirt and pants, reaching out to pull you flush to his chest.

"You love it." You mumble with a smile

"You should get out of those wet clothes." Logan gestures to you, "Gonna get sick like that."

"You're right, I will." You smile coyly, "Help me take 'em' off?"

Logan's hands pull the fabric off your wet cardigan off your body. His eyes roam the exposed skin as your hands fumble with the buttons of your jeans. You pull the uncomfortable wet denim from your skin and kick them off, leaving you in a mismatched bra and panties. Had you known you were going to try to seduce him tonight, you might've broken the Victoria's Secret out.

Logan's lips met yours for the second time this evening, this time hot with want and desire as his hands began to roam your body.

"Gotta warm you up, pretty girl." He whispered in your ear, “I'll run you a bath. You like that lavender stuff in the water right?” 

“Don't want a bath.” You sigh, gently pushing him towards his mattress. You know what you want, and so does he.

He chuckles as he sits on the bed and pulls you on top of him, sitting in his lap, straddling what his boxers were doing a terrible job at hiding.

"You sure?" He asks softly

You nod excitedly and he laughs a bit at your eagerness.

“Let me hear it.” He orders sternly 

“I want it, Logan. I want you.” You say 

Logan smiles and presses a warm kiss to the back of your hand. 

"Let's take these off then, hm?"

His hands ran over your bra and then one came down to deliver a feather-light touch to your clit through your panties.

The last of your clothes disappeared onto the floor as Logan spun you around so your back was resting on the mattress. One big hand snuck between your legs as his mouth remained locked on your neck, whispering dirty things into the skin there.

His thumb brushed over your sensitive slit while two fingers slipped into you.

"Thought of you like this." He admits into your skin

"Yeah?" You breathlessly answer, distracted by his fingers

"Mmhm. All spread out for me." He mumbled, "So pretty."

His fingers at the spongy spot that was deep in your cunt and your hips arched off the bed.

"Logan..." You gasp, your hand wrapping around his wrist, unsure if you want him to stop or keep going.

"All mine." He whispers as you cry out, your orgasm washing over you quicker than you expected.

"Fuck." You sigh as he moves away from you, letting you come down.

"You alright?" He asks softly

"I'm good." You say, "Great actually."

"I aim to please." He jokes

"Can we keep going?" You ask, looking over at his handsome face

"Course we can." He smiles, going to sit back up, only to be stopped by you gently pushing him back down

Logan shook his head a bit as you pulled his boxers down, letting his cock out. The hiss he let out when you ran your fingertips along the head had you practically dizzy with lust.

"Stop fucking teasing." He rasped, pulling you onto him, forcing you to straddle his muscular form.

You move to line him up with you and tense up when you begin to lower your hips.

"Go slowly." Logan softly says, rubbing circles into your waist

Your face scrunches up as you slowly drop down. Fuck he was big. Your ass finally meets his hips and you let out a small gasp, trying to adjust.

Logan isn't much better under you as he bites at his lip, his hand coming up to play with your chest that you have practically shoved in his face.

"If you want we can change positions. I don't want you to hurt-"

A loud moan cut his sentence off as you suddenly lifted off him, only to drop back down. One big hand held you steady as the other drifted down to your clit while you rode him.

"Fuck..." He groaned into the heat of your neck, you were going to be the death of him

Your knees were digging into his things as you groaned when his fingers played with you just right. Below you, Logan's hips lifted up, matching your hips with his own thrusts.

"M' close." You whisper

"Yeah?"

The cocky smirk that plays on his lips has you pressing your own to his. Always so egotistical.

Your body shook above his and you broke the kiss, his swollen lips moving to attach themselves to your chest.

"Let go, hon." He said into the flesh, "M' right here, c'mon."

You groaned as your orgasm rolled over you, your eyes slammed shut as Logan sucked another hickey onto your chest.

"Your turn." You whisper into his ear running your tongue along the skin.

"My turn." He parroted before flipping you over and pressing your marked chest to the mattress.

Big hands rubbed at your ass as he pushed back in, cursing when your cunt let him in again.

"So fucking warm." He mumbled as he shallowly thrust into you

His tip was just barely in you as you groaned below him. Despite just getting off, you were greedy and wanted more from him.

"Logan." You sigh nerdily 

"Hmm?" He responded, fully aware of what he was doing to you.

That piece of shit knew exactly what you wanted.

"Faster. Deeper." You groan

"You sure you can handle that?" He laughs

“Please.” You mumble into the sheets below you, your sanity was slowly withering away the longer he had you like this.

“Begging? I must be good.” He laughs cockily

"Logan!" You yell, upset with his teasing

"Sorry." He says, a tilt of amusement filling his tone

You know he's not sorry but his hips speeding up have you forgetting your anger. Electricity shot through your spine as the sound of the rain against the window tried to drown you and Logan's moans out.

"C'mon..." Logan grunted from behind you as his hips shifted

His cock brushed that spot inside you and you let out a muffled whine into the mattress.

"Found her." Logan cockily said, "One more, can you do that?"

You find yourself nodding into the soft sheets as he goes even deeper.

Overstimulation had tears dancing in your waterline as Logan's groans filled your ears. His big hands held your hips as moved against you.

"Close." He warned you

One hand left your hips and fell to your clit. His thumb brushed over the overstimulated nerves and you were done. A loud moan left your mouth as your eyes fluttered shut.

"Good girl." Logan praised as he fucked you through the orgasm.

Vaguely, you feel him pull out and let go all over your back, moaning your name as he did so.

The bed shifts as he moves away from you, you feel the soft fabric of what's probably a t-shirt cleaning your back before it dips lower and runs between your legs. Your hips wiggle away and a small whimper leaves your mouth.

"Shhh." Logan says "It's a mess down here."

Semi-clean and fully exhausted, you bury your face in the pillows as Logan lies down next to you, he tosses an arm around you and pulls you close so your sweaty skin is touching his. Both of you lying on your sides, staring at each other full of bliss.

"You okay? Not in pain?" He asks, clearly concerned

"I'm great." You admit, leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Good." He laughs, "So am I."

You take in his handsome features up close and run a finger down the bridge of his nose. Your legs are entangled with his as he lets his eyes close, enjoying your touch.

"M' sorry about earlier." He says, "For making you think I wanted Jean."

"I was being stupid." You admit, "You can talk to whoever you want."

"No, I knew what you had been through in the past and I ignored you anyway." He says, opening his eyes again to look at you

"I forgive you." You smile, your nose brushing his

"You sure?" He asks, "You're not going to turn me into a blood stain in the middle of the night?"

You smile and shake your head, "Who said I was spending the night?"

"You honestly think I'm going to let you go back to your own bed after all that?" Logan scoffed, referring to the mind-numbing sex.

"Dunno, My bed is memory foam. Pretty comfortable if you ask me."

"You're staying right here, with me." Logan said, tightening his hold on you, "You're all mine now."

"I always have been." 

Warm sunshine wakes you up the next morning. The bed is empty as you stretch and push your tangled hair from your eyes. 

Where was Logan? 

Better yet, where were your clothes? 

You pull yourself out of bed and pull Logan's drawers open, finding an “I survived NYC!” shirt, you slip it on and step back into your discarded panties. 

The scent of breakfast has you hopeful you'll see a shirtless Logan Howlett over the stove making something delicious. 

Much to your disappointment, there is a shirtless man there, just not your shirtless man. 

“Morning, slut.” Wade greets, “Eggs?” 

You flash Wade the middle finger before walking off to the bathroom. You desperately need a shower. 

Hot water steams the bathroom up as you step into the stream, closing your eyes as it runs down your back. You can't help but wonder where Logan is as you shampoo your head. Perhaps it regretted it all and was running off.

No. He wouldn't do something like that. Would he? 

Worry fills your stomach as you dry yourself off, ready to sneak back to your room for some fresh clothes. 

You pull the bathroom door open and peer into the kitchen, hoping that Wade is gone. 

To your dismay he's still there, this time eating his food. Surprisingly another person is there too. 

“Logan.” You greet, tiptoeing into the room, still wrapped in your towel. 

“I was hoping you'd still be asleep when I got back.” He says, crossing the room to hand you one of the coffees in his hands. 

You take a long sip of the liquid, and a welcome warmth spreads across your chest as you do. 

“Duke’s.” You smile, “You remembered my order.” 

“Course I did.” Logan leans down and presses a small kiss to your cheek, “Go throw some clothes on and we can get back in bed and drink coffee together. I even stopped at a bagel shop on the way back.” 

You nod and scurry down the hall to your room in search of clothes. 

Laura is already awake, watching some YouTube video on her laptop. 

“Morning.” She greets 

“Good morning.” You say 

God, you feel so awkward talking to her. Why did you feel like you were the teen being caught with her boyfriend when she was the kid and you were the adult? Wait, did she even know about you and him? Was she even going to be okay with it? She had said to be friends with him, not to sleep with him! You were a terrible parental figure. 

“I know about you and Logan,” Laura says looking up

Oh. 

“I'm sorry.” You're unsure how to approach this with her 

“Why apologize? You two are happy together. And I'm happy seeing you together.” She says 

“Really? It's not weird?” You ask 

She shakes her head with a smile, “I think it'd be weirder not seeing you two together.” 

You nod and slip into pajamas, relieved she approves of it all. 

“What I don't like is how you ditched me at the school last night.” Laura chastises “That Scott guy drove us home and he and Wade argued the whole time.” 

You cringe at the thought of the ride she had to suffer through while you were with Logan. 

“Can I make it up to you by promising not to ever ditch you again?” You ask 

“That. And I want more closet space.” Laura says 

“Ugh. Fine.” You groan “Toss my sweaters on my bed, I'll find somewhere else to store them.” 

“How about in Logan's room?” She teases as you leave the room with a groan of embarrassment. 

Wade approaches you just before you push the bedroom door open to Logan. 

“I’ll let you have your little love nest today with big yellow. But just so you know I am not sleeping with Al again tonight.” Wade says, “Her farts smell like rotten eggs. Did you know she even tried to dutch oven me last night?”

“Thanks, Wade, just what I wanted to hear.” You groan 

“You’re welcome. I’m hoping that sets the mood for you.” Wade laughs 

You enter the bedroom to see Logan already back under the covers, white wife beater doing nothing to hide the rippling muscle underneath. A wrapped-up bagel comes flying at your face as you stand there ogling him. 

“You’re drooling,” Logan says as you catch it with ease 

You shuffle into bed beside him, climbing under the covers and scooting so you’re close to him. 

“Can’t believe you just threw a bagel at me.” You sigh with faux sadness 

“Next time I’ll be sure to hit you with it.” 

“I’ll shove it down your throat and watch you choke.” You counter 

Logan turns to you and looks at you like you’re crazy. 

“Hypothetical situation.” You shrug, taking a bite of the food. 

“You’re twisted.” He shakes his head 

“You love it.” You smile 

“Do I?” He says

He turns his head but you catch the small smile that plays on his lips. 

Logan pulls Wade’s laptop onto his bed and opens Netflix up. 

“When did you learn to do that?” You ask 

“Just because I’m 200 doesn't mean I don’t know how to work a computer, bub.” He sighs, scrolling through the options 

“Yeah, but last week you cursed out Laura’s Nintendo Switch when it wasn’t connecting to the TV correctly.” You say, “You threatened to toss it out the window.” 

Logan lets out a grunt of acknowledgement and clicks on quite possibly the saddest movie in the world, Marley and Me, “How about this one?” 

“This one is ridiculously sad.” You groan, thinking of the last time you watched it.

“It doesn’t look that sad. Look, they're running on a beach with a dog.” Logan points to the screen as the preview plays 

“Hit play then.” You shake your head, he was going to eat his words in two hours. 

You know what made you such a great dog, is you loved us every day no matter what.

You shift in your spot from where you had been tucked into Logan’s side, gauging his face for any reaction to the movie. This was the saddest scene in the movie and the man was as stoic as ever. He was insane. He had to be legally insane. 

“This is sad.” Logan comments suddenly 

“If it’s so sad, why aren’t you crying?” 

“I don't cry over movies.” Logan huffs, gaze still stuck on the screen.

“Heartless bastard.” You mumble, leaning back into him just in time to watch the beloved Marley close his eyes 

“Are you crying?” Logan asked 

“No.” You lie. 

“I can feel the tears on my arm.” 

You glance down to see that some of your tears have rolled down your face and landed on the arm he has secured around your waist, keeping you pressed to him. 

“You’re delusional.” 

“Thanks.”

Later, you stand over the stove, watching the grilled cheese simmer in the pan while Al sits at the table to tell you about her day and how Wade dragged her around some shopping mall. 

“And then the motherfucker left me in the back of Spencer’s holding a dildo bigger than my arm.” She says 

“You should’ve bought it and beat him with it when he came back.” You say 

“That shit was nearly forty dollars! I’m not buying that when I can beat him for free with one of those wooden spoons in the drawer.” Al explains, gesturing to the drawer on your right. 

“Fair point. Want one now? I’m pretty sure he’s watching Love Island on the couch with Vanessa and Laura.” 

“Later. I’ll get him when he’s sleeping tonight.” Al brushes you off, “I bet Laura will help me draw something on his face.

You want to tell her that Laura will most definitely help her but never get the chance as big arms snake around your waist and Logan’s face is suddenly buried in your neck from behind. A litter of kisses is pressed to the delicate skin and Logan whispers to you, 

“Y’smell so good.” 

“Ugh! Gross! Go procreate somewhere else!” Wade gasps as he enters the kitchen, “Where’s the fucking Clorox? We need a wipedown over here!” 

“Stop that,” Vanessa says, nudging him as Logan lets you go, opting to lean on the counter beside you. 

“They’re literally about to reenact Fifty Shades and you’re telling me to stop? I don’t think Ana told Christian Grey that one when she was tied up on his-” 

“You’re really annoying.” You cut him off with a sharp glare

“Thank you, I’m here for the rest of your life.” Wade bows 

Logan pulls the fridge open and retrieves beers for himself, you, and Vanessa, popping the lids off with ease. 

“Alight, fuck me, I guess.” Wade scowls, going to get his own beer 

“I only get beer for people who don’t annoy me,” Logan says indifferently 

“I do not annoy you.” Wade says, “You’re literally the Goldie Hawn to my Kurt Russell, Peanut.” 

You flip the sandwiches, ready to toast them on the other side and Logan pulls you into him, tossing an arm around your shoulders. 

“So, for all our lovely readers out there, I think we need to slap a label on this puppy, go on tell the audience, Peanut,” Wade says 

You look at Logan in confusion, neither of you had any idea what he was saying. 

“God, you guys are two dense peas in a pod, made for each other. Labels, I’m talking labels people! What are you guys now? Certainly, we’re done with the enemies-to-lovers arc. Now we need to define the relationship!” Wade groans

Logan looks down at you and you up at him. You’re not sure what he wants to call it. You’ve never truly been one to label relationships, after all, your last one had failed so miserably. 

“She’s mine,” Logan says suddenly, tightening his hold on you, like Wade was going to whisk you away and he’d be stuck here with Al, Laura, and Vanessa. Oh, and of course little Mary. 

You smile up at him, you like the sound of it. 

“Fuck yes! Finally, thought I was never going to see the end. Y’know I can only sit on the tag list for so long before I get antsy.”

Logan shrugs as the two of you and Vanessa watch Wade talk to his hands which are mimicking the way one would hold a cell phone. 

“Those Tumblr bitches are going to love this chapter. HA! It’s even got the 18+ label slapped up there in red!”  

Logan leans down and presses a kiss to your ear before going to whisper in it, “All mine.” 

“Yours.” You whisper back 

That night, you’re wrapped in Logan’s arms in his bed once more. Wade is across the room, a sleep mask on his eyes that says “Fuck Off!” is illuminated by the street lights that shine through the curtains. You had pinky promised the Merc with the Mouth that you and Logan would absolutely not have sex while Wade slept in his own bed tonight. 

That led to where you were now, unable to sleep, still a bit dialed up from the idea that you were being spooned by Logan of all people. Seriously, it was like a fanfiction come to life. 

You shift your legs beneath the covers again, your body is tired yet your mind refused to shut off. 

“What’s wrong?” Logan asked softly 

“Can’t sleep.” You whisper back 

“What’s on your mind?” Logan asked, shifting onto his back and pulling you with him so you were resting your head on his chest. 

“Dunno, lots of stuff. Like how Australia is wider than the moon.” You say 

“Really?” Logan asked 

“Yeah, Laura told me she learned it in Science class the other day. Apparently, crocodiles can’t stick their tongues out either.” 

“Strange.” Logan sighs, “What else do you have up there?” 

“When you type the word Alaska, it’s the only state that can be typed with one row of a keyboard.” 

Logan stays silent for a moment, rolling the thought over in his mind. 

“Shit, you’re right. Where’d you learn all this?” He asks 

“I had a lot of time in Maine after the Professor asked me to leave.” You shrug, “Spent time on Google.” 

“You’re like a walking fun facts book,” Logan says, pressing a kiss to your forehead, content with listening to you talk.

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

Four Months Later

It’s a cold February day as you unload boxes from the moving truck into your new apartment. It was only a block away from Al and Wade’s but the cold winds had made it impossible to just carry things up and down the sidewalk. 

“I think this is the last of it. Besides the couch.” Laura says as she places three large boxes on the ground. 

You curse her super strength. Why couldn’t you do that, you had been stuck making multiple trips while she and Logan carried multiple boxes at once with ease. 

“You should probably go down there and referee. I think they’re going to kill each other, or well try to.” Laura says as the sounds of Logan and Wade arguing drift up the steps and into the apartment. 

“Of course they are.” You sigh, “Can you put some of the kitchen stuff away?” 

Laura nods and moves to open a box marked ‘Plates’. 

Three flights of steps later, you find Logan and Wade arguing over how to hold the couch to get it up the steps. Vanessa stands behind them, one hand on her hip, the other holding a beat-up lamp that has Logan’s claw marks in its shade. It must’ve been collateral damage from an old fight between him and Wade. 

“Move your hands to the right,” Wade says, his voice full of annoyance for Logan.

“I’m holding it just fine.” Logan growls 

“Oh really? Then why am I doing all the heavy lifting? What good are all those muscles if you don’t pull your weight? Do you know how disappointed I am in you? Those Hawaiian rolls are nothing but for show huh? What are the readers going to think, our movie comes out on digital on October 1st according to Canadian Superstar Ryan Reynolds' Instagram. Peanut, you are letting them down by not doing this shirtless I'm telling you.

“Stop fucking talking.” Logan grunts, "It's the middle of February I'm not doing anything shirtless."

"Nothing except, Pumpkin apparently." Wade glances up at you on the next landing and waves at you, "Tell me how big is it?"

"Bring the couch upstairs and then we can talk dick sizes." You groan

"Uh oh." Wade snorts, "Sounds like someone's got a micropenis. Don't worry Honey Badger, it's perfectly normal."

The sound of the couch slamming to the ground and the skirt of six metal claws appearing have you groaning. This was never going to get done.

"It was a joke, Loagie. I'm a humorous guy." Wade shrugs, undeterred.

Somehow, the couch makes its way up the steps and into the living room. Wade receives a pat on the back and a kiss on the cheek from Vanessa as payment as Logan returns to your side, stinking of sweat. 

“You smell.” You point out

“He gets a kiss, and all I get is that I smell?” He asks 

“Sorry, buddy.” You pat his bicep, “Honestly is important in a relationship.” 

You yelp when Logan takes a tea towel from one of the boxes and gently whips your ass with it. 

“Kinky.” Wade calls, “Invite me over next time!” 

You spend the rest of the day with Laura, helping her decorate her new room with the various knick-knacks and lights she likes. 

“Bet you’re glad to have your own space.” You say as you put a framed picture of her and you onto her dresser. 

“Yeah. I’m glad it's not sharing a wall with the two of you though.” She says 

Why the hell was she so blunt? Your face burned in embarrassment. 

“Sorry…” You say 

“I expect noise-canceling headphones if you two are going to be doing…that while I’m home.” She says 

“Or, we’ll just be good adoptive parents and restrain ourselves.” 

“Doubtful!” Wade laughs as he passes Laura’s room while helping Logan with a bedframe. 

You groan and shake your head, “We’ll go out to get the headphones tomorrow.” 

That night, you lay in bed while Logan slips back in and dries himself off from a much needed shower. You had an idea pop into your mind while he was in the bathroom and desperately needed to ask him.

“What’s wrong?” He asks looking at you

“Nothing.” You lie 

“You haven’t made one comment about my ass yet. Something’s wrong.” He discerns as he stands at the foot of the bed 

“Sorry,” You laugh, “You, Logan Howlett have an amazing ass.” 

“Thank you.” He nods, “Now, spill it. What’re you thinking about?”

“Do you think that we’re together in other universes?” You ask 

“I’m sure there’s gotta be a few out there. Why?” He asks 

“Dunno. It just didn't work out for either of us the first time. And in Laura’s universe, her versions of us had a terrible fate.” You say 

“You worried we’re going to be ripped apart by some evil force?” Logan asks with a chuckle, slipping his boxers on.

“No, I was just thinking about it. Like, I wonder how many other lives there are out there where we’re together.” You explain 

“I don’t really care about those other lives,” Logan says, getting on the bed and crawling under the covers beside you. 

You scoff, “Thanks for that. It was just hypothetical.” 

“I don’t care about those other people, the other life they’re living, doesn’t matter to me.” He says, “I’m focused on this one here in front of me. The one with you.” 

A warm fuzzy feeling dances across your chest at his admission. He truly was something.

“Promise?” You ask, teasing him.

A small smile stretches across your face as Logan presses a kiss to your lips, a deep laugh escapes, followed by a groan rumbling across his chest when you pull at his hair. He breaks away from you and rests his forehead against yours. Your breaths mingle together in the silence as he speaks again,

“Promise.”

The End

Extra Part: Is It New Years Yet?

Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed this story.

My parting gift? Ash pictures of course ;)

I hope to see you all in the one-shots, if not that's okay, I'm not going to make you read them.

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[caturdwy]

ok, i don't know why i wrote this, i'm not even a ford girl, i'm a stanley girlie all the way. but this image came to me yesterday and i had to write it down, so i spent my entire class working on this. it's not finished but i don't now if i'm gonna write more. here goes nothing

pairing: stanford pines x reader

warnings: smut (?), definitely sexual. 18+, mdni

word count: 1.5k

"Is that why Stanley calls you Sixer?" You ask, breaking the silence.

Your voice gets him out of his trance, but not early enough for him to actually hear what you asked. "Huh?"

"Is that why Stanley calls you Sixer?" You repeat yourself, pointing one finger at his hands.

He lets out a laugh and nods. "Yeah, he's so creative with the nicknames." He answers, voice full of sarcasm.

"Can I touch it?" You ask, finger still pointing at his left hand, the closest to you. "Your hand, can I touch it?"

He blushes and tugs at the collar of his sweater, voice faint. "Uh, yes."

You take your hand off your thighs and touch the back of his, feather light touch as to not scare him off. You observe attentively his reaction, checking if he will wince or take it away from you. Since he stays still, you take it as a sign to continue.

You grip his hand firmly, not harshly, and pull it closer to you. His gaze follows your every move, cheeks still a bit flushed, and he swallows dry. You start to touch just his fingers, pinching his phalanxes and moving them around before pressing on them and hearing them pop. His eyes grow a bit when you do it, not expecting you to do that.

You linger a bit more on his extra pinky, still fascinated. You touch it a bit differently, and wonder if you should ask anything about it.

"May I ask you a question?" You say out loud. Well, it doesn't hurt to try.

"Yes, go on." He speaks, still watching you closely.

"Is it ever a hindrance? Like, does it work like every other finger?" You ask, still with your hands focused on popping said finger.

"No, it's never a hindrance. It works just like the rest of my hand." He replies, pulling his hand away from your touch. He wiggles his fingers, moving every phalanx to show you, and then he lifts only his extra little finger and does the same thing. "See? Full control."

You let out a smile, finding it fascinating. It's at the very least interesting. Unusual. You like it. But you also can't help how your mind goes straight to the gutter.

You can't jump on this too fast, or you'll startle him. So you put your hands back on his and pull it closer to you, like it was before.

Stanford smiles back at you, a little awkward, sure, but you can see his flattery.

"Very interesting. Must be useful." You utter.

Meanwhile, your grip on his hand gets stronger, and you use both your thumbs to squeeze his skin, pressing on spots that are usually stiff.

"It doesn't make that much of a difference. My niece, however, always says it's friendlier than a regular handshake."

You let out a little laugh while pressing your thumbs on the back of his hands, paying attention to the tendons. You hear Ford suck in a breath once you hit what is apparently the right spot. "That's adorable."

"Yeah." He agrees mindlessly, but he's not really here. He's a bit distracted, hopefully enjoying the massage. "Yeah, she's adorable."

You change your focus from the back of his hand to the palm, going straight to the spot where his thumb meets the rest, the thenar area. He hisses a bit and you stop for a second, looking at his face to check if this was still okay. You can confidently say he was more than okay, because he has his eyes closed and the face of someone who was enjoying the situation. His back was not as stiff now and had a little arch to it as his shoulders leaned in towards your touch.

You do this to the entirety of his palm, running your thumbs on the soft spot on the middle of it, pressing on the flesh of his fingers, the side of his hand, dragging all the way to to the area of his carpals. The more you press and massage, the more he relaxes. Depending on what you do you even get an approvingly hum, almost a little moan. Of course these are the things you do again and again, just to hear him make any noise.

At last, you move his wrist in little circles, improving the circulation on the area before pressing both the dorsal and ventral areas. You give the back of his hand a little kiss before placing it on his thigh again, and point to his right, the farthest away from you.

It takes him a moment to register, his brain wrapped around a fog of calmness and relaxation. He's never felt like this before, he's never gotten a massage in his life, much less in his hand. And oh boy, how bad did he need it. He didn't even know his muscles could get that stiff, hold on to that much stress. A lifetime of stress, really. With just simple strokes of your own hands, that was all gone, vaporized. He's so out of it he doesn't even blush when you kiss his hand.

He lifts his right hand and shifts on the bed, figuring out a position that would be more comfortable to stretch his arm out, but still manageable for you to keep doing the sorcery you were doing. You keep following the same procedure, pop the phalanxes first, run your thumbs on the back of his hand, then go the palm, rub the thenar area out, press on the soft spot on the middle, massage the muscles on his fingers, the works.

The more you touch him, the more he relaxes, the more he lets himself go. He's feeling so light he can almost lift off the ground. If he lays on the bed he is sure he'll never be able to leave, the mattress and him becoming one. You think about saying something, but nothing comes out, not when he looks so good like this, all relaxed. Possibly the first time he's actually relaxed in his entire life.

After you are almost done you decide it's time to speak up. "Hey, Ford."

"Hmmmm." He purrs, not bothering looking up at you.

"Do you know what this makes me think?" You ask right after giving a kiss on the same spot you did the other hand. However, you don't let it go. You keep holding it, rubbing little circles on his skin.

"Hmmmm?" He hums again, but this time tries to voice the end like a question. This prompts a tiny laugh from you.

Now's the moment, he has his guard down. You move your body carefully closer to him, placing your face near his ear. Ford can feel his warm breath on the side of his face, the skin almost burning from the sudden heat. You pull out the sexiest voice you can make and whisper lowly, like a secret and he's the only person meant to hear.

"It makes me think of how good this extra finger would feel grabbing my ass."

He nearly chokes out, being pulled from his half-dreaming state and slammed back into reality, the blood split between rushing to his face or his lower belly, straight to his dick. He takes in a sharp breath, eyes opening and growing twice the size they usually are. You give him a little giggle from the reaction, finding it a bit funnier than it should be.

With all of his attention on you now, you place yourself a bit farther from him and bring the hand you're holding to your eye view, right in front of you face. You wait for him to look you in the eyes and put his thumb on your hot tongue. He jolts at the movement, but doesn't push back. You close your lips around it and suck it all the way to the back of your mouth. When you swallow everything, you circle your tongue around his skin while dragging it out of your mouth, little by little.

Stanford feels like his body is burning. Someone might as well have drowned him in gas and set fire to it. Once your tongue leaves his finger, he feels the cooling sensation the of the air coming in contact with your saliva and his dick gets incredibly harder.

He didn't want to react this way, he really didn't. Stanley hired you as a bad joke and he was not pleased about it, but hell. He can't not be turned on when you look at him like that, lips shiny and wet, breath hot on the skin of his hand, fingers still holding him by the wrists.

When he opens his mouth to say something, you catch him off guard again by kissing his index finger. Then his middle finger, all the way to his extra pinky, which you also suck while looking at him straight in the eyes. But he's weak, so while you're still halfway done putting the thing in your mouth he closes his eyes, trying to calm down the turmoil of feelings raging inside him.

You take his finger out of your mouth and it makes a wet, loud 'pop'. You give yourself a proud smile and lick the extra saliva off your own lips, bringing your body closer to his again. In the sultriest voice you can pull off, you whisper on his ear again. "How does that sound, Mr. Pines?"

[specshroom]

★ I think Choso is obsessed with kissing ★

~~~

At first he thought the concept was a bit weird like alot of human things. You just... put your lips on someone else's...and hold it there????

 Yeah he was confused. But you were patient with him and from the moment you two had your first kiss the man was hooked. (I'm imagining like fireworks and stars in his eyes with a deep red blush like a comedy anime lmao) 

He's a bit clumsy at first, he's just eager and inexperienced. You can only find it cute, honestly. 

Even much later in the relationship, after he's gotten the hang of it and has settled into casual physical touch. Choso still has such an eagerness for kisses. Unlike sex which has a defined begining, climax and end. Kissing can go on forever, it doesn't have to ever end. Even a half curse like him gets tired and overstimulated eventually and while he obviously loves fucking you, he also loves the ease and casualness of kissing. 

The way he sees it, It still riles you up and allows you to express love and passion for eachother while not being as exhausting. 

When he wakes up? Lazy kisses. When you're making breakfast together? Playful kisses. Cuddling on the couch? Cozy steamy make out kisses. Good bye kisses, Hello kisses, Good morning kisses, Good night kisses, kisses in the shower, kisses in the kitchen, Eskimo kisses, butterfly kisses, cheek, forehead, nose kisses. This man is a fool for literally all of it. 

He loves the sweetness of a simple peck and he loves the spit slick mess of french kissing. He loves the feeling of your lips moving perfectly against his. He loves the feeling of your tongues sliding against each other.  

He loves that it could turn into more at any moment or it could just stay the same for as long as you both want. He loves when you run out of air and release from the kiss with breathy pants, your forehead resting against his. He loves when both of you kiss so much it makes your lips hurt but neither of you want to stop so you just end up rubbing your tongues together to keep the sweet friction going. 

He's so normal about your lips in general. He sees you apply lip stick, lip gloss or lip balm? Mans is already chubbed up. You lick your lips while eating? His mind is wandering right into the gutter. God forbid you pout or bite your lip in front of him. 

His eyes unconsciously go to your lips when you talk. He can't help it, he feels embarrassed if you point it out. 

Now because he holds kissing in such high regard, I don't think he likes kissing you in public that much. It's just such a personal thing for him that he feels weird doing it Infront of other people. That being said, you both have been caught mid make out session multiple times by multiple people. Even though he finds it embarrassing he can't deny you if you offer him a big wet kiss on the cheek. 

He absolutely LOVES kissing during sex. He just thinks it makes the already intimate moment even more intimate. When you're using your pretty mouth to suck him off he can't help but pull you off his dick so he can sloppily kiss you for a bit before letting you get back to it. Your lips just look so good around his dick. His love for kisses also extends to your lower lips btw. He looooves making out with your cunt and kissing up your thighs. Once he's already made you cum, he likes to place gentle kisses on your sensitive clit to watch you shake at the soft touch.

He makes sure that every time you two cum your mouths are also joined. That's why he likes positions where you're face to face so he can easily kiss you when you two cum together. Although he will make sure that even in positions like doggy or when your back is to his chest you will still get that intense messy kiss every climax. 

[yawnderu]

K-9 — Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader | Chapter I

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

Simon Riley and his pathetic efforts to get close to the new medic will earn him a scar or two

or

Simon Riley is crushing on an uninterested, tired medic.

''I don't mean to be rude, but I'm getting tired of seeing you here.'' Your blunt words are met with a quiet chuckle, the masked man looking up at you with pure amusement in his eyes.

'' 'M trying not to get injured, bird.'' Oh, but he isn't. He's actively getting injured just so he can drop by and get your help. It's stupid, really, how his obsession with you began. He thinks about the first time he saw you, standing right next to Price, an unamused expression as he went on and on about his team, telling you stories of their missions and time together and despite how bored you looked, your attention was solely on him.

He took that chance to look at you, to truly admire you, noticing the way you pull up your glasses every few minutes even when they're not sliding down your nose, the way your eyes were focused only on Price, paying attention to no one but him, legs crossed while sitting next to Price, your face resting on your hand.

''Clearly not trying hard enough.'' He can't help the way his cock twitches at your bored tone, the small frown on your lips just making him think how pretty you'd look with his cum all over your face— he shakes his head softly, trying to get his mind out of the gutter, focusing on the fast and professional work you're doing on his injured arm, pulling the skin back together with a beautifully done stitchwork.

''It's hard being out there.'' He tries to make conversation and all you can do is hum in acknowledgement, gaze focused on the way the needle digs into his skin, coming out of the other side just to be pulled back together with the thin, transparent thread.

''Y'know Gaz was hanging from a chopper by a bloody rope?'' He knows you're close to Gaz, he has seen you talk to him often, and so he tries to desperately make conversation again.

''Scared the shit out o' the old man.'' His efforts work as a small snicker escapes your lips, stopping working on his stitches as you collected yourself. You look up at him with an amused glint in your eyes, nodding your head. God, he has never seen something quite as beautiful.

''Cap told me about it. Poor guy had his whole waist bruised.'' You let out another small laugh before turning your attention back to the deep cut in his arm.

''If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're getting injured on purpose.'' His heart almost stops as your cold eyes look back up at his, an eyebrow raised, yet there's a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you notice his lack of response.

'' 'M not.'' Is all he can say, the knowing look you give him enough to make his blood boil, traveling all the way down to his throbbing cock, thankful for the black hoodie sprawled across his lap to prevent the blood from leaking into his jeans. You ignore all the... beige flags, knowing he's not stupid enough to actually get injured on purpose. You finish stitching him up, throwing away the tools used and the bloodied gloves.

''Keep the wound dry for 24 hours, if any of the stitches come off or the wound opens, come to me.'' You softly pat his shoulders, a small yawn escaping your lips as you look up at the clock on the wall; 0200.

''Tired?'' He asks sarcastically, earning him a way-too-hard pat on the shoulder. Simon woke you up at 2 in the morning, claiming his wound couldn't wait. It wasn't even as bad as he made it seem, though you appreciate your work with the TF141 more than you let on, so you decided to help him. It isn't the first time he wakes you up at outrageous hours, claiming to need help for things ranging from a pathetic paper cut to a gunshot wound. This time, his arm was the only thing affected, a cut big enough to need stitches.

''Very. Now get out.'' Your hand sneaks into the back of his uniform, tugging softly and he gets the message, standing up and allowing you to guide him out of your office like he's a child. He doesn't care if it's you.

''Goodnight, Simon.'' You can barely keep your eyes open and he feels a slight sense of guilt at keeping you up, knowing you'll have to be awake again in less than 3 hours.

''Night, Doc.''

[NEXT]

[elusivecagedmockingbird]

Orbiting: pt.1°

[icehockey!jungkook x figureskater!reader] [600+ idiot fwb to lovers; mutual pining, both has the libido of a teenage boy, it's so cliche it's unbelievable how clueless they are]

-

“Don’t stop baby,” Jungkook moans. He love-hates how you're slowly bouncing on top him. On one hand, he loves how you use him to pleasure yourself, slowly sinking inch by inch until you spear yourself on his cock. On the other, he wants nothing else than to fuck you dumb and to his pace—hard and unrelenting, he wants nothing spilling on your lips but his name and moans of pleasure.

"Come on, Y/N," he urges as he tries to thrust into you, his cock impaling you on top of him and you can't help but moan louder. "Fuck," you pant, "do that again." And so he does, planting his feet on the bed, his hips angled, he pistons his cock into you, bottoming out. Your body goes pliant above him as you submit yourself to your shared pleasure, your mouths move like magnets finding each other and momentarily locking in a heated kiss.

Jungkook reaches for your hand, brings it to his lips to kiss your knuckles, and it has you fucked. It's small gestures like this that makes not only your pussy clench, but your heart, too. It just feels too intimate, as if you're more than good friends seeking each other out after his game for a good fuck to relax his adrenaline.

Needing to ground yourself, you pin his hand beside his head and pull him for another kiss. Because a kiss, you can handle. You've kissed many times before—your lips already familiar to his teasing bites, your tongues danced sloppily around each other's mouth a thousand times.

With his other hand rubbing your clit, you unravel within minutes. Jungkook erratically thrusts below you, chasing his high, until heavy grunts leave his lips as he cums.

"Fuck, that was..." you pant, mind blanking as you look for the right word, still in a bliss. Jungkook only chuckles, hand caressing your back, basking in your afterglow.

But the moment is short-lived, and Jungkook eyes you as you pull away, "Second round at my place?"

"Not today," you pout, "I have to be at the rink in about...5 minutes."

"Can I watch?"

"Nope. Coach says it's closed practice for today. Something about a new skater coming in for tryouts." You're rushing to get dressed and Jungkook helps by fixing your skirt.

"Again?"

"Yep, apparently the last guy said I was too much of a bitch to skate with," Jungkook sees you roll your eyes. "Ah. That just means he can't keep up and you bruised his ego."

"Right," you humor him, watching him pull away to pick up his clothes, "you said that about the last guy, too."

Jungkook hums, "Him, too."

"And what about you? You can keep up with me, right?"

Knowing where the conversation's going, Jungkook faces you, "Y/N, that was for fun. And we were teens then," he chuckles, "I tackle men now and hit pucks on the ice," he's walking back to you, "none of what I do fits the graceful criteria your coach is looking for."

You giggle, having already known his answer but it's worth the ask because you've seen Jungkook bust a move on ice. Granted, not as graceful as you, but even you started out stiff.

"Right," strands of your bangs fall on your face as you nod, and Jungkook's hands, like habit, reach out to tuck your hair behind your ear. The gesture not lost on you and your knees buckle. If only there were no consequences from missing today's practice, you would gladly suck his cock dry right here and now.

"Plus, seeing the routines you do, there would be too much tension building between us that by the middle of a routine," his eyes flicker to your lips, "I might end up taking you on ice."

Oh, you are his to ruin. If only he knew.

Pulling your mind out of the gutter, you scoff, eyes rolling once again and push him by the chest. Again, Jungkook only laughs as he takes your hand and leads you out of the lockers.

-

>> Page 2

[junkissed]

drenched

member — junhui x f reader  genre — smut word count — 2.4k  synopsis — the pool isn't the only thing that gets jun all wet. warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, oral (reader receiving), squirting, body worship, pussy drunk jun, mentioned that reader wears a bikini (+ other clothes), they're so horny for each other it's actually just gross notes — requested by anon for my 🐈 1k event — thanks to @onlymingyus for looking over this for me <3 sorry the synopsis is boring asdhgsj i couldnt think of a cooler one. also very very sorry again that it's taken me so long to get to these old requests but i hope you enjoy! please be sure to reblog with comments or send an ask if you liked this :)

if there's only one thing in this world that jun is obsessed with, it's your pussy.

practically every night he comes home, throwing his bag on the chair and pulling you onto the couch, begging you to let him eat you out, just really quick before dinner, please? i'll make you cum so fast, promise, just let me have ten minutes with you.

most of the time he slides your pants down and finds you already wet, knowing the kind of mood he'll be in when he gets home. it's almost impossible to force your mind out of the gutter when you can't stop picturing him kneeling between your legs, his dark brown eyes turned even darker with lust as he watches your face and every single tiny little reaction you have to him.

it's not your fault that you really can't help it if your mind wanders during the day, sending a shiver down your spine every time you think about how desperate he is for you. he'll never pass up the opportunity to bury his fingers inside you, moaning about how good it feels to have your cunt clenching him so tight and how pretty your legs look as they tremble around him.

jun loves nothing more than how wet you get and he'll clean you up with his tongue, his cock throbbing because he knows you're like this for him and him only. he'll gladly spend hours between your legs, groaning about how you're straight out of his dreams; what other explanation could there possibly be for the fact that he gets to come home to the prettiest girl he's ever seen every single day? not only that, but that you let him play with you whenever you want? he feels like he's died and gone to heaven every time you spread your legs apart and let him spend as much time as he wants in that spot.

of course, he has other favorite things, too. he loves fucking you from behind so he can see your gorgeous ass bouncing in front of him. he loves laying back and letting you do whatever you want to him, pushing his shaft between your breasts and grinning when he covers your face in his cum. but nothing compares to having his face smushed in your pussy, his skilled tongue and long fingers reaching places inside you that you didn't even know existed before you met him.

tonight is no different than every other night that he comes home and begs for your pussy. except this time he's got one thing and one thing only on his mind, and it's going to drive him insane if he doesn't have you right this second.

the first time it happened it caught you off guard. your cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment as the drops rolled down his abs coating the both of you in liquid, your legs still wrapped around his waist when he stops thrusting. you started to apologize, until jun lets out a long, low groan and tells you don't you fucking dare apologize for the hottest thing he's ever witnessed in his whole goddamn life and now he's made it his life's mission to making you squirt as much as is physically possible.

you didn't even know you could squirt at all before jun, but he brings a side out of you that you didn't know was there. a side of you so absolutely insatiable, like an unquenchable thirst, and now that it's been unlocked you're addicted to it.

with the rising temperatures and clear, sunny skies that have come after the rain and cold, it's obvious that summer is quickly closing in. it's one of his favorite seasons for many reasons, but the main one is that hotter weather means seeing you in more revealing clothes.

he had never been the type of guy to go feral at the sight of an ankle or an exposed shoulder, but around you it's like he loses all control. the way your shorts hug your ass—jean shorts, pajama shorts, bike shorts, any and all of them. his mind goes blank and all he can imagine is your perfect pussy hidden so teasingly from his view, and he'll do anything to get a taste. teasingly, because you know exactly how he gets and you love to play into it just to make him even more riled up.

you've started buying shorts that are just a little bit too small, just a little bit tighter that show another extra inch of skin. and you grin in satisfaction every single time he tears them off of you and pushes his hand down past the waistband to feel how soaked you are… until he wipes that smile right off your face with just a simple brush of his fingers.

the same goes for your shirts, too. the crop tops that expose your tummy; he loves to run his fingers over your skin, and the short length makes it so much easier for him to slide his hands up to feel your breasts. and don't even get him started on the tank tops; he feels like a virgin all over again, unable to stop his cock from twitching in his pants. when he sees that little extra bit of cleavage sitting so perfectly.

god, he loves every fucking thing about your body. but there is, however, one downside to the summer season.

okay, so it's not exactly like they banned him from the public pool, but they did tell him (in not so nice words) to stop feeling up his girlfriend in the locker rooms, and now he's too embarrassed to ever show his face there again. which honestly is more than fine by you, because if your hand wasn't down his swim shorts jerking him off as you lazily sat beside him in a chaise lounge, then was it really even a good day?

but besides that, the problem is that he can't see you near water without thinking about making you squirt. there hasn't been a single time when you've been out on the backyard patio, drops of sweat glistening on your skin from the summer heat as you hold a garden hose in your hand watering the tomato plants, that he hasn't wanted to push you against the side of the house and take you right then and there. to curl his fingers in your pussy until his hand is more soaked than the vegetables.

or like the time you both stayed at your parents’ house for a weekend while they were on vacation. he'd found you sitting out by the pool reading your book after you've just finished swimming, and the drops of water on your thighs that hadn't yet dried from the sun had reminded him too vividly of how you looked after he made you squirt with his cock. that day you'd needed a second shower, and it wasn't from the chlorine in the pool.

if your mind is in the gutter when you think about him, then his mind is in a place further than hell when he thinks about you. 

so really, you can't blame him for tonight. you can't get mad at him after you sent him pictures of the pretty new bikini you'd bought for the upcoming cruise you were going on next month. but not just pictures of the bikini; pictures of you wearing it, your knees spread temptingly in a way that you knew for a fact would get him hard as a rock in seconds.

he's pissed, but more than that he's needy, because he already had to jerk off in the bathroom at work because he couldn't get his hard-on to go down any other way. his own fist will never compare to how good your pussy feels against his face, so it seems as good a place as any for you to start making it up to him for your bad behavior.

he barely gets the front door closed behind him before he's pushing you against the wall, his fingers clawing desperately at your sides as his lips capture yours. it's hot, he’s hot, and the temperature outside has nothing to do with it.

even the air conditioning in your house can't cool you down as he drags you by the waist to your shared bedroom, telling you it would be in your best interests to be waiting naked by the time he comes back with towels because he's not feeling very patient tonight.

you love it when he gets like this, and you grin triumphantly as you pull your panties off and leave them hanging off the edge of the bed, the glistening wet spot on them purposefully noticeable. you already know that you won't be leaving this room until the towels and sheets beneath you are equally soaked, and just the thought alone makes you dizzy. 

the grin on jun's face is wide enough to rival yours when he comes back to find you laid out so prettily on the bed, on display for him like a gourmet fucking meal.

you lift your hips for him as he spreads out a towel beneath you, kneeling at the foot of the bed with your thighs on either side of his head. just one look at your dripping folds and he's already gone, throwing your legs over his shoulders and digging his fingers into your thighs to spread you apart even more for his eager mouth.

you've had jun's mouth on you more times than you can keep track of, but every single time still feels like the first. no matter how often he does it, you don't think you'll ever be prepared for the first lick, when he flattens his tongue to cover as much of you as possible at once before he begins.

the way he immediately and easily finds your clit, sucking messily before moving lower to slide through your folds, is always enough to bring you right up to the edge, but it doesn't last. it's a constant battle between making you cum as fast as possible, or prolonging it and moving around until you can't take it even for one more second and your orgasm is ten times stronger. 

this time he chooses the latter, but you already had a feeling that that's how things would go. he's focused, honed in on your pussy; he is going to make you squirt all over his face, and if you don't think that's a guarantee, then you'd be sorely mistaken.

it's not the first time you've played this little game with him: sending suggestive photos and texting flirty messages, until you inevitably end up under him with enough orgasms to last you a week. but it's never enough to last, of course, and it's not long before you do it all over again.

he likes to act like he's teaching you a lesson, but you both have been through this routine enough times to know it's the thrill that keeps you coming back more than the need for punishment. you could always just ask him, but where's the fun in that? it's much more exciting to push his buttons and let him take over. it would almost be funny how his reaction is exactly the same every single time, if your reaction weren't also exactly the same. it's a habit you fall into together, but you wouldn't trade it for anything.

jun's fingers slide up your body, stopping at your waist to grab you and pull you harder against his nose. it's impossible not to let yourself get lost in it, moaning and threading your fingers in his hair as your pussy throbs in his mouth.

he points his tongue at your clit once more and he doesn't let up until your thighs start to shake, your breath coming out in shallow gasps. you're close and he knows it, almost even better than you know it yourself because he's spent so much time between your legs that he knows how to read your body like an open book. 

your fingers in his scalp squeeze tighter, pushing his head further into you, and he groans at the feeling. he loves how quickly you get fucked out from his mouth alone, that you’re barely even processing how roughly you're moving his head because your body is on fire from the stimulation.

he'd live and die in your pussy if he could, and that's exactly what he plans to do tonight as his tongue flicks faster and harder. he can feel the wetness already gushing out of you and he knows you're right there, ready to give him what he so desperately wants.

with one final suck to your clit you go rigid and your muscles release, whimpers and whines flowing from your lips like liquid as you cum. it drenches his face, running down his cheeks and his chin and soaking his hair.

he drinks you up like a starved man, like he's been wandering alone in the desert and finally found his oasis. your head rolls back and your body writhes under his hands, but his grip is too tight and he is far too committed on getting every last drop from you to allow you to squirm out of his grasp.

it's overwhelming nearly to the point of pain but you don't want him to stop, you desperately need him to keep going until you're drained. and that’s one of the best things about jun, is that by now he can practically read your mind and he can tell when you need more and when you don’t.

he can tell what you want without even having to ask, so he reaches up and squeezes your hand in his as he looks up from between your legs, meeting your eyes and giving you that look that makes you shiver because you couldn’t imagine anyone else but him in this position. you don’t want to stop, not yet, and he nods at you knowingly with a hazy little grin and slides his tongue right back where you want it.

he’s more than willing to spend the rest of the night kneeling in front of you until you’re spent, if that’s what you want. honestly, he’s willing to spend the rest of his life there, too.

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