#I KNOW HOW TO DO EVERYTHING ; ( drabble )

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — on the radio.

JULY 15, 1989

Marty sighs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He flexes his hands, rolling his shoulders, trying to work the kink out of his back before getting back to work. That’s pretty much the only downside of tinkering around with various unfinished projects of Doc’s; way too many hours spent hunched over. 

“That was Tom Petty with ‘I Won’t Back Down’ here on KWHV 108.3 and I’m your host, Jamie Lee.” The deejay’s voice is sweet and smooth, and he remembers, warmth creeping across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, that Jamie Lee was his first crush. As if it wasn’t enough she was the coolest girl inside the halls of Hill Valley High, outside of school she was the best basketball player and had the best music taste. A triple threat for sure. 

“Next up we’ve got something kinda special: a new group that’s been soaring through the charts and sent the music world spinning with their electrifying debut.” 

Marty feels his heart quicken in his chest and tries to tell himself to calm down, the radio static buzzing in his head. He drops the screwdriver, which clatters to the table clumsily. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no way in hell she could be talking about–

“So, without further ado, with their lead single ‘Strangerland’ off their album 88, give it up for Hill Valley’s very own hometown boys, McFly and the Flyaways!’ 

His stomach drops. He’d recognize that opening riff anywhere.

“Future sight can’t help me tonight, tired of waitin’ for time to restart–”

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Holy shit!” he exclaims, leaping to his feet and not even caring that he hits his head on the way up. “Doc! DOC!” 

He only feels a little bad when the door gets kicked open and his best friend bursts into the room like he’s goddamn Batman, clad in safety goggles instead of a cape and wielding a fire extinguisher instead of a Batarang. 

“MARTY!” Doc cries, looking around like a man possessed, frantic in his search for some threat. “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

He runs to the scientist, grasping his upper arms. His face hurts from smiling so much. 

“Doc! Doc, listen!”

“—ghosts in my head, there’s a ghost in the mirror that I see instead—" comes his own voice a moment later. 

Marty bows his head, grip momentarily tightening. There’s a lump in his throat and when he looks up at Doc again, his blue eyes are watery.

“My song, Doc,” he whispers. An awestruck, dumbstruck, disbelieving smile on his face makes him look all of thirteen again and he couldn’t care less. He lets out a laugh that’s a little too close to a sob for comfort. “They’re playing my song.” 

The fire extinguisher falls to the ground with a thud as Doc returns the embrace, holding Marty at arm’s length so tightly he thinks he’ll wake up with bruises in the morning. If Marty thought his own smile was big and stupid, it had nothing on Doc’s. 

“Do you know what this means?” he murmurs. 

“You were right,” Marty replies. “All the stuff you said to me.” 

“If you put your mind to it…” Doc starts, gently.

“…You can accomplish anything,” Marty finishes. 

The chorus starts, crackly over the radio, but it’s the greatest thing he’s ever heard. 

“Oh, I’m lost in my dreams, fallin' apart at the seams, and time is slippin' through my hand

But I got somethin' to prove, so what have I got to lose?

I'm gonna make it outta this

Strangerland!

I gotta make it outta this

Strangerland!” 

“Woah,” Marty laughs, tears sliding down his face. “This is heavy.” 

Doc pulls him into a bone-crushing hug which he eagerly returns, the instrumentation that took them weeks to nail blaring in the background.

“You did it, Marty. You made it.”

“I made it,” Marty repeats, as if it’ll make it feel more real. He feels lighter than air and like he’s buzzing with electricity, like he’s flying over a thundercloud. “Holy shit, I made it.” A sudden realization shocks him and his eyes widen. “I-I gotta tell the guys!”

“Go on, go on!” Doc encourages, letting him go, watching him fondly as he almost trips over his feet and the rug trying to make it to the phone in Doc and Clara’s library and study. 

However, it’s already ringing when he gets there. 

“Yo!” he greets, out of force of habit.

“Marty!” his dad’s warm voice responds. 

“Marty, honey, turn on the radio, quick!” his mom jumps in. “They’re playing it! Your, um, your Stranger in a Strange Land song!” 

“It’s your song, kiddo!” His dad sounds full to bursting with joy. “And boy, does it sound great!” 

He laughs, using his thumb and forefinger in a fruitless attempt to try to stem the flow of tears.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Oh, sweetheart, we’re so happy for you. And so proud of you, too, so proud.” His mom sounds like she’s about to cry, too. “Linda’s taping it and everything and Dave has it playing at the office!”

“We love you, son,” his dad reminds him, “and you’ll be home for dinner, right?”

“Yeah, Dad. I will. Love you too.”

[quietwingsinthesky]

Drabble 181 - Supernatural

If Kevin doesn’t look at it, it isn’t happening.

His body isn’t betraying him. The weeks and weeks stumbling, starving, painfully around translation aren’t changing him. He can barely breathe, so binding is out of the question. His hands shake too much for injections, anyway.

If he finishes this, he can be himself again.

He hates living in a body whose breaking can be witnessed. Hates that the Winchesters’s eyes skimmed over him once, but now Sam’s says him with a hard note, like he has to remind himself, and Dean rolls his eyes, complies to get what he wants.

[ravencromwell]

Ros Vortalis trans headcanons

There are some remarkable trans Holland fics and headcanons, but can we talk about Ros Vortalis, whom all of his friends simply call Vor? Who, even when he’s _dying Holland calls Vor, to be expected, but also Vortalis which’s so much longer than Ros.

A bit of googling informs me Ros is “protector” in German, which’s chef’s kiss one hundred/ten no notes V.E. But it’s also, more frequently, a diminutive of Rosalind. Disclaimer before I start these that I respect and love! the headcanons of Makt as fairly gender nonrestrictive, with power being more of a defining factor of treatment. My Makt, however, is more complicated, with gender and gender transitions being imperfect but still a site where joy can be created, much like the rest of White London existence. Putting the rest of these beneath a cut with that in mind because as a trans person, I know some days I can’t handle transness as careful complication to be navigated and don’t want to inflict it on anyone unprepared. (Though, I promise! there’re fluffy as fuck nsfw Vor/Holland and Vor/friends headcanons in here to cut the angst.)

Ros retains a shortened form of his given namefor business purposes within the Shal—we know Shal means “market” in Red London, and I tend to think it means the same in White, such that when Holland calls him a “thug from the Shal” he’s referring to Vor being in the merchant/smuggling business. When he transitions, he’s relatively young and honestly to flagrantly demand a name change would be seen by too many as blood in the water. His greatest focus, always, is Makt rather than his personal happiness and he’d rather be burdened with the “nickname” Ros and be capable of rising in the Shal in service of becoming king.

There’re two ways of transitioning: the easiest and least painful is utilizing a spell similar to Astrid’s with Lila and stealing a face and voice. But that spell fades with death and though Vor understands that his body is likely destined for desecration once he’s gone as Makt’s people drain its blood and magic, there’s still this stubborn demand that they destroy a body without the face that made him shudder every time his child self caught a glimpse (he is so grateful for a lack of mirrors in Makt for much of his young adulthood.)

So he chooses the harder, excruciating method: finds a bone magician to permanently reshape his body. Session after session, over months traveling abroad on a ship with only the open sea and crew to hear him scream himself hoarse.

The first time they share a bed, Holland strokes along the broadened shoulders, runs fingers along the scars on his chest—eyes fixed on Vor’s all the while— and murmurs: “If they did not believe you would hold the throne, they were fools.”

“I’m flattered.” He’s bright-eyed, with that deep, rolling-sea laugh.

“After this, very little would stop you.” Fools have marveled at the extent of spells across his body, and inwardly he howls in hysterical laughter because there is very little to dull pain in Makt, and the shipboard pain was so vast it made everything else feel like pinpricks by comparison. He’s never bedded someone who would know that as intimately as the man who had done his damndest to use that same magic in stopping Vor’s fist before it connected with his face, and the admiration uncoils something deep in his chest. “Sometimes I’m certain I can’t keep it. One moment it will be there and then not.” He manages a farse of a smile “Foolish, after all these decades, but such is the weakness of your future king, Holland.”

“Lucky you would have an Antari to put it back, then.”

By the time he returned to London, voice rumbling deep from an expanded chest, people understood quickly to use “Ros” with the proper pronouns or see just how effective the runes on his hands were. But well…Ros is an easier shirt than Rosalind to slip into, but it will never sit comfortably. As he develops allies, he finds that Vor and Vortalis fit easier. And it becomes a good gauge for trust. Those who understand implicitly how painful his given name is and respect that, are people worth keeping. It becomes easier, as fewer and fewer people survive who remember Rosalind.

There are far too many moments to count when former friends or lovers try to use “Ros” as a weapon, with a little smirk that says: “You never said we _couldn’t call you that.” And he’s deeply glad he made a relatively small name fuss and provided only a small chink in his armor. (Those sorts of people tend, inevitably, to cause the use of his knives. As though letting them close and showing kindness is an invitation for open season. But such are the risks in Makt, and he is a man who craves touch and closeness. What good to craft the ideal body only to never have it appreciated. The way Holland simply…withdrew from people after Talya is something almost unfathomable. Whether they’re the closest of friends or both king and night and! king and beloved—which’s pretty much always in my head—there’s a deep, profound ache that he could never touch Holland enough to make up for too many years alone.

It’s the dimmest flicker every time he sees the “knight” and “Antari” masks slip, when Holland leans against his shoulder or puts his head in Vor’s lap, eyes half-closing at fingers in his hair. But, simply because the task is nigh on impossible, doesn’t mean he won’t do his best. Vor touches Holland Vosijk a hundred thousand times in those two years of rule—and so, so many more if they both survive—and is so very, very grateful he could take the touches the best of his lovers and allies offered over the last thirty years. (On a slashy front, can we also just talk about how, as a couple, there’s an incomparable way arousal and awe intertwine for Vor _every time Holland reaches out and shows affection: a kiss against his temple as Vor lets their foreheads rest together; a hand moving slow and easy down his back. To be trusted enough for the most guarded man he’s ever met—it took Vor _months to convince him to kill Gorst and he’s never had to work so hard or wanted so desperately for someone to say yes in his life—to touch him is such a valuable thing that he has immense responsibility not to break.)

Also in couple’s verse: If Vor has a small regret, it’s that the bone magicians are far more skilled with outward, above-the-waist presentation—because the best of them have not only done this for trans people, but for criminals etc. seeking a disguise. Thankfully, they had no trouble cutting him open to ensure he would never be with child—he doesn’t have the vocabulary for dysphoria, but the idea of his stomach rounded and heavy is one of the few things that can make him viciously soul-deep terrified. But the below the waist equipment well, it’s not a magic Makt has the luxury of learning.

By the time he meets Holland, it’s the very faintest of regrets: he has a collection of strap-ons for when he and a lover want to indulge in that particular fantasy—and is comfortable enough in his skin it’s an indulgence and not a requirement. It’s beautiful to watch lovers slide to their knees and take them in their hands or mouths or slide inside and watch them arch with pleasure. But oh, oh he wishes he could _feel it. It’s not a complaint worth voicing, and honestly after he becomes king, there’s very little time to indulge.

But one day, Holland comes back, smelling of flowers holding a box, tells the guards to wait at the end of the hall because he has crucial business from “the other London” for the king’s ears alone, which has Vor intrigued and concerned because he hasn’t come close to asking Holand to send a message. But before the concern can swell to anything beyond a flicker, he sees a flush so faint anyone would miss it who wasn’t watching. (Even before the Danes, Holland held his feelings and desires in an iron grip; Vor learned early in sharing a bed that Holland loathed the idea of being heard by those not his lovers when losing control: not merely a discomfort that could add spice to an evening, but viscerally, the way it would take everything Vor had to turn his back on an armed opponent.) This is pleasure, not business and he flicks his fingers in a silent command before they can even turn to look.

"Go get yourselves some dinner,“ he says for good measure, "If there is a foe Holland cannot protect me from, there’s little more bodies can do.”

When he opens the box…there are the usual straps but the cock. The cock feels like _skin. “The Arnesians-” and oh, there’s still so much contempt in those words “With their infinite supply of magic have learned to transmute. From earth to bone, and then something softer. There is an illusion for the Arnesians who want to forget the straps.” There were layers upon layers beneath that statement: neither of them wished, at least then, to go begging for scraps, but to _take a little of the bounty Arnes had hoarded,

“_Yes!”

Neither of them know how the illusion works: it is as mysterious as the fireworks Holland has seen that fool his eyes into certainty dragons fly across the unbearably vivid Arnesian sky. It does not matter; in those moments when Holland’s mouth is hot on skin, Vor is utterly, entirely certain Holland is swallowing down the cock he has always had.

It’s almost too much, leaves him speechless for the first time in decades, has Holland scrambling up and onto the bed even as his eyes are still glassy from watching the king come undone to wrap himself around Vor’s back until the world comes into focus again. “Is it only good once or-” he asks, finally and Holland’s smirk is wicked.

When he’s upending the Ost table and coughing up blood—, so much, too much kajt I hope Holland can take the throne because whoever these bastards are they can’t rule, the thing he clings to: more than “Stay with me"—though he _tries—, more than the raw panic in Holland _swearing—is the name. _Vortalis, he says when the table overturns—though it would be such a forgivable mistake to use Ros. Vor, he says while chanting stay and one of his blood spells. He will die as who he made himself, not as he was born.

The three threads of coherence for Holland are the blood spell. That Vor _has to stay. And that if he cannot be enough to stop this, he _will not let Vor die hearing him use the wrong name.

In verses where Vor lives, they both know the "thank you” when he wakes is not for the healing, though to be alive is a joy.

[iamther0t]

Everything Is Fine -- [ Marble Hornets Oneshot ]

Basically, a bit of the aftermath from after entry 87, from Tims pov! its very short T_T

Word Count: 530

Warnings: Pills, sort of vague gore, mentions of murder

Genre: Angst

POV: Tim Wright

Dealing with the aftermath of…everything had become quite the challenge for Tim.

He had a vague idea of how to deal with some of it; drowning himself in pills and trying to remind himself it’s over now were two things he’d grown comfortable doing.

Sometimes, they worked to help him, even if it’s just a little bit, but other times they just aren’t enough.

He’d resorted back to bad habits some nights where nothing else helped. But even that just numbed him, if anything.

He hadn’t had another night where he woke up in an unspecified location with a mask strapped to his face in a few months. Sure, it was great that it hadn’t happened in so long, but the on-edge feeling of not knowing when, or if it was gonna happen again was like a ticking time bomb; or a disaster waiting to happen.

Despite the constant worrying and anxiety, things felt normal for Tim.

Too normal.

It felt like every night he was curled up in the corner of his room, clutching whatever weapon was closest to him and just waiting for that thing to come back, things got both increasingly less, yet more normal.

His new doctor tried reassuring him that so long as he kept taking his medication, it wouldn’t come back. It wouldn’t just show up out of the blue.

While that helped with the paranoia of The Operator coming back, he didn’t have anyone to reassure him that Alex Kralie was truly dead.

Not Jay.

Not Brian.

Not Jessica.

Not even himself.

When he said that phrase over and over, Alex is dead. He’s not coming back, he felt it starting to work.

And when he started calming down, and feeling just the slightest bit safer in his apartment, he felt the blood on his hands.

His knuckles turning white from his grip on the tiny pocket knife as he plunged it deep into Alex’s chest.

Alex’s corpse laying there unconscious.

Passing out on the stairs.

That’s why he moved.

A fresh start, where he wouldn’t be swarmed with old memories and people that he wished he’d never met, for his sake and theirs.

Where, maybe, everything could be normal.

Tim had got his wish.

Everything was normal.

But he was still the same.

A new town wouldn’t erase his past and what he did.

He knows Alex deserved it. He knows it was his only choice. He knew the moment he saw Jay bleeding out on the floor, a bullet wound pierced through him.

Alex was dangerous, and so was The Operator.

Tim just wished he wasn’t the one to have finished the job.

These thoughts haunted him at night, and even at day, too. An increased heart rate, sweaty palms, hyperventilating as he tried to get out, get out, get out–

He’d grown to know the feeling all too well.

So, as he kept a normal routine, living in his apartment in a normal town while he worked a normal job and was surrounded by normal people, he had technically gotten what he wanted.

He wanted normal.

He wanted everything to be fine.

And, it was.

It is.

Everything is fine.

[nomazee]

it always sends a little shock thru me when i find fic writers who write for fem readers but say they won’t write for fem reader x fem character for one reason or another i cant tell if it bothers me or makes me giggle

[anthromimicry]

oh, but imagining the potential for warmth and also perhaps some humor in the scenario that misao decides she wants to try to cook something for someone she loves while they're over is currently making my heart happy. like i'm not going to lie — misao has honestly not cooked a day in her life since she just simply never had the need to, being a jorōgumo and all, but she would want to at least try to show she cares for them by attempting to cook their favorite dish or something whenever they're over at her home. and this would still apply to her even if she ended up completely failing at it at first because one of misao's love languages is acts of service. thus, of course she would want to provide them with something as integral as food. but GAHHH, picturing it from misao's loved ones perspective is also equally as sweet to me, because them guiding her on what to do while reassuring her that it's okay? and them eventually just deciding to cook together because misao may or may not get overwhelmed by the fact that she has such little knowledge about what to do because she wants everything to be perfect is... idk. it can be either incredibly romantic, or make for a very wholesome platonic moment between her and another character, which i LOVE

[sysig]

Your Weekly TV Guide

On Monday you can expect:

2:30 PM: Just Desserts - Villainsona

And Tuesday:

2:30 PM: Star Control II

Wednesday:

2:30 PM: The Sims 2 - SCII

Thursday:

2:30 PM: SCII

Friday:

2:30 PM: Handplates

Saturday:

2:30 PM: The Sims 2 - Handplates

Sunday:

2:30 PM: To the Moon - Rosawatts

Thanks for tuning in! (Patreon)

[strawnav]

"Hachi —"

"He didn't tell me. Not exactly. But he —" Jinbei's voice falters, and Nami fights to keep her shoulders squared and her expression smooth, when he says, "— he warned me, about the kinds of things I might do that he felt might...be upsetting to you. So that I could avoid those behaviors."

Some part of Nami's heart breaks, and she smiles, faint and almost sharp, at the idea of Hatchan trying to protect her in this small, simple way. It's kind, but it's something else, too. "And based on what he said, you've...guessed."

He doesn't pretend otherwise, and she appreciates it. "Yes. Not the finer details, but...some of it."

She sits, body suddenly feeling heavy, and sinks into one of the room's plush seats. It's quiet, in the library. Just her and their newest crew member, who she does not fear. Who she does not fear. But her body remembers. Suddenly she can do little else. "What did he say?"

Jinbei would clearly rather not say, but he sits, too, and respects her too much to lie or evade. "He said it might make you uncomfortable to see me using a firearm." Her mind fills with images and sounds, the bang of a gunshot / the sight of her mothers skull exploding, viscera falling out like a spilled bowl / Nojiko's scream. "He told me to let you eat first, before myself, if there was ever a situation where we needed to eat in turns." It's been years since she's been forced to skip a meal, either because her captors decided she wasn't worthy of food or because spending even a cent on a meal was selfish, but she remembers the clutching, devouring hunger and the way her ribs felt against her skin nevertheless. "He though it would be best if I avoided waking you at night if there was any other option." His voice twists, and she doesn't have it in her to wonder what he's imagining. The first six months were the hardest, as far as sleep goes, never being allowed more than a few hours at a time because Arlong wanted to break her circadian rhythm, forcing her up at random to redo maps she knew were perfect. The years after, when she'd wake screaming and be beat for causing such a racket, and the way now she can't scream when she wakes up at all.

She swallows thickly, does not try to force the memories away, does try not to let them settle.

"Was that all?" Nami asks, her voice stronger than she feels.

"And he...suggested I shouldn't come near you generally while you're working on maps."

That has her stiffening. A too - large hand against her skull, slamming her face to her work table, smearing wet ink on her cheeks and blooming bruises beneath it. The memories always float closest to the surface when she draws maps, and that makes her so fucking angry she still wants to scream some days, because drawing maps is her passion. She loves little more. And he took it from her, transformed the simple, warm joy into a source of fear and anger. It's hers, now, but it isn't just her body that he left scarred. It's her dream. Every day, the scars fade, and she believes that someday, it'll be all hers again, but that she has a scar to heal at all is all wrong.

"Hah. That was kind of him." Her hand raises, pressing idly to her tattoo and the jagged scar beneath it. "I kind of hate how weak it makes me seem, though. That he thinks you need to walk on eggshells around me, just because Arlong hurt me."

"Not weak," Jinbei says. "I know that you're the farthest thing from weak."

Nami smiles, not looking at him, and tries to remember that he's right. "I want to tell you about it. Everything that happened." Hatchan was being kind, to tell him this. Nojiko was being kind, when she told Sanji and Usopp. She understands. But it's not their story to share. "I want you to know, and I want you to hear it from me."

He stiffens, and she can tell even without looking at him by the way his breath skips. Fishmen and humans breathe differently. She knows that, too. She imagines hearing a fishman's breath at her back while she draws a map, and is forced to consider that at least one piece of Hachi's advisements may be wise. Jinbei nods and says, "Of course."

"I'm not telling you to hurt you. This crew is like a family to me, and that means you, too. I want everything to be out on the table between us." She looks at him, still smiling, tired but not lying. "And I think we both need the reminder that we're strong enough to bear the truth."

Jinbei smiles, too, and nods again. Nami inhales.

"The reason Hachi probably thought it might upset me if I saw you with a gun — the first thing Arlong did to me was invade my village when I was ten. He took it over, and demanded tribute from everyone. My mother, she — she only had enough money for herself or for my sister and I, and she chose to save us. Arlong — he shot her in the head in front of us." She's surprised at how even her voice is, even while he heart breaks at the memory. She'd tried to help Bellemere after; tiny, trembling hands reaching as though she could put her brains back in her skull, and Nojiko had held her back. Jinbei looks, again, like he may cry, and Nami feels herself grow more tired.

He starts, "I'm so —"

"No," she says. "Don't. It's not your fault. I don't blame you. You've apologized already, and I accepted it. You're not your brother, and I know that. Seeing you with a gun wouldn't scare me, because I know you're not like him."

Jinbei nods, lips thin. Nami looks back to the half - finished map resting on her work table. It's nice, that she can take breaks whenever she wants now. She lets her eyes rest there.

"After he killed my mother, he found a map I'd drawn. I don't remember what I said, but I must have gotten mad at him for touching it or something, because he realized I drew it. Even back then, I was good at it, and Arlong took me away. A man in the vilage who cared about me — he's like a father to me — tried to stop him from taking me, and he was...he got hurt, real badly for it. He almost died."

She doesn't look back at Jinbei. She thinks of Genzo's voice, ragged, barely - there, soaked with blood, I'll save you, Nami. She thinks of screaming, begging him to abandon her. It took her so long after to learn that she was allowed to let others protect her, that she doesn't get everyone who loves her hurt.

"Once he took me away, Arlong beat me and made me watch him sink the Navy ships that came close. I didn't understand what he wanted, but...he was just trying to prove to me that I was alone. That help wasn't coming. He said I could join his crew as their cartographer. I —" Her voice breaks, just barely, as she remembers the little girl, so scared, so small, who'd had to be so, so brave. She wishes she could hold her. She wishes she could tell her that it would be okay someday. "I told him I'd only work for him if he'd let me buy the village back from him someday. And he agreed."

"He did?" Jinbei sounds sincerely surprised, and Nami laughs weakly, eyes drifting to her knees.

"He did. I'd just have to earn one hundred million berries for him, and I'd have the town's freedom. And my own."

"One hundred —"

"I was still a little girl, so I — I didn't really understand just how big that number was. But I didn't...there wasn't any choice. I d - didn't see any other choice. No one was coming to save us. Either I protected the village, or...or they'd all die, like my mom did." She inhales raggedly. "It was all I could do."

"I'm sorry," he says again, and her head snaps to him but before she can tell him to stop, he says, "I'm not taking responsibility. But I am sorry that happened. That shouldn't have...no child should ever be put in that position."

He's right. Nami smiles, and allows herself a few tears. All of the others said the same, when she'd told them. It's a good reminder, that her pain was as horrible and wrong as it had felt. As it still feels, on the worst days.

"Anyway, I ended up working for him. It was more like I was his prisoner than a member of the crew. He gave me a tattoo on my arm of his Jolly Roger, like — hah, well. I guess like a brand." Jinbei's face twists, a mixture of guilt and fury, and she thinks of Fisher Tiger's last words and understands, at least a little. "He was...awful to me. Almost the whole crew was. I went without food a lot. I got beat a lot. He didn't let me sleep enough or eat enough, and he almost killed me more times than I can count. I think he expected me to die. I think he wanted me to." It hadn't felt like an option to her. She was all that stood between Arlong and the village. "He let me stop wearing chains when I turned twelve. A birthday present." Jinbei's expression contorts further. She reaches out her free hand, hesitates, and then commits, resting it over his. His eyes widen as his head snaps towards the contact, then towards her face.

She smiles, trying to comfort them both. This aches, but she's told the story to the others enough that at least the wound isn't new. The hurt is like a stone, stuck in the center of her chest — whenever she tells someone, it feels like chipping away at it.

"He was...exacting about his maps. He locked me in a little room for a long time, didn't let me see any other humans for years. It was just work and maps and getting hurt whenever I tried to rest. I couldn't breathe. When he finally started letting me leave the island, I started stealing from — anywhere. Anything I could get my hands, to save the money to buy the island. Eventually, I started stealing from pirates."

Nojiko's horror, the first time she came home, blood dripping from her mouth and wounds across her arms and chest. Who cares that I'm hurt, I got ten thousand berries right here!

It's easier, to tell this part of the story.

"They hurt me, too, but...honestly, it was still better than being at Arlong Park. Nothing that any of them did to me could match what Arlong did." She inhales slow, exhales slower. Jinbei moves his hand beneath hers slowly, so as to not startle her, and flips it so her hand rests in his wide palm. She doesn't flinch, when he curls his hand gently around hers. "That was...my whole life. For eight years."

The number seems to wound him, and his eyes lower. Nami breathes, but does not stop. She must not believe herself fragile. She must not believe him fragile, either. "I had saved a lot over the years. Arlong figured out how close I was, and he had one of the Navy fuckers he was paying off steal my stash, so that I was back to square one. They shot my sister — she lived, thank god." She'd been so scared, mind conjuring images of Belle - mere's blood in the grass, another person dead because of Nami. "I — the villagers were so angry at Arlong, and so angry on my behalf, that they...they decided they'd rather die fighting Arlong and his men than live another day like this. I tried to convince them I could just...earn the money again, but..."

Inhale. Exhale. This part is hard. It had been so strange, to go from universally despised to so, so loved, and all in a matter of hours. To know that she was going to lose the people who loved her again. "The village loved me, even if I didn't know it. They wouldn't let Arlong get away with hurting me like that, and I think they...they thought that if they died, at least I'd finally be able to escape. I wouldn't have anybody left to save except myself." Her smile turns bitter. "Idiots. At that point, I'd have just died, too."

Her hand against her scar finally falls, and Jinbei's eyes fall to the exposed flesh. The scar is audacious and ugly, but it's mostly covered by the pinwheel. He seems to only now realize how extreme the wound is. "I was so angry at him, and so scared for my family, and so sick of — of having his mark on my body, this reminder that it wasn't really my body, just his tool, and I just — I snapped. I basically tried to carve his brand off of me." Jinbei winces, eyes shining, teeth gritting. There is no fear in her that the anger he expresses is aimed at her. "It's a miracle I can still use my arm at all, honestly. Luffy found me like that, and he didn't even know the story, he just...hated seeing me suffering like that. He and the others marched off to Arlong Park. And against all odds...they won. Luffy, he — he destroyed the room Arlong kept me in, destroyed all the maps I'd drawn in captivity. Destroyed everything connected to — what Arlong did to me. After that, after all that pain, I was...finally free."

Jinbei is silent for a long, long time. Nami doesn't rush him. She needs the quiet to swallow her tears, to let the memories wash through her and leave without drowning her. Fishmen hands feel different than human hands, but she's glad that holding Jinbei's hand doesn't chafe. It feels comforting. It feels kind.

Finally, the fishman says, "how long ago were you freed?"

Nami breathes out. "Almost three years ago."

"Three years of freedom after eight years of captivity and abuse from my brother. I don't fault you for being uncomfortable around me."

"Hey, stop that," Nami commands. "Listen. I'm not uncomfortable around you. We're holding hands now, and all that makes me feel is safe." Jinbei's eyes widen, head raising to look at her face. Her lips are set in a stern line, shoulders strong. "I'm not saying that there won't be bad days where I might jump when you greet me or something or feel anxious drawing my maps around you or the memories might make things hard. But it's not about you or about you letting Arlong go. I get that way about Sanji or Brook or the others sometimes, too." He doesn't look entirely convinced, but he squeezes her hand like he wants to be. "It's not about you. It's just the memories. We've both suffered a lot because of each other's people. But I don't blame you, and I know you don't blame me. There's no part of me, not a single one, that believes you'd ever hurt me the way Arlong did." Jinbei's eyes widen and shine and hurt. Softer, she adds, "There's no part of me that believes you'd ever hurt me at all."

The older man's voice trembles, breaking like the tears flowing from his eyes, when he says, "You are — far kinder than I deserve, and unimaginably brave." She smiles again, helpless this time, as she feels her own eyes begin to well again.

"Now you know my whole story. Thank you for letting me tell you."

"I'm a part of the crew," he says, still crying, but his voice is steadying. She thinks of the singular time she'd caught Arlong crying. He'd beat her for daring to see his fear and pain, and she knows that Jinbei is much stronger than him in many ways, that he is not afraid to allow himself to feel and cry and grieve. She is, too. "You said it yourself. This crew is like family, and there shouldn't be secrets." He breathes out a stuttering laugh, his tears slowing. "It's a bit strange to adjust to how close you are all."

"Give it a month or two," Nami shoots back, teasing a little now. "Luffy will have you so overwhelmed by how stupid we all are that you'll have no choice but to adjust."

"I hope to learn from all of you," he says, free hand wiping at his eyes. She releases his palm, and the other presses to his chest, and to the symbol that had frightened her in the early days "I hope that someday I may possess a fraction of your strength, Nami."

That draws a laugh from her, startled and shy. "The others on the crew are much strong than me."

"I don't believe that," he says, and he means it. He does. Her heart feels — light and heavy both. Floating on saltwater. She is strong, she knows. "To be strong enough not only to endure that hardship, but to have coped and moved on to the extent that you have...to be honest, I envy you. Arlong hurt you far more than he did me, and yet...the strength you display with regards to him is not something I can ever hope to match."

Her brow furrows. "He was your brother. He is your brother. That doesn't excuse him, and I'll always hate him for what he did to me. But it's a hell of lot easier to move on from a villain you hurt you than from the brother that you love."

Jinbei smiles joylessly. "Strange that the same man can be both, isn't it?"

She doesn't have a reply to that. All she can say, after a long moment of silence, is, "you're strong, too." To take responsibility for what is only barely his fault, to cry to a human even though humans have hurt him, to hold the love and the hate for Arlong together in his heart and not fall apart with it.

Jinbei smiles, not looking convinced, but doesn't argue.

"Do you want to — stay with me?" Nami asks suddenly. "While I finish this map?"

His eyes widen. "Are you sure you'd be comfortable with that?"

His concern isn't unwarranted. This conversation has memories bubbling to the surface, pressing against her head — Belle - mere, pain, years of abuse. The time Arlong drowned her and then crushed her hands. A fishman's breathing near her while she draws maps. It might be hard, but — "I'm strong," she says, because she needs to. "And I think I need..." She exhales, trying to think of how to word it. "I used to be afraid of pirates, you know? Much more than I was afraid of fishmen. When I started traveling with Luffy, I was terrified of him. But every day when none of them hurt me, the fear got...smaller. The memories of my crew being good to me drowned out the memories of the crew that hurt me. And I think...I think I need memories of maps and fishmen that are safe, too. To drown out the memories that aren't." She laughs quietly. "I guess I'm being selfish."

Jinbei smiles, almost paternal, eyes still red from his tears. "I think that makes perfect sense. I'd be happy to keep you company."

Nami grins. She's sure it might ache. But she's sure, too, that he won't hurt her. Even now, years later, what a relief — to know her crew won't ever hurt her.

"Thank you."

[sxcret-garden-archive]

,

[thebonepirate]

y'know i still have no fucking clue what goes on in honkai whatever because my starlight sucks at explaining things but i do know that the pink one is my favorite

[melancholymirth]

❛ i will keep hurting. i will keep killing. anything to protect you. ❜ shut uP, GARRETT--

prompt

It was not the first time he'd killed a man; not the first time he'd killed in front of V; neither of them were naïve to think it would be the last time, either. One rather loses hope for that after the third offense. But because something cements itself, it is not simultaneously agreed upon. Still, what could he do? Such was the cost of his commitment.

V took him home, quickly, grateful for the cover of night. At the very least, it always happened at night. V hardly spent a thought over their odds, but tonight had been different. Tonight, he'd been so quiet, ever faithful in his attentions, even as he wiped gore from Garrett's face. He'd need a shower anyway, and his clothes were not to be salvaged. But V kept him still, and cool, when he got him to sit atop the toilet, all while lost in his own mind and his hand mechanically wiped and rubbed at blood stains for no tangible purpose. Cold water, gentle pressure from a washcloth, another hand keeping his head still—how were his hands not shaking?

He simply knew, the very moment he heard a patron speak a little too closely to his ear, that the night would end in shades of red. He knew it with a sinking dread, and it didn't take more than a string of presumptive words for that pitiable creature to seal his own fate. He knew not what predators lurked around the corners—behind the bar! He hadn't even touched V, like one other before him who met his end torn to ribbons and burned to ash— Tonight, it was only flirty words. Only flirting!

And he was heaped in mounds of his own flesh, seared and blackened but not cooked, left to decay in a corner, not even an hour ago, down a dark street where he'd been followed; Garrett had that blood on his hands now, scraps of skin stuck under his nails that he was picking out while having his face wiped clean.

V rubbed the blood off his lips, but it had stained and would require a deeper clean. Garrett likely still tasted it on his tongue. He was only talking to me.

Thick was the air, their little bathroom already full from storminess. The washcloth was soiled in most spots now, and V would soon have to leave him to shower. V could see plainly, under the bright bathroom light, that the gore had soaked through his shirt, staining and leaving tacky much of his upper body. V was used to it, when it wasn't human blood. He swallowed thickly when he felt a lump in his throat, having spent a little too much time staring at a blotch of blood on Garrett's chest that looked wetter, richer than the rest.

He was used to this, he was. It wasn't that he couldn't handle the blood and guts—he wouldn't have devoted so many years of his life to that kind of dirty work for his livelihood—or the loss of life that came with it. But...it had only ever been of the infernal breed. Demons were unwelcome here, and usually they'd come to eat or conquer or destroy in some other deplorable way. Human beings died by their fangs, by their wrath and their arrogance and their greed and their jealousy.

He was only talking. He hadn't touched me yet. I hated it but it didn't make me sick— V brought the cloth under the faucet to wring it out, but it was as good as a lost cause by now. His own hands were stained, but the contact was indirect, thus easier to wash out with a good lathering. He knew attentive eyes were watching him: he hadn't said anything since sitting Garrett down. He hated it, but it didn't make him sick. I knew it was coming, that I would see it. I'd hoped, maybe, that he would listen this time... For god's sake. I thought he'd try to resist. I thought he'd try harder, after that last time.

A demon was sitting in the bathroom, dirty with blood and the viscera he'd ripped open. Strips of skin like shredded cheese, threads of sinew, even pieces of the offender's clothes were stuck to him when the pair arrived home: a demon V loved and committed himself to, a demon he married and would do anything for. Did taking human lives count toward that devotion? Is that what it took to be loyal, reliable, inseparable? True? But...how could V ever expect Garrett to betray his instincts? Simply enough, he didn't. That was why he had to adapt to the thing he could not control; the one thing he would have liked to change, once upon a time—but it was clear to him now, with vicious finality, that he had no power in this area, where Garrett's perception of territory and protection were concerned.

And, ultimately, V had to make peace with that. He was in the process, took one step further every time his mate saw it fit to turn against his principles, all for V's sake. Protecting human lives lost its meaning whenever the one precious life to him was under threat, and that was as sweet of him as it was...conflicting.

But V could never get it out of his memory that he had led mortal men to death once before, when he was many years younger but still enjoyed demonic protection; only, then, it was solely in the form of his familiars. They came to his aid to maim, and left his attackers to bleed to death. He was a coward to run, and a monster in his own right to let it happen at all. Garrett would tell him it was deserved, and to some extent V agreed—but it never sat well with him to rob his fellow man of life or limb.

All these years later, he'd seen it was simply par for the course: his job, his compassion for the helpless, his husband.

"I will keep hurting. I will keep killing. Anything to protect you."

Garrett must have seen his eyes close. Surely, he must have noticed the long pause he took to breathe. V turned his head instantly when he heard Garrett's voice, marking the absolute absence of shame or regret in the affirmation given. It didn't really surprise V, just cemented things all the more. Maybe that's all he needed, to simply know it for an irrefutable fact that Garrett would never be swayed from his course. A demon, wrathful and greedy, and maybe a little arrogant for it, and jealous to his dying day.

V hadn't dried his hands, leaving them to rest and drip over the boundary of the sink. Looking at Garrett made him aware of all things around him, including the wash his husband desperately needed. However, for all the things he was feeling, hardly an ounce of it leaked through his very dry countenance. He loved Garrett enough to suffer his own moral compass when it reeled, to forgive him, every time, he sought retribution against those who disrespected his V. And maybe it was difficult at first, but for him to be willing to forget and move on, as if the killing was necessary and excusable, spoke deafeningly to the reprehensible lengths V would go to for Garrett. In his own way, he was no better. That blood was on his hands, too, and he'd forgiven it and thanked Garrett for it and loved him all the more at the end of the day.

He's protecting me. He loves me enough to do anything. I must love him in kind. I already do, if I can stand here without a break in my resolve or...even fearing what he'd do to me. I cannot look at him and think him a murderer. I cannot see a monster in those eyes. Am I blind? The way he looks at me now, I can only forgive—but I'm afraid for him.

V shook his head, distant. He finally turned from the sink to dry his hands. He needed a moment to fight the very tender boy within, who seemed ready to cry at any moment over any thing. But V fought him, shushed him and sent him cowering back to that sad, frightful place they so liked to inhabit together, and he took in a deeper breath for some steel so that he could face his bloodied mate without wavering.

Something might happen.

"I know. You would get your hands so dirty for me." Voice quiet and level, but not distinctly warm. Troubled peridots landed on Garrett, who regarded V with fierce sobriety. "I can accept that—I can. It gets easier, slowly, but..." Brows pinched then, with worry. "I won't deny that I am afraid. I feel as though...we've gotten lucky, so far. As one would put it, 'getting away with murder'." V couldn't have been any clearer with choice words like those, and whether he meant it to or not, the phrase cut. Garrett was suddenly stiff under his gaze, but whatever emotions he was feeling were not betrayed by the very solemn frown on his brow nor the shadow it cast over his eyes. His hands, restless, were picking at nothing but his own nails, and so he forced them to lace, tightly, while his attention on V was full. It was good of him to keep himself from interrupting—but he did know it, well, when V had something serious to say.

The doting thing had blood caking in his hair, too. V had been keeping him this long, and he would keep him still. But, he made sure his voice was quiet enough so it wouldn't carry through the pipes and walls to connecting apartments. "I fear someone seeing you, hearing something, maybe...finding you, somehow, and..." He didn't have the guts to finish, though he figured Garrett understood where his train of thought was going. V knew Garrett feared nothing of that sort, as he'd always boasted about being able to escape anything, and that he'd allow nothing to keep him from V. That was overconfident of him, but the sentiment was appreciated all the same. When facing reality, however, V could not help his pessimism, and he could even less help factors beyond his control. Garrett could not risk it all for one man, no matter how much he thought that man deserved it.

Because, if something should go wrong, where would that leave V? Tonight, the thing that shook him most was not to watch a man be butchered, but to weigh the gravity of its consequences, to consider the likelihood. Would it be poetic justice at all for Garrett's willingness to protect to be what leaves them all hurt and vulnerable? A sick twist of fate? And if it wasn't justice that put an end to all things, would it be a lost mind instead?

In his moments of blind retribution, the mind bent to the roar of his heart. Up until now, Garrett had been smart to completely disfigure, char or reduce to total ash whatever villain had deserved it. He rendered them unidentifiable, therefore next to impossible to investigate, their killers impossible to trace. But even so, even so, the mind was so oft a fickle thing, and not even Garrett could guarantee that his own would not snap and lose itself entirely in the heat of his passion. Had protecting V, and seeking vengeance on his behalf, been worth risking his sanity for? Sometimes, V wondered if Garrett would come back to him; if the cloud would lift and let him see and think again. Maybe V was unfair to doubt, but was he wrong to? Had he no right to worry over losing the person who'd mattered most? If anything happened to his beloved, his best friend, his better half, his partner in (some) crime and business, his soulmate, V did not trust that he could go on without.

He needed a moment to look away, so he dipped his head and let out a taxed breath he hadn't noticed he'd taken in. An unconscious, nervous gesture, he haphazardly ran a hand through his hair, making a mess of his vision but preferring that to tears in his eyes. Mercifully, they let him be. "You would sacrifice everything just to protect me, at the risk of losing even yourself... That's...that's selfish." His head shook feebly as he lifted it, hooking Garrett in the eyes with his own: deliberate, yet sympathetic and seeking sympathy. "If I were to lose you, for any reason at all, what would happen to me? I have an answer, but you won't want to hear it." You already know that I cannot live without you. It's too late for me to try again. "I would sooner die, Garrett."

V was undeterred when he brought his hand to Garrett's cheek, holding him steady and warmly as he was wont to, comforting him in the way that had become too familiar by now, practically typical, signature. V needed the comfort in this touch, too, and something to ground him as he fought the tearful child inside to leave him be again. He wasn't about to break down in tears over this, whatever it was; he didn't want any more pity than he was getting, though he was going to ask for more regardless. Calmly, he continued before Garrett could jump in. "I'm not going to tell you how to do what you do. I can even less seek a promise from you, so I won't. But...if you would at least be wise..." His hand did his pleading for him, pressing into Garrett's cheek, thumb stroking. "Be careful about where you are, or who listens, if you or we are truly alone, if someone doesn't already know— Just be careful, be smart. Keep your head clear. Don't get lost in something that you can't get out of. I want you with me, alive and well. And sane. That's...all I really care about."

Ultimately, that was all he wanted to say. Or needed to, at least, for now. There may have been more to get off his chest, but he didn't care to keep the conversation going: it was making him frightfully depressed. Besides, his mate was filthy and there was a greater need for air to clear. V supposed he could live with blood on his hands, indirect though it was. It was shed for love, not hate, he had to think of it that way or he'd never make progress. He only hoped, sincerely and urgently, that the love he so much craved once upon a time would not, in the future, be the very same that would ruin him and end his life as he knew it.

Maybe it already had, if he was so wiling to condone murder in his name. Garrett was such a good boy; so good that it made him bad. V loved him for it. Perhaps they were both morally reprehensible, deep down; and, frankly, V was too exhausted right now to care or give it a second thought. He had no smile or sorry frown for Garrett, simply more of that dryness, but it was fond between the lines and in his half-lidded eyes. At last, he took his hand away, lingering no more than a second before turning toward the door that led into their bedroom. "You'd better shower. I'll wait for you."

[buckyalpine]

40s Sergeant Barnes with a nurse and a Sergeant kink (and breeding and house wife kink, virginity loss). This was supposed to be a pure smutty drabble but then I got in my feelings and added some fluff and angst but I promise Bucky is still a dirty, nasty little fuck in this. Just with a sweeter ending. The one he deserves.

Listen just imagine what a cute, sexy menace Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes would be just waking up from an injury when his eyes flutter open to the pretty nurse he’s been eyeing from the day he started. You’re not a shy, dainty little thing, nope. Not at all.

You bark out orders like a drill Sergeant and one glare from you is all it takes to get everyone in line and on task without a second thought. Even his superiors are scared of you, biting their tongue when you stitch them up and send them on their way before running off to your next patient.

Bucky was in love.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he rasps, throwing you a charming smirk while you roll your eyes in response, shaking your head. "How'd I get so lucky, got a my little angel tendin' to me"

“I see your injury hasn’t stopped hurt that mouth of yours Sergeant" You quirk an eyebrow while he playfully huffs as you change the dressing covering a gash on his abdomen. You swab the area clean and he doesn't flinch even though you know it must burn like hell, his muscles tensed while he continues to watch you with heart eyes. "Now you know I'm not your little angel, I got 20 other men to fix up, you better be out of this bed as soon as you're all healed up"

“C’mon sugar, you're breakin' my heart" Bucky gives you a little pout with those perfect lips and you catch the twinkle in his eye as he looks over your form with complete admiration. He loved your sassy, take no shit attitude and it's taking everything in him to calm himself down so he doesn't get a hard on right there in front of you.

"You'd tell that to a cat with three legs if it was in a nurses outfit" You try your best to not give into his flirty comments and puppy eyes, knowing damn well he's a heart breaker but he makes it so difficult when he continues to woo you with his boyish charm.

He can't help but chase after you; catching the way your eyes always dart around with anxiety when his group returns from an operation, relief flooding them when you finally spot him. He loves your indifferent attitude, patting him down to make sure he's uninjured but your furrowed brows and the tiny pout on your lips give away that you're worried.

How can he just let you go. Every time you check over him, he needs you closer.

So much closer.

-

"Ms. y/l/n, Sergeant Barnes is requesting you in his tent, he says it's urgent"

You shake your head looking over at the time, quietly making your way over to the tent he's stationed at, thankful that a number of troops were sleeping so you wouldn't be seen as you quickly slip inside.

“And what hurts now” you sass with your hands on your hips seeing the soldier in perfect health, doing your best to assess him without letting him know.

"Always checkin' over me" Bucky chuckles, seeing what you're doing; his words making your cheeks heat up, "Knew you cared about me sugar"

"Well what am I doin' here" You give him an unconvincing huff, struggling to keep your voice steady, refusing to meet his eyes, keeping your gaze on his silver dog tags instead. It doesn't help that he's handsome as hell with a light dusting of scruff covering his cheeks. Bucky's never seen you flustered before and it evokes something in him, all the blood in his body rushing south seeing your fingers twitch.

All he wanted to do was kiss you but now-

“Help your Sergeant out doll” He whispers, taking another step forward till his chest brushes against yours, his hand coming to tilt your chin up, "Will you?"

You gasp feeling his hardness press against your thigh, your heart fluttering wildly as his thumb traces your lips, any semblance of control you had slipping away feeling the warmth of his skin.

“Y-yes Sergeant Barnes”

His lips press against yours, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his body was screaming for him to pick you up and toss you onto his cot.

"Sweet like sugar" He lets his hands fall to your waist, pulling you flush against his body while your arms drape on top of his shoulders. You stand on your toes chasing more of his lips and he chuckles at the needy whine you let out when he pulls away for air.

Now let's say your first night together was actually quite tame. He kisses you again and you swoon when he repeatedly checks in with you before going any further. His hand slips under your skirt, letting his fingers toy with places no on else has touched. With each night, he needs you more and more until he can't hold off any longer and neither can you.

-

You sneak into his tent and this time he doesn't hesitate to undress you completely, not when he needs you bare with nothing separating you both. You feel your heart race as he lies on top of you, draping a thin sheet over himself when you shiver at the chill night air. You feel his body heat instantly warm you up, his heavy cock resting between your soaked folds.

"Are you sure, sugar?" He asks, his hand cupping your cheek and stroking your skin.

"Please Sergeant" You whisper and the way you say his title makes his cock twitch. There's something so different about you when you're in his bed, a sweet little bunny giving herself to him completely. It drives him feral with a need to make you feel good, make you cry for his cock and his cock only, to keep you nice and full of him.

You don't look twice at anyone else and here you are completely naked in his tent with your tight little virgin cunt, your legs spread open so he can put his dick in you; there was no way he was ever going to let you go.

"You tell me if it's too much, alright?" His lips tickle your neck as kisses your skin while rubbing his heavy cock through your folds, coating it in your slick, "Breathe for me"

He slips his tags into your mouth as he starts to press in, the initial sting making you bite down hard onto the metal feeling a mix of pleasure and pain. You whine at the way he stretches you open, your thighs squeezing around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Shhh, that's it love, doin' so good for me so good for your Sergeant, look how you're takin' all of me baby" He looks down to where you're both connected as he continues to slowly push himself in till hes fully sheathed inside you. He gives you time to adjust, slipping his tags out of your lips and letting his tongue lace with yours instead, his balls already throbbing with how tightly you were squeezing his cock.

"Please-Sergeant" your heels press into his ass desperate for him to move, gasping when he starts to slowly roll his hips, barely pulling out.

"I got you love-don't worry" Bucky moves as slowly as he could not wanting to hurt you, taking just as much care of you as you had with him countless of times.

But he can only keep up at that pace for so long. Your muffled whines and moans don't help the way his mind is already spiraling. His pretty little nurse all spread out just for him, taking his raw, bare cock in her soaking pussy, squeezing him so tight, he was only a few strokes from cumming.

If it were up to him he would've proposed on the spot, thinking about making love to you on your wedding night, seeing you all shy and sweet wrapped up in soft white lace. If you were his wife, he'd take you apart every which way, not giving a fuck about traditions, taking you right on the dining room table.

You'd be the prettiest little thing for him to come home to, such a good wife all dirty just for her husband. Only he'd know the way your mouth would slobber all over his cock like your life depended on it. The way you'd moan at the taste of his cum. Bucky's eyes rolled back at the thought of you with nothing but some heels and a string of pearls he'd put around your neck while he stuffed you with cum and emptied his balls in you.

"S-Sergeant-I-oh god" You whimpered feeling his cock grow harder, your pussy pulling him right back in, feeling the coil low in your belly pull tighter and tighter as he hit that spot.

Meanwhile Bucky's jaw clenched as he felt his balls pull tight to his body, the tip leaking steadily in your pussy. His mind spiraled into places he didn't think would exist before he met you, rogue thoughts he only entertained when he had his dick in his hand. The harder he fucked you the more he thought about how gorgeous you'd look with a swollen belly.

Fuck, imagine if he got you pregnant right then and there. That nurses uniform would no longer fit you. Everyone would know he knocked you up, your perfectly round tummy carrying Sergeant James Barnes' baby, breasts heavy with milk, God, he wasn't going to last-

“Gonna let your Sergeant pump you full of cum?” He pants, letting his hands grip onto your hips like his life depends on it, the wiry hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit.

“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-youI-I'm gonna-"

"M'yours sweet girl, m'all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.

"Want your cum Sergeant" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.

"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, m-gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Bucky right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair; his usual kempt brown locks now disheveled .

“Y’know m’gonna marry you” his scruffy cheek nuzzles into your neck as he continues to stay deep inside you as his cock softens, “after all this is over. Gonna put a ring on that finger”

His words send a different wave of emotions over you, feeling more safe than ever, clinging onto him as tightly as possible. You let a whimper slip out and he pulls away from your neck with an expression of concern.

“What is it love” Bucky coos, wiping away the tears that slip you, stroking your cheek while you bite back a sniffle.

“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” You weren't sure what Bucky would want-there was still a war going on. Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-

"Of course sugar" Bucky presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"

-

And of course he gets his happy ending. Because when it's all over, he gets the ring for the girl he loves. He's on one knee, proposing to you with the sweetest words. He treats you like a princess on your wedding night, making love all night long until the sun is up.

There isn't a surface in the house he's left untouched. Nothing makes him more feral than moaning for his pretty wife, constantly taking her hand and wrapping it around his cock, watching that diamond glint with each stroke.

It doesn't take long for you to feel a little squeamish, knowing all the tell tale signs.

The day you tell him he's going to be a dad is one of the happiest days of his life. There isn't a single night that goes by where he isn't nuzzling his face into your tummy, talking to your little one.

Everything was perfecttt.

[magicdustsworld]

𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: A guide on how to properly date your tattooed, big, bad boyfriend.

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒: Established relationship, slice of life

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: some profanity, biting(non sexual), fluff, no curse AU, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n. (Would be just a short series of drabbles)

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏 : 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔

Divider credits: @cafekitsune

"I love you."

"What?"

"I love you." You say with a sheepish grin playing on your lips as you get on your knees, crawling over to him. The silk sheets crease under your deliberate yet rhythmic movements – something which he doesn't even seem to notice. For the felicity in your eyes and the ardor clouding your visage is a expression to great to ignore and even though it's Sukuna, he can't ignore you.

You reach his side, resting your arm on the bedframe, looking up at him with a expression akin to a child looking at something it holds dear. "You know I love you so much, right?"

He blinks, clearly baffled with your sudden proclamation of love. Raking his brain over everything he did today – nothing out of the ordinary except being a asshole to that one salesman who wouldn't take his leave until selling his– whatever it was. But for Sukuna that's ordinary cause he's a jerk at heart.

He tilts his head, "What do you want?"

"Your arm." You are quick to reply, voice carrying an ardor which is too loud to miss. "Give me your arm."

His eye twitches, shooting you a – are you serious – look. You reply with a nod, stretching your hand, asking to get served. A disinterested scowl graces his lips, sparing you a glance, he turns to the opposite side.

This time, your eye twitches. He did not just reject your advances. You huff, inching closer to him as you place your hand over his bicep, "Baby... look at me."

He does. You jut out lower lip, eyebrows furrowing and tipping your head up at him. He can't help but consider how much you ressemble a cat with that expression. He pinches his lips, "If you think that's going to convince me otherwise then you're wrong— ow!"

In no time, you have sunk your teeth on his bicep, the canines puncturing the flesh, incisors holding the skin in place as you glare up at him.

Sukuna winces in sheer pain, trying to pull his arm off of your hold but you remain adamant on not letting him go. "Owh— what the actual fuck woman? Let go of me!"

You do let go, retracting your mouth but do not let go of his arm. You pout at him and Sukuna looks down at the attacked area. A circle of crescent moon shapes has forned on the part of the skin – it hurts like a bitch.

He turns to face you fully, crimson eyes blazing with a rage as he looks down on you. "What the hell was that for?"

You pout, narrowing your eyes, "Cuddle with me."

"After that stunt you pulled? Absolutely not."

"Absolutely yes."

He glares at you and you glare back; the silence turning into a staring match.

Sukuna scans your face, the crease on your forehead to the way you've twisted your lips and finally the flicker of vexation in your eyes.

Definitely a cat.

He sighs, threading his fingers through his hair before stretching out his arm. "Come here."

In an instant the irkness vanishes and you jump into his arms, eyes gleaming with delight and mouth stretched into a triumph grin. You giggle, "I knew you'd come along." You say, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck as Sukuna loops his arm around your waist, shifting you to a closer and better position.

He sighs, "Whatever, brat. Just don't bite me again."

You pursue your lips, gazing at him with a guilt. Leaning up, you press your lips against his cheeks in a chaste kiss, "Mhm, sorry."

Heat rushes up Sukuna's face, spreading from his ears to his neck; he looks away from you.

"Aw, are you blushing?"

"Shut up."

"You are blushing."

He merely responds with placing his hand on the back of your head and pushing your face down on his chest. "Shut up."

You giggle, mumbling something incoherent before snuggling closer to him. "I love you."

This time, Sukuna doesn't suppress the idiotic grin which spreads on his lips. With your face pressed against his chest, he strokes your hair, placing a soft kiss on top of your head.

"I know, brat."

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟐

[simpjaes]

NIGHT-SHIFT (p.sh)

Sunghoon, a keen and professional man between the hours of 8 AM to 5 PM. ServiceKing, a faceless and proud man between the hours of 9 PM to 12 AM. Sunghoon’s secret night-life has nothing to do with the faces he sees day after day...until it does. or the one where you pay for a one on one call with a faceless cam guy you’ve been watching for a little while, and the next day your boss is avoiding you like the plague. 

minors dni 

PAIRING ― boss / cam boy!sunghoon x afab reader  

WORDCOUNT― 4.5k

WARNINGS―  dub-con since reader doesn’t know it’s him. 

CONTENT― office setting, sunghoon is a service top/soft-dom/whatever his clients need lol

 NOTE ― this was supposed to be a drabble, but i just....it needed a little more plot sorry. it's not very good, like fr this is not up to par with what I wanted... but i wrote it so im gonna post it.

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― dubious consent, cam sex/virtual sex, dirty talk, masturbation instructions, umm…finger fucking, jerking off, fantasies, role-play type stuff

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

What are the chances? Honestly, what are the fucking chances?

Sunghoon sits up quickly from his relaxed position upon hearing a voice far too familiar on the other end of this call. He’s lucky he doesn’t have his camera on just yet, you’d have seen the embarrassing reaction to…well…hearing you of all people.

He knows the world can be small sometimes, but this is too small for comfort as he hears your muttered voice through the microphone again.

“So, what am I supposed to do?” You say. 

“Ah, uh–” Sunghoon pauses. There’s no way it’s actually you. Can you not recognize his voice too? “What type of call did you request again?” 

“Full service.” You remind him. 

Oh. You’re into this kind of thing? That pretty, well-mannered employee of his? The one who sips coffee quietly at her desk while actually responding to her emails? The one who never shows up to co-ed parties? The one who always dresses appropriately and addresses him in a timid way?

You…just paid a cam-boy to get you off in full? Not just any cam-boy either, you paid him?

God, his cheeks are so heated at the arousing thought. Never once has he ever imagined you in any scenario that doesn’t involve excel spreadsheets and finances. Arguably, you’ve probably never thought of him all spread out fucking his fist either but…you’ve blatantly seen him do it already.

He wonders how long you’ve been seeing this part of him, how long you’ve been getting yourself off all alone while he puts on a show for hundreds, and sometimes, thousands of people. 

As detrimental as this is, it’s his job to do this. You paid him to do it, just like how he pays you to do your job. He can’t be letting this hold him back. No, in fact, he needs to get this hour long session over with as quickly as fucking possible. 

“Right,” Sunghoon lends a chuckle, nervous sounding on his end but to you it just sounds cheeky. “Can I get your name, babe?” 

You’re quiet at first, never having done this before and absolutely not wanting this random horny guy to know who you are. Honestly, you already requested that only he turns his camera on during this call as well. As if you’d give out your real name. You give him a name that rhymes with your own instead, and there’s another chuckle after. 

He knows you’re lying. Out of all the employees that are under him, you’re the one he has to correspond with the most. After all, you’ve been up for the promotion to being his assistant for the past three months. He knows that isn’t your name. 

 Smart girl, just like he knew you were. 

“Is that so?” He tilts his head at his blank screen in amusement, watching the microphones light up with each breath. “Alright, and you’ll do everything I say, yes?” 

You nod to no one, realizing he can’t see you and instead giving him a hum and gentle words of “of course.”

His image flashes across your screen just moments later. The same as his usual streams. Face out of frame, hand strong and willing, his cock out and on display– only half hard. 

“Listen to me very carefully,” Sunghoon calls out now, as if to show you that it’s time to begin, your almost-name falling from his lips shortly after. “Don’t hold your breath, you paid good money for this, and I want to hear you.”

Oh man, this is embarrassing for you to be doing this. But truly, anything at this point is better than another night all alone. 

And he does hear you. Relishing in that voice he hears day to day reciting memos and budgets, only this time, you’re calling out pleasurable reactions to how he tells you to fuck yourself. 

He’s good at it too. You can’t help but listen to every word, touching and massaging when he instructs you to, stopping just short of orgasm for him to ask, “That feels good, doesn’t it? Wish you had me doing it for you, isn’t that right?” 

Always using the fake name. Giving you full-service by the end of the call. 

Safe to say, you’re feeling refreshed by the next morning as you ready yourself for work, wanting very much to book the infamous ServiceKing again. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Fuck, he can’t even look at you. Not after the way he got off last night. 

Not after hearing you moan out the way you did while he simultaneously imagined you all spread out on his desk for him. Not after hearing the fucking wet between your legs as you frantically tried to cum when he told you to. 

Not after you did cum for him. 

“Mr. Park–” You chime through his door, not quite noticing the way he stiffens in his seat. 

God, if you had called him that last night…

“Hm?” He composes himself by acting bored and uninterested in whatever papers you have held tightly against your chest. “What is it?”

“I got the statements back from our parent company, I think–”

“Great. Just set them down on my desk.” He cuts you off, patting his desk before hoping you get the fuck out of his office before he ends up breaking office rule number one.

What is office rule number one, you might ask? Never fuck a co-worker. What’s worse is that you’re not his fucking co worker. You’re his employee.

You raise a brow at his demeanor this morning. The usual not-so-up-tight Sunghoon appearing far too distracted today compared to usual. Most mornings, he’ll at least give you a smile and a “thank you.” 

“Mr. Park, is there anything I can get for you?” You ask with concern in your voice.

Sunghoon pauses every thought in his head as he looks at you. Narrowing his eyes and wondering if maybe he’s just overreacting. Maybe he's mistaken and that girl from last night isn’t you at all. After all, there’s plenty of people with the same pitch in their voice. She didn’t even turn on her camera, and she gave him a different name anyway. 

Maybe he just wishes it was you. 

“No, I’m fine–” He says, mistakenly calling out the fake name rather than your actual name. 

You miss the way his eyes widen for a split second before correcting himself to your real name. 

“Ah, my apologies. Got a little tongue tied.” 

You stand there in shock. No way in hell he just called you by the name you spoofed to a cam-boy last night. Coincidences can be so weird, and being called that hits you a little too close to home. 

It feels awkward in the room now and both of you play it off as a genuine mistake. Though, to you, it has to be a genuine tongue-tied version of your name. Sunghoon couldn’t possibly know about that. Besides, he appears to be more tired than usual anyway, so…you choose to believe it’s a crazy coincidence. 

You give him a nervous chuckle as you wave yourself off and out of the room with a small “It’s okay, you know where I am if you need anything.”

What he needs is to watch his fucking mouth. What he needs is to stop thinking about how you just reacted to being called that. What he needs is to pretend that none of this is happening and do his goddamn work. 

And he tries. He really does. Unfortunately, his eyes go from blurs of numbers and words on spreadsheets to the window of his office. Just outside of it. You.

How is he supposed to focus after kind of, accidentally, practically fucking you? Sure, he never touched you but…it really was you. The way you reacted to that name was so telling, and he can’t help but actually check you out now. 

You, with that body. You got off to him, with those legs of your spread out while staring into a screen. All alone, listening to his voice, moaning for him…and now you’re just sitting there in your business casual outfit like he’s not unintentionally getting hard. 

So, he avoids you. At all fucking costs, he avoids you. 

You get up from your desk? So does he, making sure that if you start coming his way, he’s walking out and in the opposite direction. You send him an email? Out of office, despite clearly sitting at his desk. You call his phone to ask a question? He forwards you to his current assistant. 

And this happens for days. To the point you know that promotion is slipping from your fingers. 

Naturally, you’re frustrated with the office-dynamic. After all, you’ve heard rumors of picking favorites. You thought you were one of them, but it appears that Sunghoon may just decide to try and beg his current assistant to stay with bribes of double pay. 

You’re more frustrated as the days go by. Leaving work yet again with no good-byes from the boss who used to show appreciation for how hard you worked. He’s colder than usual, he’s stiffer than usual, he’s– a fucking asshole these days.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Ping! 

Sunghoon stares at his secret email in disbelief. 

NEW REQUEST FROM: [your email/username]

$500 PENDING. 

FULL SERVICE.

Requester note: work has been hard lately, will you help me de-stress for a little while? 

[ACCEPT REQUEST]   [DECLINE REQUEST]

Sunghoon hovers over the decline button for a solid thirty seconds as he burns a hole through his screen. Work has been hard for you lately, huh? Has it now? Try being him. 

He shifts his mouse to the accept button, wondering if he even needs that extra five hundred dollars. Those funds just to suffer more at work? Just to suddenly have the need randomly throughout his day to make you moan for him? Just to have the sounds of your pretty voice echoing in his head more and more the longer he ignores you? 

His finger clicks, hitting the accept button as he lets out an exasperated sigh. 

Why did he just do that?

Wait. 

Maybe this will help him get through the work weeks. Fucking you through words alone in secret, never telling you who he is, always letting you use him even if it’s just through audio and visual stimulation. 

After all, if you found out who ServiceKing is, you very well may quit. Hell, you might get him fired. Fuck.

This is dangerous. 

Yet, he feels the excitement in his gut before it even hits his cock as the clock ticks. He gets to hear you again soon, you get to watch him cum again soon, he–oh, he’s so turned on right now just thinking about it.

And the time comes too slowly for his liking. He feels as if he’s been edged by the time the two of you enter the call and he’s immediately turning his camera on. 

“Ah, look who it is,” Sunghoon starts, already positioning himself with a raging hard cock on the screen. “Had me wondering if you’d come back to me.”

You don’t know why your cheeks heat up, but the feeling in your gut is miles better than the frustration and anxiety that you felt throughout the day. 

“I was wondering the same thing,” You speak into the mic meekly, hiding your face despite knowing he can’t see it. “I just need to get my mind off of stuff for a little while.” 

“Oh yeah?” Sunghoon chuckles into the mic, his face perfectly hidden. “Wanna give me some context? Maybe I can use some of the information for–”

“God.” You immediately start, shutting the man up on the other side of the screen in an accidental frustration-dump. This is not what you paid him for, but you still appreciate the space to release your brain before, well, your cum. “My fucking boss.”

Sunghoon’s ears perk up, lazily stroking himself as you continue with a frantic voice. 

“I swear he just flipped on me. I thought I was doing so good, I thought I was gonna get that new position, but now he’s just ignoring me and treating me like some temp or something.” 

Sunghoon hums lowly, listening intently to the way you bring him into conversation to a man that…unfortunately, is that very same boss.

“Hmm, that’s interesting.” Sunghoon continues palming himself as he soothes you through your frustrations. “Your boss isn’t praising you.” 

You pause, feeling a ping in your gut. 

“If I were him, I’d praise you every day–” Sunghoon softens his voice. “Every night.”

“Oh…” You listen to his words, feeling your frustration melt out of you in an instant as you now focus on the way his cock twitches through the screen. 

“Wouldn’t let you go a second without thinking of how good I am to you.” He continues, both hyping himself and degrading his day-time self. “If I were your boss–”

You interrupt his words with a very quiet groan, he fucking heard it.

“Mm, you like that?” He smiles to himself, gripping the base of his cock and thrusting up to show the full size to you. “The thought of your boss liking you a little too much?”

You hum. Not that you’ve ever thought about it too deeply, but now that he’s said it, praising you, putting down your actual boss, telling you what he’d do if he were him? 

You guess, for tonight anyway, you’re into it. 

“What’s his name, babe?” Sunghoon asks, wondering if you’ll actually out his name to a stranger. 

“Park Sunghoon.” You expose him instantly, full name and all, even with a bit of bite in your voice. 

Damn.

“Oh, yeah?” Sunghoon draws back, jerking his hand up once. “I’d fuck you better than Park Sunghoon.” 

You smile at the thought, imagining yourself with more power than Sunghoon has. Like you’re his boss, you’re the one dangling a promotion just out of reach before giving it to someone else. 

“See this?” The man on the screen grunts out to you, fucking tight thrusts into his fist. “Watch me, baby, get a good look.”

And you do watch. Intensely, you stare at his big cock, the head of it darkened and leaking with each pass of his hand. You’re not even touching yourself at this point, but it’s like you can feel the force of it.

“Now, I need you to open those legs for me.” He instructs you. 

You do as he says much like before, letting your legs fall open but not yet letting yourself touch. You still sigh at the movement, your panties alone shifting were enough to make you want to hump your hips up. 

“Now, turn on your camera.”

Silence. Your ears ring momentarily at the words as you immediately close your legs.

“What?” You ask in a higher-pitched tone than usual. “I requested for no c-”

“No.” Sunghoon mutters, shifting his position to lean towards the microphone and whispering now. “You do as I say.” 

He hears you huff at his words, but he hears the shifting around on your end. 

“I want to see that pussy open for me.” He continues in that same low-rumbled voice. “I want to see what Park Sunghoon is missing out on.”

You don’t know what it is about this situation that turns your discomfort into pure, rushing arousal. Never in your life have you ever considered fucking yourself on camera, especially after paying someone else to do it for you, yet– 

“Do I have to show you my face?” You ask quietly, already trying to find a lower-face-mask just to be safe in case you lose your composure and accidentally reveal yourself. 

“No,” Sunghoon assures you through a deep breath. “I already told you what I want to see.”

More silence save for the shuffling he still hears on your end. 

“Open your legs and turn it on.” He encourages you now, keeping his hand still on himself as he waits to see if you’ll actually do it.

And…

Oh fuck.

“There she is.” Sunghoon hums, trying to keep his composure at the way you give him access. Honestly, he didn’t think you would, but you do, and all he can do is lay himself back again, staring straight at the image of you. 

Your face is out of frame much like he is but this is the first time he’s ever seen you with so little clothing on. No bra, thin tank top, no shorts or pants, just panties. It takes everything in him not to moan out at the image. 

After all, it’s confirmed to be you. 

Fuck, that’s you right there. 

“Already so wet too?” Sunghoon groans now, focusing on that spot between your legs, probably so slippery and warm. 

You’re very shy though, not moving much better yet speaking as this faceless man takes in your image. You feel awkward, but still turned on despite squeezing your legs together and hiding that spot from him. 

“Oh, baby–” Sunghoon coos out in a way that makes it seem as though he was endeared by that. “That’s not going to work.”

You’re more focused on your embarrassment than you are on the way his cock leaks and pours pre-cum at the image he’s witnessing. 

“How am I supposed to show you how much better I’d take care of you?” He continues, reverting back to the same role play from before. “I bet that boss of yours wouldn’t want to bury his tongue in you like I would.”

Your legs fall open at the words, and he can see the way you thrust up just slightly. 

“That’s it, you need someone to touch you, don’t you?” He continues, watching you intensely. “Need someone to lick that pretty pussy?”

You nod, once again forgetting that he can’t see you do it before you finally speak.

“Please.”

His moan after hearing you seems far more intense than the first time you did this with him. In fact, he appears entirely focused on you. Role playing in some way but somehow acting more real than last time too. 

“You deserve some love for all that hard work.” He says to you, encouraging you to keep talking for him. “Play with yourself, go on. You need it.”

You follow his instructions on instinct, as if your body truly does need the release. 

“Feel it– not too hard, just graze over your panties.”

Ah, still you listen, holding your breath at each feather-light touch you give to yourself per his request. 

And he watches. Hyper-focused on the way that darkened spot on your panties grows bigger and bigger. So wet for him doing exactly what he wishes he could do for you come tomorrow morning. 

“Your other hand babe, slowly, lift your shirt and–”

He doesn’t even have to keep instructing you. You do exactly as he wanted, lifting your shirt gently before playing with your own nipples, still lightly grazing your fingers over your swollen clit that’s restricted by your panties. 

You moan quietly at the feeling, wishing so much that it doesn’t have to be your hands doing this. 

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” Sunghoon hums, now working his palm against his own length, gentle, barely grazing it. “Now, look at me.”

You draw your eyes forward, the image of him already arousing from before, but now? Why is he so much hotter now? As if the screen is nothing but a window into his bedroom. 

“You see how hard I am right now?” You can hear the smile in his voice as you continue to work yourself up to near-sensitivity. “Never been this hard for anyone else.”

Oh, that’s bullshit. He does this as a job. He’s just sweet talking to you for sure. 

“Been thinking about you since the first time you booked me.” He continues, keeping the touches light and making sure you don’t press on yourself too hard either. “Was hard all week for you.”

Okay, yeah, maybe you are a little too into praise. Lie or not, it’s exactly what you need to hear right now. 

“You're gonna be just as good for me tonight too?” Sunghoon hums, tightening his grip. “You’re going to push your panties to the side and show me that you missed me too, right?” 

Yes. The light touching has been nothing but torture at this point, wanting so badly to be told to do more. For yourself, for him. 

You barely recognize how your embarrassment leaves your body when you stretch your panties to the side, letting him see how they stuck to you only to unfold in a glistening mess for him. 

“Messy, messy, messy.” Sunghoon moans, struggling so hard by now not to fuck his fist straight to orgasm. But no, he can’t ruin this moment. 

That’s your pussy, looking so wet and tight, so needy. 

“Gently still, open up for me.” Sunghoon groans lowly, watching so closely the way you spread open your lips for him, the hole pulsing and dribbling so much slick. 

Never in his life has he ever wanted to bury his tongue into someone this badly. Goddamn, he’s nearly obsessed with you at this moment. He loses composure.

“Fuck–” He seethes, feeling his cock twitch wildly against his hand. “I want you so bad.”

Those words feel more real to you than anything else. Virtual sex is one thing but to have a man blatantly moan those words to you as if he means them? As if he has never let it slip for any of his other scheduled calls?

“What’s the name of your boss again?” Sunghoon asks, pretending as if he forgot, just to hear you say it. 

He notes the way your pussy clenches through his words too, as if he can see the confusion not through your expression, but through your arousal alone. Asking you that turned you off.

“What’s his name, baby?” Sunghoon presses, offering an excuse. “I wanna know who it is that gave me this tonight.”

Alluding to the fact that the only reason you’re paying him is because your boss made you feel like you need release in some way. 

“Park-” You start, not wanting to deny his demands. “Sunghoon.”

“Ah, yeah.” Sunghoon holds his breath, closing his eyes briefly just to let that breathy voice sit in his mind before focusing back on you. “Two fingers babe, slide them in.”

God, you listen just as well as you do at work. He should have given you that promotion the day he saw your application. Even without seeing you do as you're told in this situation, he already knew you were going to be getting that interview next week.

He listens to the way your cunt swallows up your fingers, so wet and needy. Swollen around the two digits as you slide them in with a breathy sigh. 

“Spread your fingers, open up.” 

You do, presenting your opened core to him without any shame at this point. Allowing him to look, wanting him to look.

“Now, say–” Sunghoon swallows around a lump in his throat. “Thank you Sunghoon.”

Your pussy pulses around your fingers, recoiling again at the name. 

“Say, Thank you Sunghoon, for all of this stress.” 

He continues, trying to encourage, adding another lie of an excuse just to get you to break. 

“Because, if it weren't for him, I wouldn’t be needing to take care of you like this, now would I?”

In your horny brain, it makes sense.

“Thank you, Sunghoon.” You moan, plunging your fingers into yourself without being told to do so, moaning out for the faceless man on the screen at your break in composure. 

And, well, Sunghoon himself is on fire. After all, you’ve only ever referred to him as Mr.Park, and hearing you practically moan his name in such an intimate way? It does nothing to keep him from spiraling into an even more selfish mindset. 

“Again.” He instructs you, watching the way your legs shake through saying his name. 

“Thank you Sunghoon.” You continue, as if the words are natural despite feeling intense irritation for the man. “Thank you.”

And, well, that very name you’re moaning is now also moaning. That little fake name you gave to him falls from his lips after you say it each time, fucking into his fist and hoping you’re watching, nearly unable to ask you to stick another finger into yourself.

Not needing to ask at all, apparently, because you do it yourself. You even bump your clit up against your wrist too. 

Shit. 

He needs you.

“Thank him for what?” Sunghoon starts to ask, feeling an orgasm approach far too quickly. 

“For making me come to you!” You answer him as if you’re frustrated, hips bouncing up against your hand just to dig your fingers in deeper. 

“What else?” He asks now, forgetting what it is he should not be doing. 

“Hmm?” You answer in a drawn-out moan.

“Thank him for what else?” He repeats first, only to follow up with his own answer. “For giving you a reason to cum.”

“Yes!” You groan, now grinding your hips up and against your palm without relaxing back against the bed. Intentionally chasing as your eyes remain on him, watching him pull and tug so roughly. 

“So fucking pretty” Sunghoon praises as he snaps his hips in time with his moving palm, eyes so tuned into you that– “Fuck–” He moans your name. “So pretty.”

And he didn’t realize it. Half expecting you to moan back for him, he’s still moaning as he watches you halt what you’re doing and cover yourself entirely.

“What did you just call me?” You ask in an out of breath voice. 

Sunghoon repeats your fake name to you, feeling the energy shift in an instant.

“No. You just called me–” You repeat your real name to him. 

“Ah, sorry babe, must’ve gotten tongue tied.”

There’s a rush of anxiety within you as you stare at the screen. There’s….no fucking way. 

Given, you’ve never seen him outside of a suit. The voice you hear doesn’t click in your head as Sunghoon’s either, considering he’s never a man of very many words. 

Instantly, you’re covering your camera with your hand, watching how the man on the screen spreads his legs out and drops his cock. Like he’s waiting, like he’s listening, wondering. Are you making a fool of yourself right now?

Are you misreading? 

He seems calm, and if it really is Sunghoon…surely he’d be disconnecting right now, right?

Why would he even be fucking himself on camera anyway? The guy makes bank! You’re the one who sees his paychecks, after all. Still, there’s a twisting in your gut as you ignore the way you still drip against your sheets. 

Very quietly, just to see, you work up the courage.

“Mr.Park?”

It’s silent for a few seconds as the man on the screen shifts, a blur of movement forcing you into a state of motion-sickness. 

You almost thought he was going to chuckle at you and ask if you were thinking about your boss rather than him. You almost thought he would use that to his advantage. 

You almost thought you were wrong, but– he disconnects. 

A few moments later, you receive an email with a refund of your five hundred dollars. 

And two hours later? Lying in your bed with anxiety in your gut, you get a text from none other than Park Sunghoon.

Mr.Park: Can we talk?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

― part two here!

[mx-monster]

Thinking horny thoughts about Minotaurs so here’s a lazy Drabble

Cw: m/f, breeding kink

Male!minotaur god of agricultural x Female!human offering

your villages crops are failing. If it continues there won’t be enough to store for winter. In the face of a grueling winter and the real possibility of starvation, the villagers turn to the god of agriculture. They choose you as the offering. They lathering you in sweet smelling oils and dress you in the finest scarlet dress the village possesses. Gold necklaces are clasped around your neck, silver bracelets slipped onto your wrists. A crown of wildflowers rested on your brow.

You’re paraded through the village while neighbors, family, and friends gather on the streets chanting prayers and singing hymns to catch the God’s attention.

You’re left standing alone in a barren field One of the many your village had tried and failed to cultivate. The light of the full moon bathing you in its silvery light.

It doesn’t take long before He’s towering over you. He was magnificent.

“Do you know what this ritual entails?”

What do you say to a God? How do you say it? So you don’t answer. At least, not with words. Without looking away from the God before you, you lower yourself to the ground. Dress pooled around your waist, you spread your thighs and bear your sex to His hungry eyes.

He spends hours between your legs. Alternating between opening you up on his thick fingers and dragging his large, hot tongue along the seam of your cunt. He pushes you to the edge of ecstasy, only to reel you back in.

Your thighs are slick with the proof of your need. You feel wetness steadily leak from your cunt onto your ass. He slides his hips in between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock teasing your slick entrance.

“You’re ready. Know that if we do this I will spill inside. My seed will take and you will become pregnant. Do you understand?”

You nod. God, you understood. You wanted it more than you wanted anything else.

“Say it.”

“I want it, please. I-I need it. I need it so bad,” you sobbed, frustrated tears streaming down your cheeks. He had spent so long teasing you, you’d absolutely die without release. You nearly screamed in relief when He began slowly fucking into you. He was so thick. Even with all the preparation you felt every inch of Him splitting you open.

“Such a greedy cunt you have,” He grunted, “taking me so well. Begging for my cock so prettily. I’ll give it to you. Give you anything. Everything.”

It doesn’t take long before you felt an orgasm rip it’s way through you. Your vision blacks out as a wrecked scream tore from your throat. You felt his cock pulse, spilling hot seed into your starved cunt.

When you finally came back to your body you noticed that the once barren field was now filled with healthy vegetation.

“Your village will one day be the capital of a mighty and prosperous kingdom. Our children’s children will sit at it’s head and one day pass their crown to the heads of their children. But that is a conversation for later,” he pulled you close, enveloping you in a strong embrace, “now, we rest.”

[yuujispinkhair]

Boyfie Sukuna picking you up from your late shift

A while ago, a sweet anon sent me an ask about protective boyfie Sukuna picking up reader from a late shift, and I loved it so much because I would have really needed him too when I was still doing late shifts. So here is a little drabble about Kuna picking us up from work. I hope you enjoy it 💗

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff. Word Count 900. Mentions of smoking. Minors don't interact. Dividers @/benkeibear

"Ok, let's do this," you mutter to yourself as you push open the heavy back door, trying to hype yourself up and steeling yourself for the darkness that will await you outside of your workplace at this time.

You hate your late shifts when you're the only one left in the building and have to use the exit in the back. Your pulse already speeds up at the thought of having to walk down the dimly lit back alley to reach the main street and the subway station.

But you have no other choice, and so you step out the door and into the dark alley. And immediately jump when a low voice drawls,

"Hey, princess."

You dart around with a hand clutched to your chest and your eyes wide, even as your brain begins to register that you know this voice. And, of course, your gaze lands on a very familiar tall, muscular figure with a beautiful, tattooed face and slicked-back pink hair.

Sukuna.

He is leaning casually against the brick wall, one hand shoved into the pocket of his black jeans, the other bringing a half-smoked cigarette to his lips. He smirks around the cigarette, maroon eyes looking amusedly at you.

"Did I scare you?"

You glare at him, even as you feel a huge relief wash over you. Relief and that all-too-familiar fluttery feeling in your stomach that you always get when you see your boyfriend.

"Kuna! What the... yes, you scared me! What are you doing here?"

Sukuna exhales slowly, watching you through the cigarette smoke with those beautiful cat-like eyes as he shrugs and smirks that devilishly attractive smirk,

"Making sure my girl gets home safely, of course."

You can't stop the big, happy smile from spreading over your face. This side of your boyfriend always makes you so weak for him. This sweet side of Sukuna that contradicts everything the people who told you he wouldn't be good for you said.

Yes, your boyfriend has a bad boy reputation. But yet, here he is, picking you up after your late shift without you having to ask for it. So protective and caring when it comes to you.

"I'm glad you are here, baby."

You smile and get on your tiptoes to kiss Sukuna's tattooed cheek, feeling the anxiety you felt earlier leave you completely. When Sukuna is with you, you know you are safe.

Sukuna grins as he flicks his cigarette away and wraps one strong arm around you to pull you against his tall body. His lips brush against your forehead in a quick but tender kiss.

"Let's go home, princess. Dinner is waiting for you."

"You already cooked too? Are you practicing to become a househusband, Kuna?"

You grin up at Sukuna playfully, and he laughs, but he sounds very pleased when he replies in that sexy, velvety voice,

"For you? Always."

He winks at you and offers you one of his muscular, tattooed arms as if he is a knight or an actor in a 1950s rom-com. And you take Sukuna's arm and hold on to him as you walk down the dimly lit alley together.

Usually, you are scared to walk down this narrow, dark street. But not tonight. Not when you are holding onto Sukuna's arm, your hand wrapped tightly around his bulging tattooed biceps, his tall, strong body so reassuringly brushing against your side.

The dark alley and the nightly city have lost their scariness now that Sukuna is with you and tells you about the dinner he cooked for you and how he beat his brother at a video game they were playing earlier.

You know you are safe when Sukuna is with you. Even the two sinister-looking guys loitering around at the end of the alley quickly leave after casting one look at Sukuna's tattooed face and his tall, muscular body.

You smile and snuggle against Sukuna's warm body, thinking that there are definitely certain benefits to dating a bad boy.

You reach Sukuna's car shortly after, and he holds open the passenger door for you while smirking that sexy, boyish smirk, always acting like an old-fashioned gentleman when it comes to you.

You watch him while he drives, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your thigh, interlacing his long tattooed fingers with your smaller ones.

And you can't stop smiling from ear to ear. Sukuna cooked dinner for you. He came here to pick you up. And you know that he's turning up the heating in his car just for you. He runs on the hot side and doesn't need it. But he's doing it for you, just like he is doing so many little and big things for you all the time. Anything for you, without you ever having to ask for it. Because he loves you.

It makes your heart feel so full.

You lean across the center console at the first red light, pressing another sweet kiss to Sukuna's cheek. But he turns his face so your lips end up on his. You feel his grin against your lips as his large hand captures your chin, cupping it firmly, holding you in place so he can deepen the kiss, licking into your mouth with a few playful flicks of his pierced tongue before he pulls away again.

You smile, your fingers tightening around Sukuna's hand, which is back in your lap,

"Thank you for picking me up, baby."

You see the corners of Sukuna's lips lift in a matching smile even while his gaze is fixed on the street before him, and his voice sounds playful but warm at the same time,

"You're welcome, princess. From now on, I'll pick you up every time you have a late shift. There's no way you're walking through dark alleys without me."

Protective boyfie Sukuna makes me SWOON aaaahhhh. Honestly, this gave me such a feeling of safety. In my old job, I had to do late shifts, too, and I was so scared walking down to the train station and waiting for my train because all those sinister-looking men were already starting to crawl out of their holes, and I felt very unsafe there. Protective boyfie Sukuna would have made me feel SO safe.

I hope this could give you comfort, too 💗💗 Thank you so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.