#I just wish to leave a mark in the world in one way or another | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hwan-g · 2 months ago

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( 𝑻𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑯 ) ୧ ⠁

ೀㅤ۪ pairing. biker/drug dealer! chris x fem! reader : genre. age gap, dark romance, angst, smut : warnings. read at your own risk — mdni ! use of pet names, smoking, explicit sexual content, possessiveness, obsession, severe anger issues, violence, flawed characters that make mistakes : word count. 10.1k

ೀㅤ۪ synopsis. he was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. it’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. no. peace is a foreign word. reserved only for you.

PROLOGUE.

You cannot begin telling this story if you don’t first punch your own mouth. His gun, safety off, shiny and awful in the dead of night, the barrel of it pointing at your temple, a patient irony. It’s three in the morning and the red bleeding is sweet, oh so sweet.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know? He loves you so much, he’ll kill you. He loves you so much, you’re calling for help. Of course, it cannot be your voice, and if he gives you another chance, you’ll say everything differently this time around like—this bed is where he fucked me slow and rough, I think he was trying to bury some part of himself in me, and here, you see, the sheets smell just like his cigarettes, and this, here, is where he brushed my hair, just like this, so careful, but never mind the cracks in the mirror, the shattering is always the same, it has nothing to do with me, everything to do with him.

You hear his voice in your head all the time, haunting, your dutiful ghost; he’s there when you sleep, he’s there when you wake up, a nightmare concealed as a daydream, and you want him to do his worst, you want it to hurt, to scar, to be a permanent mark, because it’d mean you’d loved him; that love has been here and it was ugly and terrifying, and you survived it, even if you could never survive him.

Upstairs, the bed is unmade, stained with wine and your climax. Chris is gentle in all the ways he is not, which is to say he kisses you with teeth, he holds you with fists. You saw him on a black motorcycle once, an impressionable girl in a dark place, lost, searching for purpose, and he looked like a knight in shining armor, he looked like hell and heaven combined, a savior and captor, and you’d wished to crawl inside, to make a home out of him. You’d smiled and waited, you've always waited, you always will.

When he came, he was so cruel, he burned brighter than fire—you believed in him; after all, how can a man be so consumed by flame and not put his own hands around his neck, not succumb to his charcoal painted flesh? You were a fool, and he saw it, and you paid the price for it. He wants to keep you forever now, he’s never going to let you go, do you understand that? Why, why, why did you go ahead and do that?

For what? A scrap of metal heart and a ribcage, bone and muscle?

What about your own heart?

What about the eternal winter residing when he's not there?

ACT ONE: before.

He smiles and the world expands. His face blooms into a thousand different shades; the pink of his mouth curving, the red of his cheeks rounding, the dark of his brow straightening. A stop motion picture, the beginning of autumn, the turn of the leaves, the crisp air replacing warm winds.

His fingers weave through yours, interlocking, thumb running down index, mouth a breath over yours, so close he could graze your lips if he wanted to. You look between you, noses touching, then back to brown so deep you imagine raw honey gliding, real amber in the face of the sun.

Chris. You whisper his name in your head. It sounds like a secret. Your best kept one. Chris, Chris, Chris . . .

There’s blood on his shirt underneath the leather jacket. There’s a loaded gun on his belt strap, a knife tucked in his boot, a razor engraved on the ring he wears, and he’s not so careful with it, and you don’t think you want him to be. You assume it’s normal to want this—if his blood mixes with yours, well, isn’t that enough to take you with him? Isn’t that almost a wedding ceremony, isn’t that almost a declaration of war?

Do you think I’m crazy, you think to yourself. Do you think I’m crazy, would you want me if I am, would you want me, do you want me? You don’t dare say it out loud, but he’s staring at you as if he could eat your face raw—a demon, a demon—and shove the rest of you in the deep freezer, so you decide to bite him instead. You get on your tippy toes and nuzzle into his neck, biting the soft flesh underneath his earlobe.

He doesn’t exclaim, not a hiss, not a gasp, not even the slightest of inhales. He withstands the pain you inflict him, and you feel his desire digging into the inside of your thigh. His arms reach out around you, pulling you to him in that all-encompassing way, and you’re left to witness what can only be the slow consumption of your beating heart. His bike groans under the sudden weight, but he’s got you. You don’t think, then, of what that entails.

“(Y/N).”

The night sky comes into focus, all dark indigo, starless, and the streetlights flicker bright, sounding the late hour. The light never seems to go anywhere near you two, it refuses, it hesitates, and back then you found it all so mysterious and exciting, ignoring the warning bells, swallowing down the instinct of danger, danger, danger.

“Yes?”

Your eyes fall shut at having his rough palm grabbing hold of your face, thumb tilting your head upwards to meet his sizzling gaze. You hold onto his wrist for support, your body floating, mourning the loss of his body heat against the biting cold. He notices this, and moves to shrug off his huge jacket, wearing it over your shoulders in one swift move.

“What will I do with you?” It’s a plea. A threat. Both.

Chris looks down at you, and the earth shakes to its core. He looks down at you, and you don’t want to be alone anymore. You want this, this, this, every day, all the time, forever. You wish to wake up in bed next to him and know he’s yours, wake up and not wish for some other dream so you can find him again. To be awake and want to be awake.

His big hands caress your face, sink into your hair. He stares at you intently, as if he’s holding back from saying whatever’s turning over and over in his head. It can switch so fast, that look, faster than you can blink, a clipped temper, a quick anger.

You’ve only seen it once, and you’d been quickly turned away. He’s got people watching everywhere, he’s been haunted by darkness and shadows long before you served him that drink in The Bloody Muse. You almost forget about returning to your shift, time slipping away, responsibilities fading whenever you’re near him.

Seungmin will be missing you, Felix will be looking for his good luck charm before he goes on stage. Midnight means you return from dreamland. Still, you have a couple of minutes left. Enough to hear the gunshot, enough to panic and let out a scream and have Chris slap a hand over your mouth, willing you with his gaze to calm the fuck down.

You breathe hard, stiff with fear. He appears perfectly composed, relaxed even. It’s then you realize who he is and what he does, and how this is probably his or his club’s doing. There’s misdirected anger in you ricocheting on all corners. You want to bite his fingers, you want to demand an explanation. You work here, dammit, and he’s kept his bullets away from this place so far, for what you thought was your sake.

Chris was a handsome hypocrite, a skilled liar.

“It’s not what you think,” he says simply, removing his palm from your mouth, shaking his wrist off. “Don’t overreact.”

All of his previous warmth disappeared, instead, the cold, menacing man you know very little of and have never dealt with taking its place. You understand he has to be this way, but you hate that he has to act like this with you too. Because of your reaction. Because you couldn’t keep your cool.

Silly girl.

“What is it, then?” A naive question, so many untrue answers he could give you.

He passes a finger over the cut on your cheek. The cut he gave you. You lean into his touch, desperate for anything, hungry, starving, even. You don’t want him to leave, but he won’t stay. You hate, hate, fucking hate this part.

“Something that needed to be taken care of,” he chooses the words carefully, you can tell, and you decide that, if he wants you to stay in the dark, you will. You have to.

You love him.

“Someone,” you correct, quietly.

Chris smiles, mouth curving, and his hand moves to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is tender, affectionate. Something inside you cracks and caves, it melts. You would withstand too, you think then. You would deal with anything, put up with everything, for that single touch. For that one single look.

“Someone,” he echoes, his own voice smooth blue velvet, an overture. “You should get inside.”

A sharp pang of bitterness in your chest. “I should?” Because I questioned you?

He drops his hand, and brings his arms over his broad chest, crossing them there. Closed off and done for the night. You unconsciously take a step back, hurt from the sudden change, whiplashed and upset.

“If you don’t want to be late,” he states matter-of-factly, but he says it in this kind of open tone, a mere suggestion rather than a complete dismissal. Yes. “Don’t look at me with those damned eyes, sweetheart, what can I do against them?”

You wipe at your cheeks, and try to fix the mess, try to smooth over, to make right again. “I’m not, I’m sorry.”

“Come here.” A command.

You go like a kicked puppy, your leash short, your loyalty unshaken, despite the scolding. He reaches out and slams you to his chest, a hand pressing the back of your head there, and you inhale him, all of him, memorizing his scent, trying to hold on to whatever parts of him you can in case he decides to never come back for you again. It’s pathetic and it’s pitiful, but this is what you know. This is all you know.

“You’re my girl, you know that?” He mumbles in your hair, his breath hot on your scalp. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around him, and almost cry yourself dry from the prospect of ever losing him.

You’d die. You’d die, it’s entirely unthinkable. It’s the worst pain imaginable.

“You’re my girl, baby. I’d never let anything happen to you. Do you believe me?”

You nod your head yes. He squeezes you against him tighter. You feel so safe, then, the safest you ever have. Of course you believe him. You’d believe his every word, you’d follow him into anything, blindly, willingly. You want to please him. To make him happy.

He grabs a fistful of your hair, suddenly and pulls you back to look at him. His eyes are manic, black. “I need your words, (Y/N). Do you believe me?”

“Yes. Yes,” you yelp, your mouth falling open from the sting.

In your stomach, something lights on fire. You rub your legs together, trying to relieve it. He glances down between you, curses.

You started it.

The descend.

It was your fault.

He’d never touched you so savagely before that night, he’d never shown the same need you had. That he could want you the same way you do. . .You felt so giddy you could squeal, so happy you would gladly reduce yourself to schoolgirl-and-her-stupid-little-fantasies.

“Is this fucking getting you wet?” And he pulls harder, tilting your head all the way. His tongue comes out to lick from the base of your neck all the way up to your lips. You’re on fire, you’re on fire! You moan hoarsely and try to keep your footing. “You like me being rough with you, sweetheart?”

You’re too embarrassed to respond. So, you guide his hand under your skirt. Chris curses again, more lewdly this time, nasty things, words you’ve never heard him say before. Oh, this fucking cunt, fuck me . . . So goddamn wet, baby girl, I bet it tastes so sweet. Will you let me? Will you let me have a taste right here?

“I— I have to go back, I’m—” but his fingers are already dipping into your underwear, his palm cupping your burning sex.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls into your ear. “You hear me?”

You jump, and look around, paranoid. He grabs your face and forces your eyes back on him. He’s got that crazed look again, the one that lets you know he’ll stop at nothing to have this. Out here, in the open. And he’ll fucking make it worth it. You succumb, too flushed, too bothered, unbecoming in his arms, as he backtracks you into the wall next to the exit door, and gets on his knees, tugging your undergarments down with both hands, hooking your leg over his shoulder.

Your fingers dig into his hair, dark eyes staring up at you. In your mercy, kneeling in front of you. Do you love me? Is this you, saying it? Is this your way of showing it? You caress the soft strands, staring back, overwhelmed. The beginning of the end for you. You’ll never escape him after this. He’d never accept it. You’d never survive it.

When his face gets lost in between your legs, you almost collapse, your entire body shaking with the forceful need to come. He licks and laps and sucks your clit into his mouth, and it’s too much, it’s fucking unbearable, it’s incredible, it’s so much, it’s everything, you want more, you want him to stop, more more more, oh my God, please, please—you’re being so loud there’s no way they haven’t heard that, that Seungmin hasn’t, he’s really only around the corner, and what about everyone else, oh God, oh God, you’re close, you’re so fucking close, if he could just—oh, fuck yes, fuck yes . . .

Chris pulls away, his lower face glistening with your juices. You whine at the loss of contact, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching.

“Don’t fucking come,” and he’s getting up, he’s unzipping his pants, and you’re eager to help, you’re eager to reach inside and grab him, free him. “I have to get inside you, baby.”

His cock is standing rock hard, angry. He wraps one hand around your neck, and the other slides over his length once, twice, you’re so entranced you can’t look away; he’s so big, he’s so erect, and you want him so fucking much, you’d do anything right then, you’d be anything.

He turns you around, and you barely have time to get a good grip on the wall, before he’s entering you with one long, violent thrust. You scream out, pressing your temple on the cool brick, allowing him to take whatever he needs. His fingers squeeze around your neck, tighter and tighter still, until all you see is stars, until all you feel is him slamming into you, his hot body over yours, your mixed moans of pleasure.

I could come to this image forever . . . Look at this fucking ass, you beautiful fucking girl, I never want to stop . . . fucking tear you apart, lay inside you . . . Taking cock so well, made for me, made for me, made for this . . .

His movements turned sloppy and primal, reaching the end, and you, forever following him, forever after him. He was no more than beast, pistoling into you with vigor, all animal, your sides bruised from the way he was holding onto you, but you loved it, you wished he’d never stop, exploding into a million pieces, coming apart under him in vibrant streaks of color and tears. His head dropped on your lower back, whispering there she is, there you go, sweetheart, there you are, my baby, as he gave one, two, three final thrusts, before reaching down and removing himself from your soaking cunt, flipping you around, and forcing you on your knees, his cock in his hand, on the verge of climax.

You open your mouth wide, and he shoves in, fucking into it no more than three seconds before you feel his cum hit the back of your throat, warm and salty.

“You fucking vex me, woman. Look at the sight of you.”

You breathe through your nose slowly, as he grabs your face and makes sure you swallow, fingers rough, before pulling out at once, tucking his softening length back in his jeans, and lifting you up by the waist.

He fixes your skirt over your ass, and smoothes over the edges, making sure no indecent part of you shows. When you catch his eye, he winks at you. You bubble over like a soda can, spilling everywhere, and he chuckles low and raspy, before reaching for your hand and pulling you flush against him, trailing kisses on your shoulder, your knuckles, your cheeks, your brow.

This is the Chris that looks at you and sees you. The one you love, the one you miss the most when he’s gone. This Chris comes out only when you’re alone, when he’s forgotten what else there is, what he has to do after you go back to the club. For now, he loves you, no violence, no hunger.

You almost weep at the sight of him.

“I’ll talk to your boss,” he murmurs, pecking your lips over and over.

You giggle, and he twirls you once, your arms extending as you try to go towards the door. He pulls you back in at the last minute, handsome, glowing, smiling.

“I haven’t lied to you,” he says, and half of you doesn’t miss the solemn way in which he says it. “I won’t let anyone touch you. Ever.”

You pause for a split second, still remaining in the post bliss of your orgasm, but then you’re moving again, slipping from his grasp, heading back to your drinks and suggestive conversations.

“I wouldn’t want to be touched by anyone else, Chris,” you retort, blowing him a kiss, and disappearing through the big black door, letting it close behind you.

You don’t see the way you leave him standing there, how he closes his eyes and has to breathe through the loss of you; how he drags his feet to go pick up his jacket from the floor. How he inhales your sweet smell, and instantly wants you back, a corpse in his arms that can’t go nowhere.

The corruption began when you told him your name. It invaded his bloodstream and blackened his mind.

He’d rather kill you than have you walk away from him like that.

ACT TWO: in the midst.

Chris fucks you with the purpose of possessing you.

There’s not a minute of peace when you are with him, he envelops all senses, he erases all other thoughts, until all you know is him, his touch, his cock. Months into sharing a bedroom, and coming apart underneath him every night, he’s never once mentioned that incident, the first one.

He’s never apologized for how he treated you, never brought it up. But he’s never once treated you the same since. Now that you live together, he gets to call all the shots, know your exact whereabouts, control what you wear, what you eat, how you come, how many times—he’s fucked you in places you never thought possible. He’s fucked you in front of people, shamelessly; on the banister, in the pool, on the kitchen counter and the office. Against walls and on the hood of his car, parked in the garage, Changbin, the road captain, working on his bike not a few steps away.

No one ever said anything to you, tried anything. They didn’t have a death wish, or they respected Chris too much. His influence was a testimony to his abilities. No one questioned him, but everyone obeyed him. They treated you like one of their own, they protected you when their sergeant would leave the house.

Other things—the shitload of drugs hidden in every trinket, every crevice, places you’d never think to check, and the meticulous way they deliver said product, how the trucks come in the middle of night, motorcycles deconstructed, filled to the brim with cocaine and sent to wherever, distributed to whatever unfortunate person. Chris never touched the trucks, you never saw him near them.

That was Minho’s job.

You spent entire days in bed after the deliveries, fucking, improvising stories of hunters and angels falling in love, how the hunter is always attracted to the angel’s light, how the angel forgives the hunter for his nature, and willingly dies by his axe. Chris bathes you and washes your hair with lavender, then carries you over to the vanity and brushes the strands with such care, you think he’s always loved you, in every life. That, perhaps, he was born loving you, and that this was predetermined; inescapable, inevitable.

He doesn’t sleep. He spends hours making love to you, feeding you; he works for even longer, meetings with the president, meetings with the suppliers, mountains of paperwork that you see him burn afterwards in the fireplace downstairs. If he does close his eyes, it’s flitting, twenty minutes here, an hour there; after he comes down from the high of being buried inside you, after a shower, at night as he watches you sleep, you pretend to close your eyes and feel him get comfortable on your stomach, his lips kissing any spot of naked skin he can find. When he does drift off, you lift your head and observe a man such as Chris Bahng sleep, how he does it, so unaware and off guard, so unlike his usual self.

It’s endearing. You love him the most when you find him in those positions, so peaceful, and a part of you thinks, ashamed—at least no one is dying by his hand tonight. His soul is something you think about a lot, the wretched, poisoned thing, paying for his actions. You asked him once; what keeps him up, why is he so unable to fall asleep?

“Nightmares,” he mumbled against your neck, teasing the sensitive flesh there. “Every time I close my eyes . . . someone is waiting for me. It’s always different, but they always end up dead. Everyone I care about— you. When you’re in my dreams, I can’t stand it. I’m always the one holding the gun. You’re always falling, or— fucking . . . walking away from me. When I wake up, I always check if you’re next to me,” his hand travels to yours, interlocking your fingers. He avoids your gaze. “If you’re not, it’s . . . it gets hard to breathe. I think I’ve killed you, that I’ve finally fucking lost it and, and done it, and the walls close in around me . . . Christ, I sound fucking insane.”

It’s difficult for you to say anything after that, so you slowly make your descend at the foot of the bed, making sure to kiss every inch of him, to let him know you’re right there, that he’ll never lose you, that the day it’ll come to that you’d rather he does kill you, that he does make that decision for you, because you’d have clearly gone mad; you cannot see yourself beyond him, cannot see a future where he’s not there, even as a fixture, even as someone who’s loved you once, a very long time ago. A friend, a lover, it’s all the same, and it’s all him, and you’ll always get whatever version of him you can.

You know you sound crazy, and maybe you are, maybe you deserve each other in that way, but it’s irrelevant to this story. This is not for the faint of heart—loving someone like him does not come easy, it’s not one of those ridiculous words—fate or destiny—or anything simple like that; loving him is hard fucking work, it’s torment and agony, it’s excruciating, and it’s a choice you make every single day, because you need it to live. An addiction, perhaps, though you’ve never been an addict.

You know this is how it feels. The needle in the vein. The snow on your nose. The smoke in your lungs. The burning, the boiling. This is it. When you take his cock in your mouth, when you hear that broken gasp fall from his lips, the familiar groan, the guttural sounds from the back of his throat, and how he grabs the back of your head, forcing you down to the hilt of him; when you’re so full you might as well inhale him entirely, become part of his crotch, his most private part, the one he keeps to himself—you think this is what it’s like to wait on someone’s steps, a beggar, a desperate girl giving her heart on a silver platter for the one in the house, the one holding the reins.

Chris is kind and generous. He opens the door, he allows you to come inside. There’s light and warmth here, but there’s also shadows in the corners, there’s locked doors and no one else around. It’s a lonely house, but he’s right there, all you need, all you’ll ever need. He welcomes you with open arms.

You get lost in the labyrinth of him.

“What the fuck was I doing before you, sweetheart? Who was I, who was I without this fucking mouth, fucking hell, baby . . .”

It’s a savage act, some would call it cannibalism, but it’s only been known as love to you. Your insides are aflame, roasting a pretty crackling orange, when he finally comes on your tongue, his hips lifting, eyes shut tight, your head in his big hands, keeping you there, making sure you’re swallowing every last drop. You do. You do. You‘re licking circles around the shiny, swollen tip one moment, and he’s got you bouncing on it the next, manhandling your ass, facing you away from him, wrapping muscular arms around your waist, ravaging your back with his teeth, biting and soothing, putting out the forest fires himself, braving the danger.

A devouring hunger. Stripped to its most primal state. Everything within you is jumping. No one talks about this—screwing for the sake of the flesh. You need to come, and keep coming, and he does too. There’s no other thought, no other reason. He’d mount you if he could, knot in you for hours, pump you full of his seed. If this is the way it’s meant to be, then let it be. Let him fuck you until he’s satiated. Let him fuck you into your last dying breath.

But his words. You want those for yourself. He whispers them in your ears, his mouth everywhere, the hotness of his breath, the raspiness of his voice—just as lost as you. This is how you need him.

“This cunt is mine, fucking mine, mine . . . Say it,” he drills into you, skin slapping on skin, sweat like water, and your tears, so uncontrollable, so many— “Say it, damn you.”

“Yours,” you comply, your arm reaching out to wrap around his neck. He kisses your shoulder, he bites, he marks. “All of me. Forever.”

“Swear it. Don’t ever leave me.”

“No . . . no . . .” You moan loudly as he reaches deep inside, to spots that make you see stars.

He shoves your face in the mattress, and gets on top of you, pistoling his length into you, hard and fast, chasing after the high he craves. You cry out and take it. The pain is so intense, bleeding into pleasure, overwhelming your body. You can’t feel your own heartbeat anymore, only Chris, only his pounding.

“Such a goddamn slut. Look at you,” he slaps your ass once, “fucking look at you,” twice, three times, four. You sob into the sheets, grab onto them. He’s relentless, he’s so close, you’re so close— “Why are you crying, huh?” He pulls you by the hair hard, lifting your head. You gulp down air, you’re glutinous, deprived. “Did you need my cock that bad? Have I not fucked your needy little hole enough?”

“You have, you have, please . . .”

Let go for me, sweetheart, fuck, you feel so fucking good . . . Never get tired of this pussy, taking me so well, baby, so fucking well, come on, one more, one more, that’s it . . .

Coming felt like the gates of heaven liquifying inside you. Your orgasm tore through you so savagely, you forgot how to breathe for several moments, your limbs unresponsive and extremely sore. Only thing you could do was convulse under Chris’ massive body, and let him ride his own, his nails digging into raw flesh, voice groggy and incredibly deep after three rounds of sex.

“Did I hurt you? Did I hurt you, baby?”

You hadn’t realized you were still crying ugly, terrible sobs. You immediately missed the weight of him as he got off you at once and flipped you on your back, panic-stricken honey eyes searching your face, your chest, any part of you he might’ve harmed.

“Where does it hurt? What have I done?” He kisses your temple, your eyes, he tastes your tears. He’s so worried you almost feel guilty for not responding. “(Y/N), I need you to tell me, sweetheart, I can’t see it, I can’t—is it your—”

“I’m fine,” you pacify him, placing your hands on either side of his face. You’re still breathing abnormally fast, but so is he. The room is spinning. “You didn’t hurt me anywhere, I’m fine, Chris.”

“But if you were, you’d tell me, yeah?”

He was so handsome, so handsome when he loved you.

“I would.”

His gaze was piercing, honeycomb giving way to molasses. His hands were trailing off again, doing their own thing, what they knew best; how to please you. His thumb on your clit, rubbing soft circles, your creamy entrance making lewd sounds that had the man over you growing impossibly hard again.

“And what about this?” A warm, tingly sensation grew low in your belly. “Does this hurt?”

You trap his hand with your thighs, and he smiles. You smile back.

“Maybe a little,” you lie, stretching.

He doesn’t let up. His fingers slip inside again, his other hand moving on himself, veiny and sure. Chris masturbating to the sight of getting you off is perhaps the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Your body is a tool he’s acquainted well with, and has made his sole expertise. So many hours on this bed, learning each other naked.

“Your cunt says something else,” he smirks, pumping his fist over his girth slowly, deliberately, growling low in the process, making you wetter, making you want, want, want. A chain of chemical reactions, you’ve become. “I wanna eat you out, (Y/N), you think you’ll be able to handle that?”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he mumbles on your stomach, placing a kiss there, and traveling down, nose dangerously close to where you want him most. “Your face when you come apart on my tongue—I wish I could die between your legs, baby.”

“Don’t say that,” you hide your face in embarrassment, as you feel him get in position, opening your legs wide, staring shamelessly at your swollen pussy.

“I’ll say whatever the fuck I want,” he licks it once, tongue pressing flat on your clit and flicking, and you’re fucking gone. You’re writhing, trying to get away, moaning so loudly the whole house must’ve heard you. “This is mine, you’re fucking mine, and you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

He doesn’t get to work much on you, you’re coming apart in minutes. You’re so overstimulated, your legs are shaking uncontrollably, the muscles twitching. He doesn’t seem to care though, because he’s fingering all of your cream on his cock and finishing himself off, an ungodly sight, something out of a renaissance painting, the most explicit one, all well defined abs and veins popping on his neck, mouth formed into a perfect silent scream, as he pumps, and pumps and shoots on your thighs, white thick streaks, hot and sticky.

There’s a knock on the door, a throat clearing.

“Bahng,” Changbin’s voice. “It’s important.”

The room drops in the negatives. You see the abrupt change on your boyfriend’s face, his expression freezing over, his jaw clenching, moving, as he stares at the door like he wants to break it, and then beat his friend’s face in. You get on your elbows and whisper softly, “It’s okay,” to which he ignores.

“What the fuck do you want?” He calls out, furious, getting off the bed and grabbing a pair of discarded jeans from the floor.

“Meeting in ten,” his captain replies, and then there’s footsteps shuffling away.

“I need to shower, anyway,” you try to lighten the mood, reaching over the bed for your shirt. “We’ve been holed up here for hours. I don’t even know what time it is.”

“Why do you need to know?”

You don’t let his tone ruin what you’ve been building for the entire day. He was perfectly fine up until two seconds ago, it has nothing to do with you. You repeat this to yourself as you move around the room, clipping the hair away from your face, wiping the makeup from your cheeks.

“It’s really alright, Chris, you’ll only be gone for a bit.”

He ignores this as well. What he does—he takes two big strides towards you and grabs your face roughly. You meet his eyes, dark and menacing, and keep your cool. You don’t let his anger scare you, you’ve seen it all before. It has nothing to do with you, it has nothing to do with you.

“All you need to know, is I’m still in this fucking room and you smell like my cum, and there’s a lot of fucking things I can do in ten minutes,” he snarls, patting your hair down, bringing your hips together. “All you need to know is you have no use for clocks, because you’re not going anywhere. Am I fucking clear?”

You try not to let your body take over your mind, as it’s happened many times before. He knows your weak spot, he knows how good he can make it feel, and he uses it to his advantage any chance he gets.

You will not be manipulated. You will stop falling for his words.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” you retorted, suddenly sad. “You’re only being like this because you want to stay.”

To that, he visibly calms, he mellows. “Of course I do. I never wanna be anywhere else. I wanna fuck you until you’re on the verge of passing out, and then I want to take you in the water and make it all better,” he tries to kiss you but you turn your head. There are no words to describe the hurt etched on his face, then. “You’re the only thing that matters, (Y/N). The only true thing.”

“Why do you treat me like this, Chris? Hot, then cold, again and again.”

You might’ve as well slapped him. He untangles himself from you at once, and walks over to the closet for a shirt. Your stomach drops. You definitely said something you shouldn’t have. Who knows how he’ll be now, what he might do. You might not see him for days. He knows how to hurt you and keep hurting you. One coin, two sides.

Nevertheless, you have to know. He never gives you any answers. You’ve given away so much to be here, to be with him. He walks the thin line of having something like that, a line between holding you—broken glass on his shaking palm, recklessly picking up the pieces when they fall, unafraid of the blood, of the cutting and maiming, and the repercussions afterwards.

His self destructiveness has never been more prominent before. Now it’s all you see.

“One true thing, Chris. Please.”

He looked so severe, the set of his jaw, the glint in his eye. When he punches the closet door closed and smashes the mirror with his fist, you don’t think he’s quite there in the room with you anymore. He’s in that faraway place again, in that hole, so hard to find.

Of course, the blood. The blood is always there. It’s been there from the start.

He motions for you not to move, his hair a mess sticking in all directions. Such violence and it’s all within him, there’s nothing you can do to pull it out of him. Only when it lashes out, only when he becomes the weapon.

“Don’t fucking come near me,” he barks, and you stop, you remain perfectly still, your gaze locked to his knuckles, bleeding profusely, staining the carpet. “I will never hurt you,” he rasps, and there’s iron will behind his words. “I will never fucking hurt you, I’d sooner die. I’d sooner fucking die . . .” His eyes fall closed, his breathing deepens, and you’re pretty sure you only have a few seconds before this all goes to shit.

You grab your clothes, and shoes, and where’s your phone, where’s your stupid phone—

“Get out of here. Get out of here now.”

You bite your lip until you taste copper. You won’t cry. You won’t fucking cry. This is not your fight. This is not your problem.

“I love you,” you squeeze out, before you throw the door open and spill down the stairs, the beast bellowing behind you, “GET THE FUCK OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Changbin puts his hands out, grabs your shoulders.

Felix doesn’t even have to look at you; he curses, and climbs the stairs three at a time, calling for backup. The demolition has already begun.

You won’t cry. You refuse, you refuse, you refuse.

There’s no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know?

ACT THREE: intermission.

In a fight, he’s devastating.

You’d told him time and time again, none of it meant anything, not a thing, just some mindless flirting to get better tips, it was part of your job, it was silly, little, nothing, nothing at all. You’d warned him against coming inside the Muse. It’d only cause trouble.

He would only cause trouble. It’s why he had Minho permanently positioned in there, it’s how the club was under Strays payroll, it was his excuse for visiting that night.

Making sure the product was being distributed properly. Keeping an eye out. Bullshit. You were so mad at him. He never showed up for these things, they went through other people. Chris was too important for it. And yet, here he was, disrupting your workflow, beating your regulars into a pulp.

You didn’t recognize anything from the man he was the last time you saw him. He had none of the tenderness, none of the ember in his gaze, no softness; only sharp, obliterating cruelty and the gun on his strap. His fists were bloody, his anger palpable.

Your tables had emptied out, unpaid. You were so angry.

“Try it, motherfucker,” your boyfriend smashed the poor guy’s head against the hardwood floor, repeatedly, in succession, until your voice was scratched raw from shouting for someone to stop him. “Try getting near her again, let me see you. Walk a straight fucking line to my girl, see if you get to live another goddamn day.”

“I didn’t know she was your girl, man! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The man had been reduced to tears, his face so beat up you could barely make out his features under all the blood.

Minho stood in one corner, observing passively, while Seungmin tried to keep his friend back, ever the security guard. Chris was gone, though. There was no way to bring him back. There’d be a death tonight, and all of you would have to pretend it never happened. You think about that. About the first time you lied for him. For them.

“Bet you wanted to fuck her, hm?” He pulls his head up, only to bring him to his knee, kicking his nose broken, and throwing him back on the floor, chairs wobbling and falling over in the storm of him. “That’s what you’ve been coming for, isn’t it, you sick fuck?”

The whimpering is what did it for you. “I didn’t know. Please! Please!” You couldn’t just stand aside; you couldn’t let this go on.

The stage was empty, the band long finished with their set, now sitting at the counter over at the bar, glancing curiously your way. It was infuriating how none of them wanted to get involved. It was too late for this. Too fucking late, and you were tired.

So, you walked over to where Chris was stomping on the man’s ribs, making sure you were in his line of vision. When you got as close as you could, you called out his name. Nothing. You tried again.

“Chris. Chris.”

“I’ll fucking kill him, baby, he’ll never look at you twice, he won’t be able to, I swear it to you.” In what dark, dark place have you crawled into, my love? How do I get there?

You try to keep your voice steady, reasonable. From the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin shaking his head at you, motioning you to step back, away, out from the line of fire.

“I don’t want that, Chris. I want you to let him go.”

“What?”

“And then I want you to go home.”

In retrospect, you should’ve heeded the bouncer’s advice. This version of Chris does not belong to you, it has nothing to do with feeling or logical thought. It festered in some terror-stricken hole he’d found as a child, and grew into a large open wound, the heart tree of all inhumanity in him. You’d have to carve it out if you’re to ever save him. But to carve it . . . No. You couldn’t. Not you.

Two terrible things happened that night, things that you’d quicker forget than let yourself remember fully.

His calloused hand attacked your neck, wrapping around it with such brutal force, it knocked the air out of you. Immediately, four men jumped to your rescue, circling you like hounds, yelling at Chris, trying to snatch him away from you.

“Stand the fuck down,” he snarled at them, never taking his black eyes off you. “You think I’d actually fucking hurt her? She can take this, can’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod, willing yourself to breathe through your panic, to combine this touch with the one he uses when he makes you feel good, the pain only pleasurable, only flitting, almost enjoyable. He watches you do this, and something flashes in his expression, a recognition, a moment of clarity. It’s gone as soon as it arrives.

“Don’t ever tell me what the fuck to do, you understand? I’m doing this for you, so you can be safe,” he’s never raised his voice at you, and he’s not doing it now, either. You’d take the screaming over this eerie calmness, this polite rage.

This is the monster under your bed, the demon in your closet. You can’t do anything about this, you don’t even know what’s hiding there.

“I didn’t ask for that, Chris,” you manage to say, placing a hand over the one on your throat. No one speaks, no one moves.

“You’ve no fucking idea what’s good for you, do you?”

“Clearly,” you reply, calmly, bitterly.

You see him swallow, and fight with the shadows clouding his judgment. You see the split decision—and the way he shoves you away, the way he refuses to look at you any longer.

“Have it your way,” he snaps. He’s still so beautiful to you, even like this, the way a severe thunderstorm is, the way gray clouds can cover an entire sunny day in minutes. Not despite, but in spite. “But this fucker dies today.”

In a split second, your life—an infinite whirlwind, a dizzying dance with no end in sight—it changes, it shifts, because—Chris takes his gun out, a single click, and shoots the man on the floor beside you. All it takes. A blink of an eye. No one seems to get what happened, probably accustomed to the death looming over, but you—you’re covered in blood now, blood that’s not yours, and you’ve never seen someone die before. You don’t even think it registers in your mind, really. You just stare, and stare, and hope that he’ll get up and go to a hospital, because he looks terrible.

“Don’t feel too bad, princess,” Felix whispers somewhere from behind you. “He was a registered sex offender. Boss found out today. Chris had to do it.”

“Chris is not a hit man,” you say mechanically, paralyzed, something else looking through your eyes, inhabiting your body.

Where are you? Where’d you go?

“No, he’s not,” he agrees. You faintly feel a hand on your shoulder. You don’t react. “But he’s the one that’ll always get the job done. No matter what.”

This is the second thing. Learning that your boyfriend might be more of a collection of ghosts than an actual person. That the blood sprayed on your legs could be anyone’s, could be yours. The thing is, you weren’t truly scared before, but you are now.

And the terrifying truth—you still love him. You love him, you love him, it beats as sure as your heart, it fills you with guilt and despair, because . . . you don’t even really care. You should, surely. This is a horrible situation. But Chris is standing a mere few feet away from you, and he wants nothing to do with you, not when he’s like this, and somehow that’s more severe, that’s—that’s the real tragedy.

“Take care of it,” he cracks his neck, addressing no one in particular. Any of these men would do anything for him, for the club. Honor and loyalty, above all. “Bring me the books. There’s still business.”

Minho and Seungmin get to work, while a third person goes in the back. You don’t know who, you don’t see them, your gaze hasn’t moved from Chris. You whisper his name again, like back in the alley, over and over, and hope for him to turn around, to look and see, to dance with you, to shake you and make you spill. But he doesn’t. You don’t think he ever will again.

You’re one of them now. He didn’t keep you away, he failed, and so now you know.

“And for fuck’s sake, someone take her the hell away from here.”

You kickstart. “No, I won’t go.” You’re here, you’re here, where would I go if you’re here?

He won’t even spare you a second, a moment. He’s walking towards the bar, he’s lighting a cigarette, his hands are still raw and bleeding. The club is closed for the night, you’re no longer needed. Just another witness, just another person in the room. He can make you feel so small, so incredibly small, like you never mattered at all.

Felix steps up and offers to drive you.

“To the house,” Chris instructs firmly, skimming through pages of numbers. “Stay with her until I come back.”

There’s tears stinging your eyes. You fight not to let anyone see them. There’s so much movement around you, it’s making your head spin. Red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue—the lights never stop turning, they bleed over everything, a dream, a technicolor dream. You lift your hand to your cheek to confirm you’re still real, that you’re still breathing.

You’re sick to your stomach. Not enough. Not enough.

“Why are you sending me away?” You try again, foolishly hoping he’s going to pay you any mind, give you any explanation.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Felix mumbles close to your ear. “You don’t wanna be here for the clean up, trust me.”

Why are you sending me away, why are you sending me away . . . You don’t remember the ride to the club house. You don’t remember much of anything after the click of that gun. It echoes. The man’s eyes roll to the back of his head, a loop of red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue, redfuschiaorangeyellowblueredfuschiaorangeyellowblue

Someone screams.

ACT FOUR: after.

“I’ve never had a moment’s peace.”

Shirtless, with bandages running down his chest and over his shoulder, he looks like a tortured man returned from war. Burned. Turned inside out.

He was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. It’s been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. No. Peace is a foreign word. Reserved only for you.

You listen, you let yourself become the body he loves. You can’t find it in you to be angry at him, not anymore.

“How can I hold a thing like you in my hands and not break it? When you asked me for the truth . . . I couldn’t think of anything, (Y/N), not a single fucking thing,” he wraps a towel around your head, sure, capable hands pulling you up and helping you out of the bathtub. “What I feel for you is poisonous, it’s disturbing. You don’t want that. You shouldn’t want that. It’s not what you deserve.”

“You’re saying all this like you’re saying goodbye,” you whisper, letting him dry your skin, noticing the way he won’t allow himself to linger too long.

You see his mouth curve, his brow furrow. A strange image. It’s almost as if . . .

“I’ve only ever been a monster. A pathetic fucking excuse of a man, and I cannot keep you caged, I can’t keep being selfish with you,” when he’s once again met with your silence, he circles around you, hides behind your back. “You’re incredible, you know that? Other girls would’ve been running for the hills, but not you,” when he lets your hair fall, there’s a horrifying sound, like the earth ripping apart, the heavens falling—

Chris is crying.

Chris is crying and something is very, very wrong. Nothing feels right. He won’t let you turn around. His hands hold you still, his face is buried between your shoulder blades, and he.won’t.let.you.turn.around.

Your eyes sting with the effort it takes not to break down alongside him.

“You just—won’t—fucking—leave. You won’t give up,” he sobs, and then he’s hugging you, he’s hugging you so tight your ribs burn, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because you never in a thousand years ever pictured this man crying, much less in front of you.

“I’m never giving up,” you reassure him, trying to soothe the boy trying to come out, to escape. “Because I love you. Whatever that means for you, Chris. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He feel him shake his head, his hand wraps around your throat, bodies flush against each other. “I want you. I want you without . . .”

He lets go.

You turn to him, tilting your head, looking for his eyes. He exhales shakily, and moves away, grabbing his lighter from his back pocket, the cigarette from behind his ear. He rubs his face raw, then lights it, tip cherry red and burning fast, and he uses a hand to sit on the tiled floor, one arm resting on his knee. You get in front of him, towel forgotten, numb, completely numb.

“The club?” You say, quietly, so as not to anger the spirits, the demons. For no one else to hear but him. “You want to leave the club?”

He chuckles bitterly, and scratches his brow with a thumb, avoiding your gaze completely. Smoke swirls around you like snakes hunting for prey, an ominous presence. “I can’t even fucking say it. It’s been my whole life, my whole life. This fucking place—I know nothing else.”

“We‘ll figure it out. If you want out, we’ll find a way. Chris, these people look up to you, they trust you—”

“No, the fuck they don’t. That trust goes out the fucking window as soon as I walk. If I leave I’m a fucking traitor. If I leave I’ve betrayed all of them.”

You reach for his empty hand. He pulls away. You can’t ignore the Deja vu of this action. “And what about you?” You press, still. “What about what you’ve given for them, for their laws and rules? Your soul, Chris—”

He laughs, then, a proper laugh. When he does, finally, meet your eye, you see it all. The tortured, the choked, the repressed. It will never be easy. Ever. He might not ever make the decision, he might not ever leave. But dreaming about it . . . He has the right. No matter how unattainable, how unrealistic it seems to him. Why has no one ever shown him how?

“That battered, old thing,” he muses at his cigarette. “Lost it a long time ago, baby. Nothing there.”

“I don’t believe that.”

His smile breaks your heart. It looks so defeated, so devoid of any real happiness. “This is why I can’t let you go,” his fingers reach out and touch your bottom lip, the intention pure, nothing more than a reminder you’re still there, still his, but his gaze speaks of something darker, something you’ll never be able to quit.

“I got charges against me,” he says. “If I take the fall, the club remains. If I don’t, it all goes to hell.”

No. No. “Let it,” you choke out. “Let it! Chris, we can leave. We can go. Let’s just go. Please, I don’t—I can’t, I don’t want to lose—”

The biker puts his hands on your shoulders, shushes you, cradles you like a baby. You comply, a million different things bubbling inside you, ways to get him out, words you never said, everything you didn’t get to do yet. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.

“Listen to me,” he continues, cigarette hanging limply from his mouth. “It’s already done. I’ll be gone for a long time, alright, and I need to make sure you’re fucking taken care of. Be a good girl for me, yeah? Listen to me, (Y/N).”

You couldn’t. You were crying too hard, you missed him already. What you two had was nothing but burrowed time, you knew this, and you still mistook it for forever. This was why he didn’t want to get too close. This is why, every time you tried to hold onto him, he slipped away like quicksand. It was all coming down to this.

“Sweetheart, come on, stop crying. You know who I am, yeah? Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. Listen to me—I’ve hidden money away. I want you to have it, okay? Use it to get yourself a place, somewhere safe. And don’t fucking go back to that club, I don’t wanna hear you went back, you hear me? Do something for yourself, go to school, I know how fucking smart you are, you’ll fucking blow them away. Hm?” He lifts your chin with his thumb, kisses your forehead, staying there, lingering for one, two, three seconds, before he pulls back and looks into your eyes, willing you to agree, to accept the money, to go on living without him. “I love you, alright? You got all of me, whatever’s still there, it’s all yours. Don’t wait for me. Live.”

“I don’t want to.”

He deflates, sighing heavily. “Don’t make this harder than it is, (Y/N). Do what I say.”

You shake your head, sniffling, wiping at your cheeks. “Not without you. I’m not doing any of that without you. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you.”

His expression is pleading, his nails digging into your skin like he wants to crawl inside and change your mind. “It’ll be years, baby. Too many. You’ve no fucking idea the shit I’ve done. They got it all, some fucking snitch went and gave it all away. I’m turning myself in tomorrow, I’m not—I’m not fucking asking you to wait. You’re not. Find some lucky boy that’s got nothing to do with this life, and be normal. I never meant to bring you into all of this. You didn’t—didn’t fucking deserve it.”

“Just like that?” you ask, defeated. You could never picture yourself being with anyone else, no one at all.

After Chris, nothing. Alone. Lonely, forever.

He chuckles, crushing you to him, his arms strong, and steady, and home, home, home. “Just like that. I’ll wring his fucking neck out if he’s not good to you, though. I’ll always keep an eye out, always make sure you’re safe.”

“Can I hear it again?” Such a quiet request, barely anything.

He knew exactly what you meant. Your heart broke, fresh tears making their descent on your face. He wiped all of them away. He held you as if, if it was up to him, he’d never, ever let go.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much, sweetheart. You’ll be alright. I got you. I got you.”

You reach to where you know he keeps his gun. His hand flies out to stop you, gaze flaming with fear, with anger. Ash burns your arm, but you don’t even feel it. You’ve seen him use it; undo the safety, press down on the trigger. It was so easy for him. It’ll be easy for you too.

“Shoot me, then,” you bellow. “If you’re not gonna let me do it myself, shoot me! I don’t fucking want this, I’m not losing you, I’m not getting with someone else! What about me? You got this great plan—did you ever stop to think about what I’d want? If I’d be able to move on like how you’re expecting me to? I can’t just switch off my feelings for you, Chris, it doesn’t work like that, okay? I’ve gone through too much, I’ve seen too fucking much to just—to just—”

He wrestles you down, pinning your body on the floor, and getting on top of you, his smooth, cold gun resting on top of your heart. His mouth had curled into a tortured snarl, a bitter smile, his eyes shiny, crazy. You were shaking, he was shaking. You started crying, he started crying. With his thigh against your cunt, you felt his erection, hard and twitching.

“You think I didn’t think of this first?” He said roughly. “Christ, (Y/N), I’m trying to do the right thing here. You think I’ll be able to fucking kill you? I fucking adore you. I’d rather shoot myself in the head first, get it over with. Don’t ever fucking ask that of me again. I’ll be a dead man the second I do such a thing. I’ll be a dead fucking man if I’m not able to have you. Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

“Coward,” you spit in his face, and fight against his death grip. “Sentence us both then. I’ll be dead either way.”

He smashes your lips together. It hurts, it hurts, you wanna say, but you don’t think it’ll ever stop. There’s nothing in his way, everything in yours. In the time it takes to unzip his pants, grab his cock and guide it inside you, you’ve mourned him a thousand times over. To never have this again—him, again. . . You’ll die from missing him. You’ll cry yourself dry. There’s absolutely no way to escape this fate. You’re not ready, you’ll never be. How ridiculous it all seems in the end, faced with losing him.

He makes love to you slow, gentle, like he’s never done before. It’s not so much to get you off, than it is to make you understand. He could kill you both, but he’ll never be able to see you again. His place will be hell, the lowest level, the one he’ll have to keep walking for all eternity, while you’re up with the angels. If he doesn’t, if he hides the gun and never thinks of it again, at least he knows you’re somewhere out there, where there might be a one in a million chance he gets to be with you once more. If you’ll take him. Old and grey. He’ll never see you again as you are underneath him right now.

You stay like that on the floor for a while, with his seed spilling from between your legs, your scent all over him. You kiss him and for the first time, he kisses back. No teeth, no fists.

When he moves you over to the bed, he sleeps for the first time since he was born.

He sleeps and he dreams of you, of little hands reaching out, of being away from all this, far, far away. What he would give.

Everything. Everything.

#bang chan scenarios #bang chan smut #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #bang chan #chan scenarios #stray kids #skz scenarios #skz smut #bang chan fanfic #chan smut #chan x reader #bang chan x reader #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #—mine.

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cbartonscoffee · 8 months ago

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I think I've never been more aware of just how many people only get their info of the batfam through fanfic. I finally started reading Red Robin (2009) and I can not believe how many things are blown out of proportion. Particularly about Dick and Damian.

First of all, Dick does try to put limits and he does get fed up with Damian's ways sometimes. Out of the three first interactions of them in the comic, at least in two he tells him to shut up. And one of those is when Damian starts to brag about being Robin and Tim being useless, he tells him to shut up twice.

Another thing about that moment, is that they treat it like Dick completely dismisses Tim and treats him as unimportant. He doesn't. He takes him seriously, he tells him he needs him, he tells him he views his as an equal, as someone capable. And he also tells him he's concerned about him and that he needs to start processing Bruce's death. Could that have been a little harsh? Yes, but he needed to do it without making Tim think there was room for him to be convinced about his theory because let's be honest, Tim would've taken anything less than complete refusal and tried to change his mind. And had he been wrong neither of them could have taken it.

Secondly, Dick is always left to shoulder the blame of kicking Tim out and of never reaching out. That's bull. And I need to make that clear. Tim was in a delicate point, he tells us this himself multiple times, but the decision to leave was completely made out of his own free will. Another thing he did was put space between him and the people on Gotham. We see only one time in which Dick tries to call him. Tim picks up and tells him he doesn't want to talk. This tells us that Dick respecting Tim's wish of space included almost no (or even no) contact, and Dick calling was not something Tim appreciated or encouraged.

Now. Going into the second year of the run, when he's back in Gotham, there's a few things to talk about and I'm still in the aftermath of Damian and Tim's fight.

I feel it's important to say that even if they are all family, more often than not they're doing their own thing. Like, Babs and Steph are in the Batcave while Dick and Damian are in Wayne Tower, Cass is said to potentially be in Hong Kong and we haven't even heard Jason be name-dropped except for the fact that he went on a rampage at some point.

So, Dick is immediately called away in League business. So he isn't there. Damian is behaving fairly civil besides being a brat, so no one wastes too much effort in correcting what he says. We need to think about the fact that this is a kid whose world was turned upside down multiple times in a short period of time, who has a need to be accepted, and who hasn't yet found his place. All this is to say, that if it's difficult to get him to eat breakfast there's no way they're controlling his every move and that's understandable.

So Dick is away, Damian is still trying to adapt, Alfred has his hands full and everyone else is doing something else.

The whole thing starts because Tim is being kind of cryptic about what he's doing with his hit list and Damian feels left out and goes looking for more. He finds his name in a hidden double side of the hit list marking him as a threat. He understandably feels hurt and angry, because he's a kid, and he's trying, and his predecessor who at this point doesn't even try with him anymore views him as something bad.

So in classic Damian fashion, he falls back on his upbringing and doesn't deal with the situation as one should, talking about it. Instead he cuts team line, hurting before being hurt. It could've been worse, we see in the panel that Tim doesn't have that much of a hard time getting safely to the ground. The problem is that he snaps and starts a full-blown fight he knows Damian won't back out off. (I'm pleased to add that after cutting his line Damian doesn't start anything else)

So they are fighting, Tim has the clear advantage and he knows this, we know this. And that's how Dick finds them. Having just returned from a JL mission, in the place where the Waynes were murdered, with Tim having overpowered Damian.

They go back to the cave and Damian shares his findings, and Dick understands. And Tim tells him he (Dick) knows why he (Tim) did it. Dick agrees, and tells him he should have tried to make it harder to find. Tim says he hadn't thought Damian would try or even care. Dick tells him Damian wants to be accepted.

All in all, so far the only thing this comic has proven to me is that there's a reason comics are the bomb and that fanon has gotten out of hand. I get making things out to be worse for the sake of a story, but everything surrounding these events is basically used as the foundation for Damian and Tim's relationship as well as Dick and Tim's and I don't think I've once read a fanfic where these events are portrayed correctly or even following the real motivations of the characters. This is a disservice to all of them and only serves to amplify the hate towards a character that doesn't deserve it. There's a lot of Damian hate going around. And it sucks. Mostly because people use his actions against Tim to justify it and honestly? I don't think you should be allowed to use that if you haven't read RR and understood what was going on.

#batman #dc comics #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin #dick grayson #nightwing #red robin 2009 #dc #batfam #batfamily #stop the damian wayne hate #and the dick grayson hate for that matter #and please try to differentiate canon and fanon #and get at least an idea of the source material

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xomakara · 4 months ago

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Birthday Cake

SUMMARY | It's Mark's birthday and you have a very special surprise for him.

PAIRINGS | Mark x Reader

GENRE/CONTENT/WARNINGS | non-idol!Mark, non-idol!Reader, established relationship, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, dirty talk, oral sex (both male/female receiving/giving), praise kink, pet names, dirty talk, food play, messy cake sex??

RATING | Mature, NSFW, 18+

LENGTH | 4093 words

TAGLIST | --

NETWORKS | @k-vanity

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Firstly, I apologize if it sounds rushed and probably not one of my best works. I literally wrote this in like 3 hours lol. I still hope you all like this though lol. Secondly, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARK. We all love you 💚

Mark Lee always considered himself a lucky man as he was surrounded by friends and loved ones who gathered for this dinner party for his birthday. Smiling from his seat, his hand was placed on your thigh, softly caressing. His eyes wandered over to yours. "You okay?" he asked, concerned.

You smiled and nodded. "Why wouldn't I be okay? My man's birthday is today."

"Good. You look so beautiful tonight, by the way."

"Thank you." You leaned in to kiss him. "And you look so handsome today."

"We get it. You both love each other." Johnny rolled his eyes jokingly. "Can we start the celebration already?"

You pulled back, a smile still on your lips. "Yeah. Let's celebrate."

Mark had planned a quiet and private party with the closest people in his life. As the night progressed, it turned into a rowdy one. Johnny and Yuta were playing a drinking game while Jungwoo, Jeno, Jaehyun, and Hendery were cheering them on. Ten was in the kitchen, preparing another batch of food with Doyoung. Taeyong was nowhere to be found, but he might've left with Kun since neither of them was here.

You and Mark watched them. You were sitting in his lap while his arms were around your waist.

"Having fun?" he whispered, placing a kiss on your neck.

"I am." You turned to him, arms around his neck. "Is the birthday boy having fun? Did he get all his presents?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. I did. Although I'm still waiting for the best present."

"Oh really? What would that be?"

Mark looked into your eyes. "The most beautiful girl in the world."

"And who would that be?"

"It's you." He gave you a soft kiss on the lips.

"You're so cheesy." You giggled.

"You love it."

"Yeah, I do."

You were about to kiss him again until Johnny interrupted. "Hey, you two lovebirds! We're going to sing Happy Birthday now. Stop being gross and pay attention."

"We weren't doing anything." You called out, Mark laughing.

Johnny raised a brow at you, clearly not buying it. "Uh huh, sure. Get your horny asses over here."

Mark stood up with you in his arms, placing you on your feet before standing beside you.

"Okay, guys, gather around!" Yuta called out, waving the cake in his hands. "One... two..."

Everyone sang, their eyes glued on Mark. You looked over at him, a fond smile on your lips. He turned to look at you, his heart fluttering as your gaze met. After the song ended, he blew the candles and made a wish. Everyone cheered. You went back to your seat beside Mark and held his hand. "So, what did you wish for?"

He shrugged. "It's a secret."

"You know I won't tell anyone."

"But you'd find out sooner or later."

"That's true."

Mark squeezed your hand. "Let's get out of here, yeah?"

"But your friends—"

"They'll understand. I just want to be with you tonight."

"Okay." You nodded, a smile still on your lips.

Doyoung looked up from where he was standing. "You two better be responsible!"

You turned to him. "Don't worry. We're just going to hang out."

"Uh-huh, sure." Ten rolled his eyes.

"We're just going to hang out!"

Ten smirked, his eyes moving between you and Mark. "Dressed like that? I doubt it. Don't forget to use protection."

Your face heated up at his words. Mark only chuckled. "We're leaving."

"Take care, you two." Doyoung waved, watching you both leave.

As soon as the door closed, you took off your heels, sighing in relief. It was nice to feel the ground beneath your feet again.

"You could've worn comfortable shoes," Mark said.

"I wanted to look pretty for you."

"Baby, you always look pretty to me."

You smiled at his words, heart racing in your chest.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer. "Where do you wanna go?"

"My place? I got you a gift. And it's more of a private one."

"Okay, let's go."

You got a cab and went to your place. You fished your keys from your purse and opened the door, inviting Mark inside.

"Stay here, Mark." You said. "I'll be right back."

He nodded and went to the couch. Meanwhile, you went to your room and looked through your drawers, trying to find that sexy, crotchless lingerie you bought for special occasions. Mark didn't know that you own one. Hell, he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Finally, you found it and you quickly changed, looking at yourself in the mirror. After putting on the lingerie, you fixed your hair and you threw your clothes back on so that he could unwrap you when you got to the bedroom.

You came back and smiled at him. "Do you have the present?" he asked.

"It's not a tangible gift."

He frowned. "Then what is it?"

You moved closer to him and sat in his lap. "It's a surprise."

Mark wrapped his arms around you. "Will I like it?"

"You will." You gave him a soft kiss.

His hands wandered to your waist. "Can I open it now?"

"Not yet." You laughed as you got off his lap and made your way to the kitchen. "Wait for me. I'll make it worth your while."

"You always do."

You came back with the cake and a candle. Mark was already waiting on the couch, smiling when he saw the cake in your hands. "Baby, we already blew the candles earlier with the guys."

"But that’s with the guys. Right now, it’s me.”

"Wow, baby, you're so thoughtful."

"Anything for the birthday boy."

Mark looked up at you, eyes twinkling. "Can I blow out the candles now?"

"Of course." You nodded. "Make a wish."

He blew the candles, the light from the flames flickering as it went out. At the same time, you were on your knees in front of him, your hand already massaging his growing bulge.

"I hope it's coming true," you said, looking up at him.

"It is." He nodded, leaning back against the couch. "It sure is."

Your hand rubbed the bulge, slowly unzipping his pants and taking his dick out. He was already hard.

"Already excited?" you asked, kissing the tip.

"It's my birthday. I should be excited."

You took him in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down. He placed his hand on the back of your head, gently encouraging you to continue.

"Fuck, baby," he moaned, his voice low.

You continued sucking, licking the underside and the tip, and swirling your tongue around. He was moaning loudly, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Your hands were gripping the base of his shaft, jerking him off as your mouth worked him.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged. "Keep going."

He groaned your name as his grip tightened, pulling your hair. "Your mouth feels so good. So fucking amazing."

You felt his cum coating your tongue. You kept sucking until the very last drop. After that, you let him rest in your mouth, the sweet taste lingering. He looked down, a little surprised that his dick was still hard. You let him go, and it slipped out of your mouth.

You sat up, wiping the corners of your lips. "Didn't you like your gift?"

Mark smiled, pulling you towards him so that you were seated on his lap again. "I did, very much."

"Well, that was part one."

"What's part two?"

"Take off my clothes and see."

Mark obliged and removed your shirt, revealing the lace covering your breasts. "Oh? What else are you hiding? Wait... are you...?"

You smirked, your fingers fiddling with the hem of the tulle skirt. You raised it to reveal your dripping cunt in the panties that barely covered anything. "Part two, crotchless panties.”

His eyes widened at the sight, his hands automatically wandering to the bare skin of your legs. He stroked the insides, squeezing. Your thighs were a weak point for him, something that he used against you whenever he wanted something from you.

"Wait," he stopped. "Let's just go to your room. I wanna ravish you properly."

"Oh?" you raised a brow.

"It is part of my gift, right?"

"Part of it," you nodded.

"Okay." He looked up, gazing into your eyes. "Gimme more."

"Okay, birthday boy. Whatever you want." You giggled, playfully smirking. He carried you and rushed to your room. Laughter escaped your lips as Mark tossed you onto the bed. "Someone's eager to open their gift, isn't he?"

He looked you over hungrily, biting his bottom lip as his eyes fell to your breasts. "Because she looks so fucking hot."

You pressed your back against the headboard and spread your legs, offering yourself. Mark climbed into bed with you, kneeling on the mattress.

"Take what you want, Mark," you seductively told him.

His eyes darkened. He licked his lips and leaned towards you, capturing yours. He devoured your mouth, groaning as you opened up for him, letting him push his tongue past your lips.

After a few seconds of kissing, he pulled away and looked at you. "Hands on the headboard."

You did as told and reached behind you, latching on to the edge of the headboard, spreading your knees wide. Mark started trailing his lips and teeth across your neck. You shivered at the sensation, especially as his lips went lower and lower.

Mark squeezed your nipples between his fingers as he licked and kissed your skin. You gasped in surprise as he captured your right nipple between his teeth and tugged it. Your grip tightened and you whimpered, arching your back as he rolled the hardened nub between his teeth.

He then licked a trail downwards, placing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones and between your breasts. When his tongue flicked over one nipple, you gasped, arching your back off the headboard and pushing your breasts into his mouth.

"Did you like that, baby girl?" he asked. His voice was muffled as his mouth was otherwise occupied.

"Yes, please."

"Okay, since you're enjoying this, I'll do more of it. But after I fuck that tight little pussy of yours."

"Thank you," you panted, feeling his tongue flicking your other nipple.

"God, you're so sexy."

Your eyes followed his head as he continued his way down your stomach, biting your lip as he licked all over the lace fabric. You'd bought it in dark blue because Mark complimented you in that shade of color before. It seemed he appreciated the gesture since he was practically worshipping your body in that outfit.

"Shit," you whispered, panting.

He hummed, sending a vibration down your core. Your back was arched, hands desperately gripping the wood behind your back, thighs trembling on each side of your lover's face.

"I bet you'd look so hot with cake frosting all over your tits," he spoke up, licking a line across your folds.

Your legs shook at his words, a soft moan escaping your lips. You felt him smirk against your core, clearly pleased with the reaction you gave him. "There is cake in the living room," you reminded him, your breathing was getting erratic.

Mark paused, eyes still focused between your legs. Then he looked at you with a smirk. "We'd have to change your sheets and shower afterwards."

"Worth it if it means you get to enjoy it on my body."

He growled as you wriggled underneath his gaze. The pressure of him being so close and yet so far away is driving you mad. You loved when Mark was gentle with you, but sometimes you also needed roughness.

"So, are you up for it or do you want to just fuck the shit out of me now?" you teased, leaning back against the pillows with a devilish smirk.

"Baby girl," he breathed, a predatory smile appearing on his face, "it'd be my fucking pleasure."

"Bring the fucking cake and decorate my body," you suggested, snarling playfully as you got rid of your bra and threw it somewhere.

He gave you a smug grin before he rushed out of the room and came back shortly with the cake in his hand, his finger dipping the frosting out. "Hmmm..." he purred, eyeing your body, "where do I start?"

"Wherever you want, birthday boy," you replied in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

A small mischievous grin appeared on his handsome face before he grabbed one breast and held your right nipple between two fingers as he applied the sugary substance over it. You squirm underneath his touch, goosebumps running along your skin as the chilling cream came into contact. He let go, looking pleased at the work he'd done before his eyes flicked to your face, checking to see if you were okay.

His voice sounded velvety as it reached your ears, "Do you want the other one to have the same amount, baby?"

"Mark," you gasped, swallowing down the lump of lust in your throat, "yeah, cover me with icing."

Mark's lips curled upward in satisfaction while his pupils dilated slightly from excitement, "Gladly, my love."

He grabbed another fistful and brought his hand down, starting his art, applying layer by layer in an attempt to replicate how beautiful his cake was. He then proceeded with applying frosting on your left breast while you moaned softly every time he touched the sensitive skin with the tip of his fingers. Once satisfied, he scooted closer and added final touches by using his tongue to give some details, making you squirm as it left a wet, sticky path across your chest. He blew on it, making you gasp for breath, your voice coming out as a mixture of whimpers and moans.

"This is fucking hot." Fingers still coated in icing, he brought them to your lips. "Suck," he demanded, watching with dark eyes as his fingers disappeared between your lips.

You obeyed and tasted the sweetness of the icing mixed with his masculine scent, feeling like you could come any moment, especially with the hungry look he gave you, eyes filled with lust and anticipation for the feast.

"Good, huh? Want me to continue?" he asked.

A soft moan escaped you. You were eager to have his mouth on your cunt.

"Answer me, darling."

Your eyes widened and you let out a strangled cry, "Yes."

"Such a slutty little thing for me, baby. What would people think, hmm, seeing you like this? All covered in sugary mess for my enjoyment? To consume you whole."

Your breathing came short and fast. You couldn't see anything other than Mark's heated gaze as your pussy twitched underneath his touch, his voice deep in your ear, coaxing more noises from deep within your gut as he used his tongue to circle around your icing covered nipple. He licked down to your stomach, circling his tongue around it, painting a picture for your senses. You felt yourself becoming wetter each time he dipped his tongue into your navel, the heat growing in the pit of your stomach, flames licking up your spine, begging him to touch your most sensitive parts.

"I'm going to devour you, darling," his low tone sent shivers running through every nerve ending, "all of you."

Your toes curled. A shiver ran down your spine.

"Yes, yes, please," you pleaded, voice husky. You wanted him more than anything. Wanted to feel every inch of his thick, delicious length in your pussy, spreading your walls wide open and filling you.

The room was silent except for your shallow breaths and Mark's heavy ones, both anticipating the moment he'd thrust inside you. Finally, he inched forward, hovering above you as he ran his tongue over your nipple once more, swirling the tip in slow circles before taking it completely between his teeth and giving a soft bite. Your hand slipped over his shoulder, fingertips digging into his shoulder blade as you arched towards him.

"Please..." your voice trembled as you felt yourself clench and tighten under his grip, preparing itself for what was to come.

Mark smiled into your chest, the smile stretching across his face until it became a full-on grin. He pulled back and slid his body down between your legs, taking his time to take every inch of you in before settling there, propped up between your thighs. His hand glided over your stomach and down to your mound, fingers pressing softly as they traveled between your legs. His palm lingered on top of your heat, fingers rubbing gently at the swollen skin as you shivered and squirmed, a light sweat coating your upper lip.

"Fuck, baby," Mark moaned. "You're so wet."

His fingers traced circles, leaving the combination of cake icing and your wetness trailing down the side of your leg. He dragged his lips down and his tongue swept against the inside of your thigh, leaving a slick trail of cake icing and saliva along the length of it, then up.

"Mark, please." you begged, desperately wanting him to end this torture and finally slide his cock in you, making you writhe against the soft mattress. You felt a warmth building deep in your belly as he moved his mouth closer to your pussy.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he crooned softly into your ear. "Tell me exactly what you'd like me to do right now and maybe I'll give it to you."

"Ughh, please!" you cried as his thumb brushed against your clit, causing sparks to shoot across your body and setting every nerve ending aflame.

Mark let out a low chuckle, enjoying every bit of it. You bucked upwards again as he moved his finger in circular motions around your opening before slipping the tip in. "Tell me more, I'll hear you loud and clear," he urged, his voice thick with lust as he added more fingers into your slick entrance, pushing deeper inside as you hissed out your pleasure.

"Take me, Mark. Please! Make me yours." You screamed. "I want you inside me so badly. Want to feel every inch of your amazing, perfect cock buried deep in my wet cunt," your nails dug into the mattress beneath you.

"You ask so nicely, but remember who's birthday is this. Say it." he cooed, his breath tickling the sensitive skin near the shell of your ear. He nipped the lobe, then ran his lips down your neck as his thumb rubbed the aching bud on the hood of your clit, sending fireworks along your spine.

"Y-your birthday." You stammered. "Please take me for your birthday."

His fingers reached lower. One last stroke with the pad of his thumb against your clit and your body was a trembling mess, walls squeezing, pulling, sucking around the two fingers pumping in and out. You were whimpering and groaning, lost to everything other than the movement of his fingers and his intense gaze focused directly on you.

"Please!" you sobbed, your pussy spasming around Mark's fingers and hips grinding helplessly up and down.

Mark withdrew them with a satisfied smirk on his face, cock so hard you could barely stand it as he pressed a thumb to the corner of your mouth, pushing a mix of icing and your juices into your mouth, which you eagerly swallowed down greedily.

"Fuck, I knew you could handle it, but damn, baby girl," Mark groaned, dragging a single digit along your slit, collecting your slick, watching intently as it clung to his fingers and dropped to the bed below. "That was one of the hottest things you've ever said to me."

Mark smeared the mix of icing and your liquids down his erection. He didn't bother to hide the pleasure he felt at the sensation, nor how hard he had become simply by teasing you and making you scream for release. And it showed.

"Ready?" he asked, the tip of his member already nudging your entrance.

"Yes." you gasped as your arousal began pooling. "Fuck me."

Mark didn't waste any time. Without a second thought, he pushed himself forward, sheathing his entire length inside your pussy in one smooth motion, moaning with satisfaction as his skin met yours. You arched up off the bed, the sweet smell of the cake still permeating your senses, mingling with Mark's scent, along with the unmistakable musk of sex.

Mark grabbed hold of your thighs, pushing them up, your legs on his shoulders. He pressed his head into the crook between your shoulder and neck and whispered to you, "Let's fill you up with my cake icing."

You moaned lowly, the sound almost inaudible over Mark's soft pants, as he slowly began rocking back and forth, the gentle movements turning into rougher strokes the longer he thrusts into you. It's not enough. Your body is tingling from the way he stretched your pussy out, and while it isn't the rough fucking you were hoping for, it's certainly an appetizer to the main event.

"Come on, Mark," you groaned, pressing down against him so that every thrust made him sink deeper and deeper, pushing you into the bed until his cock brushed up against that sweet spot deep inside of you. "Don't you want to take charge on your special day? Don't you want to show me who's in control here?"

Mark growled, the noise coming from the back of his throat sending vibrations down to where your skin met his. He pressed his lips together tightly as he struggled to retain his composure and composure be damned because now was his turn, time to show how good he could fuck when he was set to.

He didn't know if he could even wait to start but god help him if he didn't do something about how incredible his girlfriend looked right now, writhing beneath him, covered in icing and sex-messed hair stuck against her cheeks.

"Oh yeah, baby girl," Mark purred, lowering himself until his forehead pressed lightly against yours. "This is the best gift I could ever ask for." He nibbled lightly on your lower lip and whispered against it, "To have your pussy all nice and warm for me, letting me use you any way I like... I'm gonna wreck you, Y/N."

You moaned at the prospect and at how goddamn sexy he sounded when he was turned on.

"Make me cum," you rasped. "Use my pussy however you want and make me cum, please!"

"Your wish is my command." he grinned cheekily.

Mark's hips picked up pace, plunging harder and faster into you, filling you fully again and again.

You moaned as he slammed inside of you. Every time his pelvic bone struck yours was a sharp shock wave of pleasure flowing through you, making your brain swim. Your legs quivered at the contact; your heels dug into Mark's back and drew him forward, urging him to keep fucking you with that amazing dick.

You had never seen your boyfriend move this quickly before, the sound of his breathing and the loud groans you were hearing were all coming from inside your head. In and out. His thrusts were powerful. Hard and steady, almost machine-like as he buried his cock within you time after time.

And you loved every second of it.

Mark leaned forward, resting his weight on his palms, his face mere inches away from yours. His fingers tightened their grip in your hair before pulling you closer towards him and pressed his mouth onto yours.

As Mark broke the kiss, his breath hitched, body shuddering, cock spasming inside of you. Hot bursts of liquid shot deep inside, coating your cunt and filling it to the brim with semen. You held onto him tightly as his entire frame trembled with orgasm, trying to not collapse on you. He struggled to breathe while keeping his hands firmly anchored on either side of your head, locking his elbows so that he wouldn't fall over. He never broke his eye contact.

Finally, when both your orgasms had waned and you could think straight again, you began speaking, your voice sounding strained as it came out in short huffs. "You liked it that much huh?"

"Shit," he gasped between breaths, nodding as sweat ran down his face, dripping onto your chest.

"But..." His tongue flicked over your neck, licking the side before whispering hotly into your ear, "There's something I want a bit more."

Your breath hitched at his statement. "Hmmm?"

"A few more rounds for my birthday," Mark smiled playfully. "And then a bath before bed, babe."

#kvanity #nct #nct stories #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct smut #nct 127 #nct dream #nct mark #nct mark smut #mark lee #mark #mark x reader #happy birthday mark

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mioons · 5 months ago

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kiss, kiss, kiss, 단 하루도 빼먹지 말고

pairing. enhypen ot7 x fem. reader (hcs)

genre. fluff, est. relationship wc. 694 warnings. kissing, skinship, petnames

— where they love to kiss you. extra. none, please reblog if you’ve enjoyed,, mwah! 💋

Lee Heeseung — lips

the way your lips press together when ever he tries to kiss you; he finds it adorable. when his lips met yours for the first time, he wish he had kissed you sooner. your lips looked so plump and cute, he had to make sure no one else could kiss them except for him for the rest of his life.

the first time he kissed your lips was after your third date and let’s just say he never stopped kissing you after that day. because your lips played a melody in his heart he could never unhear, and without it, he’d feel incomplete.

“why’re your lips so soft baby?”

Sim Jaeyun — forehead

jake was far from short, he was tall. much taller than your friends and much taller than you. often when you two were out, he would rest his chin on your head. at first he was hesitant to kiss you at all. but the way you turned your head backward to look at him sometimes made it hard. so eventually, he started kissing your forehead. it was sweet and somehow intimate at the same time. so now everytime he sees you, the first thing he does is kiss your forehead. it’s become a habit.

“c’mere pretty, can’t forget your daily forehead kisses”

Park Jongseong — hands / fingers

when he first held you hand, he realised how small they were compared to his. how his fingers engulfed yours whenever you intertwined fingers. one time, he held your hand when he was driving you to a cafe for a date and that’s when he suddenly brought your hands up to his lips, kissing each one of your knuckles gently. your hand was so soft to kiss, he found himself kissing your hands or fingers everytime you two met. oh how he wishes to kiss your ring finger and see the wedding ring he gave you. but that’ll have to wait.

Park Sunghoon — ear

when you two first started dating, sunghoon realised how easily you get flustered around him and how your ears especially would turn into a crimson colour. whenever he got too close, or whenever he whispered something into your ear, they would turn red. he found it cute. he wondered what shade of red it would turn into if he kissed it.

“they’re like little strawberries on the sides of your head darling,” he’d chuckle as he pressed another gentle kiss on your earlobe, watching you shiver and turn red all over again.

Kim sunoo — beauty mark / mole

sunoo loves you. he loves everything about you, even your beauty marks. he thinks they accentuate your beauty. he never wants you to feel insecure about your beauty marks and what a better way to make you feel assured is by kissing each and every one of them.

“sunoo it’s ticklish, cmon,” you’d whine as he pepper kisses all over your beauty marks.

“no thanks, gotta show you just how much i love your beauty marks,” he’d whisper back, giggling, “god you’re so beautiful.”

Yang Jungwon — neck

he’d often get shy and flustered whenever you were around him though you two were already dating. it caused him to often shy away in your embrace, hiding his face in your neck. it felt warm and secure there for some odd reason

more often than not, he’d press kisses along your neck and collarbone. he’d leave little marks here and there to make sure people know you’ve already got a lover at home waiting for you.

Nishimura Riki — nose

whenever you’re frustrated or anxious your nose tends to scrunch up, making you look like the cutest girl in the world. or whenever he got too close to you and they’d twitch a little due to your shyness.

the way it would turn a little red when you sneezed made him want to kiss your nose and so he did.

everytime you hugged him or cuddled with him, he made it a habit to kiss your nose at least once, maybe boop it at the same time because he thinks you’re the most adorable girl in the world.

luvlyhee 2024 :: taglist open ,, send an ask to be added

tl: @en-gelic @dioll @luvvsim @ohmydollie @jakesangel @chaewonshoney

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httpsaki · 4 months ago

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physical touch with haikyuu ｡⁠*ﾟ

fluff | sfw

gn!reader | established relationship

warnings: mild profanity

✧ unexplainable close proximity with very odd positions

he doesn't hate physical touch, but he's not totally crazy about it either. though he can't deny, there are moments when he really does crave your touch. so here you are, met with his most bizarre ways of saying, "i want you to pay attention to me but i can't say it out loud because it's embarrassing so you should just know." with his legs on your lap or vice versa, his head resting on your back, brushing your knuckles while walking, or even just making his knees or thighs touch yours while sitting on the floor.

ukai, kenma, aone, sakusa, tsukishima, shirabu, kageyama, kyotani, suna, kunimi

✧ his hands all over you

holding hands, drawing circles on your skin, hands on your shoulders, hands on your thigh, hands on your waist, hands on your cheeks, wherever. not like you could complain, his hands on your body just leaves you with a rare sensation, warmth, and the assurance that you are his. he knows how crazy you are for his touch, and oh, just how much he loves having his world at the palm of his hands.

yamaguchi, semi, yaku, kindaichi, ushijima, daichi, hanamaki, kita

✧ hugs—and so much of them

he likes having you in a tight embrace. trapped in each other's arms soaking up on each other's undying love for each other as you wait for the other to let go (plot twist: neither of you wants to). front hugs, back hugs, side hugs, bear hugs, hugs while you're lying on the bed or couch, you name it. when he just holds you in his arms, it's as if you forget about all of your burdens. he just has one favor to ask you: don't you go away just yet.

asahi, lev, takeda, akaashi, osamu, ennoshita, futakuchi, aran, komori

✧ kisses everywhere that sweeps you off your feet

oh he just loves to feel you melting as soon as his lips crash onto yours. he loves the taste of your lips, but he just loves his lips on you in general. he likes planting kisses all over your face and neck, sometimes even marking your skin. from peppery smooches to a long, passionate kiss—heck, he'll do so much more. he would give you the world if you'd just ask. most times he'd keep this intimacy private, though, there are times when he wouldn't be afraid to kiss you in front of people watching; just so they know who you belong to.

sugawara, tanaka, iwaizumi, konoha, terushima, daishou, yahaba, kuroo

✧ fuck all that, you are never escaping his touch even if you wished

this man is the living, breathing definition of physical touch. he is never letting you go, not now that you're finally right there by his fingertips. cuddles? public display of attention? just glued onto your skin in general? hell yeah, he loves that. he loves how close you are to him at the moment, matter fact he would beg to be this close to you all the time. clinging onto you is his way of showing the world that there is nothing that could break you both apart. it's gotten to the point where your skin feels weird whenever he's not touching you in one way or another. though, you wouldn't want it any other way.

oikawa, matsukawa, bokuto, hinata, kogane, tendou, goshiki, nishinoya, atsumu

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romanoffsbish · 11 months ago

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Method Acting

Scarlett Johansson x F!R

Request | When your friend gives you the leading role in her debut sapphic rom-com you find yourself elated, but then you see who her star-studded casting managed to be and suddenly you aren’t too sure what to do. How does one work with their crush in such intimate ways and not swoon further? | WC: 2,516

Smut: Masturbation (R) — Non-con 👀 (SJ) | Mommy (SJ) | Oral / Fingering (R) | Thigh-Riding (SJ) | Overstimulation (R)

18+ | Minors DNI

"Where'd all that confidence go, hm?" You gulped, not only to remain in character, but because Scarlett was literally hovering over your body and it was like the air around you'd thinned. Your head felt light, but you still managed to stutter out your line, "I-It was a r-ruse."

Bentley chuckled, "You know, I don't think I mind," then she lowered her smirking face into the crook of your neck, your breath dramatically hitched, and you threw your head back to give her the necessary space to leave behind her pale pink gloss for the camera to see.

——

This was meant to be acting, but she wasn't exactly not sucking a partial mark into your skin, fortunately it was hidden from any lens viewpoint, and it only really added to the scene as you moaned out affectedly.

"There you go Raina," she rasped against your cheek, smearing her collected spit and gloss on the skin. "I knew you'd be a perfect little dove for your mommy, you just needed me to help dumb you down, hm..."

You whimpered the title inquisitively, giving off the characters innocent girl aura as her lips clashed into yours, but deep in your soul you wanted to scream it.

Well, for the blonde starlet that is, Scarlett was nothing short of a goddess, her beauty perceivably effortless. It came with many perks, one of those being the ability to have people figuratively crumble before her. You had actually done so physically when you first shook her hand, it was embarrassing and she's teased you since.

When she wasn't teasing you though she was a natural nurturer. There was a calmness she brought to your anxious life that you were going to miss when filming inevitably comes to an end. Which was actually taking place this week, today you were working on the climax.

Bentley, her character, finally had a chance to corner Raina so that she could finally prove her love with the length of her fingers. Up until now your character had been avoiding Bentley as they were forced to see one another at the weekend long reception of a mutual.

Maritza, the director, screenwriter, and best friend of yours wanted the sex to feel real, so she is letting you two feel it out in a set of scenes. Scarlett appreciated the artistic creativity, because she wanted nothing more than to bring you to bliss, even if only fictionally as she knew the cameras were rolling. You genuinely liked the idea of an organic, sapphic scene too, but you just wished it could have been with any other actress.

Not the one you were recklessly falling in love with.

"Cut!" The director called after she felt there was enough tension, and kissing caught for the scene. She was also your very best friend, and knew you were likely spiraling beneath the surface; below Scarlett.

As soon as the director gave you the all clear for the night you took off without even sparing the blonde a glance. Months on this set with her and she'd teased you every step of the way, playing on your obvious crush, the one you'd publicized just a year ago.

"Y/N, who's your celebrity crush?" It was an easy question to answer, and since you were such a newcomer in the acting world it felt harmless to give them one, "Scarlett Johansson, she is just so gorgeous, and that voice of hers is just, ugh, don't even get me started." Or so you thought. Because not even three months later did you find out she'd be playing the love interest in this low-budget, cheesy sapphic rom-com.

The blonde was absolutely ecstatic when she got the script in her email because it came with your name attached. This was your closest friend's script, so you were given the lead without any issues, except for the casting. Without you ever knowing she took a shot in the dark by sending it to the woman who'd grown interested in you the moment she saw you in that interview. When you got the casting news you were mortified, and the blonde used that to her advantage.

There was no denying you meant it when she arrived on set for the chemistry read through, you were a bit of a stuttering mess—true to the character, but it was clear to the blonde that you were just being yourself. Scarlett played the part a bit too well, but she still kept it hidden that she desired you too. Until tonight she'd believed it was never going to go anywhere, but then you moaned in her ear and she realized it had to.

You weren't the only one affected by the small scene.

Scarlett was outside your trailer, her fingers flexed against the chill of the air as she prepared herself to knock on your door. It was Thursday night, normally she would go home, but she knew you were staying on the lot to cut costs so she felt compelled to stop by.

Without an answer she took it upon herself to open the door, noting her worry as the excuse for why she did. When she entered the trailer she was overwhelmed by a heady scent, and as she turned the corner to find you with your hand buried between your legs she'd found the delightful source. Scarlett said nothing as her body leaned against the wall, eyes focused in on the way your puffy lips devoured three of your fingers whole.

"Scarlett..."

The blonde's eyes snapped up to your face, fearing that she'd been caught, but it proved to be the other way around as you moaned her name upon releasing.

"My character's name is Bentley," she cooly teased, startling you into yelping and scrambling to grab the blanket that had bunched up by the end of your bed. Scarlett beat you to it, taking a predatory leap forward so that she could keep you from hiding your body. "None of that baby girl, don't hide from me now."

"S-Scar," you breathlessly muttered her name, or better yet part of it as she cupped your jaw and kissed you into a state of stunned silence. "Let's practice our scene for tomorrow darling, make it extra authentic."

"I-I don't think—." Scarlett slipped her thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your teeth to still you. "Oh, pretty girls like you should never try to think."

When she released her grip on your mouth she'd forcefully pushed you back onto the mattress, making your body bounce and driving your mind into madness all while she slipped out of her sweatsuit. The arousal you'd already felt doubled in intensity, mind alit with the endless possibilities for how this could go. Your mouth slowly filled with saliva as she sauntered closer to you while only dressed in her expensive lingerie set.

"You're so beautiful," you softly acknowledged and she offered you a genuine smile in return. Her lips gently pressed to yours as soon as she climbed over you and you both melted at the touch. "Thank you angel."

Scarlett took her time with kissing you, she didn't even move to deepen it until she felt your slick on her skin.

"I'm going to devour you Raina," she winked playfully and you met her tease with a smile that warmed her heart. "Make my dreams come true then Bentley."

Something about hearing her characters name didn't sit well with her, even if she had started the play on words, joking shoved aside she needed you to know this was more than a over the top scene preparation.

Scarlett pulled your body down the mattress by your ankles, throwing your legs open she took in a big whiff as her nose nuzzled into your plush thigh. "It seems I'll be making both of ours come true," she laboredly breathed against your slick cunt, "Just as long as you know there's no copyright on Scarlett," she winked and husked as your eyes widened, "Scream it for me Y/N."

"Oh Scarlett," you cried as soon as her tongue firmed itself against your folds, a long, drawn out moan left her as she tasted your glorious slick for the first time. The both of you were immensely pleased, your body began to squirm the more you felt your orgasm build. Her arm had to lay against your abdomen to hold you down so that her tongue could lash at you unchecked.

Your pleasure was entirely under her control, and the thought alone had the both of you teetering over the edge, ready to fall further into one another. Scarlett was unsure how that was even possible though, she'd loved you after a month into the filming, on a night when cast and crew rented out the local bar and she actually went regardless of her star power status. It was the only time you'd talked to her so openly, the booze in your system dropped your nerves and you let her hear all of your hometown childhood stories.

There was a twinkle of purity in your eye that she found refreshing that night, but this new glossy look you wore was far more enticing to the blonde starlet.

You looked almost peaceful, but beneath the surface you were absolutely losing your mind. Her masterful tongue was showing your fingers up in real time, your hot slick flowing out of you as if you were a leaking faucet, slowly dripping down from her chin and settling atop of the exposed skin of her bare breasts.

Which only made her move with more efficiency, her tongue slowly curled inside of you, caressing your g-spot as the tip of her nose pressed into your clit and you lost control of your every sense. Gasping for air as pleasure coursed through your trembling form, blurry white stars filled your vision as your eyes crossed and the taste of something metallic coated your tongue as you harshly bit down on your lower lip before you were screaming incoherently, her name sinfully intermixed.

You felt her smirk against your thigh and couldn't help but to smile yourself as you felt her kiss up your body with a softness that transcended all prior carnality. There was this break in the tension as she tenderly locked her lips to yours, tongues dancing around the other as her hands anchored to your chest, fondling the malleable skin as if it was second nature. Soft whines reverberated into her mouth the longer that she played with your sensitive breasts as she kissed you dumb.

Eventually the blonde felt this intense urge to satiate her own body, so she pulled back and you whimpered. "Fuck, you're so hot Y/N," she groaned as she stared at you, so beautifully spaced out, the thin line of spit tethering your lips together snapped as she grinned.

"You know, you're my celebrity crush too," she teased, finding amusement in the way you tried to shimmy away from her, but her hands firmly pressed down, keeping your body stilled by her grip on your breasts.

"Don't try and run now darling," she purred against your neck, her face having dipped down so that she could finish the job she started during your shoot.

"Scar, th-the movie," you warned but she simply didn't care, the woman chuckled against your skin, "Oh love, you know as well as I do that make up can cover this, plus, this is really just us aiding the film, you know?"

Scarlett continued on bruising your soft skin with her teeth as you couldn't, nor did you really want to, find a reason to dissuade her from her current ministrations. Just as soon as she was satisfied with her hard work she flipped you onto your stomach without warning.

A low moan left the both of you as her cunt touched down, your body shivered as her slick smeared onto the back of your thigh, the idea that you'd turned her on that much hadn't even permeated your mind until now and with the physical evidence you felt powerful. Even if she was on top, you aided her by tensing your muscles to which she rewarded you with a hoarse moan and two fingers that slid between your slick lips.

The both of your bodies moved in steamy tandem, your front being pressed further into the mattress with every rough thrust of her fingers and hips. The room soon became a lewd symphony as your skin slapped together and the both of your slick seeped and spread, all working to drown out your soft, choked moans.

With her free hand no longer on your hip you were thrown further into the depths of pleasure as her palm roughly pressed down on your abdomen just as her fingers reached your depth, your body jerked but she just kept going down until she could play with your clit.

"Mommy," you screamed the desired honorific, it almost sounded like a plea for mercy, but the blonde had none to show you, she instead slid a third finger into your core causing you to spasm uncontrollably. Which in turn tensed your muscles up even further, and sent her into a state of immense bliss, her teeth instinctively sunk into your shoulder and drew blood.

Her body had arched back then dropped to the side of yours in a matter of seconds, her fingers stayed buried within your warmth, almost like a place of comfort. It took you far longer than her to regain your composure as this was actually your fifth orgasm of the evening. The other two having happened before she caught you.

Nevertheless, you were able to form a sentence as you felt her fingers vacate your pussy, "W-what was this?"

Scarlett had been shifting to a place of comfort when your disconcerting question was aired, you caught her completely off guard but upon settling her cheek down on your bare ass she hummed softly in thought. Then as she really thought about it, imagining a future where you'd part ways after filming ended, she frowned.

"You're mine," she tiredly growled against the sweaty skin of your ass, her teeth nibbled at the round flesh as she gave you her answer (demand). "Then, now, the point is you'll always be mine Y/N so get comfortable."

"I'm plenty comfortable," you murmured, words a bit muffled as your face burrowed into your silky pillow. Scarlett smiled to herself, her heart officially settled now that she knows you understood; you were hers, this sinful endeavor was her official sealing of a deal.

Her worn down body sidled up by your side, still her strong arm wrapped around your midsection so that she could pull you close enough for her to feel your body against hers. "Goodnight baby girl, I think we've done enough work to ensure the scene will be a hit..."

—

When tomorrow came, and the scene was shot you two found it only took one go as the sexual chemistry was palpable. Maritza had winked, and mouthed a 'your welcome' thinking that you'd just won the blonde over, but unbeknownst to her this was just an encore...

Or as the sapphics would simply call it, round two.

#scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson imagine #scarlett johansson fanfiction #scarlett johansson fic #scarlett johansson fluff #scarlett johansson smut #scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson x you #scarlett johansson x y/n #scarlett johansson x female reader #scarlett johansson x fem!reader #scarlett x reader #scarlett x you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine

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thevoidstaredback · 7 months ago

Text

Every man has his breaking point. Danny's is just a bit higher than everyone else's because he's a king and has a high tolerance for absolute bull shit. No matter how strong that bar is, though, one can only bend so far before snapping.

Unfortunately for everyone around him, Danny has reached his breaking point.

"I wish I could get drunk," he stared into his drink longingly, "Or high. But mostly drunk."

"Why do ya say that?" Billy asked, tilting his head curiously to the left.

Danny sighed, "It's a long story."

"I've got time." he shrugged.

"Are ya sure?" Danny raised an eyebrow. "You don't think any emergencies are gonna crop up? Nothing you'll need to go take care of?"

Billy backed off a little, folding into his seat. "What're you talking about? I'm just some kid on the street. I ain't going anywhere."

Danny rolled his head from side to side. "Mostly, I'm talking about the JL meeting the both of us are gonna skip out on tonight."

"What-?"

"C'mon, Captain, it won't do to talk here," he stood, picking up his coffee and waiting for Billy to do the same.

Billy's eyes narrowed as he looked Danny up and down. "I don't recognise you," he whispered, "Who are you."

Danny produced another calling card from his sleeve as he sipped his drink, holding it in front of himself but not handing it over. When Billy was looking at it, he flipped it over. The white background turned matte black, all the runes in the Ouroboros turning so white that they glowed. The DP in the very middle tinted blue, pulsing with toxic green energy, slightly cold to the touch. The edges started to frost over.

Quickly, Billy pulled the card Danny had given him before from the inner pocket of his jacket. It, too, had changed to match the one Danny held, though there was no longer a DP in the middle. Instead, it said 'Phantom' in fancy calligraphy.

"No way," the kid muttered, his expression awestruck, "Phantom? That's you? No shit?"

Danny chuckled, tucking the card away again, "No shit, kid. Don't tell anyone, though. You're the only one who knows."

"Really?" he squeaked.

"Really."

***

Having someone know his whole story was refreshing, just as he's sure Billy felt good to have someone know his, too. That didn't stop him from feeling bad about dumping it all on the poor kid.

"I still wish I could get drunk," Phantom lamented."

Constantine looked up from the book he was reading. "You can't get drunk?"

"Nope."

"How'd ya figure that one out, kid?"

"Please don't call me a kid."

That's not good. The blond marked the page before setting the book to the side. Phantom had never actually asked him to stop calling him a kid. "What's wrong?" He didn't normally do the whole 'feelings' things, but the was an exception.

Phantom sighed long and sad. He didn't look up from the carpet. "I told you they were going to ask invasive questions."

"Who was it?" It was more of a demand then a question.

"Red Robin,"

"Red- I thought you would've skipped town when we were done there? I sure as hell did."

"I know you did, but I decided to stick around for a bit. Wander, y'know? Red Robin caught up to me and would leave me alone."

Oh, oh no. Those were tears. Were they? Yeah, shit, they are! John is not equipped to handle this!

Phantom sniffled. "He asked me how I died."

Fuck.

John Constantine is not easy to anger. Sure, he gets tired, and irritated, and a whole slew of emotions, but he is very slow to anger.

Phantom, he knows, is not a child. The ghost can very much take care of himself in basically every way one could think of. He saved the world on his own, several times, when he was fourteen. He became a King and Protector when he was fourteen. He died when he was fourteen.

Right now, all he could see was the child who hadn't ever been properly laid to rest. It was hard not to call Phantom a child when he seemed so small, seeking comfort from anyone. Phantom was crying. He'd retreated to the House and locked himself in Constantine's room, only talking when he was ready to, but he'd waited to cry.

Phantom didn't like crying. Every person in the JLD knew this.

No. John Constantine is not quick to anger, but he is scary when he reaches that point. Batman might be the night and vengeance and all that shit, but John Constantine was wrathful.

He sat beside Phantom and let the ghost lean into him and cry. He didn't like dealing with feelings, but this was a child in need of comfort and he was the only one around to offer it. "Do you really want me to stop calling you 'kid'?"

A sniffle and a small head shake. "No."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"...sure."

"How old are you really? As a ghost, not as a human or a halfa. How old are you?"

"Fourteen." he mumbled, "I'll never be any older than fourteen, John," he was getting a bit hysterical now, "I'll never be any older than fourteen! I-I died and-and now I have to rule and-and people keep asking and no one believes me and-!" A sob cut him off, heavy with grief and wet with tears. He cried for hours, giving up on trying to form words. Constantine let him, ignoring the wet patches on his shirt. Eventually, Phantom's sobs died down into hiccups. "I didn't...I'm- I'm sorry."

"It's alright, mate," he meant it, really and truly.

Phantom rubbed his eyes, "I'm gonna go hide somewhere."

"Not gonna share where?"

"No, I want to be alone for a while." He paused at the door, "Whatever you're gonna do, will you leave Captain Marvel out of it?"

Odd request, but, "Alright," he nodded, "I'll talk to the others." And by 'talk', he means lecture. There are boundaries that one shouldn't cross, and not asking the dead how they died should've been obvious! With his League issued communicator, John called an emergency meeting in one hour, required attendance, barring Captain Marvel. First things first, though, he needed to talk to Deadman.

Part 7 Storyboard

Tag List:

@zaiothe4th @someonebored0100 @wolfeyedwitch @angelheartgamer @nymanders @princessbelix @luminanightfall @kgne-k @bianca-hooks123 @reigning-catsanddogs @sassywombatranchhorse @dontfightmecauseillcry @soul-lime @anarinette @serasvictoria02 @the-chaos-goblin-child @confusedshades @caicie @fantasticstoryteller @randomshtickidk @itsberrydreemurstuff @blueliac @i-love-mangoes @nymanders @highimpactemotions @anarinette @sleepingdead96 @orbr @tkiesai @atomicsheepscientist @8000fangirl @shower-phantom-ideas @blep-23 @aki-bara @chasing-liberosis @weirwulf20 @mynewhyperfixation

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rosenclaws · 2 months ago

Note

Hi love, I hope you’re doing well! I’ve been a fan of (stalking but let’s not talk about it) your blog for a little while, but this is the first time I’ve sent in a request for you! Your writing for Leopold is literally the sweetest ever and you’re the only writer I know of that actively writes for him, it’s so dry out here!! I was wondering if I could request something fluffy with Leopold x fem!reader where is like the most tooth-rotting fluff you can think of. I’m talking him trying to court the reader even though it’s the modern day and that’s not really a thing anymore and shes a bit confused but loves it, a super touchy reader that loves to shower Leo with her affection, literally anything. Those are just ideas, feel free to be as creative as you’d like (and don’t be shy if you wanna make it a longer fic, I’ll take what I can get). This fandom (if I can even call it that) is such a barren wasteland for fanfics and you are such an amazing writer for him and just in general!!

Much love 💕

Courting || Leopold Mountbatten x Reader

a/n: Hi!! Okay I kinda took this in a slightly different direction so if its not what you wanted then plz feel free to send in another request (ik they're closed but I will make an exception) ALSO FUCK HES SO HANDSOME IM GONNA SCREAM

wc: 1.2k

warning: reader wears lipstick

The last thing you expected was to find a neatly written letter waiting for you when you got home. Pinned neatly to the door with a small rose attached to it. You recognized Leopold's handwriting immediately, no one else you know has such beautiful penmanship.

There’s a flutter of butterflies in your stomach as you open the letter. You and Leopold have gotten very close to each other. He’s unbelievably charming and so sweet and he’s just everything. The way he looks at you, it makes you feel like the only one in the world.

Hello my love,

I am writing to ask if you would do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner and a show this Friday night. I have found myself completely captured by your beauty, you live in my every thought. Every breath I breathe for you and every beat of my heart calls your name. I wish to court you and have the honor of calling you mine.

Your dearest Leopold

You read the letter once, and then again and again. Your fingers trace each letter. Never have you had anyone say something so precious to you before. The rose smells fresh and sweet, he must have gotten it this morning. You hurry to write him a reply, accepting his offer with great enthusiasm.

Folding the letter you press your lips the corner of the paper leaving a lipstick mark. Leopold lives just down the hall so you walk over. Just as you’re about to slip the letter under the door it swings open.

“Leo!” You squeak out as stand back up, almost knocking your head into his chest.

"Hello darling." He's dressed in casual clothes and my god you need to thank whoever introduced him to sweatpants. Anyways.

"I see you received my letter." You bite your lip as you hand over your letter. His name written as fancy as you can.

"Yeah, it was really sweet Leo." He takes the letter and you swear he blushes a little when he sees the lipstick mark. He stares at you for a while, with that perfect smile and gorgeous eyes.

"I uh, I'll see you Friday." His eyes light up at your words.

"I'll see you Friday my love." He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles.

You manage to keep it together as he shuts the door but once you make it back to your apartment you're melting. A giddy feeling you haven't felt in years. You have to wonder how he will attempt to court you in modern day. People don't really court anymore but all you care about is that you have a date with Leopold. Friday couldn't come fast enough.

You had never felt this nervous before. Spending way too long getting ready just to be done an hour early. It's just Leopold, you know Leopold. There's no reason to be nervous but you can't stop the tornado of worry brewing inside of you.

What if something goes wrong? Or the date goes horrible? What if he decides he doesn't like you anymore? What if this ruins your friendship. You shake your head and try to dispel any bad thoughts.

Tonight was going to be great. It has to be. There's a knock at the door and you quickly double check everything before opening it. Any worry still residing in your mind disappears. A beautiful bouquet of flowers is handed to you as Leopold is dressed to the nines. A crisp white shirt and black pants.

"They're beautiful." You say admiring the flowers. Fresh and absolutely gorgeous.

"Not as beautiful as you." Leopold says, barely at a whisper. Like he can't believe that you've even agreed to a date with him. He can't help but admire everything about you. To your smile, your beauty, your laugh, your voice. You're perfect.

You place the flowers in a vase and then the two of you are off. He rests his hand on your back as you walk through the city. His thumb draws circles in your back as you approach the restaurant. He's planned everything himself and he can't help but hope it's enough for you.

Dinner is lovely and the conversation flows without any awkwardness. You're talking to your friend Leopold but you know there's something more as you slowly get closer to each other as the night goes on. Hidden away in the corner booth you are free to get lost in each others eyes. Though you wish you could stay here all night he promised a show. Leopold loved the theater and he promised one day to take you and tonight was the night.

"How did you get such good seats?" You ask as he waits for you to sit before he does.

"I have my ways darling." You're hyper aware of just how close the two of you had gotten at dinner and how close you are now.

The show is interesting yes but Leopold was a very distracting man. Your hands inch closer together. Glancing over at Leopold you find him already looking at you. He waits for your silent approval, not wanting to cross an boundaries. So you take the leap. Intertwining your hands together.

A faint blush on his face and a big smile on yours. His hands are so warm and they fit so perfectly with your hand. When the show ends you reluctantly head back home. You don't want this night to end. Your hands swing together as you gush about the play.

"I had a wonderful night Leopold," You're leaning against your door, wanting so badly to keep the night going. His hair swoops perfectly in front of his forehead and he's got this pretty smile that you can't stop staring at.

"So did I, Thank you for accompanying me tonight." His eyes drift to your lips.

It's adorable seeing just how old school he really is. You know he's from 1876 but still. Modern boys pale in comparison to Leopold.

"You know you don't have to be so nervous Leo, I want to kiss you too." You say boldly.

He chuckles, ducking his head as bites his lip softly. He cups your face gently and you close eyes as he gently captures your lips in a kiss. He's gentle and sweet and you crave more. Still he pulls away much too soon. You pout slightly and he laughs.

"I know I'm much more traditional than you're used to." He traces your lips with his thumb. Admiring every little detail of your face.

"But someone as wonderful as you deserves to be treated with the upmost respect." He kisses your forehead gently.

"You deserve to be loved," Another kiss.

"To be cherished," Another.

"And to be worshiped." Words fail you completely. Leopold has rendered you utterly speechless.

"Did I overstep?" He asks, worried about you silence.

You shake your head. practically jumping into him as you kiss him. Passionately running your hands through his hair. He groans slightly as you tug on his hair. He pushes you against the wall, bracing your head with his hand as he kisses back.

"I'm falling in love with you." He whispers. A hopeful glint in his eyes.

"I'm already in love with you." You admit.

You become lost in his lips as he kisses you again. He just can't get enough. You blindly reach for the door handle and without argument pull him inside of your apartment.

Soft kisses and laughter are shared quietly between the two of you. Time ticks by but you have lost all sense of care in the world. All that matters to you is this moment. Your fairytale come to life. And it was just perfect.

#hugh jackman x reader #kate and leopold #leopold mountbatten #leopold mountbatten x reader

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chosok-amo · 2 months ago

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I know you said no physical insecurities in your rules but would it be okay to request scar worship?? (It sounds rlly weird to type this out 💀), but like a Satoru and/or sugu just giving attention to old (sh) scars?? Sfw or nsfw I just never find fics with some comfort in that area 🙏❤️❤️

SCARS TO YOUR BEAUTIFUL : GETO SUGURU, GOJO SATORU

all scars and everything, you are still the most beautiful girl to your boyfriends. and they will always remind you, every single day until they leave no room for you to feel insecure.

warning. abuse mention, scars, very, very, very suggestive, gojo being perverted as always.

wc. | masterlist

growing up with your parents as higher-ups in the jujutsu world, life was anything but easy. they were known for their authority, their unyielding standards, and their strictness, especially when it came to you. mistakes were never an option. one mistake meant one new scar, a reminder of your failure and their punishment. your body was a canvas of their expectations, etched with marks of their disappointment, each scar telling a story of falling short in their eyes. it didn't matter how hard you tried, how much you pushed yourself—your best was never enough.

being the child of jujutsu higher-ups meant the pressure was relentless. they expected nothing less than perfection. you were supposed to be a mirror of their greatness, a reflection of their power and control. yet, no matter how much you tried to live up to their impossible standards, it always seemed like you were just one step behind. a test that wasn't aced, a cursed technique that wasn't mastered quickly enough—everything was a reason for punishment. their words were sharp, cutting deeper than the bruises or scars that littered your skin.

coming home was never something you looked forward to. every visit was like stepping into a battlefield, knowing you were likely to leave with fresh wounds. sometimes it was bruises, sometimes cuts—whatever they felt was fitting for the mistake you had made, no matter how minor. it was always justified in their eyes, framed as discipline. they believed they were shaping you into something stronger, but all it ever did was break you down, piece by piece.

that morning at school, you had just returned from another visit home. you walked through the doors, the familiar hallways closing in around you as you pulled your uniform tighter, trying to cover the fresh bruise on your cheek. it wasn’t just your face; your body ached from the newest round of punishment, though you tried your best to hide it. the bruises were a deep purple and blue, hidden beneath your clothes, but the one on your face was impossible to conceal, no matter how much you tried to keep your head down.

the higher-ups, your parents included, had told the school that you were ‘sick.’ it was their usual excuse, a cover for why you wouldn’t be attending classes that day. it wasn’t the first time. the staff knew better than to ask questions. they all knew who your parents were, knew the kind of authority they wielded. no one dared to cross them. so when they said you needed a free pass to skip class, the school complied without hesitation. no one pressed you for details, and in some ways, you were grateful for that. but the silence was suffocating too. no one ever asked what really happened. no one dared to step in.

you made your way to your dorm where you always went to hide, trying to keep your head down and avoid any curious glances. you didn’t want anyone to see, didn’t want to answer the questions that might come if someone noticed the bruises. but at the same time, a part of you wished someone would—someone who would actually care enough to ask, to do something about it.

as you sat down on the floor, the ache in your body intensified, a reminder of the night before. you could still hear their voices in your head, cold and disappointed, reminding you of how much of a failure you were in their eyes. they never said it outright, but their punishments spoke louder than any words could.

as you sat down on the floor of your dorm, the pain from the fresh bruises radiated through your body. you winced as you reached to pull off your shirt, trying your best to be gentle so as not to aggravate the soreness. your back, a canvas of bruises, scars, and pain, was fully exposed, each mark a reminder of years under your parents' heavy expectations. it wasn't the first time you had come back like this, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. still, you always tried to keep it hidden, especially from those closest to you. the last thing you wanted was pity or questions you didn’t want to answer.

just as you were about to pull the shirt over your head, the dorm door swung open without warning. you froze, panic instantly flooding your body. you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was—there was only one person who would enter so casually. gojo's familiar voice filled the room, excited and light, like it always was when he saw you. “hey! guess what—” his voice cut off mid-sentence. the excitement drained from his tone, replaced by stunned silence.

geto, always more observant, had been right behind him, his usually calm demeanor now faltering as his eyes landed on your back. their eyes were glued to you, to the countless scars and bruises that decorated your skin. they'd never seen you without your shirt on. sure, they were your boyfriends, but you had always made sure to keep this part of yourself hidden from them. they had no idea about the scars, about the pain that came with them, or the story behind each one.

their silence was deafening, and you could feel the weight of their stares pressing down on you. your heart raced, and before they could say anything, you scrambled to grab the blanket beside you. with shaky hands, you pulled it over your body, shielding yourself from their shocked gazes.

“learn how to knock!” you screamed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and embarrassment. you couldn’t bear to turn around and face them. the last thing you wanted was for them to see you like this, to see the side of you you had worked so hard to keep hidden. you didn’t want their pity, didn’t want to answer their questions, and most of all, you didn’t want them to look at you any differently than before.

but the silence stretched on, and you could feel their presence lingering in the doorway, neither of them knowing what to say.

“y/n…” gojo’s usually carefree voice was unusually quiet as he stood there, his eyes fixated on your trembling frame. never in his life had he seen you like this. he’d known there were scars, had seen subtle hints before. but this? this was different. this was a reality check he didn’t know he needed.

meanwhile, geto stood silently behind him, frozen in place. his eyes roved over the expanse of your exposed skin you weren't properly covered, a mix of horror and anger bubbling up inside of him. neither of them had ever expected this, had never really let themselves consider that your parents were abusive.

the silence in the room was deafening. gojo could feel the weight of the moment pressing against his chest, his heart heavy with a mix of shock, anger, and—yes, he could admit it now—pity. you weren’t looking at them, your body still hidden beneath the blanket, but the trembling of your shoulders told him everything he needed to know. you were hurt, scared, and he could do nothing but stand there, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world for not seeing it sooner.

your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of their silence pressing down on you. gojo’s voice, normally light and teasing, was now quiet—too quiet. hearing him like that made your stomach twist. you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face the pity that was surely there in his eyes. and geto… he hadn’t said a word, but you could feel his gaze on you, sharp and burning. it made your skin crawl, your scars feeling even more exposed under their scrutiny.

the trembling of your shoulders grew worse, and you clenched the blanket tighter around you. they weren’t supposed to see this. no one was. they were supposed to laugh, to tease you about something stupid, not stand there in stunned silence, realizing the ugly truth you’d hidden for so long. you didn’t need their sympathy. you didn’t want it. and yet, the tension in the room was suffocating, their presence overwhelming.

“just go,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly despite your efforts to stay strong. you didn’t want them here, not like this. not seeing you so vulnerable, so broken. but they didn’t move. you felt them still standing there, their heavy breaths filling the silence. your frustration boiled over, and you raised your voice, “i said, go!”

the words came out harsher than you intended, laced with anger and shame. you couldn’t stand it—their pity, the way gojo's usual carefree attitude was nowhere to be found, the way geto was too quiet, too still. you didn’t want to see whatever emotions were swirling in their eyes. you didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to explain.

the coldness in your voice stung gojo's heart in a way he hadn't expected. he'd always seen you as tough, able to handle anything they threw at you. but this was different. this was raw, real pain. and he'd never been more aware of his own ignorance.

geto, too, was wrestling with his emotions. he’d always prided himself on being able to read you better than anyone, but right now, he felt useless. he wanted to reach out, to hold you, to make it better—but he didn’t know how. the silence continued to stretch on.

gojo and geto were stuck in a limbo. they didn’t know what to do, what to say. a part of them desperately wanted to help, to fix it—but they knew they couldn’t just wave a magic wand and make your pain disappear.

finally, gojo took that cautious step forward, his heart ached in a way he wasn’t used to. this wasn’t something he could laugh off or tease you about. it was real—too real. seeing you like this, so broken, so vulnerable, tore him apart. he swallowed hard, pushing through the knot in his throat as he approached you.

“y/n…” he whispered again, softer this time, as if the words might break the fragile silence between you. without waiting for permission, he knelt down behind you, careful not to startle you. his usual confidence was gone, replaced by a deep sense of care and uncertainty. gently, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth, his embrace cautious but firm, like he was trying to protect you from the very pain that had already hurt you.

his cheek rested against your back, and he could feel the tension in your body—the way you stiffened at first, trying to resist. but he didn’t let go. “oh, my baby…” the words slipped out, his voice barely above a whisper. there was no humor, no teasing like he usually did. this was different. all he wanted was to let you know he was there, that he saw you—really saw you—and wasn’t going anywhere.

his grip tightened just slightly, enough to hold you close but not enough to hurt. he could feel the scars beneath his cheek, the rough texture of skin that had been marked by years of abuse, and it made his chest tighten with anger—anger at the people who had done this to you, anger at himself for not knowing sooner.

“what… what are you doing?” you whispered, your voice trembling as you kept your eyes fixed on the floor, unable to turn around. the warmth of gojo’s arms wrapped around you gently from behind, his presence immediately soothing the chaos swirling inside you. his embrace was steady, familiar, and though he didn’t say anything at first, just feeling him there made the storm inside you calm ever so slightly.

“just here with you,” gojo murmured softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. he held you as if he could protect you from everything, his hands resting lightly on your sides, careful not to hurt you. his touch was careful, more delicate than usual, as if he was afraid to break you further. the warmth of his body pressed against yours felt grounding, like a lifeline pulling you back from the weight of everything.

suddenly, the door slammed shut with a loud thud, and you flinched at the sound, startled by the intensity. you didn’t have to turn around to know it was geto—his anger hung heavy in the air. the slam was full of frustration, not at you, but at the situation, at what you had been through without them knowing. he hated that you had been hiding this from them, that you had carried the burden alone.

without a word, geto knelt beside you on the floor. you could feel the tension radiating off him, but when he reached out to gently stroke your hair, his touch was the opposite of the storm raging inside him. it was soft, careful, meant to comfort rather than frighten. he shifted closer, tilting his head to meet your gaze, his hand moving to rest on your cheek.

the moment your eyes met his, something inside you shattered. his gaze was so soft, filled with concern, understanding, and something deeper that made the tears you had been holding back spill over. your breath hitched, and you tried to blink them away, but it was too late. the dam broke, and tears streamed down your face, silent but heavy with everything you had been holding in.

gojo and geto had never seen you like this, so raw, so fragile. it was a stark contrast to the strong facade you usually put on. but here, in this moment, there were no masks to hide behind. it broke their hearts to see you cry, to realize just how much pain you’d been in without them even knowing.

gojo felt like the biggest fool. all this time, he’d been blissfully ignorant, cracking jokes and teasing you about everything under the sun, while you were struggling with something so heavy, so painful.

geto was wrestling with a different set of emotions. anger, concern, sorrow—he was drowning in them all. all this time, he’d thought he knew you so well; he’d prided himself on his ability to understand you, to read beneath the surface. but he was wrong. he’d missed this—the scars, the pain, the whole world of trauma you’d been hiding from them.

gojo’s mind was racing. he wanted to say so many things—apologize for not noticing sooner, assure you they were here now, that they wouldn’t let anything hurt you again. but the words stuck in his throat, overpowered by the anger that was pooling in his stomach. how could he have missed this? how could he not have known?

since that day, they’ve been nothing but supportive, never prying or pushing for answers, but always there. they didn’t need to ask further, because they understood—every scar, every bruise carried a story, and they knew enough to know you’d share only when you were ready. they tried their best not to trigger those feelings or bring back the memories of your trauma. instead, they focused on making sure you knew one thing above all else: that to them, you were beautiful, inside and out.

they never missed a moment to remind you, whether through words or actions. they worshipped your scars as much as they worshipped you, tracing every mark on your body as if each one deserved to be honored. they would tell you how soft you felt, how warm your skin was, how beautiful you looked in their eyes—how, to them, you were everything.

like now, the three of you were laying on the cramped bed in your dorm, naked bodies tangled together in a mess of sheets and limbs. the bed was just right for you, but adding two boyfriends, both tall and broad like electric poles, made the space almost laughably small. not that you were complaining—you loved it. the closeness, the way you fit perfectly between them, feeling safe and cherished.

you lay nestled between them, your head resting on geto’s bare chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. gojo was behind you, his warmth pressed against your back. his hand ran gently over your scars, his fingers tracing the faded lines and new bruises with a kind of reverence. he wasn’t trying to avoid them—he embraced them as part of you, as part of what made you you.

“god, you’re beautiful,” gojo murmured against your skin, his voice soft and filled with awe, like he still couldn’t believe he had you here with him. then, he leaned down and kissed your back, right where the scars were. it wasn’t out of pity, but out of pure adoration. his lips lingered, warm and soft, as if he was trying to kiss away every bit of pain that had ever been inflicted on you.

“yeah, absolutely stunning,” geto echoed, his hand stroking your hair, fingers carefully tangling in the strands, almost reverently. his touch was gentle, in stark contrast to his usual tough demeanor. but with you, he always softened, always seemed more gentle, more loving.

he met gojo’s eyes over your head, sharing a look of understanding. they both knew they couldn’t erase your past, couldn’t make the scars disappear. but they could make sure that from now on, every touch, every kiss would be filled with nothing but love, respect, and care.

geto could see it in gojo’s actions, in every gentle touch and every soft word—the way he loved you without flinching at the scars or the memories they represented. and he knew, without a doubt, that he felt the same.

“my baby, so beautiful,” geto whisper, kissing the top of your head.

gojo continued to kiss your back, his lips tracing over each scar, marking them with his love and adoration. he knew that each mark was a part of you, a piece of the journey that had led you to them. he mumbled against your skin, his voice raspy with emotion. “our darling girl. you’re perfect. every single part of you.”

geto’s hand moved down to your waist, gently pulling you closer against his body. he wanted you to feel all of them, every inch of their warmth and love.

he looked up from your head to meet gojo’s gaze again, a wordless conversation passing between them. they wouldn’t ask you to share more, not until you were ready. instead, they would show you every day, in every action and word, how much they accepted and loved you, scars and all.

you suddenly burst into soft laughter, the sound breaking through the peaceful silence of the moment. gojo had just kissed that one specific spot on your back—right where it always tickled, no matter how serious the moment. you wriggled slightly, trying to pull away, but gojo’s arms were already around you, his chest pressed against your back.

“toruuuu, that tickles,” you said through your laughter, dragging his name, almost whining, your voice a little breathless as you squirmed in his hold.

gojo smirked and held you tighter, pinning you in place against him. a mischievous gleam shone in his eyes as he purposely nuzzled his face where he knew you were ticklish, his scruff scratching your skin.

“awh, does it?” he teased, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. “my bad. i had no idea,” he said, his words followed by another kiss to the same spot. geto, who had been watching the scene unfold, couldn’t help but chuckle at your reaction. he knew gojo’s game well—the two of them had this banter down to a science. and he had to admit, seeing the way gojo could make you laugh and squirm like that was adorable.

he shifted slightly, his hand still on your waist, and leaned over to whisper into your ear, “you’re trapped now, you know that? escape is impossible.”

your soft laughter quickly turned into full-blown, uncontrollable giggles as gojo doubled down on his attack, his scruff lightly scratching against your skin as he kissed the same ticklish spot over and over. you squirmed against him, trying to get away, but he had you pinned tightly against him, refusing to let you go.

“satoru, stop!” you gasped between fits of laughter, your body wriggling as you tried to escape. but he wasn’t letting up, clearly enjoying watching you squirm and laugh.

gojo was absolutely loving this. your laughter was music to his ears, and seeing you so playfully helpless in his arms gave him a rush unlike anything else.

he shook his head, his smirk only growing wider as he continued his relentless barrage of gentle kisses and scruff-rubs against your back. “aw, come on, dollface. i’m just enjoying your adorable little squirming,” he teased, his tone oozing with faux-innocence.

geto was sitting to the side, an amused smile on his face at the sight of you struggling against gojo’s ticklish attack. he could relate—he’d been caught in that trap before many times.

“better accept your fate, love. you’re not going nowhere with this big idiot on you like that,” he chimed in, enjoying the show as he watched you wriggle and squirm in vain.

you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe, your whole body squirming in gojo’s arms as he kept up his playful assault. the more you struggled, the more determined he seemed to become, thoroughly enjoying your helplessness. “gojo, i swear—” you gasped between fits of laughter, your sides aching from how hard you were laughing.

his scruff tickled unbearably, and the teasing kisses were too much. you managed to squeak out between laughs, “i’m gonna piss myself if you don’t stop!”

when you threatened to pee, his eyes widened. “oh no no no, we definitely don’t want that,” he rushed out, quickly shifting his grip on you.

gojo chuckled and finally, finally let up, his lips leaving your back with one final kiss. he was feeling rather proud of himself for getting you to laugh this hard, a cheeky grin on his face. geto, next to you, couldn’t help but laugh at the duo. “oh yeah, you better stop right there, or you’re cleaning the bed by yourself.”

gojo made a show of grimacing at the threat, feigning despair. “oh, come on! I was just having a little bit of fun!”

he carefully moved you off his chest and settled you between him and geto, making sure you were comfortably nestled between them. his arm snaked around your shoulders, pulling you close against him, while his other hand reached out to playfully punch geto in the arm.

“thanks a lot, suguru. now you’ve gone and ruined my fun,” he grumbled, his expression clearly exaggerated.

but he couldn’t resist teasing you a bit more, his mischievous eyes locking with yours. “though i can think of a few other activities that might make you lose control like that,” he added with a sly wink.

you chuckled, your laughter finally calming as you shifted onto your side, turning to face gojo. the teasing glint in his eyes made you roll yours, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. you leaned in closer, brushing your nose lightly against his before closing the gap between you with a soft kiss.

“you’re such a pervert,” you mumbled against his lips, the words playful, even affectionate.

gojo grinned against your kiss, clearly pleased with himself. you pulled back just a little, resting your forehead against his. “and for the record, we just finished,” you added with a smirk, “so i’m not gonna do that again, no matter how much you try to make me. no more sex.”

gojo groaned, his head falling back onto the pillow in defeat. his hand slid down your back, moving to your hip and giving it a gentle squeeze. “aww, come onnnnn,” he whined, looking up at you with puppy-dog eyes, trying to look like the epitome of innocence (which he’s far from ever being).

geto chimed in, chuckling at gojo’s plight. “you can’t blame him for trying,” he said with a smirk, “he’s just not good at denying his needs.”

gojo shot geto a mock-glare. “hey, i can definitely deny my needs,” he protested, pouting a little. “i just don’t see why i have to when i’ve got such a beautiful, available girl right here.”

he shifted slightly, pulling you closer against him. his arm wrapped around your waist, his touch possessive and gentle at the same time. “you really gonna leave a poor guy hanging?” he teased, batting his eyelashes at you.

you groaned, rolling your eyes at gojo’s dramatic display, his puppy-dog eyes doing nothing to sway you this time. “god, you’re such an animal,” you muttered, turning onto your back and pulling the sheet up to cover your naked body, playfully keeping yourself out of his reach.

gojo let out another melodramatic sigh and dramatically draped his arm over his eyes, as if he was about to lose his mind. “you’re killing me here, dollface. i’ll die without it, i swear.”

as you covered yourself up, blocking his access to your body, he pouted again, trying to look pitiful, but the effect was ruined by the amused twinkle in his eyes.

he shifted, his hand reaching out to gently tug at the edge of the sheet, attempting to pull it off you again. “come on, dollface, don’t be like that,” he whined, feigning a wounded expression. geto was watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and fond annoyance. “oh, you’ll live,” he said, rolling his eyes at his dramatic friend. “just give it a rest for five minutes, will you?”

gojo huffed, pouting dramatically and throwing geto a glare. “way to stick up for me,” he grumbled, his eyes shifting back to you, his expression now a playful mix of pleading and mock-desperation.

he reached out again, his hand running along your bare hip, fingers tracing gentle circles. “come on, dollface, pleeeasse? don’t be mean to me like this,” he pleaded, his voice thick with fake-anguish. geto let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “you’re pathetic,” he sighed fondly.

you sighed, slapping gojo’s hand lightly as it continued its slow, teasing circles on your hip. “i’m tired,” you said firmly, though your voice held a teasing edge. “you couldn’t stop last time, and i really don’t want to break my bed.”

gojo let out another melodramatic sigh, his hand stilling on your hip. he knew when he was beat, but that didn’t stop him from trying one last plea. “but dollface, i promise i’ll be gentle this time,” he pleaded, his eyes widening in mock-innocence. “i’ll be as quiet as a mouse, i swear.”

geto snorted, covering his mouth to hide his laughter. he knew gojo was just playing it up, but it was hard not to find the entire scene amusing.

you glanced at gojo sideways, unable to suppress the laugh that bubbled up from your chest. he looked so ridiculous with his wide, pleading eyes, trying his best to look innocent when you knew better. shaking your head, you let out a soft chuckle.

“you’re so stupid,” you teased, still laughing as you playfully pushed him away.

gojo made yet another melodramatic face, pretending to be heartbroken by your rejection. “aw, come on, dollface,” he whined, his bottom lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. “don’t be like that. i’m practically a saint. i can be on my best behavior.”

geto shook his head, his face full of amusement. “yeah, and i’m the pope,” he added, skepticism dripping from his tone.

you turned your head to look at geto, the sound of his teasing remark sending you into a fit of laughter. it was too easy to get caught up in the playful banter, and the contrast between gojo’s melodrama and geto’s dry humor made it even more enjoyable.

“god, he’s so needy,” you muttered, shaking your head as you pressed your forehead against geto’s bare arm, relishing the warmth of his skin against your cheek.

gojo let out a huff, feigning offense at your words. “I’m not needy!” he protested, his voice brimming with faux-indignance. “I’m just very… passionate, that’s all.”

geto rolled his eyes, a smirk on his face. “yeah, passionate about getting between her legs,” he quipped wryly, earning a glare from gojo.

gojo crossed his arms, still playing the part of the offended party. “i’m wounded, truly,” he said, shaking his head dramatically. “i can’t believe you both would team up against me like this.”

he glanced over at you, his eyes softening a fraction. “especially you, dollface,” he added, his voice going slightly softer. “after all we just did, you still won’t give me any love?” geto chuckled again, clearly enjoying this little game. “maybe if you weren’t so damn horny all the time, she might be more interested,” he teased.

gojo shot a mock-glare at geto, feigning offense at his words. “hey, I have needs,” he protested weakly, trying to sound indignant but only coming across as even more needy.

geto just rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah, like i said, you think with your dick,” he quipped back, not missing a beat. you couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange, your heart swelling with affection for them both, each in their own unique ways.

gojo muttered a sarcastic “thanks a lot” to geto under his breath, but his annoyance was only half-hearted.

he turned back to you, his eyes searching your face. “come on, dollface,” he pleaded, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. “just for a little while? i promise i’ll make you feel good.” geto chuckled, enjoying the banter but knowing this was always how it ended. he leaned back against the headboard, waiting to see how this scene would play out.

you shook your head, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you said, “no way,” your tone light but firm. then, feeling playful, you shifted slightly over gojo’s bare body, enjoying the way he squirmed beneath you.

with a determined focus, you reached over to your nightstand, opening the drawer and pulling out a joint. holding it up and wiggling it in front of his face, you grinned at his wide eyes, clearly intrigued. “how about this instead?” you suggested, your voice playful, knowing just how much he loved to unwind this way.

gojo’s expression changed from disappointment to excitement in an instant, the allure of the joint capturing his attention. “now that’s more like it!” he exclaimed, his earlier dramatics forgotten as he leaned in closer, eyes sparkling with mischief.

gojo’s eyes widened with excitement at the sight of the joint. he practically drooled like a dog seeing a bone.

geto chuckled from the side, shaking his head at his friend’s quick change of heart. “jeez, all it takes is a joint and you’re completely smitten?” he teased, a smirk on his face.

gojo shot him a glare, not even trying to deny the accusation. “hell yeah i am,” he replied, his voice thick with anticipation. “can’t blame a guy for appreciating the finer things in life.”

you leaned back against the headboard, pulling the blanket to cover your body snugly under your arms. the warmth of the fabric contrasted with the cool air of the room, making you feel cozy and safe.

as you settled in, you couldn’t help but chuckle at gojo’s antics. he turned around to lay on his stomach, his bare rear on full display, completely unbothered by his lack of clothing. it was an amusing sight, and you couldn’t resist teasing him a little, “nice, baby.”

he shot you a cheeky grin as he reached for the lighter on your nightstand, his excitement palpable. “what can i say? i like to keep things casual,” he replied, igniting the joint and taking a deep breath, the smoke curling up around him in lazy spirals.

geto chuckled at the sight of gojo’s unabashed lack of shame, his rear end just hanging out for the world to see. he shook his head, but a small smile played at the corners of his lips. he knew his friend was completely comfortable in his own skin, regardless of the situation.

geto reached over and snuggled closer to your side, wrapping his arm around your waist as he is watching gojo's casual display with a smirk. “you're such a shameless exhibitionist,” he teased, his voice tinged with amusement, shaking his head at his friend's lack of self-consciousness.

gojo, still laying on his stomach, shot geto a cheeky grin as he took a deep inhale from the joint. he exhaled, the smoke curling up around his head like a wispy halo.

you couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of gojo’s bare ass, your boyfriend completely unbothered by his state of undressing. “i don't mind tho, it's a good view from here,” you murmur, a small smirk tugging at the edge of your lips.

gojo turns to give you a cheeky grin, clearly pleased with the attention. he wiggles his rear a little, earning a snicker from geto. “see? like what you see?” he coos, his voice dripping with playful arrogance.

geto rolls his eyes at gojo’s antics, but there’s a hint of amusement in his expression. “you’re such a narcissist,” he teases, “always so full of yourself.”

gojo pouts a little, feigning offense at geto’s comment. “hey, it’s not narcissistic if it’s the truth,” he protests, taking another hit from the joint and letting out a long, lazy exhale. he looks back at you with a sly grin, his eyes filled with a mix of cockiness and playfulness. “right, dollface? you think i’m the hottest guy around?” he asks, clearly fishing for validation.

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully at gojo’s antics, but his confidence was infectious. “oh, definitely,” you said, leaning down closer to him. as your lips brushed against his, you felt the mix of smoke and sweetness from the joint linger between you. it was a strange combination, but somehow, it felt right.

gojo’s eyes flutter shut as your lips move to meet his, a contented hum escaping his throat. the combined taste of the smoke and your sweetness is indeed a peculiar but strangely pleasant one. he responds to the kiss with a lazy, languid rhythm, clearly stoned and enjoying the sensation.

geto watches the display with an air of amused affection, his hand idly tracing small circles on your hip under the covers. it’s all so damn domestic and strangely... cozy.

gojo pulls back from the kiss, his eyes half-lidded and a lazy, lopsided smile on his face. “see?” he says, his voice slightly slurred, “a man who has nothing to hide has nothing to be ashamed of,” he said with a smirk, his voice slightly roughened by the smoke. “and i definitely have no shame when it comes to enjoying a good smoke.”

he gestured with the joint towards you, offering it. “want a hit, dollface?” he asked, his tone laced with casual nonchalance.

you took the joint from gojo, smirking as you brought it to your lips and inhaled, letting the smoke fill your lungs for a moment before releasing it in a slow exhale. the warmth spread through you, a nice contrast to the playful atmosphere in the room. “not bad,” you said, handing it over to geto, who took it with a knowing smile.

gojo watched you take the hit, a satisfied smirk on his face. he was always a little amused by how you looked when you smoked; there was something about the way your eyes half-lidded and a lazy smile crossed your face that he found strangely endearing.

geto chuckled as you handed him the joint, his fingers wrapping around the familiar shape of it. the sight of the three of you sharing smoke in the intimate space was weirdly soothing, like a comfortable routine that never gets old.

geto took a deep pull, his eyes shifting to you and gojo with a contented look on his face. he held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling, the smoke curling up around him like a lazy serpent, accompanied by a low, satisfied hum. “ah, nothing like a good smoke in good company,” he remarked, passing it back to gojo.

gojo took a deep hit from the joint, holding the smoke in for a moment before exhaling, the haze swirling around him as he turned to look at you.

his expression shifted to one of playful seriousness as he said, “baby, don’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, but those scars on your back? they make you look so fucking hot.” he chuckled, a teasing glint in his eyes. “i swear, i’ll get a nosebleed every time i see it, especially when i fuck you from behind.”

a small shiver ran down your spine at his unexpected words, your cheeks flushing slightly at the bluntness of his comment.

geto chuckled from his position next to you, clearly unsurprised by gojo’s lack of tact. “way to be subtle,” he quipped with a shake of his head, his tone filled with fond sarcasm. gojo just smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction he got out of you. his eyes roamed over your body, as if to emphasize his earlier point.

he took another hit from the joint before passing it back to geto, his gaze still trained on you. “i’m just saying,” he said lazily, his voice low and slightly raspy, “seriously baby, you have no idea how goddamn hot you look with those scars,” he continued, his voice dropping a little lower as his gaze continued to roam over you. “it’s like... a visual reminder of your strength and resilience, y’know? plus, it’s pretty damn attractive when a girl has battle scars.” he paused, taking a moment to admire your figure under the thin sheet.

“and i can’t get enough of it,” he added, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of admiration and lust.

your heart raced a little at gojo’s words, warmth flooding through you as you felt a newfound sense of confidence blossoming within. you shifted slightly under the sheets, your cheeks tinted with a rosy hue as you caught his gaze, those bright eyes filled with sincerity.

“do you really think so?” you asked, your voice soft yet curious, a hint of vulnerability lacing your words. the way he spoke about your scars made you feel like they were more than just marks of your past; they were a testament to your strength, something you could wear with pride.

gojo’s expression softened as he caught the hint of vulnerability in your voice. he moved closer to you, his body mere inches away, and reached out to gently brush your hair away from your face with his free hand.

“oh definitely, dollface,” he said, his voice slightly rougher as he spoke, “it’s like... there’s no part of you that isn’t beautiful to me.” he took a moment to look you in the eyes, a sincere gaze in his own, and then his gaze roamed over your exposed body once more. “every part of you is perfect.”

“and those scars?” he added, his voice taking on a slightly more husky quality. “they’re just a reminder of what you’ve been through and what you’ve survived.”

he reached out to gently trace a finger over one of the scars on your back, his touch so light it sent a shiver through you. “they’re damn sexy,” he murmured, his words soft but filled with a hunger that bordered on primal.

geto watched the intimate exchange between you two with a small smile on his face, clearly enjoying the rare moment of sincerity from his friend. but he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little as gojo shamelessly ogled your body once more. “god, you’re so damn obvious,” he teased, shaking his head at gojo’s blatant perusal.

gojo chuckled, not even bothering to deny it. “what can i say?” he replied, “i’m a visual learner when it comes to appreciating beauty.”

you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at both of their reactions, feeling a sense of comfort in the familiarity of their banter. gojo just gave a cheeky grin in reply, obviously unashamed of his blatant ogling. he took another hit from the joint before leaning slightly closer to you, his breath warm against your ear. “can you blame me, dollface? you’re like a goddamn work of art. i can’t help but want to look my fill.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle once again at gojo's unapologetic response. he had a way of making even the cheesiest lines sound charming, and his unabashed admiration for your body was both endearing and a little overwhelming.

“look at you, aren’t you just shameless,” you tease, fingers tracing his jaw but your eyes color with tenderness as you look down at you boyfriend.

geto just shook his head again, a smirk on his lips. “you're unbelievable,” he muttered, his tone filled with a mix of fondness and mild exasperation. “i swear, you never even try to hide how thirsty you are.”

gojo chuckled, the sound low and slightly raspy as he leaned into your touch. he had no regrets about his shamelessness, and he thoroughly enjoyed the way you reacted to his words. he let out a soft scoff at geto’s remark, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “oh, don’t act like you’re any better,” he replied, his voice low and slightly challenging, as he looked over at the other man. “like you’re not just as thirsty for her.”

geto watched you take the joint from gojo, his gaze softening as the smoke curled from your lips. he took a slow breath before speaking, his voice calm but filled with a certain tenderness. “yeah, you’re right,” he said to gojo, locking eyes with you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “your scars… they do make you more beautiful. more real, more... you.”

he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearm on his knee as he continued, his tone growing more earnest. “i’m proud of you, you know? not just for surviving all the shit you've been through, but for the strength you show every day.” his eyes flickered with admiration as he glanced at your body beneath the thin sheet, not with lust but with genuine respect. “there aren’t a lot of people who could carry the kind of burdens you’ve had to bear, especially alone. but you did. and you came out of it even stronger.”

his words hung in the air, and the room felt warm, not just from the shared smoke but from the weight of his sincerity. “i admire that about you,” he added softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “you’ve never let any of it break you. that’s something not many can say.”

gojo’s smirk faded at geto’s words, his expression growing more solemn as the conversation took a more serious turn. he'd never heard his friend speak so openly and tenderly before, and it was surprisingly... refreshing.

he watched as geto spoke, a small pang of affection in his chest at the sincerity in the other man's words. he knew that while he might make suggestive and somewhat crude comments about your scars, it was mostly done out of a place of admiration and a desire to make you feel safe and desired.

gojo’s smirk faded at geto’s words, his expression growing more solemn as the conversation took a more serious turn. he’d never heard his friend speak so openly and tenderly before, and it was surprisingly... refreshing.

he watched as geto spoke, a small pang of affection in his chest at the sincerity in the other man’s words. he knew that while he might make suggestive and somewhat crude comments about your scars, it was mostly done out of a place of admiration and a desire to make you feel safe and desired.

your heart stirred at his words, a strange mix of emotions welling up inside you. you weren't used to this kind of sincerity, especially not when it came to your scars. you were used to people shying away from them, treating them like something shameful or ugly. but here, in this moment, geto was looking at them as if they were something beautiful. something worthy of admiration.

you found yourself searching for words, your mind momentarily muddled by the combination of the weed, the emotional weight of his words, and the gentle affection in his gaze.

you chuckled softly, shaking your head as you tried to deflect the weight of the moment with a lighthearted tease. “look at you two, getting all sentimental on me,” you said, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “are you sure you’re not just a couple of saps?”

gojo and geto exchanged amused glances, both of them chuckling softly at your attempt to lighten the mood. they could see through your playful facade, recognizing the vulnerability hidden beneath your teasing exterior. but they didn’t call you out on it, knowing that you needed your time to fully embrace those feelings.

geto let out a soft chuckle at your attempted jest, seeing right through the thin veil of humor. he knew you well enough by now to realize that this kind of sincere admiration and openness was a rarity in your life.

he reached out to take the joint from you, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment, and took a deep, slow pull, inhaling the smoke and holding it in his lungs for a moment before exhaling. it was just to give himself a reason to look away from your face, which was a mixture of vulnerability and resilience that made his heart ache.

“you can call us saps all you want, dollface,” gojo said with a smirk, his eyes roaming over your body once more. “but you can’t change the fact that we’re both completely smitten with you.”

he leaned in a little closer, his expression a mix of sincerity and hunger. “we’ve told you before, and we’ll keep telling you until you believe it: you’re perfect just the way you are. scars and all.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, your gaze lingering on his bare form as you felt a playful spark ignite within you. “well, you’re perfect too, especially with that little display you’ve got going on right now,” you teased, your eyes flicking down to his bare rear, fully on display as he continues to laid on his stomach.

gojo let out a laugh at your comment, his eyes sparkling with amusement. he twisted slightly to look down at himself, giving you an even better view, and wiggled his rear a little. “what can i say?” he said with a cheeky shrug. “gotta show off my assets, don’t i?”

geto chuckled as well, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at gojo's antics. but he couldn't deny that he was enjoying the sight just as much as you. gojo was an attractive man, after all, and he knew it. “can’t even keep your dignity around your own girlfriend,” he said with a smirk.

he took another slow pull from the joint, his eyes fixed on the way your gaze roamed over his friend's body. he could see the hint of hunger in your eyes, the way your tongue wet your lips slightly without you even realizing it.

gojo chuckled again at geto's remark, his eyes flickering to you for a moment. he could see the way your lips had parted slightly, the way your gaze darkened with desire. he knew that look well, and it made his heart race a little.

he rolled onto his back, sprawling out on the bed and stretching his arms above his head with an exaggerated yawn. it was a deliberate move to give you an even better view of his body, to tease and toy with your desire.

a wave of embarrassment washed over you, prompting a frustrated groan to escape your lips as you tightly shut your eyes. “oh god,” you whispered, burying your face into geto’s shoulder in an attempt to shield yourself from the sight of gojo sprawled out bare before you— fully showing his naked body and his dick.

geto let out a deep, warm chuckle, clearly entertained by how easily you were flustered. “you’re so easy to embarrass,” he teased, taking another drag from the joint before leaning towards the window to release the smoke into the open air. he rested his arm against the window frame, casually letting the smoke drift away from your room.

gojo chuckled at your reaction, enjoying the way you tried to hide your face from him. he loved how easily he could make you blush, how a simple gesture or a few well-chosen words could make your cheeks flush and your heartbeat quicken.

he smirked at geto's cheeky comment, rolling onto his side to face you both. he propped himself up on his elbow and reached out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. “come on doll face, don’t act like you don’t love it.”

he glanced over at geto, who was exhaling the smoke out the window, then back at you. he couldn’t resist giving you another cheeky grin. “you’re acting like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

geto chuckled quietly at gojo’s words, the sound soft and amused. he knew just as well as gojo did how easily you could be flustered. but he also knew how much you craved the attention, how you loved the way they could both make your heart race and your cheeks flush.

he took another drag from the joint, inhaling deeply before releasing the smoke into the open air. his expression was casual, the epitome of cool, but there was an unmistakable spark in his eyes as he watched the interaction between you and gojo.

“you’re so damn shy,” he teased, shaking his head at your flustered expression. “it’s almost endearing how easily you get bashful.” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully at geto’s teasing, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the heat rising in your cheeks. “i’m not shameless like you two,” you shot back, your tone light.

the teasing was a familiar back-and-forth, but it always managed to make your heart race a little faster. you appreciated their playful banter, even if it made you feel shy and bashful. the way they saw you, flaws and all, made it impossible to feel anything but grateful for their affection.

gojo chuckled at your retort, his smile widening. “hey now, there’s nothing wrong with being shameless. it’s a good quality to have,” he said, his tone laced with a hint of self-satisfaction.

he leaned over slightly to pinch your cheek playfully. “and you’re not exactly a blushing wallflower, doll face. don’t pretend you don’t like it when we pay attention to you.” geto smirked at the exchange, watching the way your skin pinked under their gazes.

“he’s got a point,” he chimed in, taking another pull from the joint. “you’re always getting all flustered.” he leaned back against the window frame, resting his forearm against the window sill. “it’s kind of cute.”

“you do love it when we give you attention,” he added, his voice low and filled with a knowing quality. “you can try to hide it all you want, but we both know how much you enjoy it when we look at you like this…”

as if to show exactly what he meant, his gaze travelled over your body once more, his eyes raking over your curves in an obvious, almost reverent way. “…like we can’t keep our hands off you, like we could devour you whole if we wanted…”

“like you’re the most beautiful thing we’ve ever seen…” gojo continued, his eyes tracing the same path as geto’s. his gaze darkened, the pupils widening slightly as he took in your figure, exposed to their sight.

he reached out to run a finger along your collarbone to the faded scars on your shoulder, the touch light and teasing. “like we can’t bear the thought of anyone else touching you except us…”

geto chuckled softly, watching the way gojo’s touch made you shiver slightly. he lifted the joint to his lips and took a long, slow pull, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling it through his nostrils. he locked eyes with gojo, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “we’d do anything, i mean anything, to keep you all to ourselves.”

you leaned in closer, your fingers brushing against geto's wrist as you took a puff from his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin linger on your fingertips. after taking a long puff, you held the smoke in your lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly, the hazy cloud swirling between the three of you.

with a teasing smile, you turned your gaze back to geto, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “oh?” you asked, your voice is playful yet sincere. “are you both that desperate to keep me all to yourselves?” you could feel the tension in the air, a blend of teasing and genuine affection, and the way their eyes glimmered with mischief only added to the intoxicating atmosphere.

gojo chuckled in response, his voice a low rumble. “you damn right we are,” he said, his gaze flicking between you and geto, a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “we’d do whatever it takes, dollface. you’re just too damn good to share.” geto let out a soft scoff, his lips curving into a smirk. “he’s not wrong,” he said, his voice quiet and confident. “we’d do anything to make sure you’re ours, doll.”

he took another drag from the joint before offering it to gojo. “we won’t apologize for being greedy,” he added, his eyes locked on your face.

he could see the way your cheeks pinked at his words, the way your breath hitched slightly, and it only increased his desire to have you all to themselves. “we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you right here, between us, where you belong.” his hand slides behind you, fingers dancing on your back around your scars. “so beautiful,” he murmur, leaning down to kiss your bare shoulder without breaking eye contact.

gojo took the joint from geto’s hand, bringing it to his lips and inhaling deeply, the smoke filling his lungs. he exhaled slowly, the haze swirling around the room, before handing it back to geto.

he watched as geto’s mouth touched your skin, the way his lips caressed your scars with reverence. it was both tender and possessive, a claim that you belonged to them, scars and all.gojo’s fingers tangled with yours, his hand gripping yours tight.

“damn right we’re greedy,” he echoed, his voice soft but firm. “and we aren’t gonna apologize for it. you’re ours, doll face. ours to touch, ours to kiss, ours to love. and we ain’t gonna let anyone else have you. ever. especially after we saw you how attractive you are with that scars— god, only thinking about it making me hard.”

geto nodded in agreement, his eyes still fixed on your face. he took another draw from the joint, his gaze flickering over to gojo and then back to you. “he’s not wrong,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “seeing you like this, scars and all, it’s making us crazy.”

his hand brushed over your bare skin, tracing the faded marks on your back. “you’re so damn beautiful like this, doll. so real and so…” he paused, searching for the right word. “vulnerable.”

you let out a soft hum of satisfaction, the warmth of their words wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. feeling emboldened, you ran your fingers through gojo’s messy hair, enjoying the softness beneath your touch and the way he leaned into your hand, a contented smile spreading across his face.

“maybe breaking a bed wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” you teased, your voice laced with playful mischief. you glanced between the two of them, your heart swelling with affection. “after all, it seems like we’d all enjoy the chaos,” you added, your eyes sparkling with excitement and desire, knowing just how wild things could get between the three of you.

gojo chuckled, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch. he loved the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, the way it made his skin tingle. “you always know how to push our buttons, dollface,” he said, a cheeky grin on his lips.

geto’s hand left your back to take another pull from the joint. he blew a stream of smoke into the air before handing it over to you. “you’re playing with fire, doll,” he warning, a hint of danger in his voice. “you know damn well how much we love your chaos.”

you let out a soft hum of agreement as you took the last hit from the joint, the smoke swirling around you, heightening the atmosphere in the room. with a flick of your wrist, you crushed the joint in the ashtray on your nightstand, feeling a rush of confidence.

turning your gaze back to gojo and geto, you smirked mischievously. “how about we close the window?” you suggested, your tone playful yet challenging. “let’s see just how well you two can break my bed.”

the excitement in your voice hung in the air, charged with the promise of the chaos that was about to unfold, and you could feel the tension shift as they exchanged glances, both of them clearly intrigued by the challenge you just laid out.

“oh, you’re playing dirty now,” gojo said with a smirk. he loved it when you got feisty and provocative. he sat up, stretching his arms out above his head and cracking his knuckles.

geto chuckled, his eyes darkening with desire as you issued your challenge. he returned the smirk, the same gleam of excitement in his eyes. he reached over to close the window with one swift motion, the air in the room suddenly feeling even more charged with tension. “you’ve got yourself a deal, doll,” he murmured. “let’s see how well we can live up to our reputation.”

they were on you in a heartbeat, their lips finding your skin and lips, claiming every inch of you. the tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with desire and anticipation.

they laid you down on the bed, their bodies pressing against yours from both sides, their hands roaming over your body with urgency. their touches were possessive, but also gentle, as they traced the scars on your skin with reverent touches.

“god, you’re so damn beautiful, dollface,” gojo murmured, his mouth attaching itself to your neck, his teeth grazing your flesh.

geto’s hand slipped down your body, his fingers tracing the outline of your figure. “sooooo goddamn perfect,” he agreed, his breath hot against your ear as his mouth moved to kiss your shoulder.

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