#I may die and all because my brain is a dick | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eoieopda · 4 months ago

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insomniac | ljh (m)

there are certainly worse ways to tire yourself out.

summary: it’s 2:00 am, and you can’t turn your brain off. thankfully, your boyfriend knows just how to scramble it. pairing: lee jihoon x reader au: established relationship type: one-shot (smut) word count: 5.2k rating: 18+ cw: reader is afab but no pronouns are used; reader has insomnia (unspecified re: prof. diagnosed or self-diagnosed); there’s a sentence about reader taking “an inadvisable amount of melatonin gummies” — don’t do this! — but they’re not impaired in any way; reader’s internal monologue is kind of angsty/self-deprecating at times; blonde!woozi has his hair in a bun, which is a warning in and of itself; completely unedited because my perfectionism has killed every wip i’ve attempted for months. ✰ minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my work. smut warnings: big dick lee jihoon™️, nipple stim, v fingering, unprotected p in v penetration, wee bit of aftercare. there are a total of six (6) orgasms in here because i believe in going big from home, incl. nipple stim & a-spot orgasms. a/n: i haven’t written anything in forever, due in large part to the fact that i’m exhausted but can never fucking sleep. i truly hope this isn’t incoherent garbage. 😵‍💫 dedicated to my fellow woozi-simping insomniac, @sailorrhansol. may we eventually rest in peace. multi permanent taglist. seventeen permanent taglist.

You should be asleep.

With the day you’ve had, you should’ve drifted off the second your body hit the sheets; and you should’ve stayed that way — unmoving, unconscious — for several hours, at minimum.

If the week’s worth of sleep debt wasn’t exhausting enough in and of itself, every single circumstance surrounding you begs you to give into the weight of your eyelids. To let yourself be lulled, just this once. Soothed.

From the vent in the corner, the gentle hum of the aircon goads you. It does its very best to convince you to curl up under the softness of your comforter, and to some extent, you’ve listened. You’re burrowed beneath your blankets with only the upper half of your face exposed, which should be more than enough to sway you.

It’s not, though.

With no ability to keep your eyes closed, you stare dejectedly at the wall in front of you. Laying on your side, gazing straight ahead, you watch the faint echoes of the city lights as they wash over white paint. Not much bleeds through the blinds, leaving only hints of cobalt and red to blend into some sleepy shade of lilac. Whether or not you want to be awake to perceive it in the first place, you have to admit it: it’s beautiful.

But it’s not enough.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down the groan building in your chest. With how closely he’s got you nestled against his body, Jihoon would feel it if you let that frustration manifest. You already ache from the sheer amount of time you’ve been policing your own posture; making any amount of noise now would interrupt the slow, delicate breaths he’s aiming into the back of your neck. Frankly, you’d rather die.

Taking his silence as a sign that you’ve remained off his radar, you let out a measured sigh, too worried that the full rise and fall of your chest will disturb him.

Nothing.

But then, the arm draped over your waist shifts.

“Fuck,” you mouth to no one.

It wouldn’t be out-of-character for Jihoon to feel the restless energy pouring out of you in waves, even in the depths of a sleep cycle. He senses every tiny change in your ecosystem long before you do. As unlikely as he is to ever admit it, it has to be exhausting to be attuned to someone so neurotic. He deserves every second of sleep he can manage to get.

You grit your teeth and demand yourself to calm down, all while refusing to acknowledge how completely your actions and commands conflict.

Maybe, you attempt to bamboozle yourself, you can sleep vicariously through him.

He’ll wake up rested, and when you look in the mirror later, the first thing you see won’t be the cartoonish bags under your eyes.

It’ll be fine.

If you go to sleep right now, you’ll get five hours and thirty —

“You haven’t unclenched a single muscle since you climbed into bed,” notes the world’s groggiest voice from over your shoulder.

Jihoon’s lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck when he speaks. Without that tickling sensation, you might’ve deluded yourself into thinking that you were simply hearing things just now. That it was merely a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and the inadvisable number of melatonin gummies you ate before brushing your teeth.

He shifts again. This time, there’s no mistaking his movements. The arm slung over your side pulls you closer. So close, in fact, that you can feel the contented sigh leave his body, like his isn’t separate from yours at all.

With the distance erased, his face — the cold tip of his nose and the sheet-creased warmth of his cheeks — can nuzzle properly into the crook of your neck. You swear you feel the hint of a smile there somewhere, too. If you had to guess, it matches the upward curve on your lips.

“What are we spinning our wheels over tonight?” He asks without a hint of judgment, as if your burdens are automatically his, too.

The fact that he can’t see your face doesn’t stop you from frowning. Yet again, you’ve managed to drag him into your insomnia. Jihoon may never fault you for it, but you don’t need him to. You’ll hold it against yourself — grudge by proxy.

“I don’t even know,” you admit with a frustrated huff. “There’s nothing coherent going on up there.” You lift your hand and gesture vaguely in the dark. “Nothing articulable, just… blender brain.”

“Mmm.”

Jihoon sounds so fucking sleepy, so at peace next to you, that it makes your stomach hurt. You wish you could be like him. For as calm as his presence makes you, you’ve learned that you’re incapable of feeling fully relaxed. At least, not in the way he is when he’s got his arms around you. He deserves to have that effect on you.

A beat passes in silence, save for his soft breathing. For a minute, you’re convinced that he’s fallen back asleep; and you pray to whoever that he has. He deserves that, too.

“How do we unplug the blender?”

You have to bite back a smile for two reasons: the way his words sound slurred when delivered directly to your skin, and the distinctly Jihoon drive he has to fix a problem that isn’t his.

When the love sickness leaves you down bad, and you forget to respond with words, Jihoon prompts you softly. “Hmm?”

He punctuates this reminder with a kiss to your shoulder, then lets his lips linger against your skin, musing, “I can think of two things that usually do the trick: getting you hotteok from that cart down the block, which is currently closed, and —”

The rest of that thought fades out. Leaving you on the edge of your seat, Jihoon continues to kiss a languid line along the perimeter of your shoulder, as if he’s conducting some meticulous, geographical survey. Like missing a single spot will have grave consequences. A perfectionist through and through, even half-asleep.

You feel yourself melting, bit by bit, into his torso; the warmth of his bare chest against your back only expedites the process. Nevertheless, you peep, “What’s the second thing?”

His answer comes with a slip of his hand, down down down along the slope of your waist to your hip, long before he verbalizes it. It’s simple, delivered in that rough, early-morning voice you love so much. It’s more than enough to make you shiver:

“Making you cum.”

But as crazy as that statement makes you, you can’t make yourself act on it.

At any other time, you’d jump on that opportunity — jump on him — in a heartbeat. All you’re able to do now is jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound.

Somewhere, deep down, you know he wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t truly want it, want you; but that goddamned, sleep-deprived goblin taking up space in the far reaches of your mind is far louder than the voice of reason.

He’s only offering so you’ll stop keeping him awake.

He’s as exhausted as you are, if not more so for having to deal with your disorder again.

Burden.

Placing your hand on top of his, you slip your fingers into the spaces you find and squeeze once for emphasis. “I love you,” you start. He stills. “But, Jihoon, you’re so tired. I can hear it in your voice. Please, go back to sleep. It’s okay — I’m okay.”

Jihoon doesn’t push back. He stays within bounds, honors your shitty decision because, after all, it’s yours to make. With another kiss to your shoulder and a squeeze to your hand, he murmurs, “Love you,” before relaxing back against the pillows.

Minutes pass.

Maybe hours, for all you know.

As the window of opportunity creaks shut, regret seeps through the gap. You know you’re wrong; you know he meant it; and you know that someone would have to be out of their fucking gourd to politely decline what he’s offering.

The unbearable heat licking up your neck is either embarrassment or the ghost of orgasms lost coming to haunt you.

Maybe you’d be better equipped to tell the difference if you could just — fucking — sleep.

Driven half mad, you try to keep from squirming.

You fail.

Maybe, since you can’t sleep, you and your wilted little brain should’ve let your perfect, empathetic boyfriend fu —

“That’s enough,” Jihoon grunts.

The hand underneath yours is suddenly above it, overtaking it and tugging carefully until your whole body moves. In the time it takes for you to roll from your side, Jihoon sits up and clears space for your frame to settle. You barely have time to blink dumbly up at him from your back before he cages you in with one hand on either side of your head, knees now on either side of your thighs.

Your breath seems to have gotten lost in the fray, but it’s not the sudden moves that shook it loose; it’s the sight of him looming over you, damn near scowling despite his lead-lidded eyes. It’s the disheveled bun of platinum hair at the crown of his head, which must’ve shifted in his sleep and spilled out the tendrils that now frame his set jaw.

The very best you can come up with is, “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” he retorts without missing a beat.

That face — god, that face — doesn’t budge. On the contrary, your stomach flips. This the most stern you’ve ever seen him. Confusingly, his tone isn’t even remotely harsh when he continues, “If those gears in your head grind any louder, the whole neighborhood will be, too.”

Grimacing, you open your mouth to apologize, but Jihoon’s eyes are searching your face with a distinct flicker of concern. You know that look. You also know that nothing you can think to say will make it disappear.

He speaks when you don’t, hard edges softening slightly. “I can fix it,” he insists, though you know him well enough to hear the plea hidden in there.

Let me take care of you.

That little spark of desperation burns you up in a flash. You wonder if he can feel the fire spread when he lifts his right hand off the mattress just to swipe his thumb slowly over the edge of your cheekbone. Without thinking, you let go of the tension in your neck. Your head tilts automatically, seeking comfort you’ve only ever found in him, and rests against his palm.

“I have to admit it, though,” Jihoon confesses. “Yours isn’t the only mind that’s restless.”

He moves his hand away from your face but keeps his eyes trained on you. The incessant need you feel to apologize bubbles up yet again, uninvited. You swallow it. As you do, his fingertips trail down the length of your neck at a snail’s pace, effectively turning your thoughts to static.

“I’ve been holding you for hours now, and all that time —”

He pauses just long enough to glance down at his hand, which hasn’t.

“— I’ve been wondering if I should have you channel that energy and tire yourself out on top of me —”

His touch whispers over your collarbone. It’s the only proof that you have any bones at all. Until now, you were sure that the rest of you had melted entirely, puddling uselessly on the sheets below. This time, when you bite your lips and swallow weakly, it’s not an apology that you’re keeping to yourself but a whimper.

“— or lay you back against the pillows —”

You don’t mean to directly contradict his statement the moment he makes it, but you can’t help it. The thin, cotton fabric of your top does nothing to dull the sensation of his hand on your left breast; leaves you with the unmitigated brush of his thumb tracing delicate swirls over your nipple. The breath you’ve been holding comes out shuddered, back arching off the mattress to chase his touch.

Emboldened by your reaction, Jihoon pulls his gaze off his own ministrations and directs it through his lashes back up at you. One eyebrow momentarily flexes in challenge. “— Take my time, and —”

Whatever desperate look you give him earns you some amount of mercy. He picks up where he left off in that dizzyingly deep voice of his, words molten, and drags the hem of your shirt up your torso. “Fuck you deep, until the only thing you can do is relax.”

Gobsmacked is too weak a word for the impact that suggestion has on you. The idea alone sparks a kind of relief so foreign and so sorely needed that it almost makes you cry.

You don’t, thankfully.

Instead, you stagger along the borderline of babbling.

“I want that,” you announce on a shaky exhale. Then, with a shake of your head, you correct yourself, “No, it’s not even want. It’s —” Frustration over your inability to form a coherent thought drives you to scrub your hands over your face. “— need. I need you.”

You accompany that declaration by slapping your hands down at your sides, finishing off with a muted thump when your palms hit the mattress with enough force to bounce them upwards again.

Even with your eyes screwed shut, you know Jihoon is sitting back on his knees, watching you with equal parts surprise and amusement. There’s no need to open them to confirm it, but you do anyway. His pupils have dilated widely enough to rival the moon floating over the skyline.

Though he’d be well within bounds to tell you to chill the fuck out, he doesn’t. He never has, as far as you can recall. In fact, Jihoon doesn’t say a thing. His hands speak for him, reaching for the shirt he so nearly got off your body before you lost whatever was left of your mind.

Keeping his word, as always, Jihoon takes his time. He takes care in sliding that tank top up and over your head without snagging your earrings, then he wordlessly drops it off the side of the bed to be forgotten about.

With your chest bare, it’s obvious how rapid your breathing is. Noting the quick rise and fall, he traces the curve of your waist with the side of his right index finger and softly says the quiet part out loud: “Let me take care of you.”

And you do.

You let him maneuver your body so he can settle with one knee between your thighs, rather than straddle them. You let go of your death grip on the sheets and thread your fingers through his hair when he leans back down to kiss you; and when he licks into your mouth, you let him swallow the moan that builds under the delicious weight of his body on yours.

Already, you feel every shitty, stupid thought begin to dissolve. You should’ve known this would be the case.

He said he’d fix it, didn't he?

And here he is, proving to you that his touch is magic. All it takes to coax the tension out of your muscles is the tender pass of his hand.

Whatever effect Jihoon has on you seems to be mutual. When he pulls back, he’s equally as breathless, likely just as starry-eyed. Awash in that lilac glow peeking in from the outside, he’s downright celestial — almost too divine to look at directly without watering eyes.

Undeterred, you stare right back at him and sigh, “You’re beautiful.”

His nose scrunches for a split second, just like it always does when you make him suffer through a compliment. Your exposure therapy is working, though. For once, Jihoon doesn’t groan or tell you to keep your praise to yourself. The corner of his mouth curves upward — just barely — and he shakes his head.

“I mean it,” you quietly insist.

Smirking slightly, he extends the index finger on his right hand and holds it to his lips. “You’re relaxing, remember?”

Though you could double-down, any fight you might’ve had in you fizzles out the second he bows his head and connects his lips to the underside of your jaw. Your head tilts further back with every centimeter he trails down the length of your neck, granting him increased access to wreck you even further. You have to keep your hands on whatever you can grip of his biceps — which ultimately isn’t much at all — to keep from floating away.

“Bold of you to call me beautiful,” he murmurs against your body, “When you just exist like this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue with a man who sounds so fucking reverent. Not in good faith, anyway. He says it with the kind of sincerity that underlines an undisputed fact; and you know better than to debate an expert.

With nothing to say, all you have left is to keen and melt even further into the mattress.

Like everything else he does, the way Jihoon kisses you is rhythmic. Steady and thoughtful, each feather-light graze of his lips on your skin causes your eyelids to flutter until you eventually decide to keep them shut. To cut out the visual and hone in on the physical sensation; to be truly present in the body he can’t get enough of.

As it turns out, being present earns the gift of his tongue circling one of your nipples. Soon after, you get the plush heat of his mouth enveloping the sensitive bud; the slow, deep pull of the suction he creates.

Eloquent as always, you moan, “Fuuuuck.”

The hand not holding up his weight massages your other breast, too considerate to leave half of you lonely. Whatever gentle pressure he maintains there builds inside you, further down.

It’s incredible.

No, it’s fucking perfect.

Jihoon switches sides, grazes your other nipple carefully with his teeth, and it’s over for you. You shudder beneath his body, back arching and a breathy sigh floating out of your chest.

Apparently, he’s just as surprised by this turn of events as you are. Your eyes blink open and find him hovering over you with his jaw partially dropped, still smiling somehow.

Your questions overlap.

“Did you just —”

“— make me cum from this?”

His bemusement switches in an instant to something you can only describe as bewitched. Voice gravel-lined, Jihoon groans, “Oh, shit.” Adding immediately and twice as earnestly, “Goddamn.”

A flash of conflict makes him freeze. You know he’s facing the same internal debate that you are: he needs to be inside of you in the worst way, right now, but that’s not a conclusion the pair of you can just — leap to.

There’s simply too much of him to take if he doesn’t fuck you open with his fingers first.

Jihoon shakes his head, as if he’s telling himself no. Like he’s reminding himself of what he promised — or threatened, more like — earlier, that he’s taking his time.

As much as you want to beg otherwise, you know you shouldn’t. So, you don’t. You reach out, encircle his wrist in your hand, and bring him back within reach.

With undivided attention and darkening eyes, Jihoon watches you take his index and middle finger into your mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue circling. He fights to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, all the while professing, “You’re perfect.”

Not generally, no.

However, Jihoon has a habit of ending up correct, even if you disagree. This isn’t a battle worth picking. In this moment, you’re willing to entertain the possibility that you’re perfect for him.

A soft pop underscores your choice to release him. His mouth must’ve gotten jealous; it swiftly replaces his fingers, tongue reclaiming any territory he wrongfully assumes he’s lost.

You’d be content to stay this way forever — and likely could, if it came down to it — but Jihoon has an agenda. He sticks to it, to the letter, and in dropping his hand down your body, he lets his knuckles drag softly over the trail he blazes. The little sleep shorts you wear are moved aside, and your thighs part for him, too, offering unrestricted access.

Two fingers slip inside of you easily, no doubt aided by the orgasm that snuck up on you — the one you’re still thinking about; the one he’ll secretly hang his hat on forever, having brought it on without touching you here at all.

“Listen to you,” he smirks against your lips with a curl of his fingers.

As if you weren’t already acutely aware of the way you’ve drenched him to the base knuckles, he rolls his wrist, stroking your g-spot while the heel of his hand nudges your clit. Even the dulcet hum of the aircon isn’t enough to mute the obscenity; you hear the slick rush with every slow thrust of his fingers.

You respond with some sort of whimper. The sound barely registers without any breath behind it. If Jihoon hears it, he doesn’t let it affect his pace — just the stretch. He scissors his middle and index on the way out, then returns with his ring finger, unearthing a proper moan from the very bottom of your lungs.

His head tilts to the side. Warm breath hits the shell of your ear, prompting a contradictory shiver. “I think you’ve got another one for me, don’t you?”

Buried in you, he taps his fingers against that same, spongy spot. Every neuron you have begins to buzz.

“In fact, I think you want to cum all over my fingers,” he whispers, goading you with his rough voice dropped low. “Think you wanna soak my fucking hand, so I can fill you properly.”

You think you’ll have to apologize later for the crescent-shaped indents your nails leave on his shoulders.

When your second orgasm overtakes you, you feel it tingling all the way up at the crown of your head. Just like the first, it’s not a clap of thunder but a roll — patient. The intensity only builds, the longer it lasts. Jihoon makes sure it does — makes no adjustment to the slow, steady tempo, as it pulls you fully apart.

Every muscle you tensed as you came goes limp. It’s anyone’s guess whether you have any bones left. You’re sure that the only thing keeping you from seeping like honey through the mattress, or pooling on the floor below, is Jihoon’s body caging you in.

“Don’t ask me what my name is.” Your head droops to the side, and you mumble, “I do not remember, and I do not care.”

He kisses the temple that isn’t smushed against his left forearm, which, coupled with his elbow, now holds both of your weight. “If you’re spent, I can sto—”

“Don’t you dare.”

The emphatic look you muster lacks energy, you’re sure, but the point still stands, even if your stamina doesn’t. Half-lidded, you stare at him with all the force you can find.

“I’ll stay awake for the rest of my life if you stop now. I swear to you, Lee Jihoon, I will die on this hill.”

“Easy, tiger,” he purrs. Out of the corner of your narrowed eyes, you clock the fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The whole point of this was for you to relax.”

To prove that you haven’t lost the plot entirely, you close your eyes, rather than roll them. Then, you cave completely.

You whisper, leaving no question as to how badly you need him, “Jihoon… Please.”

“I’ve got you.” He nudges your temple with the tip of his nose. “But I can’t fuck you unless you give my arm back.”

Begrudgingly, you scoot your head several centimeters across the pillow, heaving a put-upon sigh as if he’s asked you to move a mountain instead. You give yourself a moment to mourn the loss of your headrest, then you open your eyes. As you do, any thought of pouting flies out the window.

Having crawled back to the end of your bed, Jihoon gets to his feet. Once there, he drops his hands and eyes to the loose knot cinching the waistband of his sweatpants. It’s a sight you’ve seen a thousand times — his naked chest so pale in contrast with his usual, all-black attire — yet it’s one you’ll never truly get over. Even harder to cope with is the fact that he’s never been in a hurry; not once in his goddamn life.

If you’re being honest, that’s one of the things you’ve always loved most about him. Envied, even. You fret endlessly about the process, whatever that may be; he trusts it. You scale the walls in anticipation; he’s never been caught sweating.

The best example of this comes the second he finishes addressing that knot. His sweatpants pool at his ankles; he kicks them aside; and you immediately set to wondering how in the motherfuck he managed to be so patient with you when he’s this incomprehensibly hard.

Really, you don’t deserve him.

Nevertheless, you get him anyway.

Him pushing his flyways out of his face; him reaching out slowly to hook his fingers under the elastic band of your shorts; him cursing under his breath when he tosses those shorts over his shoulder and finds you wet and wanting.

In return, Jihoon gets you right where he wants you — trembling underneath him, with pliant legs opening wider at the request of his hands on your thighs. When his body fills the space between them, those same legs wrap around his back to keep him close, just like the arms you slink around his neck.

“Deep breath,” he reminds you as he lines himself up, only half-jokingly.

It’s good advice — something Jihoon probably should’ve heeded.

He doesn’t.

You keep your eyes on his when he slides inside of you, and you swear you see his mind blow in real time. Not that you have room to judge, however. In fact, that’s precisely what’s causing you to short-circuit: the perfect pressure of his length within your heat, sinking in slowly so as to not shock the system.

When he eventually bottoms out, low moan splintering from the depths of his chest, you have to blink quickly to keep tears within your waterline.

To check in, Jihoon runs his hand along the side of your thigh then back again. “Alright?”

Whatever you say in response comes out through a dreamy sigh, framed in quotation marks by fluttering lashes. Nonsense, most likely, or never better. In either case, he’ll understand; he always does.

Placing your hand on his, you slip your fingers over the top and pull him forward. He lets you, comes down carefully until the comfort of his weight against your frame makes you feel anchored. With every inch that’s erased between you, he fills you further, pushing out whatever air remains in your lungs through some needy little whine.

Among the million sensations you have to grapple with, the most hard-hitting, ironically, is comfort. Pure and unadulterated. You enveloping him, enveloping you.

To prove it to yourself that you’re not dreaming, you slip your fingers into his hair, nails scratching delicately over his scalp. In return, he rolls his hips forward, just like he promised — slow, steady, deep. You clench around him involuntarily, a reflex your body must’ve learned to keep him close.

“Love the way you grip me, but...” Jihoon exhales a sigh against your neck, head tilted to keep your face in his periphery. Pulling out further just to thrust in deeper, he warns, “You keep that up, and I’ll cum too soon.”

He’s one to talk.

Every time he grinds his hips languidly towards yours, you have to talk yourself off the ledge.

If you let him wear you down again, you fear that there won’t be enough left of you to savor this; and you never want this moment to end. You want to live in it — to feel the delicious drag of his cock along your walls — to hear that obscene tide ebb and flow whenever he fucks himself further in you — to feel so fucking full — for as long as he gives you.

It was a valiant effort on your part, if you do say so yourself. Futile, though, because Jihoon pulls out all the stops. The next time he pulls himself from you just to roll back in, he swivels his hips as he thrusts, ensuring that you feel him everywhere.

“Oh.”

One syllable on a gasping breath, then you forget every single word in your vocabulary. Like warm molasses, bliss washes over you at half-speed, seeping in and sticking until the blender motor in your brain is fucked beyond repair.

At least you’re not the only one.

“Fuck, fuck —”

Holding him as closely as you are, you feel each muscle in Jihoon’s body tense one-by-one, rippling as your third orgasm steals his first, going lax when his release floods. “— Fuck,” he groans, all the while twitching inside you.

Though he slows, he doesn’t stop. It’s not until he pants, “Kiss me,” that you realize it: Jihoon doesn’t intend to stop.

Neither, it seems, do you.

Maybe you’re greedy. Maybe you’re too obsessed with the brush of his tip against your cervix with every gentle, shallow thrust. Maybe, above all, it’s the way his cock doesn’t soften inside of you but his face does when he catches you looking at him from under a heavy curtain of lashes.

You catch him by the mouth, just like he asked. It’s indulgent — messy, echoing the other point where the two of you connect. Licking into him while he fucks himself into you, ragged breaths barely loud enough to overpower the explicit, sodden sound below.

“Can you still speak in sentences?” He pants in a rare moment when his lips break from yours.

Can feel you in my stomach, you want to say.

“I’m — you’re gonna make me —”

You can’t choke out the words, though you suspect Jihoon gets the point. This far in, his touch reaches a detonator you didn’t even know existed; there’s no way he misses the explosion of pleasure throughout your entire goddamn body.

He’s caught in your blast radius, your walls pulsing and spasming to such an insane degree that he can barely move. Mind blown to fucking smithereens, your ears ring too loudly to hear whatever he says to you when he cums again — hard — and the arms bearing his weight buckle.

Jihoon’s flushed cheek winds up pressed to your shoulder. He stays there while your joint trembling subsides, then any muscle that could make him move is too spent to do so.

“What just happened?” He sounds as delirious as you feel. “That was… shit. What did your body just do?”

You have no idea.

You have no capacity to form any.

All you have is the weight of his frame on yours and that of your eyelids, which flutter as you try and fail to keep them open. The best you can give is a non-responsive, utterly fucked-out sound — not enough shape to be a word, not enough breath to be a sigh.

Eventually, although you can’t imagine how, Jihoon finds enough strength to shift himself off of you. You don’t see anything that happens next, but you feel it all — the kiss to your temple; the hollowness when he pulls out and the sticky rush that chases him when he leaves.

“I’m coming back to clean you up,” he promises in a hushed tone from a million miles away. Chuckling despite his own sleepiness, he adds, “Don’t move.”

I won’t, you think but don’t say.

And you don’t move.

At least, not until the smell of hotteok reaches you eight hours later.

svt taglist: @ashonheavenscloud @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @rasparagus @bouclesdefeu @ourkivee @sourkimchi @gyuguys

multi taglist: @bahng-chrizz @jihopesjoint @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon

also paging the cap gang: @daechwitatamic @yoongukie-ff

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highvern · 6 months ago

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YUCK

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: fluff, suggestive moments

warnings: mentions of illness/body fluids (snot, vomit), avoidant attachment from reader, Hoshi best boy

Length: ~2.9k

Note: more of this couples bc im crazy thank u @gyuswhore

series m.list: Houdini [s], Green Light [s, f], Talk [a, s, f], Casual [a, s, f], Mine [s], espresso [f, s]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Two and a half months of hooking up with a guy who may or may not be a furry and things start feeling…comfortable.

You’ll pretend until the day you die that every time the weekend rolls around you won’t end up naked in Soonyoung’s bed. Or your own. Usually it is your own because he has more roommates than you and yours leaves to stay at her boyfriend’s until Monday night which means there is no need to keep quiet (which you and Soonyoung both struggle with but you refuse to acknowledge that fact).

It allows for many nights bent over the kitchen counter, Soonyoung’s chest hot against the back of your thighs as he works you up with his mouth. Or occasional nights on the couch after you both are too into each other to make it upstairs to your room, planted firmly in his lap while pinning his hands to the cushions. There's also the nights he drags you straight to bed and demonstrates exactly what all the pictures you took while tucked away in the privacy of a gross bar bathroom did to him.

You’re pretty sure Soonyoung has picked up on your game by now because instead of asking ‘if’ he’s taken to asking ‘when’ he can come over. And it's annoying that it doesn’t really annoy you at all.

Soonyoung comes over on Friday nights and leaves Saturday afternoon, except when he shows up on Saturday mornings and stays well into Sunday night. Or the occasional weekend where you remember who you are and show up on his door and leave three hours later with cum still drying on your thigh as you walk past his roommates still pregaming in the living room.

Except now it's Friday and you’ve got nothing on your mind except for the inside of a toilet bowl and the cool tile of the bathroom floor.

Call it food poisoning or maybe the flu, but you’ve been in and out of sleep since the early hours of dawn. Shivering on the floor, the only company you have is a pile of dirty clothes. Even the crack of light under the door is too much stimulation for your illness-racked brain to tolerate.

“Y/N?” your roommate calls from the other side of the darkness, out in the hallway where it's safe from whatever curse is making home in your gut. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay home? I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine,” you groan. Your words couldn’t convince the deaf but you try anyway.

She responds but it slips right past because another bout of nausea takes hold.

You manage to fall asleep at some point, clammy on the floor with aching hips. Maybe an hour or maybe ten minutes. It doesn't really make a difference because you still feel like shit when the door opens and the hall light burns through your retinas.

“Hazel, I said I’m— What are you doing here?” you croak from the floor.

Soonyoung stairs down at you, face soft with something that might be worry but it’s probably just the fever melting your brain. “You look like shit.”

“You always know just what to say.” The usual snark isn’t there, replaced by a pathetic helpless whine of discomfort because all you want is to curl up and die. “Did you come to insult me or…?”

“Hazel let me know you were sick and usually sick people need medicine and soup so I brought that and this tea my mom used to give me as a kid.”

“Are you trying to cure me so you can get your dick wet?”

“No. If I wanted to stick my dick in a Petri dish I feel like there are easier ways to go about it.” He kneels right next to you like he isn’t the slightest bit concerned about catching the plague brewing in your immune system. A cool hand cups your cheek, thumb gentle at your temple where a dull throb has haunted you all day. You lean into the comforting touch without much thought. “When was the last time you showered?”

“I don’t know. Like two days ago?”

“Yeah, I can smell that. Alright my little germ cell, let’s get you cleaned up.”

His arms snake under yours, dragging you from the floor even with your muscles limp. It takes more maneuvering but you don’t bother helping. If he wants to play not-so-sexy nurse and patient then that's his problem. The warmth of his sweater is welcome though.

“Is this some weird fetish thing?” Nose buried in Soonyoung’s chest, it comes out in a jumble. “Because I can’t handle this and the furry stuff.”

“Yes, caring about your health is a fetish for me. Really gets me off knowing you’ve been a good girl and taken your vitamins.”

“I knew it.” you whisper. “I’m not calling you daddy if that’s what you want.”

Soonyoung laughs and the movement sends another bolt of pain through your skull. He tuts over your responding whimper and what may be his lips press to the side of your head briefly. It’s warm and comforting, the beat of his heart lulling you into the first satisfying rest since you woke up. Your hands bunching the front of his shirt are desperate for anything to keep you steady.

Thankfully, he doesn’t release you while setting things up for a shower; accommodating for your weight with a slow shuffle and more placating coos against your hairline every time you protest a sudden jostle. The chill of the bathroom fully sets in when he pushes down your sweats and shucks off your snot stained sweater before tossing away his own. If you weren’t barely functioning it might even be impressive that he’s kept you in his arms the entire time.

“If you’re trying to fuck me, I hope you don’t mind snot.” You blow your nose against the curve of his neck just to be a bitch.

You feel more naked under the stream of water than you ever have, which is ironic given you’ve had Soonyoung face to crotch more times than you can count. Something about the non-sexual nature of nudeness, feeling the least sexy you ever have while he scrubs you down with gentle hands, turns your stomach more than before.

“I’m not trying to fuck you,” he laughs again; a thousand volts straight to the heart. “Don’t worry.”

You pop out of hiding, hurt by the idea. “You don’t want to fuck me?”

Soonyoung’s face is soft, cheeks round and hair already damp to his forehead. He isn’t disgusted by the puke on your breath or the sweat matting your hair. Or if he is, he hides it well. “I always want to fuck you but right now I’m trying to make sure you don’t die.”

You dive back into his shoulder, mind numb to anything beyond the silky feel of hands washing away days of ick. You’ve felt his hands on almost every part of your body but right now they lack the characteristic urgency from those moments where you can’t get enough of each other quick enough. He’s touching you the way he does in the glow of the moon after you’ve both been satisfied, when Soonyoung thinks you’re asleep and you let him as every curve and dip and hill of your body is covered in gentle strokes like he’s committing you to memory.

“I can do that on my own,” you argue.

The facts aren’t stacked in your favor right now but it’s the principle: you don’t need him to take care of you. You can handle it on your own. He’s only here because you let him.

“Oh, I know. Now close your eyes so I don’t get soap in them.”

He cups your face, thumbs rubbing away the sweat that's been caked on since morning. Then it’s a rough washcloth doused in the scent of your face wash but you swat it away in favor of the calluses on his fingers. If you weren’t a dead woman walking he’d never get a chance to be this close.

How is it more terrifying for someone to wipe away your boogers than let him see you naked multiple times a week? A question knotting your stomach into tight pieces as Soonyoung hums some tune you don’t recognize like he’s more than happy to do so.

Your brain stops working after so long; too exhausted from everything to think more about what this all means. Not even the familiar flat press of his front against yours can incite a response beyond content. All the world shrinks into the pitter patter of the water swirling around the drain, and the parts that are warmed by Soonyoung and the parts that are waiting to be.

When you come back to awareness, the waters off and he is whispering something into your clammy forehead.

“Hmmm?”

“I said, it’s time to get out.”

More shuffling gets you back into your room where the mattress takes your weight while he digs around for fresh clothes. You roll onto your side, clad in a towel and nothing else, resound to fall asleep then and there.

“Alright, arms up,” he commands.

You try to pull away, diving back into the pillow soaked from your hair but Soonyoung gets you up at the waist, maneuvering stiff limbs patiently.

“Do you have an armpit fetish too?” you ask with the collar stuck around the top of your head.

“And you call me a freak?”

Next is pants, and it takes a few tries for you to even consider being helpful. Soonyoung lifts each leg individually, working the fabric as far as he can. Then a few dramatic grunts from coordinating your entire body weight but you’re back in a clean pair of pajamas and tucked under the covers. Soonyoung didn’t rise to any more of your snide remarks about being naked. He simply avoiding your bare skin like it’d burn. Not even his favorite thing about you (boobs) gets any attention, just a few chuckles and more kisses into your temple.

You melt into the plush mattress, hidden beneath a pile of blankets from the cruel world that cursed you with new realizations you're not prepared for just yet.

Eyes closed the entire time, you hear Soonyoung leave without so much as a goodbye. In theory it’s what you want. Exactly how you prefer; you alone, him somewhere you can pretend all the confounding feelings don’t exist. You didn’t even want him to show up in the first place, but now that he’s been here and you’re horrifically aware how nice it feels to have someone take care of you. You miss him.

And as soon as the pit opens up, you hear someone shuffling down the hall coming towards your room.

“Alright, once you eat something you can sleep.”

The thought of food tightens your stomach more than the fact he didn’t leave you but he’s right. You need fluids and you’re not strong willed enough to get them yourself.

After the first few bites, you feel a little more human and less like a walking sack of shit. With it, the discomfort of this entire ordeal rears with a new vengeance.

“Why are you here?” It sounds like an accusation.

He doesn’t even miss a beat. “Because I like you.”

Soonyoung says it matter of factly, the same way the sky is blue and water is wet, while shoving another bite into your mouth.

You’re too exhausted for a fight right now; not with the only person making a real effort to keep you alive, but the instinct is strong after years of low expectations and plenty of disappointment.

“Why?”

“Because I just do.”

Your eyes meet over the spoon. He doesn’t look annoyed or perturbed or even angry. He likes you whether you like it or not.

“I don’t date.”

“Okay,” he agrees, wiping at the spill dripping from your chin.

“You aren’t gonna argue?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and your need for confrontation with it. “You don’t wanna date? That’s fine. I’ll take whatever I can get, even if that’s spoon feeding you on your deathbed.”

You take the next bite before commenting, “You’re so weird.”

“I like you too. Now open up for the airplane.” He makes the noise and the medicine twists your brain into actually finding it funny. “How are you pretty even when you’re blowing your nose on my shirt?”

“Deal with the devil.”

He passes you a cold cup when you brush away the remainder of the soup. One sip is all it takes.

“How did you know I like the orange Gatorade?”

“I asked Jun to give me June’s number and she gave me Hazel’s number and I asked while I was at the store.”

“You went through all that trouble just to buy me the right Gatorade?” you snort.

“It really wasn’t any trouble.”

It isn’t but it’s more than anyone else has ever done for you. The fresh wave of nausea has nothing to do with your cold.

“I’m tired,” you tell him.

The mess is cleaned up in silence. You pretend to fall asleep and Soonyoung lets you until he’s shoving more medicine your way.

You shake your head, failing to refuse because Soonyoung is doing that dumb airplane nose again and when you cough up a laugh he shoves the spoon in your mouth and you’re left with no choice but to swallow.

Then he’s up and you watch through heavy eyes as he gathers his things. You’ll blame it on the drugs loosening the clutch you have on your emotions later.

“Where are you going?” you ask with faux apathy, negated by the fist tangled in the hem of his sweatshirt in case he evaporates away.

“Home. Unless…you want me to stay?” A tug at the sweater is your answer to that horrible thought. “Oh, thank god – I was getting sad.”

You roll over, offering him your back to curl around. The muscles tensed around your spine soften when he does.

I sleep better when you’re here.

You won’t tell him that but Soonyoung stiffens for a moment and the fear you’ve said the wrong thing creeps in where fatigue hasn’t rooted just yet. But a kiss to your covered shoulder and a hand under your sweater, flat against your stomach so you stay as close as possible calms the thoughts enough you can drift off.

It’s strange. Having the heat of his body at your back without the limpness of a good fuck still coursing through your veins to thaw the parts that hate pillow talk and the stickiness that come with it.

What's even stranger is that you don’t really mind it all. If anything, it’s actually pretty nice.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

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ronearoundblindly · 6 months ago

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Not In Front of the Fish...

Jake Jensen x roommate!Reader follow up to Watch the Fish (see previous or JJ Masterlist)

Summary: You've caught Jake doing something he shouldn't, but there's no reason you can't string him along...and along...and along until the line snaps.

Warnings for smut (many references to masturbation, protected sex), horrible puns (yes, hello, I'm Ro, welcome!), heavy innuendo, trolling this poor boi as hard as humanly possible, taking the lord's name in so much vain, kinda *aggressive* foreplay, aftercare, fluff, and whipped!Jake (deserves a warning because I sure as sh*t wasn't prepared 🫠).

Blame @bigtreefest...or thank Essie, ya know, whatevs! No beta, we die drowning in the fish tank. MINORS DNI. And yes, @whiskeytangofoxtrot555, the glasses stay on 🤭 Y'all may not realize this but I myself am an ultra-awkward nerd, so I identify with Jake's struggle and yet would absolutely, endlessly tease this mothaf**ka.

"Hey, Jakey. Whatcha doing?"

Well, thank fuck he's not still hard standing there with his metaphorical dick out, the last image from your laptop's screen seared into his eyeballs of some woman taking a load in her open mouth.

"Need me--" you steadily lick vanilla ice cream off a spoon, some caught at the corner of your wide open lips "--for anything?"

He stares. He stares so intently he almost falls over. Apparently, he's leaned into his staring.

"My help, perhaps?"

Your tongue rolls across the edge of the refilled spoon.

He thinks maybe he'll cry if you keep this up, but for the love of Christ, please keep this up.

"No," he squeaks. "Just..." Must you be wearing short-shorts? Is it essential that your tank top dip so low? "...saying 'hi.'"

His hand flings out in a wave, five fingers managing to point in eight different directions because he can't commit to any sort of normal human movement.

"So... Hi."

Some ice cream drips off the spoon down your chin and to your chest.

Jake is not here right now. Jake has died.

"Sure." You wipe up your mess and keep eating. "Sweet dreams, big guy. You look ready to hit the sack after a long...satisfying...shower." You let the spoon dangle from your mouth while brushing past him, which you have to do. You have to touch him because Jake can't fucking move for the life of him, and he swears to god you made your hand sweep across the front of his hip.

He jolts to follow the contact before overwriting his hind brain. His hand slaps the wall as he catches himself trying before collapsing into a begging puddle at your feet.

He should tell you. He'd rather die.

He should admit what he's done, admit what he wants to do, but when he stops pinching his eyes shut for strength, Jake turns to find you bent over in the doorway.

"Hello, sweethearts," you coo to the fish, "what would you like to do this evening? Maybe watch another movie?"

You wiggle your butt and make this happy sort of popping noise that Jake can't unhear.

Fuck, is this a thing he's gonna have to deal with now? Listening to you watching porn? His mind instinctively scans your room for a glimpse of any toy you may have left out. He's dying, yeah, but dying to know what they look like, if he's bigger than whatever you bury inside you now.

"Jake," you repeat in a breathy way that has him swallowing his tongue. You've stood back up, holding a bowl with oozing white liquid that teeters close to the edge as it melts.

His dick could top that off in jiffy if you'd like.

He coughs. "Yeah, uh, what?"

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Fuck me, every muscle, bone, and braincell in his body screams at once.

All he manages is an anatomically-correct impression of a fish. No sound comes up from his desperate lungs. He flees to his room.

He hears you shut your door just as he shoves down the shorts he threw on and grabs a squirt of lotion from the bottle nearby.

Too many images speed through his brain all at once, cum and cream, sex and porn, your open mouth, your presented ass, that peek of cheek beneath soft fabric, the shadow along the seam where the material ran right through your folds--probably, at least, he's filling in gaps wherever he pleases--and the breathy sounds of 'Jakey' 'need me' 'help you' 'satisfying,' and 'anything.'

"Fuck me," he growls out in earnest, sparing no trick to get himself off as fast as possible. Maybe if he's quick he won't learn exactly how hot he finds all this. He already relies on you as the voice in his head.

It's like you're right there on the floor with him, cupping his balls and whispering in his ear.

So hard for me, huh? So heavy and in need of attention. Why did you wait to fuck your fist, Jakey? Had to hear me? Think of this dick filling me better than any toy...

He gasps and groans, shoving his face into the nearest side of mattress to muffle the carnal sound.

It puts his ear right next to his discarded headphones.

"Daddy was so rude just then, huh? I know. He's shy. He'll come see you tomorrow. He just needs to be all alone in his bed when he's tired. I know, I know. It makes mommy sad, too. She doesn't like to be all alone, but that's why I have you. Look at the camera and wish daddy goodnight..."

Oh, fuuuuuuuuck me, Jake wails into his sheets when he hears the sound of you blowing a kiss through the speakers.

Poor thing doesn't know you're torturing him on purpose, but at least he came...with his bare knees aching on the hardwood floor of his room and the nosepiece of his glasses digging into his eye sockets as he buries his shame in his bed.

You suggest he have the fish in his room for a while, like shared custody, but then he knows you would have access to listen to him via the livestream.

If he tells you you have to mute it every time, you'll know he might not have. If he refuses to keep the feed up or the camera functioning, you'll be suspicious of why. If he says fucking anything against your very thoughtful and adorable idea, it'll be a cold day in hell since he will endure all forms of torture just to see your elated smile as the tank is finally setup between his closet and his bed across the room from his desk.

The keystrokes from his work are too faint for the camera's microphone, and he proceeds to wear headphones for music, take calls outside, and never touch himself in his own room for weeks. Ok fine, two, he makes it two weeks.

Deprived of hearing you, which he grew rather dependent on, and needing to inconspicuously lengthen his showers, Jake is a mess.

Why didn't he record anything? Why would he??? He was supposed to get himself together like a man and either ask you out or get the fuck over it.

He even watches (but mostly listens to) porn through his headphones without touching himself in an attempt to fade the memory, but then you show up at his door, asking to visit with the 'kiddos' and checking with the Marauders if 'daddy' is treating them well.

He's not gonna make it, man.

You settle on his bed to read for a while because why the fuck would he say 'no' to you, and this is the part that does Jake in the most: his sheets smell like you after and turning in his desk chair to find you accidentally asleep in his bed just... He can't.

He's unwell thinking about how sweet you are, how fucking horrible he's being by fantasizing about you this way, how if he just had the balls to crawl over to kiss you, he'd--but he doesn't. He just gets worse.

He gets real messed up horny one evening when you're out at some fancy event with friends.

You leave wearing this dress that practically had him on his knees the way it molded to you and yet draped so smoothly in places. He thinks of his mouth molded to you that closely and his body laying so smoothly over yours.

Damn it. He has to do something. He goes into your room, and it's not that bad, he just picks up a t-shirt, that's all. He's not the world's worst perv or anything. It's not underwear, for god's sake, but on a fluke (because he has no idea how long he was in there) he climaxes at the sound of you yelling 'I'm home' from the kitchen and scrambles to the bathroom with his gym shorts wrapped around his thighs, hand still catching spurts of cum as he for sure doesn't calm down, with milliseconds to spare.

Thank fucking god you're slower to climb the stairs in heels.

He takes it back. He is the world's worst perv.

Your t-shirt mysteriously disappears until he can sneak it back into your laundry.

He runs out of floss and absently searches your drawer for--oh my god.

OH. MY GOD.

That...is a large, veiny dildo you have there. Oh fuck.

Jake slams the drawer shut without thinking.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just...just gotta put floss on the grocery list."

"Use some of mine," you call out casually.

"It's fine!" His voice was too high and he answered too fast, but if he's not mistaken, you have now invited him to poke around in your things.

He feels slightly less pervy...and a hell of a lot hornier.

It reaches a point where coming in the shower isn't enough.

He falls asleep ok but wakes restless and craving friction. There's want and then there's need, and Jake fucking needs this or he'll never rest.

He goes on as quietly as possible, thinking that getting up, going to the bathroom, and turning on the exhaust fan will make far more noise than humping his sheets and biting his pillow.

The fish tank glows as usual at the foot of his bed.

Look away, kids, Jake thinks and immediately doesn't know whether to be sick or laugh. Daddy is gonna fucking die like this.

He knows it's pathetic. The entire thing has been pathetic from start to finish, but he's just too tired and too het up to care.

A few whines escape the insulation of his pillowcase. He misses the gentle patter of footsteps down the hall.

There's a soft knock followed by "Jake?"

God damn it. The one time he gives in, and he's already ruined it.

He tucks himself up into the band of his boxers which is not exactly subtle but can't be helped. Jake rolls out of his bed, finding his glasses in the dark to crack open the door with his body strategically behind it.

"Yeah, what's up?"

He can't make out a whole lot in the low light, but you don't say anything. Your arms are spread out to hang on either side of the frame, making your (again) very low-cut tank top his only focal point.

Well now he's sorta worried this has absolutely fuck-all to do with his problem. "Are you okay?"

"I...I thought..."

Your voice is soft and timid. It makes Jake want to wrap you in his arms, but he's still worried that you'll say you heard him and it's not okay and he's gross and this is all way, way out of line.

He holds his breath to better listen.

"I hoped you would have needed me by now."

What. Air rushes out of him like he's been tackled.

Sorry, WHAT?

"What?" the question finally falls out as he leans intensely again, shifting so the door doesn't slam in your face, his bare chest and lower half now visible as much as they can be. "You...what now??"

Your arms fall and you step forward. It looks to him like you move with trepidation, that your head is lowered in embarrassment, that somehow you're shy about your confession. Maybe you are, but only the tiniest amount compared to him.

"Tell me if I'm wrong, Jake." You slap one hand to his chest with a crinkling noise, and he swiftly moves to take the wrapped condom. "Tell me if you don't want this," you continue, lowering your voice and hand until your thumb grazes the exposed head of his cock.

Lightning strikes and super-charges his need.

"But if you don't th--"

He'll be damned if you finish that thought. Jake scoops your jaw into one big hand, angling you just-so, barreling you both into his door as it swings into his closet with a wobbling bang. He's clumsy and his grip goes everywhere to bully you flush with his body yet not drop your timely offering.

His kisses are feverish and sloppy. By the feel of you groping at his back and shoulders, you're not mad about it. He fumbles with the wrapper behind your back. It takes his attention away for a few seconds.

"I prepped for you," you whisper hoarsely. "I'm ready."

Jake has no legs at that point and takes you with him in a heap to the floor. While stripping away his boxers, he realizes his naked ass is high in the air of his room.

All he can see in his mind is fish pressed against the glass, staring, judging. Gah, not here.

He maneuvers into your hold again and says, "hang on," crawling to the hall runner so the 'children' won't see. No, he can't make it any further because his length is snuggled between your fucking thighs and somehow the hallway is a fucking mile long to your room. No, he's not immune to your whines from where your head is tucked in the crease of his neck.

Here's fine.

As gracefully as he can, Jake collapses onto you, collecting the noises he missed so much directly from the source.

For being made of such little fabric, your shorts are in his way, and he's genuinely annoyed to have to lift from you again, even though it's necessary to discard them and necessary to get the now-open condom rolled along his aching cock.

His glasses are already smeared from haphazardly exploring your skin. If Jake couldn't see before, he's all but blind now. The only garment close enough to try and clean them is your tank top, but he ignores it because it's still dark. He needs to feel you more than anything else in the world.

Lightly, your fingertips flicker down his abs and lead him to close the gap between you.

Jake groans as he lines himself up and easily notches into your welcoming heat. As aroused as you are, he still edges himself deeper and deeper in barely-controlled strokes, grabbing the railing at his side for leverage and stability.

He grunts instead of articulating how magnificent you feel. He moans instead of voicing what an utter blessing it is to finally fuck you. He gasps with the rolls of your hips because you taking control while beneath him just...unravels him.

This was too long coming, and he wasn't prepared.

Jake's apology for being fast to finish perches at the tip of his tongue when you cut off his words and the last of circulation to his brain.

You shake and pant, mewling 'yes' and his name, while your body squeezes him like a vice. He's being pumped to completion without moving another muscle, and, good fucking god, he has to hang on, falling to his forearm, keeping his open mouth hovering over yours.

Jake thinks maybe he just drowned and got brought back to life.

Right there, in his face are your precariously covered tits, nipples rock hard and taunting him. He doesn't care what his dick's doing anymore; he wrenches a strap down your chest and lavishes your plush flesh with attention.

Too long coming and in no way prepared... Neither were you.

Your hands brace his head, fingers buried in his short hair as you wiggle and hump at his semi-stiff cock inside you. Jake hisses in over-stimulation but doesn't stop you. He swears he will never, ever stop you.

His attentions on your breasts slow but he can't seem to let you go for a long time, long after your legs fall away from him, limp and twitching.

A pair of goodbye pecks is his parting gift before Jake nuzzles up the column of your neck and takes what little breath you've regained, curling his arms around you as his tongue curls with yours.

When he adjusts again, he realizes how sore he's getting from kneeling on the floor, and sits up to help you, too.

"Let me get--I'll just--"

Jake can almost reach a towel inside the bathroom from this position with his long arms, but he's sure to warm up the tap and trash the condom before returning to gently wipe you. He may have made a quick pass at his lenses in there as well.

You look dazed and delightfully sated, basking in the streak of light from the bathroom, leaning on your palms like you're on a beach somewhere.

"Fuck, you're stunning," he says without thought.

He...lingers a while to clean you up, overtly mapping these bits of you he hasn't seen yet.

"What took you so long?"

Jake tosses the towel up into the sink behind him and manhandles you into his arms.

"I might've ruined everything." He starts to lower you into your bed, but you don't release your arms from around his neck. "You could've kicked me out."

He's not going to argue. He won't say 'no' to you.

"Come here, you dork. You can't keep me waiting anymore."

Jake climbs into the cramped, cozy space with you, mentally noting that a bigger bed is definitely on the shopping list.

A/N: I am strategically leaving out my thoughts on the next morning for now because I'm just too excited, eeeee!

[Next part: Feed The Fish]

#jake jensen smut #jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake jensen fic

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kitten4sannie · 2 years ago

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ᴄᴏʀᴘᴏʀᴀʟ ᴘᴜɴɪꜱʜᴍᴇɴᴛ

pairing: mommy! san x fem! reader

genre: smut

summary: a naughty student gets punished by her strict headmaster.

w.c: 4.4k

warnings: mean (ish) dom! san, sub! reader, pet names, praise, degradation, so much feminization (im not sorry), roleplaying, subspace (both reader and san occasionally refer to themselves in the third person), fingering, orgasm denial, pussy slapping, impact play, color system mention, nipple play (m receiving), spit kink (might’ve went overboard but oh well), foot play?? (he steps on her pussy idk), shoe humping??, oral (m recieving), deep-throating, facial, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n: this is my contribution to the mommy! may event hosted by the lovely @whatudowhennooneseesyou <33 this was originally supposed to be something different and then i started to imagine san in a pencil skirt and yeah… here we are 🧎🏻‍♀️ if you were to take a drink of water every time i write ��mommy’ you’d prob die of water poisoning kdshf. also this is just straight filth and i’m very proud of it :3

song rec: discipline by nine inch nails

Masterlist

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As you stood outside of your husband’s home office, you closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, settling into the headspace you wanted to enter. After a moment, you knocked on the door. Buzzing with anticipation, you quickly wiped your sweaty hands across your too-tiny pleated skirt, unconsciously pulling at one of your plain white thigh highs as well. It was finally the weekend and that meant you both could have fun and blow off some steam. Your usual go-to was to roleplay, but this time you were even more excited because you had finally convinced San that it would be so incredibly hot of him if he posed as the superintendent of a university. As a step further, you encouraged him to wear some of your clothes to play the part. He obliged, of course. San never missed an opportunity to feel pretty and powerful all at once.

“Come in,” you heard a deep masculine voice come from inside the room, encouraging you to open it and gingerly make your way inside.

As soon as you saw him, it felt like someone had punched the air out of you. San was standing there leaning against his work desk with his arms folded across his broad chest, clad in an itty bitty pencil skirt that was cinched around his tiny waist, translucent pantyhose that were held by garters near the upper thighs, a pair of sleek black heels that he usually kept inside his closet for special occasions such as this one, and a simple white button-up that was neatly tucked into said tiny waist. A few buttons were undone so that you could freely view the curve that was present in between his pronounced pecs. It made your mouth water. The final touch was a pair of silver-rimmed glasses, complete with a small chain that was connected to either side of them. He was breathtakingly gorgeous. You wanted nothing more than to just rip his clothes off and ride his dick into the next millennium, but you wanted to stay in character.

“Do you know why I called you in here, Miss Y/N?” he asked, his tone short and curt, just like the skirt that clung to the shape of his hips. It rode up a bit when he pressed his ass down onto the surface of his desk.

You closed the door behind you and took a few small steps up to San, fiddling with your thumbs in a nervous manner and looking up at him with big doe eyes. “I dunno, Headmaster. I don’t remember doing anything wrong.”

He scoffed, running his fingers through his parted raven hair, appearing a bit irritated. “Surely, you must have some sort of idea, don’t you?” When you simply stood there and pressed your thighs together, San grabbed the bottom of your chin and brought you closer, his fierce gaze boring into you, a playful smirk tugging at his pretty lips. “Or is that brain of yours preoccupied with something else? Something indecent, perhaps?”

“N-no, Headmaster,” you denied weakly, giving him a tiny shake of your head, only for his fingers to squeeze into your cheeks instead, squishing your face.

“You’re a little liar, my dear.” San let go of your face and crossed one leg over the other, his skirt so high up now it made you wonder if he tucked his cock away. “Well, since you’re too prideful to admit the truth, I will tell it to you myself.” He looked you up and down, his eyes settling on the way your thin collared top didn’t do much to hide how hard your nipples were underneath it. “You’ve been a naughty girl,” he started, reaching over to run a thumb over one of your clothed buds, making you shiver underneath his touch. “And naughty girls deserve punishment.”

“How are you going to punish me?” you asked, clear arousal seeping through your words, despite the feigned fear etched into your flushed features.

San stood up from the desk and took a step to the side, his black heels pressing into the fuzzy carpet below. “Bend over the desk and you’ll find out, Miss Y/N.”

Without a second of hesitation, you laid yourself down onto San’s desk and arched your back a bit, sticking your ass out in a tantalizing way. Turning your head back to meet his gaze, you jutted out your bottom lip, whining, “I swear I haven’t been a bad girl, Headmaster. I’m good, I promise.”

“Then, what’s this, hm?” San questioned, lifting your skirt up to reveal the wet patch present on your panties, smacking his hand lightly against your clothed cunt and making you gasp. “You’re soaked, Miss Y/N. Only little sluts get wet for their Headmasters.”

“I’m not a slut,” you whined again, pouting at your husband, all while you spread your legs apart further for him.

“Oh, you’re right. My apologies.” San reached to the underside of your cunt and began aggressively rubbing it in an up and down motion with two thick fingers, his wedding band catching on your clit each time and drawing a few moans out of you. “Of course, you’re not a slut, darling.” He grabbed a tuft of your hair with his free hand and tugged your head back towards him, making your back arch painfully, his fingers still moving at a feverish pace against your clit, your arousal soaking through your panties. “You’re a whore. A filthy little whore that needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Then teach me a lesson, Mommy,” you moaned out, your head suddenly being pushed and held down onto the surface of the table by San’s hand, his grip never faltering, your thighs already starting to tremble from the onset of your orgasm. You didn’t always mean to use his pet name during a more intense roleplay, but sometimes you simply couldn’t help it.

San must’ve not minded too much either with the way he groaned behind you, suddenly sliding two digits past your panties and shoving them inside your needy hole in order to finger-fuck you as deep as he possibly could. “Yeah? Mommy should teach his naughty little girl a lesson, huh? You want my punishment, don’t you, you filthy slut?”

“Yes, Mommy…! Please punish me!” you cried out, your cunt beginning to pulse and clench around San’s fingers, moaning heavily with your face squished against the cool desk, your breath fogging up the surface of it. “I’m so close, so, so close…”

Just as your breath hitched, San withdrew his fingers from your cunt and pulled your panties down until they reached your ankles, watching as your hole clenched around nothing but air and leaked arousal down your inner thighs. “What a pretty little cunt you have here, Miss Y/N…” He ran a finger down your slit to collect some of your wetness and popped it into his mouth to clean it off. “But I think I know of a way to make it look even prettier.”

“You do, Headmaster?” you asked softly, looking back at him, your eyes glossy and slightly red.

He gave you a soft, dimpled smile, knowing he was about to turn you into a mewling, begging mess in the next couple of minutes. “Yes, darling. Now, lay on your back and spread your legs for Mommy.”

Whining at the complete loss of your high, you slowly lifted yourself off of the desk and turned around, laying back onto it but on your back this time, holding your legs underneath your knees and spreading your thighs open for him. “Like this, Mommy?”

“Mm-hmm, just like that.” San sighed at your obedience as he reached past you and across the desk, pulling a thick black paddle out from one of the drawers. He stood at your side, running the paddle along your inner thigh, watching as goosebumps appeared on your skin underneath the cold leather material. He lightly tapped the edge of it against your hooded clit, chuckling at your tiny gasp. “I’m gonna play with this pretty little cunt of yours till it’s all red and puffy for me. Do you understand, babydoll?”

You nodded as quickly as you could, squeezing your fingers into the flesh of your thighs. “Punish me how you want, Mommy. I’m a bad girl.”

“Yeah, you are a bad girl,” he agreed huskily, reeling his hand back and smacking the paddle against your cunt so fiercely it made your entire body jolt. “Count for me, princess.”

“One,” you croaked, not able to think about how much your cunt was already beginning to sting when San slammed the paddle down onto you again, the edge of it hitting your clit. “Two!”

“Good girl.” San lifted the paddle to admire how red and shiny your folds already were, letting out a pleased hum. He leaned over and spat onto your clit, watching as his spit dripped down, before bringing the paddle back down onto you for a third time.

“Three…” Smack. “F-four…” Smack. “Nnngh…five…” You closed your eyes for a moment, opening them back up and trying to blink away your hazy vision.

Noticing how fucked out you were already starting to look, San kneaded your closest thigh with his fingers. “Color.”

“Green,” you answered right away, smiling softly up at your husband. “Please, don’t hold back.”

San chuckled a bit, tightening his grip around the handle of the paddle. Keeping his eyes on yours, he leaned down towards your pussy, sending another wad of spit onto your cunt, before continuing his abuse.

Smack. “Six!” Smack. “Seven!” Smack. “Eight…!”

“Oh my goddd…” you moaned breathily, lifting one of your feet up onto the desk so that the rest of your body could go comfortably lax. Now you were starting to leak like a broken faucet, your pussy so sensitive to the touch, if you just concentrated hard enough, you could probably cum without direct stimulation.

“Oh, you dirty little painslut, you’re so wet,” San mused in a gravelly voice, fascinated with the amount of slick sliding down your puffy pussy, pressing the paddle onto you and moving it up and down to hear the sounds of your wetness.

“Just for you, Sannie,” you sighed out, squeezing your thighs tighter, preparing yourself as San reeled his hand back for the ninth time and slammed the paddle directly onto your abused cunt. Instead of counting, you let out a choked moaning sound, tossing your head back onto the table. It hurt so, so good. You could hardly form a single coherent thought.

“Mm, I didn’t hear a number,” San chided, sounding disappointed. He ran two fingers down your stinging, pulsing cunt, idly flicking your clit with his index finger. “Good girls can count, right?”

“Yeah, I’m a good girl. I can count, I promise,” you reassured him out of desperation, blinking a tear away from how sensitive your clit was when he flicked it a few more times, watching as San tried to move his arm back further, but was unable to with how tight the material of his top was.

Feeling restricted with his movements, San huffed, quickly unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way and pulling it off, leaving him in his tight skirt and pantyhose. “That’s better. Now, where was I?” he spoke, mostly to himself, looking back at you and noticing your wide eyes and drooling mouth. “Does Mommy’s little slut have something to share?”

As heavenly as San’s abs looked pressing against his taut tan skin, you couldn’t rip your vision away from his plump pecs and cute pink nipples, wanting nothing more than to squeeze and suck on them until pretty sounds spilled out of your husband’s mouth. “Mommy, can I please suck on your tits? Pretty please? I promise I’ll keep taking my punishment.”

San let out a gentle sigh, reaching down to sift his fingers through your slightly sweaty hair, caressing your cheek, then reaching behind your head to cup it, the paddle rubbing along your clit and making you exhale against his touch. “How can I say no to you?” He slowly brought you to his ample chest, chuckling softly at the sight of your clear excitement. “Go on, pretty girl. Make Mommy feel good.”

Sighing as well, you wrapped your lips around one of San’s soft buds, sucking and licking at it until it grew hard and pressed against the flat of your tongue. Without hesitation, you brought your hand up and gingerly groped at his other pec, squishing and kneading it inside your palm like a kitten would. “Mmn…”

“Fuck, baby girl…” San practically melted into your touch, accidentally letting go of the paddle and cupping your pussy instead, starting to palm it eagerly, knowing your clit was getting proper attention with how swollen it felt against his skin. “Baby’s making Sannie feel so good…” he sighed out, not bothering to hold back a whine when you traded one nipple for the other, latching onto it and nibbling on it this time, knowing how much he loved to be toyed with.

It was then that you felt your husband throbbing against your thigh, feeling yourself grow infinitely wetter just by knowing that his hard cock was trapped inside the confines of your borrowed skirt, the tip of it probably stuck inside the elastic waistband. It didn’t help that San spit onto his fingers and continued to abuse your clit, this time rubbing it side to side in a quick motion. “Sannieee, gonna cum,” you announced against San’s flushed, spit-covered nipple, before lapping at it like a melting ice cream cone and sending him into a deeper state of pleasure.

“Uh-uh, little…nnngh…whores don’t get to cum, unless Headmaster says so,” he replied shakily, wanting nothing more than to just give in to you, but knowing you didn’t want him to. He pulled you away from his chest, your shiny mouth connected to his perky bud by a string of saliva, reaching up to stick his thumb into your mouth and press down on your lower jaw. “Now, stick your tongue out.”

“Want Headmaster’s spit.” Looking up at him with half-closed eyes, you stuck your tiny tongue out and let out a small ‘aah’, keeping your fingers busy by rubbing both of his nipples with your thumbs the same speed he rubbed your clit, flicking it as soon as he did it to you.

Letting out an almost pornographic sounding moan from how overstimulated his chest was starting to feel, San drew a fair amount of saliva inside his mouth, before pursing his lips and letting it drip down onto your tongue in thick globs, groaning at the sight of your eyes starting to roll up underneath your glossy eyelids as you swallowed it down. As soon as your body began to convulse and your thighs trembled, San shook his head. “I thought I told you not to cum, kitten. What happened, huh?”

“I-i couldn’t help it…It felt too good,” you panted out, going lax in his strong arms, trying to recover from your high after being teased for so long. Once San gently let go of you and took a step back, his hands on his hips, you sat up, looking up at him with a pout. “I’m sorryyyy.”

San smiled mischievously to himself, motioning to the floor with his head, his glasses sliding down the slope of his nose. “On your knees, whore.”

Gulping, you slowly lowered yourself to the ground below him, spreading your knees apart for him as he lifted up one of his legs, giving you an upskirt view that made you pulse, before pressing his heel down onto your cunt, pushing and rubbing directly on your already swollen clit. “F-fuck, San…nnie….wanna cum…”

San licked his lips, digging his heel further down on your slick cunt, moving it in a way similar to how he would if he was trying to get something off the bottom of his heel. “If the little whore wants to cum so bad, then she’ll cum using Headmaster’s pretty heels, now won’t she?”

“Yes, I will! Anything you want, Headmaster.” Smiling perversely and letting out a shaky breath, you watched San slide his heel in between your legs, allowing you to sit your pulsing pussy down onto the sleek plastic. “Can I suck Mommy’s cock while I rub myself on your heels? I wanna taste you.” Seeing his brief apprehension, you pressed your cheek against the outline of his cock, rubbing against it through the soft material of his skirt. “Pretty please?”

San bit into his bottom lip, reaching behind his back to unzip the black skirt, letting it fall to the floor and revealing that he was wearing one of the newest pair of panties he had bought you a few weeks back. He had on your lacy set that had tiny heart cut outs throughout the lavender material, his veiny cock too long and hard to stay within them, instead only cupping his balls, his shiny, reddened tip exposed and dripping for your viewing pleasure. “Are you going to let Mommy throat-fuck you?”

“Mommy can use me all he wants,” you replied obediently, not even bothering to swallow all the saliva that had filled the inside of your mouth from looking at your husband’s soft curves being hugged tightly by your borrowed panties. Once you opened your mouth, San plugged it up with his thick length. You immediately got to work, hollowing your cheek and using your tongue to slide across the underside of his cock. Almost simultaneously, you began to move your hips in a fluid fashion, letting out muffled moans as you dragged yourself across his high heel.

“Look at you. You're such a filthy little girl.” San groaned from the feeling of your moans vibrating onto his sensitive skin, slowly sliding his fingers past your hair on either side of your head and clutching it somewhat tightly. “Now, Mommy’s gonna use you like a cocksleeve, alright?”

“Mm-hmm!” you encouraged him with a small nod of your head, running your hands up his muscular thighs, feeling the smooth nylon material underneath your fingertips.

With his eyes barely open, San pushed himself past your tight throat and began thrusting harshly into it, short, desperate gasps and groans escaping his throat. “Yeahhh–oh, fuck, that’s it…”

Tears began to run down your cheeks, San fucking your mouth so deeply, his pubic hair repeatedly tickled your nose, the vaguely bitter taste of his pre-cum continually dripping down your throat. “Mmmff…” was all you could verbalize, speeding up the movements of your hips and closing your thighs tightly, feeling your clit catch onto San’s heel over and over, knowing you were leaking all over it and the carpet below.

When you began to massage San’s tight balls through the panties he was wearing, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. “Fuck, where do you want Mommy’s cum, kitten? You want it down your throat or on your slutty fucking face?” he asked in between exhales, slipping in and out of your throat a few more times, before he pulled out and slapped his twitching cock down onto your face, his pre-cum and your saliva trickling down along your heated skin.

“My face, pleaseee, cum all over kitten’s face,” you babbled, so incredibly dick-drunk, you could barely form your words without slurring. Your cunt contracted around nothing, one second away from emptying your arousal all over yourself, still rutting against him with unapologetic desperation.

San groaned heavily, blowing a few strands of his wet hair out of his eyes and fisting his cock as fast as he could, questioning in a deep, throaty voice, “Yeah? Are you gonna cum from Sannie spilling his load all over your pretty little face? Huh, baby?” When you whined instead of answering, he grabbed you by the hair and angled your head back further, pushing his cockhead against your cheek and smearing more of his pre cum onto your messy face. “Answer me, whore!”

“Yes, Sannie, I’m gonna cum…! Give me your cum, please, please, please!” you cried out hoarsely, more tears spilling out of your half-closed eyes, grabbing onto San’s trembling hips and squeezing them, losing yourself completely when hot spurts of San’s cum began to land all over your face.

“That’s a good girl, letting me paint your face like this,” San sighed, his lips forming a dimpled smile, his pretty brown eyes upturned with satisfaction. He lazily stroked himself, emptying the last bit of his load onto your tongue and tapping it for good measure.

Before you could swallow, San wiped the cum from your face with two fingers and pushed them down onto your tongue. “You wanna taste?” he purred, rubbing his salty release around, encouraging you to close your lips around him and suck, cleaning them.

“San, baby,” you murmured once you swallowed, your voice cracking slightly, legs trembling, trying to stand up but unable from how numb your lower half felt.

“Oh, kitten, you made such a mess,” San cooed, smiling at the sight of your glistening thighs and bending down to lift you up from the ground before setting you down on the desk. “You’ve been so good for me…taking all of my punishment. Should I give you a reward now?”

“Cock,” you replied softly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “I want Mommy’s cock.”

“Of course you do, you little cockslut.” San nipped at your bottom lip, making you moan. He pulled away and rubbed your thighs in small circles, admiring how puffy and red your pussy looked. “How do you want it?”

Scooting off of the desk, you smiled sheepishly up at him, twirling a lock of your hair. “I want you to bend me over your desk and pump me full of your cum.”

Without a second of hesitation, San grabbed you by the hips and spun you around, pushing his hand down on your spine, making you lay flat against the mahogany table. “Filthy slut. You want me to abuse this little pussy even more than I have, huh?”

“Yes, Headmaster.” You wiggled your ass back and forth, glancing back at him. “Make a mess of me.”

San responded by lowering himself down, spitting directly onto your cunt and smacking it. He stood back up, chuckling at the gasp you let out, spitting again, this time into his hand and lubing up his cock, before slamming his hips forward into you, your greedy cunt swallowing him up completely.

“Oh my god,” you hissed out, reaching forward and gripping the edge of the desk, trying to get used to the low burn you felt in between your legs, being stretched out by San’s thick length. “Fuck me, please. Please, Headmaster.”

San began pumping himself into you with a fervor he didn’t know he had to offer, leaning his body over you in order to grab your wrists and pull them back behind you. “Like this, right?” he grunted out, the sounds of skin slapping and your heavy breaths filling the silence in the room. “Is this how a naughty girl like you wants to be used, Miss Y/N?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, a bit of drool falling past your lips, your upper half not even touching the table anymore with the way San was holding you and using you like his personal cocksleeve, his heavy cock pounding into you over and over, bringing you closer to the edge.

“Lemme guess, you want to be creampied, don’t you?” San held your wrists with one hand so that he could slam his palm into your ass, groaning at the handprint he left behind. “Hm? You want my milk in your pretty little pussy, kitten?”

“Y-esss…!”

San tightened his grip around your wrists and tugged them in his direction, making your back arch painfully, allowing him to fuck into you at a deeper angle. “Oh, fuck, your pussy’s clenching around me, babydoll. Cum for me, fuck– squirt on my cock,” he growled, drilling himself into your g-spot until he made you squirt onto his cock.

“So good, so good, it’s so goodddd,” you mewled, your wrists beginning to feel numb from how tight his grip was. Your legs trembled beneath you, feeling like jelly. You would’ve crumbled onto the floor like a ragdoll, but you couldn’t, at least not until your Mommy gave you what you wanted.

After a few more pumps inside your slick, tight hole, San let go of your wrists and collapsed down onto your back, huffing and puffing into your ear. “Here it comes, you filthy little girl. Just for my baby…Oh, god, just for you.” He let out a long, drawn-out moan that sounded more like a whine, sloppily thrusting into you until his hot load shot out and coated your walls.

You both laid there for a hot minute, trying to catch your breath and come down from your highs. San lifted himself off from you, only for your legs to finally give out, urging him to lift you up into his arms bride style. “Are you okay, pretty girl? I wasn’t too rough on you, was I?”

“Not at all, San. You were perfect,” you chimed, reaching up to caress his sweaty cheek, admiring the rosy blush imprinted on his skin.

San smiled at you and pressed his lips onto yours, only pulling away when he had to take a breath.

“Headmaster?”

“Yes, Miss Y/N?” he asked, nuzzling your cheek with his own.

You hummed at the warmth of his skin on yours, giggling a bit, looking up at him, your eyes full of stars. “Can you teach me another lesson next weekend?”

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monsterfuker3000 · 1 year ago

Text

A Lesson in Dining Etiquette ₊˚⊹♡

This is technically a part two to Training Room but can totally be read as a standalone! It took me so long to write this I’m so sorry to my little rats. I love sucking dick. You’re all lucky my boyfriend lives far away because if he were any nearer I’d be busy sucking his dick instead of writing.

Warnings: sub-ish!Leon, afab reader, oral (m and f receiving,) cum eating, Leon wants to be a good boy for you so so bad please tell him he’s been good, not proofread we die like men, I’m sure there’s errors and I’m so sorry but I write with my pussy and not my brain. @cherrifunk babe so sorry this took so long please forgive me. I wrote this with RE2 Leon in mind bc he strikes me as a mf that would love to eat pussy but has no idea where to start.

Word count is 2.7k of Leon being my little honey bear pookie pie

“You want what?”

“Um. . . I’d like lessons, I guess?”

It had been a month since the fateful evening in the training room, and you and Leon were officially dating. In an unexpected twist of events, Leon couldn’t get enough of you after that night. He wanted his cock in you, his hands on your body, his lips and tongue on yours like he needed to fuck you to live. He was needy and whiny, but still impossibly shy. He still had doubts about his own skill, no matter how much you reassured him or reminded him that he made you cum the very first time the two of you had sex together.

Leon’s apprehension paired with his desire to constantly be buried inside you forced you to take the lead most of the time. You’d introduced him to a small handful of positions, but only a couple of them and nothing too crazy. Cowgirl was still his favorite, and he told you that he expected that to stay the case no matter what you showed him.

He’d been especially needy today. The two of you had the day off and decided to make the most of it by going on a date. You’d started the day simple, going to a mall where he promptly dragged you to the bathroom to fuck you from behind as you held on to the sink for dear life, rocking back into his thrusts and cumming down your legs. At the beginning of your relationship, Leon had expressed a worry that he may not be able to keep up with you considering the difference between your experience and his. As you clung to the sink as he rutted into you, you wondered if instead you might be the one to have trouble keeping up with him.

“Fuck, baby, thank you, thank you for letting me fuck you and your pretty pussy, need it all the time, feels so good,” he’d whined, his needy cries contrasting sharply with the way he used his tight grip on your hips to yank you back into each of his thrusts. You were sure that even without the loud moaning from the two of you, just the sharp slap of skin on skin would have still been audible through the bathroom door.

One thing you wished for him was that he would let loose a little. You hadn’t sucked his cock since that first night, and he was terrified of eating you out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, God did he want to, but he was embarrassed. He still knew very little. He was fairly certain he knew what to do with his fingers, but he wasn’t sure how to translate it to his mouth.

Tonight, however, he had a couple of beers in him with the pizza the two of you were splitting while sitting on your living room floor. He was tired of waiting.

He finished chewing his last bite of pizza, wiping his hands as it caught in his throat a bit. He was nervous, but he had to do this. He cleared his throat and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

“You okay?” you questioned.

“Can I ask you something?” he countered.

You turned to face him head on and nodded.

“I want. . .” He took a deep breath. “I want you to teach me how to eat you out.”

You choked on your own pizza. “You want what?”

His cheeks reddened. “Um. . . I’d like lessons, I guess?”

You choked down your pizza and softly smiled. “I’d love to do that sweetheart.” You leaned in and pressed your lips to his, tasting the beer on him as he whined into your mouth. He grabbed at you a little clumsily, fisting his hands into your shirt. You laughed lightly and took his hands in yours. You felt them tremble in your grasp. “Hey, baby, you okay?” you asked.

He nodded and tried to lean in for another kiss but you leaned away. “Are you sure? You seem nervous.”

His blush deepened, if it was at all possible. “I just don’t want to disappoint you,” he mumbled. You smiled fondly at him.

“I think I know a good way to calm you down, hm?” His eyes widened as you pushed him to move off the floor and sit on the couch.

“But, but I wanted to help you-“

You cut him off, settling on your knees on the floor in front of him between his legs. “Now, honey, what kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t teach the whole curriculum, hm?

He inhaled sharply and seemed to melt into the couch, making you laugh again. You reached for his belt buckle, seeing that he was already hard beneath his jeans (he’d been hard for about a half hour as he wrestled with his own insecurity, but there was no way in hell he was telling you that.) You undid his belt, hearing it clank as you pulled it free, and signaled to him to lift his hips as you pulled his jeans down just under his ass.

You reached into the fly of his boxer briefs, squeezing his cock and making his hiss as he arched his back.

“Fuck, baby, you trying to kill me?” He ran a hand through his pretty blond hair, mussing it up. You laughed, pulling his boxers down to where you’d left his jeans, leaving him fully exposed.

“Now,” you began, trying and failing to keep the mirth from your voice, “my mouth is going to be full for most of this, so this will be more of a demonstration than a lecture, okay?” He nodded, eyes wide, and you laughed again. You took him in your hand again, lowering your head to gently lick the tip of his cock, making his leg twitch. You then let your mouth fall open, sticking out your tongue to take him fully into your mouth, pressing your tongue to his balls.

“Jesus fuck, babe,” he breathed, one of his hands fisting his own hair and the other digging his nails into his own knee. You pulled off of him.

“Now, Lee, what have we talked about?” He knew you wanted him to let loose, but how were you supposed to tell him you didn’t like something if you couldn’t talk? He asked you as much, and your expression softened at his words. He had his cock down your throat and was still more concerned about your comfort. Still so cute.

“How about this? You let loose, and I’ll tap your thigh three times if I need to stop, okay?” He nodded. “Okay baby, how’s this?” You pulled your hair away from your face, taking his hand in yours and wrapping it around your hair so you could have both hands. “I want you to fuck my throat, Lee.”

“Fuck, you sure?” He asked, his cock jumping at your words and his eyes somehow getting even bigger. You nodded, once again taking him into your mouth and wrapping your tongue around the underside of his cock, hollowing your cheeks. He hissed and bucked his hips shallowly into your mouth, and you would have smiled had your mouth not been full.

You alternated between taking him all the way into your mouth and using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t fit comfortably into your mouth to give your throat a break. Leon looked down at you with that lost puppy look in his big blue eyes, tears pricking the corners.

“Please, please, n-need to cum, baby, feels so good.” You weren’t doing him any favors this time; he was going to have to take what he wanted from you. You pulled almost all the way off his cock sucking just the tip and making him whine in frustration, and something finally snapped in him. He gripped your hair harder, pulling it a bit, and used it to slide your mouth all the way down on his cock, gagging you. Finally. He fucked your mouth roughly, making tears gather in your own eyes, the lewd sounds of your choking filing the room. You could feel his cock twitch in your mouth and you knew he was getting close.

“Please, please please please, just a little more baby I promise, need to use your mouth just a little longer, s-so close” he begged even as he fucked your mouth under his own power. His breath caught in his throat and he came, crying out your name.

He pulled you off of him just enough for you to swallow his load but continued shallowly fucking into your mouth until he came down from his high. His breathing began to even out and became less ragged and he seemed to come to his senses, nearly ripping you off his cock by your hair to be met with your tear-stained cheeks and drool-covered chin.

“Fuck, baby I’m so, so sorry, did I hurt you?” You shook your head, even smiling and letting your mouth fall open to show him you’d swallowed his cum, making him blush. He wiped at your tears, still grimacing a bit.

“Well, Lee, if you still feel the need to make it up to me, we can always continue the lesson,” you teased. Leon smiled and nodded, hoping to God you couldn’t tell how sharply his heart rate had spiked. He pulled his pants and boxers back up, silently noting how easy cleanup had been since you had swallowed.

“So,” he began, "how do you want to do this? Would it be better to go to the bedroom?” You shook your head.

“I’ll just take your place on the couch, Lee. Besides, I think you’d look cute on your knees,” you teased. The light blush on his cheeks deepened significantly, making you laugh. He slid off the couch and onto the floor, allowing you to take his place.

He looked like a fucking vision on his knees in front of you; his hair still wild, eyes stil wet, his cheeks pink and his hands trembling. “Beautiful,” you whispered, and he looked up at you almost rapturously.

Coming back to yourself, you slid forward so your ass was right to the edge of the couch, and Leon reached for the waistband of your shorts without missing a beat. He slid them all the way off, throwing them haphazardly to the ground. You hooked a leg over each of his shoulders as he turned back to you, and he nearly did a double-take at your panties.

They were soaked all the way through, sticky with your slick. Did you get this wet just from sucking him off? Poor thing, you were getting him off but you were left to clench around nothing. He’d have to repay the favor. He exhaled shakily, pressing two fingers into the soaked fabric of your panties, making you gasp as he inadvertently pressed into your clit. His eyes flicked up for just a second to assess your reaction, quickly returning to your pussy. He slowly circled your clit through the fabric, the extra friction adding to the sensation. He pulled his hand away and hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties to pull them down, throwing them near your discarded shorts and returning to his original position between your legs.

All at once, he realized he wasn’t sure where to go from here. He hooked his arms around your thighs to rest his hands on the tops of them, and tilted his head at you, reminding you of a puppy. You thought for a moment.

“How about this, hm?” You asked. “I’ll show you a couple of things that feel good for me, and you put them together in a way that feels right to you, okay?” Leon hesitated for a moment, but nodded. How was he supposed to know what felt right?

You knew exactly what was going through his head, and smiled softly. “You’ll know what to do, Lee, it’ll be okay,” you reassured him, running your fingers through that fluffy golden hair. “Now, how about you start by just licking it, hm?”

He nodded, still at a loss for words, but obeyed. He lowered his head, never breaking his gaze from yours, and pressed the flat of his tongue over your pussy, dragging it slowly from bottom to top.

Holy fuck, your taste, the way you moaned and pulled softly at his hair. Leon was certain he could spend the rest of his life between your legs and never want for anything else. He brought his head back up for further instructions, absentmindedly licking his lips.

“Good boy, Lee,” you praised him breathlessly. “Now try sucking on my clit.”

He lowered his head back down, attaching his lips to your clit and sucking gently, making your toes curl.

“Fuck, baby, so good for me,” you moaned, tugging at his hair once more. Leon was fairly certain that if he had a tail, it would be wagging right now. This was going far better than he expected. If you wanted him to take the reins, he was going to fucking take them.

He immediately dove back in, taking you by surprise. He slid his tongue into you, fucking you with it and inadvertently pressing his nose right into your clit. He whined high in his throat when you yanked harder at his hair this time, using it to pull him into you harder.

“Jesus Christ, baby, so fucking good,” you whined. What Leon lacked in finesse he made up for tenfold in enthusiasm. Not done exploring yet, he switched courses.

He moved upwards to alternate between sucking your clit and flicking at it with his tongue, just the way he did with his fingers. You cried out loudly, knowing your neighbors wouldn’t be happy with you but completely unable to care. “F-fingers,” you pleaded weakly, hoping Leon would understand what you wanted.

My God, did he. He took one hand off your leg and slid his middle and ring finger into your pussy, curling them to press against your g-spot. He slid them in and out, never ceasing the attention he was giving your clit at the same time. You choked out that you were close, and Leon flicked his eyes up to yours for just a moment. You could swear that if his mouth hadn’t been full, he would have been smiling.

With a final few thrusts and a particularly hard suck at your clit, Leon pushed you over the edge. You came with a loud cry of his name and squeezed your thighs around his head, grinding against his mouth. He never stopped, and the sensation soon became too much. You used the hand you’d tangled in his hair to pull him away as you winced. He whined as you pulled him back, and God, he looked just as fucked out as you felt with his lips and chin covered in spit and your slick and his cock fully hard again.

He wiped messily at his face with his sleeve, nearly making you laugh as he pleaded with you, “Please, more, just one more.” You shook your head.

“Too sensitive right now, Lee. Maybe a little later, hm?” You bent down to press your lips to his, tasting yourself on him. “You did so good for me baby, I’m so proud of you,” you praised him, watching his eyes light up.

“Really? You liked it?” He questioned, once again reminding you of a puppy seeking validation from his owner. So cute. “When can I do it again?” He asked.

You laughed once again. “Give me some time to recover from that one and we can talk, okay?”

You’d taught Leon the importance of aftercare, and it soon became his favorite part of sex. He ran to the bathroom to wet a washcloth to wipe your slick and his spit off you, helping you back into your clothes afterwards. You laid down on the couch afterward, dragging him down with you so he could lay on top of you and bury his face in your chest. You could tell he was tired. He yawned, nuzzling deeper into your embrace.

“Thank you for teaching me,” he mused, the sentence feeling half finished as he started drifting off. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Of course Lee, now take a nap for me, hm?”

He nodded, the motion making his hair tickle at your face. “I love you,” he mumbled softly.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

AND IF YOU AIN’T A HOE GET OUT MY TRAP HOUSE

#Spotify #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #re4 leon #leon kennedy reader #re leon #re2 leon #smut #leon kennedy x reader

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monstercampus · 1 year ago

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Ellie help I have werewolf brain rot and Kirk has been living in my mind rent free the past few nights 😩 please tell me more about him, does he have a secret soft side or is being mean his love language and you know he cares about you if he's giving you a hard time? Why does he live in a dorm by himself? Where is he on the possessive scale? Honestly just tell me everything you know about him so I can simp to the best of my ability 🥺😫🙏

And actually while I'm here, anything about Elliott or Julian would also be tasty 👀👀👀 forgive me for the werewolf team fic altered my brain chemistry and I may never be the same

absolutely !! !!!!! i am at your mercy uwu <33 (this is mostly stream of consciousness so if u want more i am READY)

(cws: kirk being a sap + lore)

Kirk is very much that way--giving you a hard time is generally how he shows he cares about you. He's only truly mean to those he doesn't care about, and trust that there is a difference even when you get frustrated over his attitude in the beginning. He didn't grow up with a lot of love in his household so it's really not his area of expertise, he never really learned how to show it and only started experiencing affection when he joined the pack and made friends with all the other werewolves. Being snuggled, having his hair stroked instead of pulled, listening to his friends talk about him being handsome and smart even if he's got a shitty attitude.....it's weird to him. He doesn't hate it deep down, but he hates how it makes him feel vulnerable when he doesn't want to be.

'Vulnerable' is barely even in his vocabulary, which is why he comes at you with so much heat at first. He'd been hoping and praying that you two could boink, have a good time, and then you would pretend like it never happened so he wouldn't have to face any of those feelings he has when he looks at you. But when you don't, and when you're just so sweet, Kirk can't handle it and has to revert to what he knows: being a dick. Not nearly to the extent of how he is with other people, but just enough to keep you at arm's length in his constant fear that you're gonna end up making him feel like he isn't totally worthless. Because what would he do then? He's accepted the role of being an irredeemable, raging douchebag for pretty much all his life. He's got an attitude, his temper is awful, he doesn't consider himself that good-looking, he's got some of the worst grades out of the whole pack, he fixates on things and lets them consume all his thoughts, and he hasn't even got any palate to boot and will eat just about anything, even if it's on the verge of spoiling. He's total garbage and he's friends with a pack of people that couldn't be more perfect; Julian is incredibly charming, Portia's practically a genius, Nick is insanely handsome, Elliott is so gentle and really funny, Priam is a total sweetheart and Athos is the pinnacle of cool in his eyes. How could he even think of measuring up to all that, much less stick out among the rest and prove he's worth even a little bit of your love?

That may be the most frustrating part about Kirk--he can be the prickliest guy you know and he would die before he ever says those things out loud, but he seriously admires his friends and you yet he has little to no belief in himself. Granted, growing up he would've gotten his ass beat for showing that kind of weakness, so it's still deeply ingrained in him as an adult--especially since the pack are pretty much the first friends he's ever made on his own. And at his core, he's jealous. Jealous of them and their nice families, jealous of how well they all turned out despite going through their own struggles, jealous of how easy it is for them to be open when he's terrified of people finding out he's bi, jealous of you for being so brave and so beautiful in equal measure....so that's why the best thing he can do--in his own opinion of course--is to be your collective guard dog.

After all, Kirk isn't afraid to bite. His instincts are hard to control in his human form, could you even imagine how feral he can get when he's full wolf, or even just close to the full moon? If anything it's what he's good at; hunting, beating ass, and taking a punch. If he can't be as good as you and the others deserve, the least he can do is make sure that sweetness and the goodness of your souls isn't ever dominated by someone else. He'll spill blood, he doesn't care. He would even get suspended if it came to that, expelled, arrested, whatever it takes and he'll let the chips fall where they may. You'll know his love for you is real when he starts acting protective over you, not only when other people try to bother you but as far as your daily needs as well. Have you eaten properly? Are you thirsty? Do you need to sleep? When's the last time you stretched? He acts like it's a favour he's doing for you, like you're a little wolf that needs caring after, but in truth it settles his own self-doubts and makes him happier knowing that he's doing something for you--that he's taking care of you like a mate would, and when you smile at him or thank him for his help he just melts. He would do anything to keep hold of that smile.

.....Which is why he's got a plan in his head for after graduation. He and Nick are the oldest and thus are going to graduate first of all of you, so once that's over and done with he's got plans to start building a place for you all to properly call 'home'. It's nothing crazy--just a cabin in the woods--but if there's one thing he can confidently say he's good at it's woodworking, and he's sketched out the designs to make it everything you could ever want.

Personal rooms for you, him, and Portia who has trouble falling asleep when it's noisy. A big living room with enough sofas to fit you all. Polished oak walls like Julian grew up with and always wanted to see again. A bathtub big enough to fit Nicky's giant, muscly legs without spilling over. Tables and chairs to fit everyone and more, to fit all the family gatherings and maybe even the pups you might have one day. A garden out back where he'll plant those ugly little flowers Elliott loves. Trees and greenery around where they can run and hunt and play during the full moon, totally obscured by the rest of the world. A big fucking chandelier in the dining room to intimidate any friends you bring over that think they're hot enough shit to snatch you. It's gonna be perfect, it's gonna be the one thing he can say he's proud of in practically his whole life. It'll be a gift to all of you for putting up with his assholery for so damn long, for sticking with him even when he couldn't find a single reason why you should.

That's the kind of love Kirk shows. Words don't mean much to him--actions and acts of service are how he expresses his affections, because it's much simpler for him to put work into something he can touch and measure and paint rather than throw some flimsy words around and call it love. Plus, one of the reasons why he lives in his own dorm is because his downtime is incredibly important to him. Usually he would request a private one-bedroom apartment, but this year he was assigned roommates that he very quickly drove away with his annoying habits almost entirely on purpose. If he's not comfortable with someone, then like hell is he going to share an intimate living space with them--and after a long day he just needs time to be completely alone. He has to think, work on his projects, exercise, chew on something, and have no prying eyes around that will impede his progress in trying to figure out how the hell he can try to make himself worthy of being loved by you. A dumb, violent wolf reaching to grab the very moon from the sky.

#kirk (mc)#werewolf x reader #werewolf team #monster boyfriend #monster campus lore #neutral pov #ellie writes #phantom-ofthelibrary #anons #werewolf boyfriend

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justagalwhowrites · 2 months ago

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this isn’t a criticism on you. you’re amazing and i adore you and i think you’re an incredibly talented writer. why is joel so mean all through lavender like he isn’t nice at all even in the beginning??? girl stand up, this man is not nice to you, find someone who treats you well! he’s always like i’m sorry for being a dick :( ok then stop being a dick then

OMG Hi Bestie!

I totally get what you're saying lol Lavender Joel is a tough one! I'm putting the rest below a cut because oh my GOD I wrote a lot, I have a chronic case of cannotshutthefuckupitis and it's incurable.

While I definitely get what you're saying, I do disagree in that I don't think he's an asshole at the beginning, at least not totally. He has his stumbling block of "this is wrong, I never should have done this" after they sleep together and has his dick moment at the bar. He struggles because of Doc's relationship to his daughter and the fact that the last time Joel had any kind of relationship with a woman it was Sarah's mom and I think he kind of sees himself as a potentially life ruining force for someone he adores and respects so much and he desperately doesn't want to be that for her. Before they're together he's looking out for her (saving her from the asshole guy, having her stay with him, doing little things like bringing her the pens when she's low on ink and making sure she drinks water because I think Joel's love language is acts of service) and once he lets himself love her, I think he's a great partner (though I could definitely be biased because I wrote him and we don't see a ton of their relationship together in the fic!) He supports her interests and ambitions, is so excited for and proud of her achievements, understands her struggles and cares for her through them. He just is keenly aware of the fact that he's not a traditionally successful person and he perpetually thinks she can do better than him. Eventually, he falls victim to that line of thinking and tries to do the "right thing" by breaking up with her.

With the breakup, I think Joel always kind of planned it to be a temporary thing - assuming Doc didn't find someone better for her while she was in med school, anyway. His hope was, at the back of his mind, once she went to Harvard or Yale or some other fancy school and she got matched for residency, Sarah would be off at college, Tommy would be more stable and he could be in a position to pick up and move to wherever she was and they could try again. He just couldn't bear to see her dictating her life around him and selling herself short because of his limitations. His greatest hope was for Doc and Sarah both to reach their full potential and do the things he knew they were capable of without him holding them back. If she met someone else and settled down then, well, it would hurt but he'd be happy for her, assuming it was someone who he thought was worthy (a high bar but it wasn't one he cleared.)

And thennnn there's the outbreak lol

Post-outbreak Joel is another matter ENTIRELY and I've talked about my interpretation of Joel's character a lot BUT it boils down to this: Joel is too traumatized to fully, properly love anyone. Not that trauma inherently keeps you from loving someone but Joel has this really horrible storm of circumstances around his trauma that makes it basically impossible. The biggest one is that the person he loved most in the world died in his arms and he couldn't handle that so he tried to die, too. To the basic parts of his brain - the parts that keep him alive, logical or otherwise - the association has been made: love will kill you. Just like someone who may have been in an awful car accident might have a hell of a time getting behind the wheel again, he can't just let himself love someone. Add that to the fact that the QZ is a state of constant retraumatization for Joel - his daughter died at the hands of a military force and he lives in a city controlled by the military, his job often involves him carrying the bodies of dead children - he can't move past the thing that gave him that association to begin with. The problem is, he already loved Doc. That doesn't just go away. So his poor trauma-addled brain sees her as a threat to his survival and is constantly and instinctually trying to push her away. He doesn't want to be doing these things. He clings so hard to her when he first gets to the QZ because what he wants is to be with her. The trauma just doesn't allow it. The reason it works out when it does is that he's removed from the state of retraumatization and put into a situation where he has a lot more control than he had in his daily life in the QZ and he was finally confronted with the fact that losing her would kill him, regardless of how near or far she is.

You are right, though, that Doc really did not have a spine when it comes to Joel (or a lot of things, really) but that was kind of by design. She accepts his treatment because of her own baggage. Being abandoned by her parents in infancy, being treated with a certain level of resentment by her grandmother (who loved her but really didn't want to be the one raising her), her best friend dying by suicide in her teens, she has developed this complex that she is supremely unwanted and unworthy. She feels like everything she does needs to justify her existence because she doesn't inherently have a reason to be there. Her whole life, she's been an inconvenience at best and she's keenly aware of that fact and she spends her whole life trying to make up for it (just look at her career choices - always looking to care for others.) While Joel never thought he was worthy of her, she never thought she was worthy of him, either. But instead of trying to push him away, she did everything she could to endear herself to him, including tolerate his mistreatment because she doesn't realize that she deserves better.

Joel and Doc are very much two sides of the same coin (which was the point of the fic!) in that they have a lot of the same trauma. The feelings of being unworthy from before, the loss after. But when they both lost everything, Doc took the path of "cling to everyone I love as hard as I can" when it came to surviving while Joel took the track of "push everyone away and I won't be at risk." They pick these paths right at the beginning, with Joel choosing suicide when he loses everything and Doc choosing to keep going because she knows Joel would want her to. In the end, when they're in a place where they're safe and their basic needs are being met, they can heal and have a relationship that's far healthier.

ANYWAY lol I'm sure you didn't want an entire dissertation about my interpretation of Joel but here we are! I hope this is some insight into why I wrote him the way I did. It's mainly that trauma is a hell of a drug and Joel got a hell of a dose of it.

Thank you for asking, bestie! Love you!

#send asks #kit answers #lavender

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just-a-carrot · 1 month ago

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Before I send in the angsty fic as promised, I just want to lay out a couple trigger warnings for both you and anyone reading this ask when you answer it: detailed slow description of death, deeply emotionally upsetting, graphic descriptions of pain and bodily harm

Dying Thoughts

an interpretation of Genzou’s POV at the end of Arc 1

I wince as his hand unsticks from mine, and I don’t know what hurts more. The physical sensation sending shivers of pain up my arm, or the knowledge that I may never feel his touch ever again. Just barely holding myself together, I listen to his footsteps grow quieter and quieter against the wet grass, wishing that the last thing I saw wasn’t his face, painted with guilt, panic and terror as I was boiled alive.

The memory makes me internally wince, because every movement hurts. Everything clings to me, fusing with my skin.

I don’t.

I don’t think there’s any hope for me.

I listen. The silence would be deafening if it wasn’t for the trickling of the running stream.

And like the stream, the dam breaks.

But it’s not water. It’s lava. It scorches my bloated swelling skin as it cascades down my face, and yet I can’t stop. I can’t stop bawling. The sensation reminds me of flames licking at my skin. Not the pleasant sensation of sitting near a warm fire in a wooden cabin after a long adventure, no.

It is the searing flames of hell, ready to claim me for my sins.

Look at me being a poetic bastard. Turns out all it took to make something of myself was dying, huh.

…

It’s pathetic. I’m so fucking pathetic. A wet, sopping and yet burning mess. But what can a man do in the face of such viceral pain, if not whimper like a baby, longing to be held by their mother.

Mom. Mom I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I never did end up making anything of myself. All i did was burden you and everyone around me. You didn’t raise me to become such a dick. And yet I was. I am. I’m about to only burden Iggs more with being too fucking selfish to hold on just a little longer to atleast give him closure. I’ll never get to apologise. I’ll never get to-

I bite my lip in a feeble attempt to silence my mind’s mouth, only to regret it as pain strikes up multiple nerves, spreading from my lip to my head, like a lightning strike across the night sky. I wonder what it would feel like, to get struck by lightning. It would definitely be a way less painful and more quick way to go than this, hah.

Here I go again, wishing for a less painful end, acting as if I deserve anything but this. It’s probably best I never got to tell him how I felt, he’d only become another person I weighed down and hurt in the long run.

And yet, even now, knowing this full well, I wish it was instead him here to embrace me rather than the cold dark earth. Deep down, I always knew I was going to die alone, being the man I was. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I sob, each volatile constriction of my insides sending shot after shot of pain across my nervous system. And with each shot, I grow weaker. Colder. Number. Until I don’t have the strength to cry anymore. It’s so cold. I’m so alone. I’m so fucking alone.

I can feel it. The tendrils of darkness reaching for me. Ready to pull me under. It’s probably my brain shutting down but. I can’t help but feel like I’ve suddenly just lost something.

Something very dear to me.

Someone?

I’m not sure. But I know that in it’s abscence, all that’s left is a hollowed hole in my heart. It’s cold. In this vast emptiness, I try to cling to it so desperately. But it slips, as if I was never clinging to anything at all. It’s cold. And there’s nothing to warm me, nobody to think about at most lonesome. There’s no longer anything to qualm the cold, harrowing pain.

A most primal urge overtakes me, with my final breath. With a muster of all the strength I have left, just barely I mouth out:

“I’m sorry”

oh...........

oh gosh...........

this was so heart wrenching..... yet also so beautifully written

everything was so visceral, from the descriptions of the physical sensations to the self-deprecating whirlwind of thoughts.... my heart hurt so much....

and then the coldness at the end when Iggy disappears from reality.... ahhhh....... it was so poignant how it was described....... 😢

this was so beautiful and so sad. I'd say I enjoyed reading it if you can describe enjoy as something that filled your eyes with tears. Perhaps better for me to say that it touched me deeply and was very well done

thank you for sending this in, my heart is in shambles 💔

#fanfic: ow #fanfic: genzou #ask: ow #ask: genzou

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prettyboypistol · 2 years ago

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Can you do the tf2 mercs walking on their crush (m!reader) masturbating

includes scout, medic, spy, sniper, engi, demoman, heavy, soldier

minors dni

Scout

Oh. God.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

Immediately slams the door with a loud "SORRY"

thinks he has a heart attack, but honestly? he was okay to die happy then and there.

Scout's always been a bit of a voyeur anyway, and just accidentally bursting in to see his totally-not man crush jerking it? Jeremy nearly jumped into bed too.

the image will randomly appear in his mind over the next few weeks, causing his face to burn bright red for a moment.

He can't look you in the eye for about a week, let alone talk to you.

the memory totally locks into his jerk it material for the next week.

Medic

honestly? mans would probably just continue on about what he was doing. crush or not, medic is a busybody.

"Oh no no, I don't mind, anyway I've been looking for my forceps and I was here last-"

Internally screaming fr

totally gossips to Archimedes

Ludwig makes sly comments after catching you about how your stress levels seem lower.

may or may not brush up on your thighs a little more during medical procedures

Asks to inspect your dick fr

Sniper

"Whoops, sorry mate, didn't know." Externally as he shuts the door

AAAAAAAAAA FUCK FUCK FUCK internally

Warns other people not to bother you, and if someone's insistent, he shuts them down with an evil look in his eye. "I said he's busy."

He thinks the little yelp you let out was too fucking cute.

Whenever he thinks about it, he hides his face in his hat

He feels like such a gross pervert because he's aroused by seeing you, especially since it was an accident.

doesn't talk to you ever again but you have a much taller and deadlier shadow that follows you. Not that you mind or anything, but a "hi" would be nice.

Demoman

"Nice cock, mind if we compare?"

Very easygoing, might even slip in a coy "aww, without me?" to ease the tension.

He still asks the question he had tho, not really bothered by the situation

"Eh, we all jerk off. It's not a big deal"

Still shuts the door after you throw a pillow at him as he laughs

as soon as the door shuts, his brain finally comes back online.

Oh.

OH SHIT.

Tavish teases you constantly after, maybe using the accident to drop a few sly flirty lines your way.

Heavy

makes fun of your dick size on reflex. sorry i dont make the rules.

"I'll show you a man's cock!" energy, but still respects your dignity and leaves you to yourself.

assures you that it's all natural, and that every man gets horny.

Yes, even him. Especially after he saw what you looked like.

The way your face turned red and you yanked the blankets up, god, he was an awful person.

loudly clears his throat before he leaves, but the blush is still able to be seen.

you can see the tent in his pants, poor man couldn't hide it if he tried.

Engi

he didn't mean to, really! He just wanted to see if you were still interested in weapon upgrades!

He just... froze. You couldn't tell exactly where he was staring, but he was definitely staring at you. You shout at him to leave when his brain finally starts working again

"oh my god I'm so sorry I'll leave-" SLAM

absolutely tries to block out the memory and shames himself for being a peeping tom and refuses to touch himself to the thought.

You get a lot of gifts at your room for your weapon

Soldier

Jane accidentally lets EVERYONE know about what you're doing.

"GOOD GOD PRIVATE, PUT YOUR DICK AWAY"

You tell him to shut up, he gets onto you about back talking a member of the army.

He realizes what you're doing immediately, but powers through the feeling of discomfort for the sake of "not having favorites"

you are absolutely his favorite though

Whenever Soldier decides to mess around, on those blue moon events, he thinks of you and your chest/torso. good god, you are hot.

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lacrimosathedark · 11 months ago

Text

PSA for Tim Drake Fanfic Writers

There's this thing I see in a lot of Tim fics that always has me immediately closing the fic. And I think it may be that people just aren't as obsessive about info as me and don't know, so I thought I'd make a little informational post.

Tim's mother was dead before he was officially accepted as Robin.

I see so many fics with Tim being around people like Conner and Stephanie and his mom is alive, when he wouldn't have been anywhere near meeting them. It drives me insane. So let me give you the rundown on Tim's start.

So, we all know A Lonely Place of Dying, right? Where Tim tracks Dick down to Haly's Circus, attempts to demand he return as Robin, gets taken to Wayne Manor, and when Batman and Nightwing get tangled up with Two-Face he becomes Robin to save them.

You may also know that Bruce refused to have another child in the field with him without intensive training over the course of several months.

During this training, an arc known as Rite of Passage, Jack and Janet Drake are kidnapped in Haiti by a...probably problematic villain called Obeah Man. He nearly kills them both, but Batman does get there to save them...only for Janet to accidentally drink poison and die and Jack to suffer severe nerve damage and drop into a coma.

This is why Tim could get away with a whole overseas training arc after that. His dad was comatose and his mom was dead. Bruce became his temporary legal guardian.

He also meets and ends up teaming up with Lady Shiva during this overseas training adventure. She's also the one who gave him his collapsible bo staff. And just for the record, she continually goaded Tim into killing her, as she is wont to do. Tim clearly didn't kill her, but he did defeat her in combat. So give my boy some respect for his skills please.

Hell, he knew Jean-Paul Valley before he knew Stephanie. Knightfall, when Bane famously broke Bruce's back, came before the introduction of Spoiler and Cluemaster.

And then Jack Drake is awake from his coma by the time Tim has met Bart, which was also before he met Kon.

Just...if Tim's Robin, his mom is dead, okay? Totally fair to make an AU because canon is wackadoo already but please label it cuz AUs are cool so long as I know that's what it is and if it's not labelled my brain decides the writer doesn't know what they're talking about and I can't read it even if it's one of the highest rated fics in my search and it causes me great pain because I NEED CONTENT 😭

Thank you for coming to my Tim Talk.

#Tim Drake #Robin #Red Robin #DC Comics #Janet Drake #oh my fuckin god she fuckin dead

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shukakumoodboard · 11 months ago

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*Pulls out my massive bag of money and jewels and blow* I’m your biggest fan so I must pick your brain now that you have a tumblr ask box. your finest gaalee romance hcs my good sir. Please

help.

I’m your biggest fan

did you know im crying ab this. kissing u on the face rn

ok gaalee romance headcanons. i've been thinking about this for days. grab ur mojito mix lets frockign gaur

ill be upfront in that i have very few i'll-die-on-this-hill opinions about the boys, but here's some i'm pretty stuck to <3

sfw headcanons

1. lee's better with words, gaara's better with actions, and they're both secretly envious of the other for it: my thoughts here are that gaara spent so much of his life not understanding love that he'd still struggle to articulate it in flowery ways that i think, as a born theatre kid, lee would be good at. but gaara would absolutely be that person who shows it in subtle ways -- like taking care of someone when sick, remembering food preferences, always ensuring lee takes care of himself when lee forgets or is busy having a self-flagellation moment. not that i think lee would be incompetent, but he strikes me as more of a scatterbrain, but would always be on top of verbal reassurances and affection (which i also think is what gaara would benefit from: clear straightforward declarations of feelings and intent)

2. they're both super cuddly in private look, you put together a touch-starved former monster vessel and a social outcast who mostly knows touch from violence (until gai) and you are going to get some clinginess imo. you can't convince me they're not the kind of people who would sit side by side at the dinner table so they can eat holding hands. bro (emotional)

3. they're probably actually really shit at "conventional" dating hear me out ok. they're like initially so far away and gaara is the whole president and lee kicked a meteor in half one time you think they can just wander around and go to restaurants? it's absolutely nonsense that shinobi don't suffer village celebrity paparazzi syndrome in nart tbh. not exactly the same but i have a whole wip in the bort-verse about them sneaking around. tldr i'd bet they sometimes get casual breakfast or dinner but i think more likely takeout and quiet time together as opposed to like fancy dates

4. language learning and hobbying as a form of devotion as a purveyor of my wares u may notice i have language headcanons. it is also my gaalee romance hc that they learn each others -- i've incorporated this into in the space between and a wip called multilingual, which is all about nejiten teasing lee about his crush on gaara in front of the man. i also think that lee would lean into gaara's gardening stuff with gusto because if it's something gaara loves, lee would want to love it too.

nsfw headcanons huehuehuhe

1. they're switches and i WILL die on this hill i think this is self explanatory but listen. listen i am SIQUE of the assigned top/bottom nonsense they both deserve to rail and also be railed. i may be the resident owner of the Rock Lee Fucks tag on AO3 but i also own the Gaara Fucks tag. ill kill a man over this

2. lee is absolutely a service anything this ties into the previous one. a big component of his canonical personality is that he's a disciple of gai -- he's a follower who bases a lot of himself around those he cares for. not the kind of person who is suddenly going to crop up with an intensely specific preference, imo? i think he would base his role on whatever his partner needs the most at the time.

3. rock lee's canonically huge dick ok lol listen. listen this one's canon jokes aside i think lee is hung as detailed in We Don't Talk About Fight Club and i will continue that joke. that being said i think normal hung. not arizona tea can hung which is a hilariously illustrated discord joke

4. tbh i think they're kinda vanilla in the bedroom i say this in a positive way i think they'd be far more into like, just being able to be with each other instead of getting into wild sexual mischief all over the villages although they definitely bone in weird places secretly. they Fuck, but like i don't see them as super kinksters or anything. however, i have seen many a kinkfic that im like nodding my head this is valid cakesitting bdsm what who said that

5. gaara's vaguely nebulous oral fixation i really have no justification for this one i just think some of those animal bijuu instincts might linger and turn into what that mouth do idk i keep going to write smut and whoops my whole body slipped and gaara's licking something. happened in fight club and fight club II, happened in hole time, happened in tgod, happens in at least two wips i have cookin' in the background... what is goin on actually

dkghkdf i hope you enjoyed this episode of kel's questionable headcanons. i really enjoyed answering, thank you so much for the ask <3

#fictalk #gaalee #leegaa #gaara #rock lee #writing gronp hours #nart #lol hole time #text #not sfw

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ghostssweetgirl · 2 years ago

Text

stubborn

ghost x reader x soap [smut]

A/N - not my best work. was clearing out a draft i forgot about.

cw - degradation, p in v sex, oral (m receiving), it is all consensual even if it is not explicitly stated, they are in an established relationship, orgasm denial

minors, fuck off, do not interact ! 18+ only!!

nsfw under the cut

You were finally off, and able to change out of your dirty uniform and shower. Glad to be done with the last mission, which was harder than it had to be thanks to some new recruits, you were so excited to see your boyfriends again. You knew they were busy, like always, but you just had to see them. You always did, not caring if they got mad. They'd get over it.

They were working on important paperwork, warning you not to distract them even though you always did - or at least attempted to. You skipped your way to the computer room, peeking in through the window to find the two sat faced away from each other working on their own things. Watching Soap's face scrunched in confusion, agitation, and Ghost sigh heavily as he flipped page after page. You stayed there for a while, stalking them, contemplating if distracting them would be worth the punishment you may endure.

Fuck it, I miss them, and I'll take what I can get, you thought to yourself. They were together all the time meanwhile you were usually placed on missions away from them, and you yearned for them - their touch often, hungrily. You knew they missed you too, but jealousy was the devil, and you were frustrated that they get to spend time together on most, if not every, mission.

You crack open the door and they both almost shot daggers through your soul, although Ghost seemed angrier than Soap.

"Heyyy, handsomes," you greeted coyly.

"Didn't we tell you not to fuck about right now, yeah?" Ghost asked you in a menacing tone. Soap cleared his throat as he looked at you with love-filled eyes, then at his boyfriend.

"I missed you! Wha- it's not fair!" you complained. "You and Johnny get to be together all the time! Is it so bad for me to want to spend time with my lovers?"

"No, but it's bad that you can't obey a simple order of leaving us to do our work. We were going to come to get you later, but since you're already here..." he huffed.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you sat next to Johnny, wrapping your arms around him, smiling innocently at him.

"Hey, bonnie, missed ya," he kissed your cheek before looking behind him to see Simon turned around with his arms crossed. Soap couldn't help it; he fucking loved you. He worshipped the ground you walked on and was much gentler than Ghost. Whenever you walked in the room, his heart skipped 1,000 beats and felt like it was about to burst. That doesn't mean that Ghost didn't love you, because he did, so fucking much. He'd kill for you; he'd die for you. But God was he a proper dick sometimes.

You smiled as Soap's lips touched your cheek, but looked back at him, too. You gulped, a hint of regret flooding your brain. Meeting Simon's dark eyes - you knew what that meant.

"Don't listen for shit, do you?" he spoke down to you. "Now we're going to be late on our paperwork because of you, you little brat."

"Y-you can keep working on them, I just wanted to be-"

"Na-uh. We can't focus when you're in here. You know..." Ghost shook his head, looking at Soap. "You enable her, Johnny. You let her prance on in 'ere, able to distract you from your work. Didn't sit down but for a second and you're already up on 'er."

Soap tried to defend himself, blinking rapidly between the both of you, "Aye... Look at her, L.T... I cannae help it..."

"We can't afford distractions. Yet here we are," he clicked his tongue, sighing as he got up, walking towards you, eyes boring into your own. "You don't obey. Punishment doesn't do any good, does it? Stubborn little brat we have, hm, Johnny?"

"Ourstubborn lil' princess," Johnny teased, chuckling in agreement as he rubbed the back of your neck.

You blushed looking towards the ground.

Ghost's hand brushed the side of your face, making you look up into his dark, squinted eyes. "We'll just have to teach her a lesson, yeah?"

Usually, Soap did most of the talking, but Ghost must have already had a bad day as he didn't stop degrading you, and making sure you knew he was frustrated with you. Johnny watched with awe the effect Simon had on you, regardless of your sass, and your attitude. When Simon gave you that look, you knew better.

"Up," he ordered, watching as you obeyed sheepishly. "Sit on Johnny's lap."

Johnny's hand grabbed your hips before greedily groping up your body before settling at your plush breasts, pushing his lips to your ear, kissing up your neck, "Bonnie~, you know we missed you..."

"I missed you guys, too..." you purred, tilting your head back at him. "So much."

"Yeah, I can tell, sweetheart," Ghost said. "My apologies to interrupt, have you forgotten you've pissed me off?"

"N-no sir..." you mumbled.

He stepped towards you, reaching up to your face with his hand. You knowingly leaned into his touch, and he rubbed your cheek before sliding his thumb into your mouth, which you sucked on instantly. Soap ground into you from underneath, earning a whimper muffled by Ghost's thumb. Ghost's hand slid down your lips, rubbing over your bottom lip before he grabbed your jaw with slight force, pulling you down on your knees in front of him. Soap bit his lip as he palmed himself through his trousers, watching his boyfriend take control of you.

"Keep your mouth open," Ghost hummed as he fiddled with his belt. You blinked slowly as you opened your mouth, holding your tongue out. "Gonna use this fuckin' mouth. Shut you the fuck up. Don't wanna hear you whine and bitch. Just be a good cock sleeve for me, yeah?"

You nodded, his hand still gripped at your jaw, his thumb swiping against your wet tongue here and there - his pants fell to the floor with a soft thump as he wrestled his cock out of his boxers. Johnny has already freed himself of his tactical pants, fucking into his fist as he watched you be dominated by Simon.

He teased the slit of his cock on your tongue, letting you taste the salty-sweet bead of precum formed at the tip. You moaned against him as he slid his length slowly into the base of your throat. A long groan fell against the walls, on Johnny's ears as his eyes rolled back.

"Good fuckin' girl," Simon praised, holding a tight grasp on your head as he guided you back and forth impatiently, chasing his own high.

"L.T..." Johnny mewled, the squelch of his cock fucking into his fist with his own expense also urging you on, fueling your desire. "May I touch her?"

Simon's gaze raised to his boyfriend's, his eyebrows furrowed as he stutters. "Shit, y-yeah, don't let her cum..."

Johnny grabbed ahold of your hips as soon as he got permission. He swiftly pulled your pants down along with your underwear. He groaned as he spread your ass cheeks, gawking at your puffy cunt that was already sopping wet. "Pretty fuckin' pussy, lass. So wet."

Soap's hand slid in between your folds, working the slick all over, rubbing your clit tauntingly before pressing up against your entrance, working one finger in. You moaned on Ghost's cock, which furthered his pleasure. His cock was nearly bulging out of your throat as it thrusted in and out, barely allowing you to breathe. Soap reached a hand around your throat to feel Ghost's length rut in and out as he finger fucked you sweetly.

"Listen at how fuckin' wet you sound, you little slag," Ghost degraded you as he held a makeshift ponytail in your hair. "Is that how worked up y' get when my dick is stuffed down your throat?"

You tried to nod, but couldn't seeing how you were held still by both of your lovers. They both chuckled darkly for a moment as Soap leaned up for a moment to lift Ghost's mask and kiss him before returning to his fingers' assault on your pussy. He pistoned in and out harshly, drawing out those lewd muffled whimpers against Ghost's cock. He sighed out as he positioned himself before your ass, rubbing it and grabbing at the fat of it before pushing his length in. Your eyes squeezed shut and your body tensed at the pleasure.

Ghost laughed. "Oh, you're not going anywhere, babe. You're our fucktoy and we're gonna use you until we're through with you, got that?"

Again, your attempt to nod was pitiful. Tears that fell from your eyes as you blinked twice as a 'yes' spurred them on. They continued their moments in tandem, as Soap thrusted, Ghost reached farther in your throat. Slobber had pooled in the floor, how pathetic. You thought you were reaching your euphoria, but as you clenched on Soap's cock, he stopped, pulling out of you.

"Didn't Simon say you can't cum, babe?" he teased. "Keep being a good little toy~.."

You grew needier and needier, wanting to release but knowing you wouldn't be able to, it made you feel just like a pathetic toy for them.

For what felt like hours, Ghost had finally filled your throat full of his cum, white thick ropes spilling inside of you, pooling up in your mouth, some even dripped onto the floor. As he finally pulled out of your mouth, you gasped in greedily taking in all the air before it was followed by sinful moans as Soap rammed into you with no relent.

He didn't take long to finish either as he slammed in harshly, bottoming out as he spilled his seed into your velvety walls, groaning loudly at his release, his grip on your hips tight enough to leave bruises.

He lets go, pulling out of you swiftly. You fall to the ground as your body tried to heal, your mind coming back to you slowly.

After recovering, to your surprise, Ghost is the one gently rubbing your face, making sure you were okay.

"'M sorry... Shit, we may have got too carried away with you, luv..." he softly chuckled. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

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ccrisntok · 1 year ago

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TW// Blood, Implied Death, Suicidal thoughts/actions, Violence, Homophobia, Mentions of SA (Basically all the stuff that happens it Heathers: The Musical.)

this is really long and you kind of have to know the plot of Heathers to understand it. Major spoilers for DRDT and Heathers btw

Ayoo, I'm here with some doodles and basic story outlines based off of @another-danganronpa-fan's DRDT + Heathers au! I took some like, creative liberties I guess. Didn't really change things at all, but added a lot of things! Sorry if I messed with your au a bit too much haha. (Also this is probably not the only doodles I'll make about this au it has snatched my brain.)

I'll explain some stuff along the way.

Xander as Veronica! (He still has his eye, its just sensitive to light and a different color). I feel like you could switch Xander and Teruko and the au would still work, but as the creator of the au explained, Xander just *barely* makes more sense as Veronica. He's more optimistic than Teruko is, and more willing to trust others. Also, David is a Heather in this au, so it makes sense that Xander would idolize them. Also also, we see canonically that Xander hates murder, but will do it if he really thinks it's necessary. I don't think he would kill people in this au on purpose though, and still feel as bad, if not worse about it than Veronica does.

Teruko as JD: Pretty obvious. Troubled family past, prone to violence if necessary, extremely distrustful of others? i don't really know if her luck would be a factor in this au, but if it was, it would probably explain why her life is so messed up. She'd kill some bitches.

Arturo as Heather Chandler. I feel like he's the only person in the cast who would be a big enough dick to be Heather C, and his obsession with beauty could be a factor of why he treats everyone like minions instead of people. He would probably die the same way, and for the same reasons as Heather C. Poisoned after making Xander and Teruko mad. His red ribbon... tie, thing would be the "red scrunchy" of this au.

David as Heather Duke: Yeah. Like, I feel like he fits her to a tee. After Art dies, he takes place as the leading Heather, and becomes a total asshole (probably similar to his breakdown in cannon). Also, since Arei is Heather Mac, it would make sense for him to try and force her into suicide, since that's what he insists he does in cannon. He may give Xander some hair-clips as a show of friendship.

Arei as Heather Mac: This one seems weird at first, but this Arei is in the middle of her redemption arch (for reasons that will be explained later). She's more snarky than cannon Mac, but also is going through a lot of mental turmoil. I'd say her sisters are still around. and her home life is pretty terrible, so she relishes in the power being a Heather gave her. Until she meets Eden, and realizes how little being powerful in high school matters.

Eden as: Martha! I made quite a few changes to her character, because her being in love with the Ram of this au wouldn't have worked. So I made her in love with Arei. Obviously, in cannon Heathers, Veronica helps forge a love confession to make a fool out of Martha, and I feel like Xander would be pressured to do the same thing. In doing this, he could also end up outing her publicly, admittedly probably not thinking about that as a factor (can you tell this part of the au is where I'm most passionate hflkas).

I feel like Xander wouldn't have bad intentions with outing Eden, but he still does it accidently, probably being like "THERES MORE GIRLS IN THE SEA BESTIE, FIND A BETTER ONE" in a crowed room while wasted.

I also feel like these feelings would be ACTUALLY mutual, unlike Martha's feelings for Ram. I added this in because I just don't think Arei and Arturo would be very close, or "Ram and Kurt", but seeing Eden's recent public humiliation added to her "friends" deaths might push her over the edge. It also would give her a reason to soften up, and fit the Heather Mac role.

Also, hearing about Arei's suicide attempt could also influence to Eden's suicide attempt later, since she doesn't really care about the other people's deaths in this au.

now to my least favorites...

...Ace as Ram, and Levi as Kurt. Hu as Mrs. Fleming makes total sense and I support that wholeheartedly, but Levi and Ace.... are kinda the only ppl who could fit the roles so 💀

I made quite a few changes to these two, the huge, major one being they don't try and SA Xander. There was no way in hell I was making them rapists, in any way shape or form. They're still pieces of shit, just not in that way (fuck Ram and Kurt in actual Heathers frfr I HATE those men oh my god JD was so based.)

Now, Ace and Levi are most definitely still jocks, and bullies. Ace would probably more of a harasser, while Levi is the one beating people up. As mentioned in my little doodle, Ace is only popular bc he "plays sports", rides horses I guess, and is rich, and Levi hangs out with him for only those reasons. Also probably a little gay idk

Instead of trying to SA Xander and lie about him sleeping with them, in this au Ace and Levi lie about Xander beating up Ace for no reason.

Levi is actually the one who beat up Ace, and idk, either Ace lies about it out of spite to Xander, or just doesn't remember and assumes its Xander. I'd say the remaining Heathers, Ace, Levi and Xander get super drunk in the woods or something (idk why Xander would be invited or show up but why not) and Ace said some dumb shit and got beaten up.

This gives both Teruko (for beating their asses before) AND Xander a violent rep, and Xander hates that, so he's pretty pissed. I'd say Xander would challenge them to a real fight, Teruko would bring the fake (very, very real) gun, and hilarity ensues (Ace and Levi get shot.)

Since Xander thought this was a harmless prank, he's pretty traumatized ofc

Then ofc, Teruko and Xander forge a suicide note. It would probably be like "oh yeah we were gay or whatever but levi beat me up so i killed him then myself."

ofc Xander is haunted by the ghosties he murdered <3

uhhh I haven't drawn the saddest parts of the au yet so get ready for a part 2 😈😈😈 which will also prob include better refs.

this was so long omg I'm sorry. this is gonna take tons of tags djssfklafhdls

#drdt #drdt fanart #xander matthews #teruko tawaki #drdt spoilers #heathers #ace markey #levi fontana #arturo giles #david cheim #arei nageishi #eden tobisa #i spent way to long on this #help

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