#Ok but what if youre the only one working

[gracie-eilish]

could u do 10, 16, 20 billie w a strap talking reader through it🙏 and if u could make billie be soft and gentle with reader, checking in with them during and after

10. spread em wider f’me

16. you like that?

20. feels better when a girl does it, huh?

smut

“spread em wider f’me, sweet girl.” billie coaxed your thighs apart softly with one hand, rubbing circles on your hips helping you breathe.

“just relax mama, doing so good for me.” she trailed kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, leaving you a gasping, panting mess.

“gonna stretch you out a bit first, yeah? don’t want to hurt my princess.” you nodded shakily.

“you sure your okay? your hearts racing so fast i can hear it bub,” she removed her hand from between your legs and brought it to your bare waist, tracing soft shapes on your skin.

“yeah just,” you let out an exhale. “just nervous.”

“what are you nervous about love?” she let her body weight down, fully lying on top of you.

“i don’t even know,” you avoided eye contact, picking at your nail. “just wanna be perfect for you. you’re more experienced with girls than me and i don’t wanna mess it up.”

“baby nothing you could do could mess this up. you’re an angel, ya hear me? a perfect angel. all i care about right now it making you feel good, and making you feel comfortable while doing so. please don’t think about being perfect or being correct. just relax into it, let me make you feel good.” she pressed warm kisses to your jawline making your breath hitch.

you nodded, only to be met with a stern look.

“words, baby.”

“okay. i’m ready, i promise.”

“good girl.” her kisses trailed from your neck to your collarbone, stopping at your breasts. she kissed each one before diving in, letting her tongue circle and roll the soft bud. you let your head fall back completely while she worked her magic on your tits.

she switched, letting her free hand massage the other one, rolling your nipple, squishing the fat.

you let out a breathy barely there moan, cutting yourself off awkwardly.

“no no no baby, wanna hear you. wanna hear your pretty little noises, yeah? no holding back with me.” she smirked when you nodded again, too blissed out to speak.

“ok sweetheart, i’m gonna stretch you out a bit now, is that okay?”

“yeah billie, just please,”

“shh mama, don’t worry. i’ll make you feel real good so soon.” you moaned our at her words, making billie giggle and kiss your cheek.

her fingers found your puffy clit, swollen between your slick folds. she swiped her fingers up and down a few times, circling the bundle of nerves before collecting your wetness on her fingers.

making eye contact with you, she slipped her pointer finger in slowly, inching in knuckle by knuckle, only moving when you would give her the okay.

“baby can you breathe for me?” she noticed you were holding your breath, your sternum raised slightly. she placed her free hand between your breasts as you exhaled, bringing in a new breath slowly.

“good girl, keep breathing for me.”

she slowly began to thrust her finger in a few times, testing the waters.

“billie oh, bils i,”

“you like that?” she smirked into your cheek, leaving a few kisses.

“yess! oh my god,” your moans began to quicken, rising in pitch as you felt billie insert another finger.

“still okay doll?” you nodded furiously making her chuckle.

you could feel the heat in your tummy growing but leaving quicker than it came as billie removed her fingers from your heat.

“you ready for big mama?” she pinched your side teasingly.

“yeah just.. just be gentle please.”

“i wouldn’t dream of anything else.” she kissed you softly, winking before heading over to her dresser, pulling out her strap.

you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching her fasten the strap with ease. though you paid more attention to the way her back tattoo moved with her muscles.. and her biceps flexing as she moved the harness to a comfy spot, and god her skin looked so soft-

“baby? hellooo??” she was waving a hand in front of your face.

“see something you like mama?” she teased, watching your face turn bright red.

“okay honey. i’m sure you remember from you stupid ex boyfriends,” you giggled at her teasing jealousy. “it might hurt a bit at first. you tell me if it’s too much and we’ll stop, okay? you are in complete control of this.”

“okay bils,” you confirmed with a soft smile.

“lay down for me angel,” she whispered, coaxing you to lay back, letting your arms rest at your sides.

“spread your pretty legs for me sexy,” she whispered into your ear. she turned up the flirting knowing it got you more wet, watching your cheeks flush even deeper.

you spread your legs further for her, grabbing her free hand as she started to line herself up.

“you okay?” she froze.

“yeah, yeah i’m okay. just.. hold my hand.” billie could cry. she kissed your knuckles, intertwining your fingers.

once your breathing had slowed a bit, she pushed just the tip in stopping when you winced a bit.

“shhhhh, relax babygirl. you’re okay, just relax for me.” you started to try to match your breathing with hers, watching her chest rise and fall. she kissed your forehead before pushing a little further in.

your wince started to morph to a moan, but she didn’t wanna push it yet.

“can i kiss you, doll?” you blushed and nodded.

billie leaned down, kissing you the way a fairytale prince would kiss awake their sleeping princess. soft, and delicate, and loving. you squeezed her hand while wrapping your free arm around her neck pulling her closer.

“bils, faster..”

“yeah? you ready for more?”

“fuck, please more,” your desperation was adorable to her. she kissed your temple before speeding up her movements.

“ohhh fuck baby,”

“feels better when a girl does it, huh?” she smirked, watching your face contort in pleasure.

“yeah!!” your moans were high pitched and whiney leaving billie feeling more smug than ever.

your breathing started to quicken signaling you were close. billie picked up the pace, thrusting faster and harder. the headboard began to creak and the sound of skin smacking filled the air.

“billie im gonna, bils please im,”

“i know baby, i know. let it happen.” she grabbed your thigh pulling it around her waist, letting you lock your ankles around her back as your brought your other leg around to meet it.

you started to grind yourself against her, making her look up at you with wide, cocky eyes.

“look at you sweet girl. where’d my little innocent angel go, hm? what happened to her?” she couldn’t stop her smirk from widening when she saw the faintest smile creep upon your lips, stopping when you bit down on your bottom lip.

“keep going sexy, make yourself feel good.”

you matched your grinding to your thrusts, leaving both of you panting into each others mouths, forgetting how to kiss.

“so close bils,”

“i know, fuck, me too,”

you reached your free hand up to palm at her full breasts, rolling her nipple in your fingers, making her drop her head to your shoulder. she snuck her own free hand between your legs, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

your climaxes hit together, both of you furiously touching and thrusting and squeezing and grinding…

billie squeezed your hand three times when you finally came down from her highs. not letting go. she kissed your knuckles after your squeezed back. both of you breathless, smiling…

and so fucking in love.

an: i present, a smut fic im actually pretty kinda sorta maybe proud of🤭🥹 i am bummed tho that im not having sex with billie rn. sorry ignore that last bit of text, it won’t let me delete it for some reason lol!!🤪👀🤭

[dakusan]

F I R S T   B I T E

Vampire!Bang Chan x Reader | blood ritual, silk sheets, first time he finally takes you

🔞synopsis: You weren’t looking for luxury. You were looking for survival. But then he chose you—Bang Chan. Now you sleep in silk, eat like royalty, and bleed for him on schedule. He’s fed from you before. Gentle. Controlled. Ritualistic. But he’s never fucked you. Not once. Tonight, that changes. Because his hunger is showing. His eyes are black. And you’re in that dress he bought you. And when he finally takes his bite—he doesn’t stop there.

💌a/n: OK SO LISTEN 🩸 Yes. I know I answered an ask ages ago about how Chan is so rich. but for this series? i said fuck it. switched it up. because he deserves it. you deserve it. silk sheets and bite marks forever. also no, i’m not making profiles for every member. that’s boring and I’m busy making them FEED AND FUCK INSTEAD 😌 priorities. if you’re not bleeding and shaking by the end, did you even read it? 🔪💋✨ p.s. reblog if it ruined you. reblog if you whimpered. reblog if you said “oh.” out loud. p.p.s. more members coming next Wreck Me Wednesday! p.p.p.s. blood tastes better when it’s yours. ok bye 🖤

⚠️ warnings: 18+ / MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | biting kink | marking kink | blood drinking as foreplay (and during) | fingering + grinding | overstimulation | breeding kink language (explicit) | “mine” possessiveness dialled to 1000 | choking (light, erotic) | mirror of praise + filth | power imbalance | luxury kink | ritualistic aftercare | cum, blood, and luxury bath oils

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Bleed pretty. Stretch.

🎧 » Criminal — Taemin « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:31 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

The idea of becoming a Blood Doll didn’t start as a fantasy. It started as a last resort.

You weren’t desperate. Just… cornered. By bills. By bruises you didn’t ask for. By nights too long and mornings that arrived with nothing but guilt and cold toast. Seoul was a city of glass towers and low shadows. You had lived in both.

You weren’t supposed to know about the Veil. About vampires. About what they offered behind silk-curtained doors. But you did. One overheard conversation in a blood clinic waiting room was all it took. A name passed like a secret. A dare:

“LUXE Health. If you’re lucky, someone will choose you.”

So you cleaned yourself up. Not for them. For you. You memorized their rules. Got the bloodwork done. Sold everything else. And when you finally arrived—dressed in borrowed black with lips bitten pink—you didn’t flinch.

Because somewhere beneath the hunger and the silence, you had a single thought: “If I’m going to belong to someone… make it him.”

You saw him before he saw you. Or maybe that’s just what you tell yourself now.

Bang Christopher Chan. The vampire who owns medicine. The one whose name is spoken in hushed reverence at trauma wards and whispered in moans between silk sheets.

Abnormal. Born, not turned. The kind of vampire the Veil fears because they cannot predict him.

He didn’t need to feed from you that night. He didn’t even touch you. Just read your file, looked into your eyes, and said—

“You’ll do.”

Not cruel. Not kind. Just… certain. And that certainty rewired you.

That was three months ago.

Now, you live on the top floor of a private Luxe facility in Gangnam. You don’t work. You don’t pay. You just exist—dripping in silk, gliding past glass, touched only by magic and occasionally by him.

You eat better than royalty. Your scent is monitored for health. Your sheets are laundered daily in blood-neutral detergent. Every book you ever mentioned liking? It's in your room. Your bath oils are imported. Your wardrobe is measured by hand.

But he hasn’t fucked you. Not once. Not yet. He’s fed. God, has he fed.

The first time, you thought you’d die from how soft he made it. The second time, you wanted him to bite deeper. The third time? You whimpered his name. He smiled, lips wet, but didn’t take you. Not then.

And yet—he gives.

A diamond choker with a spell-lock that hums when you're near danger. A dress you only wore once, now preserved in a glass case because he liked how you looked in it. Shoes hand-delivered from a Paris atelier, dyed to match the undertone of your skin. Perfumes keyed to his scent.

He gives like a man who has everything—except you.

Tonight, you had been his date. A Veil-chartered event in an underground gallery beneath Itaewon. Not that you paid much mind, except the fact that you stood by him looking all pretty, dressed by him.

And now? Now you’re back in the penthouse.

Your heels click across imported stone. You’ve just slipped off your earrings when you feel it—the hum in the walls. The signal. Feeding hour.

He’s never missed one.

You turn, heart already pounding.

He’s in the doorway. Loosened collar. No tie. Silver watch still on his wrist. And his eyes…

Black.

“Sit,” he says, voice silk-dark.

And you do, because God, you always obey.

He crosses the room like a secret unfolding—measured, lethal, beautiful. His gaze never leaves yours. Not even as he loosens the first button of his shirt. Not even as he sheds his jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. The air shifts around him—cooler, heavier. The scent of cedar and clove curled in hunger.

You sit where he wants you. On the edge of the fainting couch, legs pressed together beneath silk that still smells like his cologne. Your lipstick is still intact. Your throat bare. The pulse at your neck, traitorous.

He kneels in front of you.

Not like a man worshipping. Like a vampire calculating.

His fingers brush your ankle, sliding upward in a touch so light it’s almost imagined—up the line of your shin, over your knee, until he’s nudging the hem of your gown higher, just enough to settle between your legs, kneeling. Commanding.

He doesn't speak right away. Just watches you.

Eventually, he reaches for your wrist. Not to feed.

Just to hold. “You're warm.”

You nod, breath shallow. "I always am. After we go out."

Something flickers across his face. Amusement? Possession?

He leans forward. Mouth hovering over your neck. Not touching. Just breathing. "Do you want the bite here?"

"Yes."

He doesn’t kiss you. He doesn’t ask again. He bites.

You gasp. His fangs are surgical. Smooth. Deep. You feel it in your blood, in your thighs, in the way your dress shifts against your hips as your whole body arches toward him.

It’s not pain. It’s pressure.

One of his hands at your waist, the other on your thigh, grounding you as he drinks your sweet blood in slow. His tongue flicks once. Just once. Over the wound.

And that’s what makes you whimper.

His groan is almost inaudible. Almost. He drinks a little deeper.

You clutch the shoulder of his shirt and try to stay still—but you can’t. You shift. You rub your knees together. You tilt your head further back like it’ll coax more of him out, like it’ll make him—

He stops. Pulls back. Blood on his lips. Collarbone flushed. Hands tighter now.

You’re panting.

"You should rest."

But he doesn’t mean it. Because his eyes are still black. And his cock is hard under his trousers. And you’re still in that dress he picked—silk, slit high, neckline low enough for his teeth to dip beneath.

“You’re still hungry,” you whisper.

He says nothing. But his hand slides higher up your thigh. Just barely. Just enough.

“Feed again,” you murmur.

He exhales. Shaky. Like he’s fighting something ancient. “If I feed again,” he says, voice wrecked, “I won’t stop.”

Your reply is immediate. “I don't want you to stop.”

His hand grips your thigh harder.

A beat. Two. And then—he snaps. His mouth crashes to yours like it’s the only law he’s ever obeyed.

Hot. Wet. Starving.

There’s no finesse. No restraint. Just tongue and breath and blood—your blood—smearing between your lips as he kisses you like he’s waited centuries. You taste iron and cedar and the slick salt of him groaning into your mouth.

His palm slides up your spine, yanks you forward. You gasp. He swallows it. You moan. He deepens it. Your fingers claw at his shirt, dragging it open, buttons scattering somewhere onto the marble.

“Chan—”

“Shut up,” he growls, biting your bottom lip, licking where it splits. “I told you. I won’t stop now.”

You don’t want him to.

Because you can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t survive if he doesn’t keep kissing you like that—like he’s drowning in you and wants to take you under with him.

He stands, dragging you up with him, your body flush to his. His hands on your ass, gripping through silk. You feel him—hard and heavy—pressed against your stomach. You grind against him. Shameless. He groans into your mouth like you just handed him your soul.

“On the bed,” he rasps, voice ruined.

You don’t walk. You stumble. He follows, eyes black, jaw clenched, pupils blown so wide you swear they swallow the moonlight.

Three steps from the bed, you spin and grab him by the open collar of his shirt—what’s left of it—and pull.

Hard.

He stumbles with you, low grunt in his throat, and you fall back onto the sheets like gravity’s been waiting for this moment.

Silk against your spine. Chan above you, braced on trembling arms. His shirt ripped wide open from your fingers, chest heaving. Eyes on your lips before leaning in again. Lips on your own. Tongue hot and deep, one hand gripping your jaw like he wants to brand his name there.

His knee shoves between your thighs and you start grinding against it. Moan into his mouth like a sinner under oath.

Your dress slips off one shoulder and of course he notices and his mouth leaves yours—trailing fire down your throat, tongue flicking the half-healed bite on your neck. You arch like a live wire. He sucks. You cry out. And then he speaks against your skin.

“You don’t understand what you’ve just done,” he rasps, voice shaking. “Letting me kiss you. Letting me taste it from your lips…”

He presses his forehead to your collarbone. His breath shudders. So does your body. “I’ve waited,” he says. “I’ve waited—every night. Let you heal. Let you rest. I was good.”

He lifts his head. Stares down at you. “But now you’ve ruined that.”

His hand slides under the slit of your dress. Fingers ghost over your inner thigh. He groans. "Fuck, you're so wet baby."

You whimper.

He leans down again, nose brushing your jaw, lips grazing your ear—

“One more bite,” he whispers. “Then I fuck you. And I don’t stop until your blood knows who it belongs to.”

"Please." You say. Desperate for it.

Chan's lips press against your shoulder, just below the dip of silk where your dress has fallen. He's slow, gentle, taking his time. Before finally, he bites and you gasp, sharp and wrecked.

His fangs in slowly this time. Not like earlier. No urgency. This bite is...savouring.

You clutch the sheets, back arching as he feeds again—mouth latched to your skin, tongue lapping slowly between pulses. Every draw pulls heat to your core. Every sound he makes against your skin echoes between your thighs.

And then you finally feel his hand parting your legs more, fingers brushing over your already soaked panties. You twitch and he groans into the wound.

"Dropping," he murmurs, mouth still on your flesh. "From being bit."

His fingers slip beneath the fabric. Contact. He traces the seam of your folds with two fingers before running them up again, pressing into your just enough to make your hips holt.

You moan out. That moan ripped straight from the center of you.

He chuckles darkly. Fangs still buried. Your blood on his tongue. Your cunt in his palm.

"So sweet," he growls. "Every part of you."

His thumb starts to circle that bundle of nerves. Not fast. Not hard. Just deep, tight pressure—rhythmic, possessive, hypnotic.

You’re panting now. Writhing. Your blood still feeding him as he works you from below.

His free hand grabs your thigh, pinning it open. “This pussy’s been waiting for me,” he hisses, licking over the bite again. “Wet and so so perfect for me.”

Two fingers thrust inside and your head snaps back. A choke moan spills out. You feel everything.

“Say it,” he demands, pulling back from your shoulder, licking the wound clean. “Say who owns you.”

“Y-You—fuck—Chan, it’s you—”

“Say it properly.”

His fingers curl just right.

“You own me,” you cry. “You own all of me—*fuck—*please don’t stop—”

“I told you,” he pants, mouth against your lips again, hand fucking you slow and deep, “I’m not stopping tonight.”

Chan finally pulled back, slowly. Fangs retracting from your skin. Mouth now painted with your blood again. He looks wrecked. Hair falling into his eyes. Chest rising like a storm's behind it. But his fingers? They've started fucking into you, a slow pace.

He sits back on his heels between your thighs, one hand fucking deep, slow, curling into that spot that makes your breath catch and your thighs twitch. The other hand trails up your waist until it cups your breast through the fabric. His thumb brushes over your nipple.

“Aw, look at you,” he coos, voice soaked in dark heat. “Dripping for me. Can feel it, baby girl.” His fingers move faster now—tight little thrusts that make your cunt clench, soak, squeal.

“You gonna cum?”

“Yes—yes, I—”

“I can feel it,” he growls. “All that sweetness pulling around my fingers. Fuck—so tight. So fucking good for me.”

He leans over, tongue lapping at the blood smeared down your clavicle while he finger fucks you harder. “That’s it. Let go. Be good. Cum on my hand.”

You cry out—knees jerking, hands clawing at the sheets, your entire body arching as heat snaps. Your orgasm crashes through you. But Chan doesn’t stop. Not until you’re trembling under him, cunt pulsing around his fingers, thighs soaked and twitching.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “You give so fucking much. You always do.”

He pulls his fingers out slow, watching the mess string between you.

Then—finally—his hands go to your dress. He peels it off of you, revealing every inch of your body to his hungry eyes. "Now," he murmurs, eyes dark again. "Now I take what's mine."

You barely catch your breath before you hear it—

The sound of his belt unbuckling.

Fast. Sharp. Desperate. He’s done waiting. His slacks fall in seconds. Boxers shoved low. His cock now in full view. Heavy, thick, veins pulsing. He is already flushed, the tip angry red and dripping.

Your mouth parts in awe. Your cunt clenches in instinct. “Look at you,” he breathes, crawling back over you, cock resting hot against your thigh. “Already shaking… and I haven’t even put it in yet.”

He grabs himself—gives one slow stroke, tip dragging along your folds as he lines up. You feel the heat of it.

“You want it?” he rasps.

“Yes. Please—”

“Then take it.”

And he pushes in. Slowly, gently, wanting to savour the feeling of your walls around his cock. You arch with a cry—eyes wide, fingers scrambling to hold onto something. But it’s no use. You’re being split. He’s so thick, and the stretch is perfect—too perfect. Your pussy tightens around him like velvet glove, and he groans low, forehead dropping to yours.

“Fuck, baby girl—so fucking tight—so good for me—”

He bottoms out.

One perfect grind of his hips. You feel everything. But he doesn't move yet, his hips flushed with yours.

"You take me so well," he whispers. "This pussy was made for me. You were made for me."

You whimper, breathless.

"Please—move—”

"I can. Remind me, who do you belong to baby?"

"You—you, Chan—fuck, I’m yours—”

"Good girl." he whispers. Pulling back and then slamming back in. Hard. Deep. Merciless. His thrusts picking up pace. Harder into you. Your body jerks up over the bed. He grabs your waist, pulls you back onto him.

Over and over.

The sound is obscene—skin on skin, soaked and slick. Your name is gone. All that exists is his name—Chan, Chan, Chan—echoing from your mouth, screamed into sheets, licked from your lips by the man breaking you open.

“You feel that?” he grits, fucking you deep, jaw clenched. “That’s mine. This body. This blood. This fucking cunt—”

He slaps your thigh. You moan.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours—yours, yours, yours—”

He groans—fucks you harder. At least for a few more thrusts until he moves again. Shifts. Flips you over. Fast. Rough. Hands firm under your hips. One sharp drag and your body turns beneath him—your chest to the sheets, ass up, knees wide on instinct.

You gasp, caught off guard by the dominance of it. And he just laughs—low, filthy, feral.

“That’s better,” he growls behind you. “Now I can really fucking feel you.”

His hand spanks your ass and you jolt.

Chan drags his cock through your slick folds again. Lining himself up. "Stay still," he commands. "Take it.£

And he thrusts back in. Hard. Deep. Full.

You scream. Into the pillow.

He fills you so completely from this angle, cock hitting new spots you didn’t know existed. And when he grinds in deep—stays there—you feel your whole body shudder.

Chan's hand moves into your hair. Fisting it and yanking your head back just enough that you arch for him. And the other hand? It wraps around your throat.

"You look so pretty like this," he hisses into your ear. "Open. Dripping. Mine."

He starts moving again—fucking you slow and rough, every stroke long and deep and perfectly angled. You’re choking on moans now—your own breath caught in your throat where his hand rests, light but threatening. Possessive.

“You gonna cum again?” he pants, hips slamming into you. “Gonna soak me like a good little blood doll?”

You nod—whimper—beg.

“Say it,” he growls.

“I—I’m gonna cum—fuck, Chan, please—”

“That’s right,” he snarls. “Do it. Let go.”

He pulls your hair harder. His cock slams deeper. And you shatter. Second orgasm—harder than the first—slams through you like lightning. Your whole body convulses, cunt pulsing around him so tight he groans, slams in deeper, loses rhythm—

“Fuck.”

He lets go of your throat. Pushes you flat to the bed, still buried inside you.

And then? He pulls out—panting, ruined—and flips you again.

“We’re not done,” he breathes. “Not until I fill you.”

You’re breathless. Sprawled on the sheets on your back again after being flipped. Skin flushed, throat kissed red, thighs sticky and trembling.

But he’s not done.

Chan climbs over you again—eyes black, cock still hard, soaked with your slick and heat and ownership. He grabs your legs, lifts them, pushes them up high over his shoulders.

You whimper. He growls.

“One more,” he rasps. “You’re gonna take one more.”

And then he thrusts back in. His thrusts never easing up, except this time instead of being fast, they're harder, deeper. Hitting deep inside your pretty dripping cunt.

Your legs tremble where they rest on his shoulders, your hips arching up instinctively to meet his every thrust. He’s so deep now—your cunt swallowing every inch, fluttering around him like it already misses him when he pulls back.

“So tight,” he pants, sweat dripping from his jaw as he fucks into you. “So full. You feel that?”

He leans down—body folding over yours, pressing you into the bed. You gasp at the intensity—your knees practically touching your ears, your body caged beneath him. And before you know it, his mouth finds your throat again. Not the old bite. No.

This time it's lower. Right over your pulse. A new mark. A new claim.

He sinks his fangs in—again. But this time? He cums. At the same fucking moment.

You feel it—his cock twitching deep inside you, spilling into you with a primal, guttural growl against your skin. His hips still grind as he pumps you full, fucking it deeper, deeper, until your stomach coils from the pressure and the heat and the ache.

“That’s it,” he pants against your skin. “Take it. All of it. I’m gonna fill you—mark you—fuck it so deep into you it'll leak all night.”

He’s still feeding, slow now—tongue lapping, lips suckling, like your blood is the final part of the ritual.

And you? You’re crying his name.

“Chan—Chan—fuck—yes—yours—”

He lifts his head, face painted with blood and victory and crashes his lips onto yours.

Wet. Possessive. Full of cum and blood and everything he is.

“Good girl,” he whispers, against your swollen lips. “My good little blood doll.”

He pulls out—slow. Your thighs twitch. His cum leaks from between them. He watches it, chest heaving, and smirks before his eyes move on to you. Eyes no longer black, but softer now, sparklier. You’re wrecked beneath him, trembling and flushed, marked in blood and sweat and cum.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, fingers ghosting up your thigh. “You took me so well.”

You try to speak. Can’t. All you can do is breathe—shaky, grateful, undone. He leans down. Presses one kiss to your cheek. Another to your temple. Then the curve of your throat where your blood still lingers.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, so gentle it nearly makes you cry. “You’re mine now. And I take care of what’s mine.”

He moves with eerie speed after that, but never rushes you. One moment he’s gone, and the next—he’s back.

A warm cloth in his hand. Something for your bite marks. A glass of cold water. A square of dark chocolate—your favourite.

“Small sugars after feeding,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Prevents dizziness. Helps the body remember pleasure.”

You nibble it, fingers weak. He watches every movement like it’s precious.

Then he scoops you into his arms. You’re already drifting—high on oxytocin, on safety, on the way he smells like expensive oud and dark cherry blood.

“Where are we going…?” you murmur.

“Bath,” he says, already striding down the marble hallway. “You’re not sleeping with my cum leaking down your thighs onto silk sheets."

You huff a laugh into his chest. "Didn't you say you wanted me to leak all night?"

"I don't remember that. I never said that." But Chan is smiling, dimple smile and his ears are red.

In the bathroom, he takes the time to set you down on the edge of the tub gently while he takes care of filling it up with warm water, adding in jasmine oils. Whilst the tub fills up, Chan steps back to undress fully now, taking off that ripped shirt off.

By the time the tub is filled up, Chan makes sure to ease you in the tub, hands firm yet gentle before sliding in behind you and pulling your back to his chest, arms wrapping around your waist.

"You did so well tonight," he says softly, mouth brushing your shoulder. "I told you id' take care of you."

You nod. Too relaxed to speak.

His fingers draw idle shapes over your stomach, over the curve of your breast, over the softest parts of you that no one else touches.

“Sleep here, if you want,” he whispers. “Stay here. Forever.”

You simply relax, your head against his shoulder, eyes fluttered closed, breathing steady. "Mmm...forever." you murmur.

And Chan leans down to press a kiss to the side of your head.

“Forever,” he echoes. “Mine.”

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @yourfavoriteakutagawakinnie

[numbersq-blog]

Mom’s dinner

Part one I am noneofyoubeewax I changed accounts and forgot my password, tired multiple times to log back into my original account before giving up.

Captain Marvel (Billy): “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?!?!” * hands pressed up against the glass*

Rosa: *sharpens her gaze*

Cap: “……….”

Billy takes a step back, straighten up his back and places his hands behind him.

Cap: “would you like to come inside and discuss the reason for your arrival”

JL: “…………….”

————————————————————————

Inside JL space headquarters

Both Rosa and Billy sit on the floor since Rosa is too big fit in a chair and Billy thought it would be rude if she was the only one sitting on ground.

Billy & Rosa: *communicating in wails and humming*

Batman: “ Does anyone know what they’re saying” *the tone of his voice sounds agitated*

Flash: “how are we supposed to know what they’re saying, when she only communicating through humming and Cap is only answering one word response to her……I think”

——-

Rosa: “I understand your work is importance, but unlike Captain Marvel, you Billy need a break and to spend time with your family”

Billy: “sorry”

Rosa: “You’re 16, I get it, I should know that you’re going to out of the house more, but I never thought it would be like this…………..You’re over working yourself Billy”

Billy: “sorry”

Rosa’s gives a look that only a mother can give to her son who is burning out but can’t stop and she herself doesn’t know what to do.

Rosa cups Billy’s face bringing it close to hers and squishes his face before kissing him on the forehead.

Rosa: “ you’re siblings are waiting, let’s go home and eat” * stands up and holds out her hand*

Billy smiles and takes her hand

Billy: “ok”

Rosa even though she doesn’t know the layout of the area leads Billy to loading deck where she entered.

Billy: “um sorry guys, I’ll be back in two days”

Sharp, short wail comes out

Billy: “See you in a week”

A much softer and longer humming is heard.

Flash: “Bye” looking at Batman

Batman: *glaring but not moving to do anything@

Superman: *gives a awkward wave*

Martian Manhunter: “ farewell”

Wonder Woman: *happy smile and waving goodbye”

Departure of Captain Marvel and guest

Green lantern (Hal): “Damn she was hot”

WW: * slaps him upside the head”

[iamthatonefangirl]

what i would give to ride beefy bucky… i just want him to hold my hips while i hold him down and just fuck myself on him

oh lawd me too anon ok like

imagine you’ve just been waiting for this moment for so long. he’s been gone and you’ve been patiently waiting for him to come home

and so the minute he does-

“please, baby, I need you so bad,” you whine into his chest, and he’s literally only just walked in the door

but obviously he can’t resist his girl in need.

so he picks you up bridal style and takes you to bed

“Bucky… Bucky…” you whisper into his ear, all while grabbing at his chest and nipping at his neck

he lays you down on the bed and begins to crawl over you, but you’re already getting up on your knees and trying to get him to lay on his back

“look at you, pretty girl,” he laughs, letting you manhandle him, amused by your boldness as he watches you strip and kneel above his bulge. he’s already unbuttoning his pants, watching the look on your face with how badly you’re craving him

he decides he’s gonna have some fun with you

“kinda tired, baby, you know….” he smirks at you, watching as you’re already trying to position yourself above him

“just, lemme…” you try to say, but the words don’t come. “please?”

“my girl just wants to use me to get herself off, huh?” he taunts, digging his hands into the skin of your hips

you just nod, waiting for him to give the go ahead, trying not to look too desperate as your hips seek him out of their own accord.

“well who am I to say no?” he asks, bringing your hips down on him and filling to you to the brim

every muscle in your body relaxes, and you practically fall on top of him, hands against his chest as you’re finally getting what you want.

you sit there for a minute, trying to clear your head

“come on, baby, this is all you. I’m not helping you,” he tells you while his grip on your hips gets slightly looser

you will yourself to begin moving, just barely grinding against him, hips never moving more than an inch or two

and you love it. he watches your face, the way you look so enthralled in the feeling

“that’s right, baby. keep fucking yourself just like that…”

you’ve been waiting for this for a while, so the second you begin rubbing at your clit, you’re squeezing him tighter and coming all over him

and then you do collapse on top of him, exhausted, even though you’ve barely done anything and you’re not the one that’s just come home from being away for a week

and now he is feeling as worked up as you were. your small movements against him might’ve been enough for you, but fuck he needs to feel more of you.

“my turn, babygirl,” he says, fingertips clamping down on your hips as he begins fucking up into you like his life depends on it

thanks anon for this I need him right now

[dollfacefantasy]

SILVER LINING ♡

pairing: caleb x fem!reader

summary: work makes you fall apart, but caleb is always there to put you back together

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, oral (f receiving), mentions of death & grief, survivor's guilt, little bit of obsessive behavior and codependency cause it's caleb yknow, hurt/comfort

a/n: i wrote this as a little belated birthday gift for one of my besties @gigabyte-flare!! happy late birthday pixel <3 it's just some self indulgent hurt/comfort. i hope you all enjoy too 🫶

Ever since the two of you were young, Caleb liked to think you and him were connected beyond the physical realm. With everything he had, he believed that he shared a bond with you that most other people could only dream of coming close to with someone else.

For as long as he could remember, he felt your existence. He saw you everyday, heard your voice down the hall, smelled your shampoo as you dashed by. But more important than any of that, he could feel you. Your emotions surrounded him like a fog, affecting his own. Your presence washed over him like a gentle tide on the beach. Even when you both got older, his thoughts lingered on you no matter how many miles kept you from him. Whether he was at the DAA or in Skyhaven he always had a sense for you.

That was why he knew something was wrong before the phone even rang.

He’d been anxious the whole evening; though he couldn’t put his finger on the exact reason. He figured maybe it was the period of time off he’d been given a few days ago that was stretching until the following week. Work gave him something to focus on, something to attach to that wasn’t you. So he tried telling himself that was the cause of his nerves. You were out on a mission of your own, and he was just waiting around for your return. Being on edge was totally natural.

As a distraction, he focused on making dinner. You wouldn’t be back in time, but there would always be leftovers for when you were. He was in the middle of cubing the chicken when his phone rang.

After wiping his hands on one of your little flowery dish towels, he grabbed the small device. Your name glowed back at him.

A thought of acceptance didn’t even have time to register in his head before he was tapping the little answer button and putting it against his ear.

“Hey, pipsqueak. I thought you-” he started, but you cut him off.

“C-Caleb?” you sniffled. Uh-oh. Your voice was shaky, and you were crying. He didn’t like that at all.

“Hey, hey. I’m here. What’s wrong? Where are you?” he asked.

“I’m at the hospital. Could you come pick me up?”

“Of course. I’m on my way,” he replied automatically. 

He turned the stove off and left the rest of his ingredients out on the counter. The phone stayed slotted to his ear as he shrugged on a jacket and slipped shoes on his feet. He could hear your labored breaths and the quiet squeaks of tears you were suppressing. It was driving him crazy that he couldn’t just see you in front of him to make sure you were alright. He needed to make things better for you like he needed air in his lungs.

“What happened? Are you safe?” he asked, trying to mask the worry in his own voice.

“I-I’m fine,” you said, but your words ended with a sob, so their accuracy was questionable. “I just- The mission… It went wrong, and- “

“Are you hurt?” He couldn’t help the interjection; he had to know.

“Just a few bruises, but Tara-” you said and then really broke down.

Your sobs practically caused him physical pain. Each choked cry spurting from your lips made that ache to get to you throb a little harder.

“Listen to me,” he started, the words as soft as he could make them. “I’ll be there as fast as I can. We’re gonna handle this together, ok?”

“Ok,” you said.

He tried to avoid saying that everything would be ok or that you were safe. Based on how upset you sounded, he assumed Tara was dead or at least on the brink of it, and while he was going to do everything in his power to make sure you were fine, he knew hearing that would probably only make you feel worse.

“Ok. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you while I drive?” he asked.

“N-no. I’ll be ok until you get here. Just be safe,” you whimpered.

“I will be. I’ll see you soon. Promise,” he said.

He waited for you to hang up the phone before sliding it in his pocket and heading out the door.

At the hospital, he learned the full story of what had happened. You retold all of the events while crying into his chest and clutching the fabric of his jacket.

Tara was badly injured. So bad that on the small chance she did survive, she would most likely be paralyzed and have permanent scars. Of course you felt guilty because in your mind you had failed to protect her. You’d been overwhelmed by more wanderers than you’d anticipated and lost track of your friend. But there was another layer to that guilt. Tara wasn’t supposed to be on the mission with you. Your other colleague had been injured a few days ago, so you had asked her to accompany you instead.

He rubbed your back up and down while you rambled on about how the whole thing went down. There was no stopping your tears, so he didn’t even try. He just held you there and let you get it all out. After one too many nurses gave him a sympathetic side-eye while walking by, he began herding you in the direction of the exit. It took a few more promises that the two of you could come back to visit tomorrow, but he successfully got you out into the parking lot and, from there, into the car.

On the drive home, you went through a gradual transition. With each turn the car made, your crying lessened a little. By the time you were in your neighborhood, you’d gone silent all together.

He kept his hand on your thigh the whole time. His thumb moved back and forth in little stripes. He liked to think the touch was partially responsible for calming you down.

As sad as this whole thing was, Caleb’s true priority stayed with you. He wanted to make you feel better, to make sure you wouldn’t fall apart any further, and he’d always been the best person for that job. When the two of you were kids, he always found himself being the one to cheer you up if you failed a test or didn’t feel good or just simply had a bad day. This would be the most extreme challenge he faced so far, but he believed he could handle it. Now that the two of you were older and closer, he had more tools at his disposal.

When the car finally stopped and the engine went silent, he glanced over at you, almost making sure you were still there. Physically, of course, you were, but mentally, you looked so far away. Your eyes gazed out the window in a thousand-yard stare, puffy and glossed over with unshed tears. The rest of your body was limp. Your clothes still had blood on them, most likely not your own. They were ripped and tattered in a few places. Even without your previous explanation, it was obvious this fight had been a rough one.

You made no movement to get out of the car or speak to him. He felt like if he were to go inside alone, you’d still be out here tomorrow morning.

“Hey…” he started softly. His hand left your thigh and found your palm instead, giving it a gentle squeeze.

You turned your head and looked into his eyes. That was a relief. At least he wouldn’t have to deal with you completely catatonic.

“Are you ready to go inside?” he asked next.

It took you a second, but you nodded in response.

He gave you a small smile before exiting his side of the vehicle and then going around to yours to help you out. Fortunately, you got out and walked up into his place without needing much aid. All things considered, that was a relief to him. He kept an arm around your shoulders for his own peace of mind and guided you inside. The chicken was still sitting on the cutting board, half-cubed, half-untouched.

Turning you to face him by your shoulders, he looked between the food and you. “How about I finish making dinner for us while you shower and unwind a bit? Does that sound ok?” he asked.

He expected another silent nod, but instead, you grabbed his wrist and shook your head. Your fingers clutched onto the soft fabric at his forearms while he watched your face morph into one of worry.

“What?” he said.

Your body was vibrating under his fingers. The anxiety and anguish that had been rushing through you for the last couple hours was fading now. You were crashing, and he was the only thing between you and a harsh landing.

“Don’t leave me alone,” you said.

“I’m not,” he reassured. He pulled you into his chest, as if the pressure of his arms around you could keep your body from trembling. His hand went up and down your spine like it did at the hospital.

“Ok, let me try again,” he started softly. “How about… I draw you a bath, help you unwind, and then we figure out where to go from there?”

This time you nodded again.

He knew he shouldn’t feel the swell of pride that he did. This was a sad moment. You’d experienced a true tragedy. But it was out of his control. He’d been like this since the two of you were young. He hated the sound of you crying, but he loved the sight of tears in your eyes because he knew that meant you’d come running to him for help. He never wanted anyone to hurt you or make you sad, but if he was the one who got to put you back together again… maybe a few little bumps in the road wouldn’t be the worst things that could happen.

Caleb knew the difference between right and wrong. But it wasn't his fault if he reaped the benefits from the wrong things that happened to you. You coming to him for help or ending up in his arms, under his protection would never be a bad thing to him, no matter what preceded it.

“Good girl,” he hummed against your head. He gave you a final squeeze before leading you to the bathroom with a hand on the small of your back.

Setting up the bath went quick. It was something he’d gotten good at by now. He’d had an idea of what you would like before he ever had to actually do it, and when the two of you had started living together again, he learned for certain. 

Steam drifted up in the darkness of the bathroom, visible only by the warm flicker of the candles he set up. Lavender bubbles sat on top of the rising water in the tub. He poured a healthy amount of oil in as well. You needed to relax, no expenses spared.

Behind him, you began to remove your clothes. Your corset came first. The leather hit the floor beside the hamper with a thud. After that went the crisp white button up from underneath. Your hands shook a little harder as you looked over the splotches of blood on the sleeves.

He turned around just as you unfastened your belt. His hands swooped in to help you remove it. They then went to your waistline to pull down your black pants.

“Let me help you, baby,” he murmured. “You don’t have to do anything alone right now.”

Under normal circumstances, you would have pushed back. Teased him about being overbearing. Splashed a little water on him when you reached the tub. Right now though, you just let him handle you. The only movement you made was lifting each foot for him to slip your pant leg off.

As soon as you were totally nude, he brought you to the edge of the tub and shut off the water.

“Let me know if it’s too hot, ok?” he said as you took the first step in, followed by the other.

“It’s fine. Thank you,” you said softly.

The water gently rippled and bubbles parted for your figure as you sat down. You brought your knees up to your chest — a position he often found you in when you were feeling worn down.

Now that you were safe, cradled in an environment under his control where he could ensure you wouldn’t break, he became a little more overt with his affections. He ducked in and kissed one cheek, then practically fell in the water leaning over enough to kiss your other. That made you crack the tiniest, most faint smile. But anything was good enough for him.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he teased, lightly pinching the skin his lips had just touched.

“I’m not,” you said back. Your wet hand emerged from the water to cup his jaw.

He knew what you wanted even if guilt was stopping you from going for it right now. It was obvious in the way your breathing had become deeper and more even. Or how your features had relaxed ever so slightly.

His dry hand grasped your wet one, intertwining your fingers together as he leaned in and placed a kiss on your lips. It was just one at first, but then he went for another and then another. All of them stayed tender and chaste. Pure expressions of love with no hidden intentions.

“My pretty, perfect girl,” he whispered against your lips. “You’re too sweet for this world.”

He swiped his thumb across your chin as he pulled back. Your pupils dilated a bit when your vision refocused on him. You looked a lot better than you had just an hour ago. He could see the life returning to your face, your usual resilience blooming up again within you. There was still just one barrier he needed to ensure was broken.

“Tell me you know what happened wasn’t your fault,” he said.

“Caleb…” you replied. Your eyes darted to one of the candles. But he didn’t give up.

“Tell me you know it wasn’t your fault. Because it wasn’t.”

The bathroom remained silent for a few moments.

“You weren’t there… You don’t even know-”

“I know that you’re a good hunter. I know that you love your friends, and I know that you do anything to protect people you care about,” he said. “I also know that you try your hardest at everything you do. I know that there was no way you could have prepared for something you didn’t know was coming.”

“You hate that I’m a hunter…”

“I do,” he answered without reservation. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re good at it. If you’d had any idea that an ambush was possible, you would have done everything you could have to be ready.”

“I was the one who asked her to come though. I-”

“And she agreed to go with you,” he said, cupping the back of your neck with his hand that was now covered with drops of water from your skin.

You made eye contact with him again warily, as if you couldn’t bring yourself to accept the lack of guilt.

“You know she wouldn’t blame you. She wouldn’t want you to feel at fault,” he said. “Those wanderers hurt her, and you fought them off with everything you had, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“Good. So no blaming yourself,” he said like it was a command.

But again, as shitty as you felt, you were in no mood to push back. You just nodded.

The initial agreement was good, but he knew he could get more. His lips landed on the shell of your ear and caressed down to the lobe. On your shoulders, his fingers gently massaged your tensed muscles. He could feel the strain ease away under his care.

“You’ve always been such a worrier,” he whispered. 

You shivered as his breath hit the sheen of water on your skin. “Have not,” you said quietly.

“Oh yes you have,” he chuckled. One of his hands ducked into the water, delving lower to rub your side. “Ever since we were young. You’ve always been so sensitive, wanting to fix things for everything else, taking on the responsibility of making sure nothing goes wrong ever.”

His lips trailed down to your neck. He kissed your pulse point first before gently latching onto the flesh. For once, he wasn’t trying to leave a mark. This was all about the mere feeling. The slight suction, the sweet swipe of his tongue.

You let out the quietest little moan, but he still caught it. He started to smile as you tilted your head to shut him out of your neck.

“It’s cute,” he said, finishing his earlier point.

“Shut up,” you huffed and brought one of your wet hands up to push at his head.

He smiled fully at the touch, simply shaking his head like a dog to get the water out of his hair.

Even if you wouldn’t admit it, he could tell you were relaxing. Your legs had slowly eased from your chest down into the bathwater. Your posture was a little less rigid. You no longer seemed on the verge of breaking down.

With his goal somewhat achieved, he reached over and grabbed the shampoo bottle. He poured a decent amount of the silky liquid into his palm.

“Lean your head back,” he murmured as he worked up a lather.

This was a familiar routine for you two. Caleb had tasked himself with caring for your hair for nearly as long as you could remember, and he only took on more parts of your routine as he got older. While he used to simply dry and comb, he now washed and conditioned and applied serums.

You shut your eyes as the water made contact with your scalp. His fingers soon joined. The soft pads ran over your head with all the love in the world, as if transferring his raw affection for you through this one touch.

He scrubbed your roots with just the right amount of pressure and speed. Once he was happy with that, he brought you upright again and used a nearby cup to rinse the suds off you. He did it a couple times, wanting to make sure you were totally clean.

After that, he followed the steps he’d come to know so well. You nearly fell asleep. The bathroom was silent except for his breaths and the laps of the water on your skin. Eventually, he did say something, but your body was boneless and your brain had turned to mush.

He laughed softly and gave you a gentle shake. “C’mon, pipsqueak. You still with me?” he asked as he began to guide you up out of the water.

The air against your soaked flesh brought you back down to Earth at least somewhat. Your eyes fluttered open for a moment and your legs stiffened up to support you.

“There she is,” he said while helping you step from the tub.

A kiss landed on your cheek, and a towel draped over your shoulders. You pulled it tighter around your frame as he plucked the stopper from the drain. The water rushed to vanish just as quickly as it had disappeared.

He blew out the few candles around the room and then came back to you.

“I’ll get you all dried off. Then maybe we’ll get some food in you?” he said as he crouched down with a washcloth in hand. He dried your feet and legs first, working his way from the bottom up.

“I’m not really hungry…” you said in response.

That didn't matter to him. He may have preferred you getting some food in your stomach before the night was done, but it was understandable. After all that adrenaline and cortisol, you probably wanted to pass out more than anything else. He could get you fed when you woke up. Being forceful or nagging would probably only upset you right now, and he was in no mood to undo all his progress such far.

With a kiss to your knee, he glanced up at you. “That’s ok. Just relax. I’ll take care of you,” he reassured.

Before exiting the bathroom, he made sure you were fresh in about every way possible. Not only were you clean, you were also dried and lotioned. Dressed in clean clothes. Your teeth were brushed. And of course, he tended to your hair like always, making sure it was ready for you to go to bed.

You didn’t have to lift a finger. That was always the case with Caleb, but right now, he could tell you really appreciated it. It practically made him glow. He had to remind himself to school in some of his pride since he knew that you were still pretty down even if you were better than earlier.

Taking your hand, he led you from the stool at the counter into your room. He dimmed the lights to the setting you liked while you flopped onto his mattress like you’d been shot. From the other side of the room, he watched with a little smile as you spread your limbs across the soft duvet, feeling every inch of the soft fabric.

He peeled his shirt off and tossed it to the nearby hamper. His pants went next, leaving him nearly bare before you. But your head stayed back on the mattress, your eyes on the ceiling.

“Tired?” he asked as he came over to join you.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

Despite your words, you didn’t make any moves to pull back the covers or get up to the pillows. It was different than your usual laziness. You weren’t trying to goad him into doing some tedious task for you. You seemed a little lost. Like you were lingering between possibilities of what you should do next.

“You need anything?” he asked. He grabbed one of your feet and rubbed his hands over your arch, giving it a massage of sorts.

“I dunno… I just… I feel like… like do you ever get so tired that you can’t sleep?”

“All the time,” he said.

“I feel like that. But worse. I just feel like… drained. Like my brain is all empty but full at the same time.”

“Well I can help you with that,” he said with a little smirk. He poked your foot before dropping it and crawling on top of you instead. His hand came up to stroke his knuckles along your cheekbone. “You just need a distraction. Something for your brain to focus on until it’s ready to knock out.”

“And that’s gonna be you?” you asked, raising a brow.

“Isn’t it always?” he teased before leaning in to kiss your lips.

At first, you stiffened slightly, and he thought you might rebuff him. It would make sense, not being in the mood given all that you’d been through earlier. But after a couple of seconds, your body melted beneath his own. Your lips followed along and kissed back.

Like before in the tub, it started with a small peck and developed into a series of kisses that let you forget all about the grief that would surely come rushing back tomorrow. That was ok though. He just wanted to make you feel good right now. Give you a small window of peace before you threw yourself back into the harshness of reality.

He’d always believed his self-restraint was deserving of some kind of award. That was especially true here. Even though all he wanted was to kiss you breathless, to spread you out beneath him and have his way, he kept things slow and worked at the pace you allowed.

It wasn’t until he felt your legs spread to engulf him that he moved downward to your neck. His own hips rolled against your center just enough to give you a brush of pleasure. It was a tentative move — an exploration that he could easily backpedal from if you ended up not being in the mood. But your fingers threaded through his hair. You pulled him closer instead of pushing him off. In the midst of your stormy emotions, you wanted him to calm you down, not leave you to weather them on your own.

He ground himself against you with more intention, and this time you rewarded him with a soft moan. His fingertips dug into the plush of your hips, teasing what was to come.

“Caleb,” you breathed.

He brought his mouth up and gave you one more silencing kiss. 

“Shhh, I’ll make it all better. Just relax for me,” he hushed.

From there, he began to actually make the descent. He dragged himself down between the valley of your breasts, over your stomach towards your pelvis. His fingers hooked over the shorts he’d just put you in and tugged them off your legs. He left you in your panties for now. Part of soothing you meant he had to satisfy you, and nothing was more satisfying than relief after being deprived of it.

That rule only applied to you though.

He dove right in, slotting his head between the heavenly warmth of your thighs. His hands gripped onto your soft skin as he took a deep breath and let your scent fill his nose. He could never get enough. You smelled better than any perfume on earth.

His lips pressed against the fabric of your panties, kisses like the ones he left on your lips and neck.  More sweet whimpers came from you up above. Your legs squirmed a bit, your feet sliding against his back. Then he felt those fingers of yours lacing into his hair again, and he almost let out a moan of his own.

His tongue darted out, tracing little shapes onto the cloth separating you from him. He flicked it lightly just to tease you, to get you whining and arching your back off the mattress.

The cloth grew more and more damp with your arousal. Your body kept fidgeting within his hold. When you finally broke and whimpered out “Caleb, quit teasing,” he retreated and tugged your panties off.

“Be patient,” he said with a small smirk. “You know I never leave you wanting.”

With that, he went all in. His arms looped around your legs while his tongue lapped up your nectar straight from the source. The warm, wet muscle glided over your entrance up to swirl around your swollen clit.

He drew all the little shapes he knew you loved, all the ones that got you clutching the blankets and digging your heels into his back.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Caleb,” you whimpered.

His eyes flitted up to you. He could see your lip quiver as the pleasure set in. It was probably the best you’d felt all day.

“You’re ok, baby. I’m right here,” he crooned before licking another stripe over your cunt.

A sharp cry burst from you. Your legs trembled hard around his head. He just kept at his task, stroking bliss onto you with each motion of his tongue.

It wasn’t long before tears came to accompany that wobbly lip. They welled up along your waterline and leaked over as you crept along to the edge. You sniffled, trying to wipe them away before he could see, but you weren’t fast enough.

He noticed. The way you were tilting your head back and swiping your fingers over your cheeks clued him in. He almost stopped, assuming your grief had come back earlier than he thought and overridden any feelings of arousal. However after a few moments of observation, he knew that wasn’t the case.

You weren’t crying from pure euphoria, but they weren’t tears of sadness either. No, his poor baby was just overwhelmed. There was probably so much going on in your little head. The fog of lust waging against the residual sadness made it all the more confusing to grapple with.

One of his hands left your thigh and reached up to take yours. You latched on immediately, squeezing his palm with all the strength you had left. He gave you a squeeze back. Just a soft one. A little reminder that he had you.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured from between your legs.

The vibrations from his voice shot through you like mini bolts of lightning. They were enough to give you that last nudge to the finish line. In a matter of moments, your body spasmed, and your limbs went taut.

He could feel your muscles contracting. Your hand tightened around his tight enough that he felt a small burst of pain go through it. Coming from you though, it was a blissful kind of ache.

Without stopping, he worked you through your climax. He devoured you through every wave of bliss. It was only when your mewls became a little more strained that he pulled off. Normally, he’d have no issue with continuing. He’d work you right through another one, keep you at his disposal until he was satisfied.

But right now, this was for you. And with all that you’d been through, he figured one was enough to get the job done.

He pulled away slowly, leaving lingering kisses down your leg all the way to your ankle.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked softly.

You nodded in response without even lifting your head or looking at him.

He grinned at that. “Yeah? Think you can sleep now?”

“Mhm. As soon as you get in bed too.”

He could hear the drowsiness starting to seep into each of your words. Even though he was sporting a semi currently, he had no issue dealing with that later. He had become well-versed in the art of waiting. He’d waited to call you his own for years. One night without release at your hands was nothing.

Plus, he could always deal with it after you dozed off if it was a real issue.

Without any help from you, he got the covers down and you tucked in. Only then did he climb into bed himself. Instantly, you curled right up to his side. Your head found its usual spot right at the connection of his shoulder and chest. You snuck your arm around his waist and pressed a small kiss to his bare skin.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “I love you so so much.”

He looked down at you. Some nights when you lie sleeping he had trouble believing moments like these were real. You in his arms, cuddling up to him, telling him you loved him was more than a dream. It was his life now.

“Not as much as I love you, pipsqueak,” he said, voice quiet enough to keep the emotion in his tone vague. “Get some rest. I’ll see you when you wake up.”

“Not if I see you first,” you mumbled with a little pinch to his skin.

He didn’t reply with words, only a simple peck to your forehead, a silent urge for you to let yourself sleep. You’d need the rest for whatever tomorrow brought. He knew it was likely you’d fall apart all over again when your mind inevitably wandered back to what had happened. But that was ok. He had no problem putting you back together again.

[n0rmal-cat]

Femboy moth x reader x thembo butterfly- date night

[if only]

Moth pulls up his pencil skirt looking at himself in the mirror.

“You told them this was a date right” he looked back at his partner who was putting their shoes on.

“Ah yeah, I sent them a text saying it was a very important date and that they shouldn’t be late when they come” they pull out their phone.

“Alright as long as you told them, by the way” he smirked “you’re wearing two different socks” he flicks their nose playfully.

“Dammit…” they start to untie them.

Reader waits anxiously in the corridor of the apartment complex, they dressed in the best formal clothes they coul, hair perfectly done. They knew if they didn’t they would be made fun of by the two, they didn’t want that.

They looked back at the text messages that was sent to them making sure they had the right room number. Pushing the button they heard a buzzing sound then the sound of the door opening.

They made their way to the elevator then headed up, once there they knocked on the door.

“Wow someone really dressed up didn’t they? Count me surprised I didn’t know you could clean up this good” moth had answered the door with a grin and an outward arm.

“Um…”they froze in fear, they slowly stretched out their own arm and shook hands. Making contact sent a shiver down reader’s spine, like grasping a peach shaped hand.

“Y-you look nice yourself” they tried to be polite.

He scoffed “ tch whatever…just get inside” he said with a bluish hue across his face.

Reader nodded and stepped inside their apartment, the room was dimly lit but still seeable.

They walk into a candle lite dinner very confused however. “Well go on, the middle seat is you” moth ushered them.

“Oh yes, of course” they pulled the chair out and sat down putting their bag at the side of their chair.

“We’re so glad you accepted our proposal, we thought for sure you would refuse” butterfly scooted closer to reader in their chair.

“Well…it’s not like I can refuse work, especially from my higher ups?” Reader offered a sideways smile.

“But I wasn’t really told what this was about, is it about funds for the company?” they asked

Moth went silent “say what now?”

“Haha you’re so funny, so so funny you know that” butterfly laughed it off like it was one big joke to them.

“Love…show me that text you sent reader”

“Ok!” They handed it over

‘You need to come over

Tomorrow it’s a very

Important date’

‘Yes of course’

He stared at it with a blank face, they took a deep breath in and let it out as they put their head down.

“Alright read it seems we made a mistake, it seems like all our funds are in order you may leave now” he smiled bringing his head back up.

“What?!” Both parties said simultaneously.

“But I only just got here?” They asked

“Babe what are you talking-“

“Just a prank” he stuck his tongue out.

Reader looked around the room baffled, all this for a prank? Butterfly didn’t even seem convinced did they really go to all this effort for less than an hour of their time?

“Um, alright moth…I guess I’ll just leave?” They got up out of their chair and made their way to the door. It was only after the door closed did moths face fall.

“Babe what was that? Why’d you tell them to leave?” They asked worried.

“They didn’t know it was a date” he sat back down with a sigh pouring themselves a glass of wine.

“But I told them it was a date, I made sure for you baby” they grabbed his hands softly.

“I know honey, but it was the apps fault not yours, we’ll just have to have a date by ourselves” he smiled.

“It was my fault wasn’t it? I’m sorry…”

“No, no it wasn’t your fault at all, now just sit down so we can eat” before they could, however a knock came from the door.

“I’ll be right back” they rushed to the door and opened it.

“Reader, why are you still here?” they asked, surprised.

“I left my bag here, I just came back to get it”

They looked back at the table and saw the aforementioned bag sitting on the side of the chair.

“Reader, before I give you your bag can I ask you a question?”

“Um sure?…if it will get my bag back”

“Will you go on a date with us”

“Huh?!” It finally clicked, the reason why they didn’t say what the meeting was about was because the very important date…was a romantic date…”

Their face became hot, “me?” They pointed at themselves

“Yes you”

“You?” They pointed at butterfly.

“Yes? Do you want to or not?…I promise not to call you an idiot” they blushed

All reader did was nod, “that’s great!” They took reader hand and brought them back to the table.

“Who the hell was- reader?! Why are you still here” butterfly sat reader back down.

“They agreed to go on a date with us isn’t that nice”

“A date, like a date, date?” Reader nodded silently.

“Like romantic?” Another nod

“Are you sure?”

“If you keep asking so many questions they might leave”

Surprisingly both were very silent the whole night, unlike butterfly who talked readers ear off the whole time.

The date was actually pretty good, not once did they insult reader and butterfly even said that they liked readers hair. It seems like the bullying was more of a school bully retrain, stupid and inefficient.

Reader didn’t know if they wanted to go back on another date with them but they would definitely keep it in mind when they saw the two again.

[homunculus-argument]

I’m going to preface all of this by saying that sometimes, in my experience, you are just gonna be bored with your look until you find some new clothing item or accessory that inspires you or have the muses visit you in your dreams. That’s ok. This is a natural part of being, it’s what happens when you’re the same for a while and it will pass. The issue really is if you don’t feel like you look like you anymore. That is generally, in my experience, something that can only be fixed by a Big Change TM. If you feel like this look is right for you you’re just bored, the answer may be to just wait it out.

But also tho some tips for in the meantime or to get over it faster

- it may be a good time to add another element you don’t usually have time or energy for. My go to is eyeliner, but this could be any accessory or makeup or a new way of styling your hair.

- you don’t have to fuck with your hair to change how it looks. Headbands, butterfly clips, and if your hair is at all even slightly long then hair bands are all things you can use to drastically change the shape of your hair temporarily.

- it is very possible to change your silhouette in the heat. Mess with different sleeve shapes, if you get a sheer material you can also make fancy long sleeves. If you don’t have sheer material, I made this great bolero top where the sleeves just have enough holes in them that it’s comfortable in like the high 80s (about 30°C). If it’s too hot for ___ then figure out how to make it work. Could you put more holes in it? Could you change the material? Is there a version of this thing meant for extreme heat (ex: uv guard sleeves or clothes designed for hijabis in hot weather)

- go seek inspiration. Pinterest, window shopping, historical fashion pictures, social media in general, thrifting, drawing people with cool clothes, watching movies with cool fashion. Maybe one of them will inspire you.

- completely abandon the cool outfits for a bit. Wear your most low effort comfy clothes with no accessories. Be the most boring you can be for a couple days or a week or however long. Then once you start dressing cool again you won’t be bored about it anymore.

:)

We're going Outside today, and I'm planning to wear a collared shirt that I have in a way that I usually never do (by itself and not as a cover worn open over a t-shrit), and I am tempted to annoy my boyfriend by trying to do A Makeup.

[snowneedsanap]

Feed a guppy, will ya miss?

The Merman's Cove // Poly!Mermay!141 x Afab!Human!Reader // Ch. 1

Tags // Reader is Afab with she/her pronouns, this is eventually a poly ending but starts with a Kyle/Johnny fic for the beginning, the boys are feral hunters, reader doesn't like fish, I don't care if it isn't MerMay anymore I want Mermen, Reader is human interacting with feral beasts of the deep, protective mermen, biting, marking, clawing, Reader def has daddy issues, will later build on once I get to writing ok loves<3

A/N // possibly smut? i am still a baby writer you guys. I don't know, this is hopefully my first longer fic and it catches on b/c I'm going through a mermaid phase.

Buying or really stealing a bucket of mackerel from your father's fishing boat was a daily habit since you remembered, since he would take you to the cove where the sea otters stayed. Their chirps and squeaks, clawing and pawing to the slippery and small fish was the only tolerating part of handling fish. Ever since living on a port city that thrived off of it's fishing exports, you could never quite enjoy the delicacy the locals enjoyed. The texture, the olfaction, the taste, you could never get over. No matter if it was grilled, baked, stuffed, raw, or cooked, any sort of fish could never be to your liking.

So, imagine to your father's surprise, as an owner of his own fishing company, when his own daughter doesn't enjoy the food he catches and how he smelled at the end of the day coming back from sea. When you were younger, he would shower right as he got home to then prepare chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese right when you came home from elementary school. But as you grew and he spent more time out at sea to pay for your primary education, he would never even have the chance to see you nor even have you smell him to know that he was home.

When things hardened and after you graduated from primary, you decided to help his business by working in his store, no where of the sea and their smells and harm, and surely you kept it that way. But today, and with most days, it was raining. The small Irish island was notorious of their rough seas and torrential rain, but today was a light drizzle. With said light drizzle, and the fact that the island was home less to 400 people, all spaced out too, no one was out. Grabbing a bucket from yesterdays catch of mackerel, you sought out to the comforting cove with the smelling fish bucket to the even more smelly cavern with the salty sea otters. Making sure to watch your step, your slowly made your way to the watery and rocky seats you've known. Throwing a slippery mackerel in to attract them, despite them not already being here was offsetting, you threw one it and it plunked right in. Within a blur and not breaking the surface, a whir of black and deep green snatched the dead fish. Immediately knocking the bucket back and leaning down over the rock's edge to get a quick glimpse, of what you've thought could've been a tuna, but definitely was not the coloring, you peered down into the dark waters. Unbeknownst to you, a pair of bright blue, starking humanoid eyes were staring right back.

As you stared into the murky waters, wondering what sort of fish could possibly be larger than the size of a shark but also not break the surface tension.

A splash of cold water broke your attention, making you take a step back and wipe the nasty salty sea water off of your face. You blink a few times to make sure nothing is in your eyes, you look back to the waters to see a head with green iridescent scales aligning the scalp, pointed high with one large fin down the middle. It's hair was, odd, the sides were shaven and had given it the appearance of a mohawk. It's eyes pierce to yours, a glare sending a shiver down your spine.

It was humanoid. No, it was a merfolk. The one your father always warned your about, whenever he would tell you stories out at sea, where he would see half fish half women, but you would always laugh and call him delirious, tell him to take his vitamin c pills so he doesn't get 'scurvy' like a real pirate.' What a joke.

What a joke you seriously thought when this merfolk stared you down. You felt choked, bewildered, and creeped out to find out that your father's stories were somewhat, factually true. Barely moving a muscle, the merfolk dives back in. In a flash, the same shadow you saw snatched the dead mackerel swam by. Then, it's head popped back up, closer. It eyed the metal bucket by your side, where it's dumped contents laid out by your side. Without words but understanding, you threw another fish. The merfolk jumped out and caught it with it's razor teeth, almost full body propelling itself up. Toned with white scars that had never healed properly, a strapped leather weapon to, to his chest, you realized. It was a merman.

Wanting to know more about this merman despite your father's previous warnings, you threw in more mackerel. It went back in for more, swiping each one. Peering down over the edge, his head moved back up. Then he swam closer to get a closer look too it seemed, to where you saw a large fish hook in the corner of his right gills. They pulsate from the lack of water but also the pain from the metal imbedded into the flesh. Frowning, but also having experience with unhooking and releasing, so you motion for him to move closer to hopefully remove it without anymore pain.

Begrudgingly, he swims forward. Swiftly without another blink, the hook is removed without anymore harm to the flesh. Smiling, you throw the rest of the fish to him. He stares at you, shocked as you removed the hook effortlessly. His siren eyes stare a while before you catch on, where you then realize you have befriended a fear of your father's.

[emeraldserenade]

Career Day ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: You're just a teacher's assistant but you were the girl of his dreams

tw: fem!reader, none?, barely edited

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

I don't know where this one came from, I found it finished in my google docs. Which means I probably wrote it at 3am.

➽──────────────❥

You worked with Joaquín’s mom, she was a teacher at the same middle school as your mom. It’s how you ended up as a teacher assistant there, an unofficial job that the school put on the payroll just for you. You were thankful, you loved working there and you spent time there anyway. 

“My son is coming for career day,” Mrs. Torres told you, you were helping her staple all her packets since the copier was out of staples. 

“That’s awfully nice of him,” you mused, you’ve heard about her son. How proud she was of him and how he’s following his dreams. 

“He’s so excited to see the children,” she swapped to Spanish for a moment and you had to just awkwardly smile at her. She did it occasionally when she got super excited or upset, you don’t think she even realized she swapped languages until you said something most times. “Oh, I’ve done it again,” she gently shook her head in amusement. 

“It’s ok, Mrs. Torres. I’ll have to learn Spanish eventually as you keep doing it,” you joked. You two fell into a silence, the movie you were playing for the kids the only noise in the background. 

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín and Sam had both agreed to the career day, and you knew the students would be so excited. It was the morning of, and both of them were sitting in the empty classroom with you. Both Mrs. Torres and your mom were out helping with the buses, so you were put in charge of getting the classroom together. 

“Are you a teacher?” Sam had been asking you general questions the whole time. 

“No, I’m technically a teacher’s assistant. They put me on the payroll since I was here helping for free for a while,” you explained, balancing on one foot on a wobbly chair. The heels you wore didn’t help but they were a perfect color match to your shirt and had bows on the toe box. 

As if he could see into the future, Joaquín was grabbing your waist as you started to topple over. He gently helped you down and onto the floor, only removing his hold once you were securely on the floor. “Are you ok?”Joaquín looked you in the eyes and you nodded at him.

“Yeah, thank you,” you told him, a sheepish smile crossing your face. You stepped away from him fully when you heard kids walking towards the room, a more joyous smile spread across your face as you stepped to the door. “Good morning!” You called to the hoard of students who walked in.

“Is that Captain America?” One of the students whispered to you.

“It is, go sit down now,” you told her with a softer smile. You took a glance at Sam and Joaquín, both were sitting by the desk in the back you normally sat at.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

“Are you excited to talk to them?” You made small talk while you filled in a coloring sheet from one of the parents. They were talking about their job in a marker facility and brough coloring sheets and markers for everyone. You glanced up at Joaquín, Sam was currently talking to the class.

“I am, but I’m a little nervous though,” he admitted and you reached to give his hand a small reassuring squeeze.

“They will love you,” you gave him what was supposed to be a calming smile, but the warmth from your hand, and his little crush on you, caused his heart to race a little.

“Say thank you to Mr. Wilson!” Your mom announced as Sam finished his Q and A portion of his talk. There was a chorus of thank yous and you gave Joaquín another reassuring look before your mom called him up. “Give Mr. Torres a nice welcome,” your mom announced as you smiled and gently clapped with the class as Joaquín walked up. 

You went back to your coloring sheet as Joaquín talked, occasionally peaking up to look at Joaquín with a smile. Sam and you were having nice small talk as well, Sam was effortless in the way he made small jokes and laughed at your less effortless jokes.

“He likes you,” Sam randomly said and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Who?” You were playing dumb, your stupid little celebrity crush on Joaquín wasn’t something you were willing to focus on at the moment.

“Joaquín, he likes you,” Sam told you, a smile on his face that showed you that he knew you were playing dumb.

“Oh, I’m sure he’s just nice,” you told him, your practiced words from being a teacher being said to Sam.

“Sure,” Sam nodded slowly but dropped the topic.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín came by to visit a lot more after the career day, sometimes it was under the ruse of dropping by for lunch with his mom. Then he started bringing lunch for you and your mom, both of your mothers leaving you alone to eat together. 

“Thank you,” you thanked Joaquín with a smile as he gave you your lunch. Your moms had left the room to eat lunch elsewhere while you two settled into the seats at your desk.

“I, uh, I wanted to tell you something,”  Joaquín said. You could feel the nervousness that radiated off of him, which was unusual. But it was you, how could he not be nervous when the girl of his dreams was right there and smiling at him.

“Ok?” You urged him to continue, taking a sip of your drink.

“I like you,” he told you but continued to talk before you could say anything. “I like you a lot, and I get if you don’t like me but,” you cut Joaquín off with a small smile and a hand on his arm.

“I like you too, a lot,” you crinkled your nose at him as he relaxed.

“I really want to kiss you,” he told you and you laughed.

“Not at school, but if you’re here when I get off, I’ll kiss you,” you told him and he nodded, both of you settling into silence for a moment.

“Oh, do you want to be my girlfriend?” Joaquín asked you like he meant to but forgot.

“I would love to,” you replied, lacing your fingers with his for a moment.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín was there when you got off of work, you were walking out with your mom and his mom when you saw him. He was leaning against his truck with his arms crossed, his mom gently nudged you to him.

“I wasn’t sure if you were actually going to be here,” you called to him as you walked up. He smiled at you and pulled you into a kiss, you could hear the ‘ohhs” from the students.

“You promised me a kiss, why wouldn’t I be here?” Joaquín questioned and you laughed gently, you were still pressed into him. His hands were placed on your waist and yours locked behind his neck.

“She doesn’t have her car right now, offer her a ride!” You heard his mom call over to you two and you looked at him with wide eyes.

“Would you like a ride?” Joaquín offered with a small laugh.

“You really don’t have to,” you told him, not moving from his hold.

“I want to, I promise,” he assured you and you nodded.

“Then take me home, loverboy,” you gave him another quick kiss to his lips before pulling away. Joaquín rushed to open the passenger door for you and you have him one last quick kiss as you jumped in.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

Have you ever written an entire chapter of a story on a laptop, almost all ready to be posted only for as you are rereading for your entire computer to randomly shut off refuse to turn back on even though the laptop was definitely fully charged and then you go well it was written in google docs should be saved right. Only to then realize for some reason it didn't. So you just lost almost 15,000 words of a story.

Then you get slightly upset, but your like it's ok you know whatever rewrite that chapter. But then you think wait but what about that other thing you had been writing. A almost 20,000 word one shot about Lex Luthor that you have been pouring your heart into for almost 6 months also is completely missing.

So then you panic and call your engineer of a sperm doner who goes alright when I get out of work tommorow I will take a look and try to figure out what happened. But until then he says just be calm.

Calm, he said calm.

I'm gonna kill myself. (Joking maybe)

[obessioncollector]

service with a smile

joe singh (ginny and georgia) x reader

warnings: use of y/n (only one time), afab reader, fingering, smut, long as hell, rushed ending, grammar mistakes probably

a/n: this show sucks but raymond ablack has been fine since degrassi tng so i thought joe deserved a fanfic

joe singh is warm like the coffee he makes, he smells like cinnamon and old spice, and he always serves you with a smile. you come into the blue farm cafe almost every night, weird time to drink coffee but you hate mornings and only drink decaf anyway so it barely even counts, or at least that’s what you think. of course joe makes fun of you for your inability to drink real caffeine, and generally any drink that’s not coated in caramel and whip-cream, but you just tell him he has bad taste.

tonight was no different from any other night. you got off of work, grabbed your keys, and got on your way to the cafe. only it actually was sort of different. that was the short version of the story, what really happened was far less cute and cozy.

nevertheless, you arrived at the cafe. you felt stupid, walking into the almost empty building in your waitress uniform, mascara streaming down your face, 20 minutes till closing.

“joe?” you called out, tugging at your stupid dress. “uhm- is joe back there?” you leaned over the counter, quickly wiping your eyes.

and there he was. tall, pretty eyed, and that smile-that immediately dropped when he saw your face. “oh, y/n” his head tilted to one side. “hi joe” you replied, forcing yourself to smile, which caused a few salty tears to fall in your mouth. just then, he shouted in his loud voice, which you forgot he had sometimes because he always seemed so.. soft and gentle to you, “everyone get out, were closing early.”

it wasn’t that hard to clear the cafe, considering there were like two other people in there, but after he did, he didn’t waste a second waiting to hold your hand, wipe your tears, and ask you how you were feeling.

“ok” you nodded, watching him give you a look of disbelief. “not okay..” you stared at the blueberry scone that was now placed in front of you. and for some reason, the crying only amplified at that.

“shh.. shhh” joe walked around the counter, he somehow how seemed both calm and frantic at the same time. his hands tangled into your hair, holding your head to his chest as you sobbed. a gentle but strong hand stroked your hair, and for a moment you forgot about your shitty day, everything was perfect because he was there.

after a minute, you had relaxed in his arms, looking up at him with an embarrassed smile. “i probably look so.. stupid right now” you let out a breathless laugh. his soft smile returned, and he sat down across from you, letting the pressure of his arms fall from your shoulders, “not stupid, trust me, i’ve seen stupid and you’re nowhere close to it.”

you wiped a final tear from your face, stood up, and hugged him. “thank you” you whispered, head buried in his neck while his dark hair brushed your ear. his hands took a second to fall around your body, like he was surprised by the gesture. you pulled back only slightly to look at him and say “you didn’t have to do that for me”

and he whispered back “i did” before his hand cupped your face, and his lips met yours. he kissed you like he was telling you a secret that only you two knew, in a language that only you could understand. when he pulled away he didn’t stop holding you, whispering in your ear and leaving soft kisses on your neck. he stood up just to lean you against the counter and kiss you again, hands trailing down your body, untying your apron and letting it drop to the wood floor.

“come on” he whispered, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ears and taking your hand. he pulled you to the back of the cafe, pressing you up against the fridge door and kissing you all over.

“joe-“ you murmured between kisses, “let me take care of you” he whispered back, a hand slowly unbuttoning your dress. “if that’s okay” his breath fanned your ear. a nod was your only response. he let a finger trail down your collar bone “i want to hear you say yes” he kissed the spot he’d just traced with his finger, looking up at you with pleading brown eyes “can you do that for me?”

“yes” you replied almost immediately, seemingly more desperate than before. your hands began tugging at his shirt, helping him pull it off. joe was equally as desperate, your confirmation was enough for him to let that show. he finished unbuttoning your dress, letting it slide of your shoulders so you were left half naked. joe smiled, “you look so fucking good” he breathed, his bare chest to yours as you fidgeted with his belt. his hands trailed from your chest to in between your thighs, his knuckles balling up and running over your already damp panties.

“fuck- joe” your hands stopped unbuckling his belt and instead just gripped onto the loopholes of his jeans. your head leaned back, resting on the fridge door. “shh.. you just stopped crying, don’t start again” he laughed softly, his fingers curling under the lace fabric and pulling them down. his fingers ran over your folds, causing you to whimper again.

“it’s nice to know i have this affect on you” he hummed, his thumb beginning to rub your clit. he watched your reactions, responding to each of your moans. “that feel good?” his voice was quiet but low as he slipped in two fingers at once, pumping them slow, then fast. “so good” you cried, eyes rolling back as you felt a third finger join the previous two.

“joe- oh my god-“ your hands moved from his belt to grip his shoulders. “that’s it, good girl” his rough, tired voice praised. “come on.. cum for me.. please” he rasped in your ear before you did just that. for a few seconds, it felt like you were in heaven, like joe had brought you there. that feeling was followed by an insane amount of panting and sighs as you came down from your high.

joe simply retracted his fingers, licked them clean, and kissed your forehead. then he gave you that stupid smile of his and said “i’m glad you came tonight.”

[xotication]

☆,

mikasa is def the type to push you past your limits. she swears she can get you to take more than what you know you can.

you’ll be on your 3rd orgasm & she’s still rubbing at your clit cooing to you. “cmon my angel, i know you can give me another one”

your body is jerking & your thighs are closing on her hand. all of which doesn’t stop her from forcing them back open.

it’s when she starts lapping at your heat that you let out a screech. you genuinely think your mind might melt if she keeps up like this.

you’re chanting her name like a mantra, you yourself can’t even tell if you’re asking for more or pleading for her to stop.

she lays next to you only to pull your body on top of hers. “you know what to do” your eyes roll & she smacks your clit.

“ok fine, i’ll give you a real reason to be tired.”

mikasa gets up & pulls a chair up to your full body mirror. she sits down & beckons you over. “come sit”

you try to straddle her & she shakes her head no, “unt unt, face the mirror, y/n”

you do, & her hand slithers between your legs. she’s rubbing soft circles on your clit, picking up her pace here & there just to fuck with you.

she’s being a bully.

when she slips a finger in, you throw your head back & mikasa yanks it back up.

“look at yourself. the whole fucking time.” now her free hand is entangled in your locks while her other is working wonders on your cunny.

your dripping all over her thighs, hips rocking back & forth, breath barely stable.

“you’re so pretty when you’re all fucked out. who did this to you, hm?”

your head drops again & she softly redirects it to your own reflection, “tell me”

“y— you did, mika”

“no one else could ever have you like this, huh?”

“mm mm, never”

mikasa spits on her hand a little extra & finds your clit once more. this time her speed more relentless than the last.

she’s leaving pretty hickies on your back & your neck, whispering how she’s lucky to say you belong to her nd her only.

“this pussy’s all mine, right?”

you nod,

“talk to me baby”

“fuck. yes mika, ‘ts all yours!”

“that’s my girl”

now you’re cumming on her fingers, head laid back onto her shoulder.. your chest heaving up nd down begging for a fucking break.

mikasa’s looking at her work in the mirror.

you looked a damn mess nd she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“can i take a picture of you?”

your eyes shoot open.

“what?!”

“sorry.. thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask..”

i’m so sorry for going mia. i’ve been caught up with navy shit.

feeling more inspired lately tho! ^ , , ^

[magicalqueennightmare]

Help Healing

John Walker x Reader

You have a healing mutation. Your body can mend damn near anything but it causes a lot of pain. Luckily you have help in the form of your boyfriend.

Warnings: mention of getting shot, sex

You had a rare mutation. It had shown itself in early childhood. You were playing with your cousin when an out of control truck barreled into the yard. You acted without thinking, shoving him out of the way. When your aunt saw a truck run over her niece? She’d of course lost her damn mind. When she came running outside to see you crawling out from under the truck, your leg knitting itself back together? She’d been afraid of you.

After she did some digging however she found it was a mutation that skipped two generations at a time. Your great grandfather had it as well. Turned out that was how he’d ended up getting awarded a purple heart and made it home from the war. You knew you wanted to do something with the mutation. However you never meant for that something to end up being some of the things you’d done. 

That was how you’d ended up on this team. You’d ended up catching a bullet from Yelena that day and when your body expelled it in front of everyone’s eyes? Needless to say they ceased even trying to shoot you.

Now you were a part of the team,thunderbolts, new avengers whatever the hell you wanted to call yourselves. 

“Shadow, you’re with Belova and Walker” Bucky was handing out assignments for this mission. All of you would be on the ground but you were separating into groups. You’d gotten the nickname Shadow because you always managed to have everyone’s back like a Shadow popping up.

“Got it” you told him with a mock salute and he shook his head “Easy, just because you can take a bullet and keep moving” you grinned at him “Jealous?” and he cut his eyes at John “You’ve got weird taste in women” before moving on to Ava and Alexei.

“I’d say your taste in men is stranger than his taste in women” Yelena added with a shrug. You laughed, eyes finding John’s “I say we both have pretty strange taste but that makes it work”

_____________________

John loved being at your side during missions but hated it at the same time. He knew your mutation, and had seen it first hand. Did that mean he liked it when he looked up to see the woman he loved throw herself in between Yelena and a hail of bullets? Hell no.

He grunted like he was the one in pain when you barely flinched as the guards looked on in horror as you and Yelena returned fire, dropping them quickly. He had to focus on his own targets, no matter if his eyes kept wanting to return to the holes in your suit. 

When the final target dropped and Ava’s voice came over the coms confirming she had what all of you were after it was time for eva. You grabbed Yelena’s hand and ran towards John. His eyes immediately fell to your torso that had caught the worst of it. “I’m ok” you assured him with a smile.  He slipped an arm around your waist, picking you up in his arms as the three of you made your way to the extraction point. He only put you down once you were safely on the jet and that was so you could sink into the seat next to Yelena, leaning heavily on the blonde.

It wasn’t long before you and her both dozed off. When you woke up, the jet had landed and John was gently shaking your shoulder “Come on sweetheart. We’re home” he tried to pick you back up but you shook your head. You were ok. You stood and offered him a small smile. Yelena stood up and the smile she gave you when she said “Thank you by the way. I know you heal but I know that fucking hurt you also”

“It saved your life, it was worth it” you replied. She headed towards her floor so you followed John to the floor you and him shared.

As soon as you were in the privacy of an area that was strictly yours and his, you nodded to him that it was ok. He moved closer, hands easily finding the hem of your tattered top in a well rehearsed dance. When he slipped it over your head, you groaned in pain and he quickly apologized “I’m sorry baby” he knew he hadn’t actually caused the pain but he still didn’t like the idea of you hurting.

He helped you to strip off the rest of your gear then picked you up, resting your body against his chest. He was still in his suit but he always had a habit of taking care of you before he worried about himself. He walked into the bathroom, sitting on the side of the large tub before turning the water on high. You knew it would be hot, nearly too hot for his skin but you needed it. The heat soothed the pain that came along with your skin expelling the lead and knitting itself back together. 

He blocked the drain and held you as the water started to run. “John your suit” you whispered so he shifted you to one side of his chest to begin to strip. Once the tub had enough water in it, he was bare as well.

He stood with you still in his arms and stepped over into the large tub, turning the water off. You heard the light exhale of breath and knew trying to talk him into waiting until the water cooled to join you would be useless. He never would because he knew as your body healed, you would cramp and his arms had been the only solace you found that worked every time.

He sank down into the water, letting it cover your body up to your collarbone. You let out a breath as every muscle in your body tightened. “Just breathe darlin. Breathe for me” he whispered into your ear, strong hands rubbing your arms as you nodded, moving to lay back against his chest. The more relaxed you managed to be, the easier the process but when your body felt like it was ripping itself apart just to put itself back together again? It was hard to calm down.

“John?” you turned to look at him and he was already staring at you “Yeah sweetheart? What do you need?” “I need to get my mind off the pain, please help me” he nodded “Ok baby, I got you” he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips, rolling his tongue into your mouth.

You felt one of his hands slide under the water, brushing over your breast. When his calloused fingertips teased your nipple your breathing evened out. His other hand moved down to find the other breast, kneading the soft flesh. You moaned into his mouth and he smiled when he recognized a moan of pleasure over one of pain. 

He let his right hand shift further down, sliding between your thighs which you eagerly let fall open. A sharp gasp left you as several bullets pushed themselves out of your body. You tensed in his arms and he whispered “It’s ok, I’ve got you”

You nodded and felt the first brush of his fingers against your core. Your head fell back against his chest, a whine of his name leaving you as his fingers eased their way into you. He slowly worked your body open around his fingers, achingly slow. He was taking his time, giving you something to focus on over the pain of what your body was going to itself. Once two fingers were buried knuckle deep inside of you, he started to curl them upwards, easily finding the spot that had you panting from pleasure as well as the pain of your wounds healing.

You closed your eyes, willing your mind to focus on the movement of John’s fingers over anything else. The pleasure he was pulling out of you, how his lips teased at your neck, his low whispers of “Breathe baby, please breathe” reminding you not to hold your breath.

You could feel the pain of your healing giving way to that heat that rolled through your stomach as your pleasure found its peak. When John used his thumb to tease at your clit, fingers never losing their rhythm, you fell apart in his arms.  You could feel the tremor go through your body as you clung to him.

Once he worked you through your orgasm he slowly pulled his fingers out of you and you let your eyes open. You were met with those gorgeous blue eyes you’d fallen in love with long ago. “How are you feeling honey?” he asked and you nodded “I’m ok, I think there’s a good half a dozen bullets floating around in here but I’m good” 

He shook his head, lips finding yours “I wish you wouldn’t joke so much about it” you shrugged “It’s joke about it or cry about it, although you are my favorite way to work through the pain” he grinned “Glad to be of use” 

The water had started to cool so you turned, crawling into his lap. “I love you, you know that?” he nodded, looking at you like the stars themselves were hung in the sky just for you to see “I know, I love you too” you pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips. “You take really good care of me John” he grinned “I’m trying to be a better man” you pressed a kiss to the other corner of his lips “You’re succeeding. I think I’d lose my mind if I had to go through this after every mission by myself any more. It always used to hurt so bad”

“I don’t help that much. All I do is hold you, maybe give you an orgasm” you laughed, shifting your hips and feeling his body react under you, cock hardening “You hold me and take my mind off the pain. That’s everything John. Now, wanna go to bed?” 

“Are you tired?” he asked and you shook your head. He raised an eyebrow “You just asked if I wanted to go to bed?” “Yeah but I didn’t say anything about sleeping. I want you, every last part of you” you caught his lips in a lingering kiss, letting one of your hands wander down his chest to brush against his cock, feeling it twitch in your grasp.

“Ok sweetheart” he shifted you off his lap and stood to grab a towel. You grinned at the sight of his thick cock, hard against his stomach. You unconsciously licked your lips as you watched him and he shook his head “I am not that damn good looking” you rolled your eyes “Oh don’t be modest now” he stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist before coming back with a towel to wrap around you. When you stood up he let his fingers trace over the shiny pink scars adorning your stomach from the bullets. They would be gone in a day or so. “Still makes my heart stop every time”

You covered his hand with yours “I’m still here” he raised his eyes to yours before wrapping the towel around you then he picked you up, much the way he had off the field. “Now time for me to remind myself you are” you grinned “My favorite part of the process” as he walked out into the bedroom.

He laid you down on the bed and you smiled up at him “Come here” he crawled up onto the bed, slowly unwrapping the towel from around you. His eyes tracked his hands and once you were bare under him he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth before crashing his lips against yours as he pushed his own towel off. 

Your legs fell open, welcoming him between them as he nudged his hips into place. You could feel his cock pressing against your thigh and you were already worked up enough from one orgasm you didn’t need anymore warming up. You slipped a hand between your bodies and gripped him gently, lining him up with your opening. He grinned into the kiss as he rolled his hips forward, easily slotting his cock into you. A sharp gasp left you at the feeling of your body being stretched. 

His hand caught your thigh, hooking it around his waist. He broke away from your lips to kiss across your jaw and down your neck “Every time it scares me” he admitted before he snapped his hips forward, stealing any answer from your lungs. You clung to him as he found a pace that had you unable to do anything but moan his name and praises of him out. His lips trailed over your neck, leaving marks of his love behind as he worked you closer towards another orgasm. 

You were teetering right on the edge and when his fingers found your clit, teasing at the sensitive bud you came, clenching hard around him. He snapped his hips forward a few more times before you felt his body tense and he bit down gently on your pulse point, a low moan of your name leaving him as he came, spilling deep inside of you.

His forehead came over to rest on yours, eyes staring at your face as you gasped to get air into your lungs. One of those smirks you adored was on his face “You ok honey?” you nodded “I feel absolutely amazing now but I am definitely wore out”

He laughed lightly “Let me clean you up then you can go to sleep ok?” you nodded and he leaned up to gently pull out of you. He found the towel he’d kicked off himself and used it to clean you up. 

You watched him move around the room, finding boxers for himself and he came back to the bed with a pair of your panties and one of his shirts which he helped you get dressed in. He pressed a kiss to your lips. “I gotta go get the bullets out of the tub so I can drain the water then I’ll be right back in here with you. Ok?”

You nodded, turning to curl up on his pillow. “I love you John” he smiled “I love you too”

Once John crawled into the bed he pulled you over onto his chest and you curled up on him, feeling his heartbeat under you. Only then did you finally doze off, right before sleep claimed you, you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. A small smile slipped onto your face and you nuzzled closer to him. You really did love him.

@desimarie12

[jo-harrington]

Absconding (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Summary: Everyone's running away from something.

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: Meet Cute/Meet Stupid, Literal Escapism, melancholy vibes, Fluff, Humor, Angst, Hurt/Comfort(?), open ended, idk I'm just tagging things before writing this.

Note: Happy Birthday to my wonderful friend, secret alternate identity from another universe that somehow got dumped in the same world together, @deathbecomesthem. Love you so much Than. Wish that this could be something more well thought out than it is.

Thanks to everyone also who've sent me asks for WIP weekend so I could finish this and other works. <3

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

You’d been saying that you were gonna do something like this for years.

Get in your car and just drive.

No plans. No rhyme or reason. No direction. You would just take some cash and go.

Unfortunately, for all of those same years, you’d also been a bit of a chicken. Tied down and held back by obligations. Work, family, friends. What are you gonna do on a Friday night? I dunno, let’s get dinner. Ok, see you at the Chilis off Randolph at 8pm for a corporately sanitized appetizer and margarita. Great, see you then.

Until you couldn’t handle it anymore and you let everyone know that you’d be out of town for a few days. Don’t call, don’t come looking. You'd be back for work next Monday.

And you drove.

You slept in your car at a truck stop that first night. You were too numb to worry about anything happening to you. By night two you actually managed to give a shit and you stopped at a Comfort Inn in a small lakeside town off the highway that was probably known as some great local summer destination. But it wasn’t summer yet so it was a little desolate and a little sad.

Still it was nice enough and the old woman at the check in desk told you about some local year-round sights to see and you actually considered seeing them.

The only difficulty you’d faced was the indecision. Or rather, the need to decide. The imperative. Usually you were the Decider. When all of those around you couldn’t commit, you were the one to be the voice of reason. Now you had the luxury to dilly dally and you resented still having to be the one to make the decision.

“That’s what you get when you go off the deep end and run away though,” you told yourself.

But it was not just running away. It was going off in search of something. What that something was, you couldn’t be certain. But it would come to you, just like the many epiphanies you had in gas stations or airport terminals or other liminal spaces in all the flavors they came in over the years.

You were hoping that you’d get hit by something on this trip.

Unfortunately for you, the only thing you got hit by…was a car.

Ok, that’s a little dramatic.

You had pulled into the tiny parking lot of a house-turned-pub in the middle-of-nowhere town off the highway for lunch. Check-in lady’s recommendation. And a shitty, junker van hit you as it was backing into the space beside yours. A little fender bender. Truly no big deal.

You’d been at your wits end for weeks, though. Months maybe. So the demon that had been festering inside of you finally saw the opportunity to go free.

"Are you kidding me, fucker?" The words flew from your lips and out of your cracked window as soon as the thump and crunch of metal on metal registered in your mind. Let alone the gentle rock of your car, although to you it might as well have been a head-on collision because it had caught you so off-guard. Your driver's side door was open and you were out of the car, keys still in the ignition. "What the fuck?"

"Shit, shit, fuck," came a muffled voice from inside the van before it shifted gears and pulled forward. The van's bumper pried away from yours and you watched, dumbfounded, as the asshole attempted--successfully this time--to back into the parking space beside yours again before killing the engine and hopping out.

He was a gangly thing. All arms and legs and neck and fingers as he rounded the front of his vehicle. Even his long hair pulled back with a rubber band was long and wiry, adding to the athropomorphic-Gumby-ness he had about him. You would've considered him handsome and his overall floppiness endearing if you weren't fuming. If your blood pressure hadn't caused your ears to ring, preventing any of the words coming from his mouth to actually reach your brain as he rambled on, talking with his hands.

"How many years have I been driving this damn thing, I still can't back up to save my life?" he chuckled sweetly and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck.

"Maybe you need to brush up on your driving lessons buddy," you scoffed. "Or choose one of the other spots in the lot next time." You gestured to the handful of other empty spots, then grumbled under your breath about the shiftiness of parking next to someone in a half empty lot.

Before you could stop him, Stretch Armstrong laughed and crouched by your fender. He ran one hand over his stubbled jaw as he inspected the damage. You crossed your arms over your chest and took a few steps so you could do the same, and truthfully it doesn’t look too bad. A dent that can be worked out with a rubber mallet—something you’ve done yourself more than once—and some scuffs of paint that flaked off on impact. You’re sure his tank of a vehicle sports the same injuries.

“I’m an expert mechanic,” the guy explained suddenly.

“Seriously?” You scoffed.

“Been fixing clunkers in my front yard for as long as I could drive.”

“Ah,” you snorted. “So the real expert. Not the kind that gets paid.” You do an internal double take as soon as the words leave your mouth because did he just call your car—your baby—a clunker?

“Were you going in to get some lunch?" You're pulled from your thoughts again by his jovial voice and a smile that crinkled his eyes in a hatefully attractive way. "How's about, I get the dent out, and get you a sandwich, and we call it even? There's a pretty decent reuben on the menu."

You took a second to look at him, then turned your attention to the bar, and then back at him.

"Throw in a beer for good measure," you held out your hand to shake, "And I won't call the cops."

"I can do a beer," he nodded and slapped his hand into yours. "Maybe even two."

---

Turned out that his name was Eddie--of course it was, he looked like an Eddie--and that he wasn't just stopping at The Hideout for lunch. He actually worked there.

The unassuming facade outside gave way to some kind of identity crisis on the inside. There was definitely a dive quality about it, but not in a way that you should be worried about tetanus. But it also had a touch of classic american with a neon jukebox in the corner. And little vagaries of a tiki bar if you looked hard enough.

"It used to be The Hideaway," he explained as you eyeballed a load-bearing pole made to look like it was bamboo. "But when I took over as the manager, I suggested a little redecorating and to rename it The Hideout. A little selfish of me, actually, because the bar my band used to play at when we were dumb kids was called the Hideout too.”

And yeah, of course he had a band, he looked like the kind of guy who was in a band.

Eddie kept yammering. Man, he was chatty.

“Still trying to land on an aesthetic, as all the newspaper reviews say. If I can convince old Tim to sell it to me one day, I'll give it a full makeover. If I can pinch my pennies enough, that is."

"If you don't keep backing your van into patrons' cars, you mean," you corrected him.

"How many times do I have to say sorry?" He scoffed teasingly, but made a pointed effort to reach across the bar for your empty glass and pour you a second beer as he promised.

The two of you talked as you ate--he was right, the Reuben was pretty good--and he tasked and helped other patrons as they filtered in. Mainly, his attention was on you though. And as much as you thought you would hate it, you didn't.

You chalked it up to either the need for interaction again, after you'd pretty much gone AWOL from human contact, or that he just had one of those faces that made someone want to spill their entire life story to.

From music, to tv, to travel, the topic of conversation stayed relatively tame. Until...

"Have you ever just...hated your life?" you asked rather unexpectedly as he dried glasses.

At first all you got in response was a snort.

Eventually, he answered.

"I wanted to be a rockstar when I was 20," he began. "And now I'm nearing 40 and I still drive the same car, play gigs during the summer, and am the manager of the local watering hole. Hating my life hit me hard about 10 years ago...and now I have annoying bouts of it like seasonal allergies. Usually around my birthday."

You couldn't help the self-deprecating smile that appeared on your face. You tried to hide it with a bite of your sandwich but Eddie was a little too perceptive for his own good.

"Oh shit." He threw the bar towel over his shoulder. "It's your birthday?"

"Birthday week," you answered with your mouth full.

"Well, what the hell are you doing out in the middle of nowhere I call home?" he asked. And there was a moment, you could tell, where he regretted it. Where he put two and two together. It's a mis-step, it's a faux pas. But you'd already been in the process of spilling your guts so you stopped him as he started rambling. "Sorry, shit. I'm sorry. You wouldn't have been out here if--"

"Don't worry," you held up a hand to shut him up, "I've just been meaning to do this for a while. My birthday had started to become a day for everyone else instead of for me. On top of...quite literally everything else in the world resting on my shoulders. I figured I'd get away from it all for a little bit. Cease to exist for a while, see how it feels."

Eddie nodded slowly, and then leaned forward to rest his arms on the edge of the bar.

"Ceasing to exist is how I ended up in this town too," he said softly. "Walked on the beach with no shoes, drank shitty beer in the local dive bar." He gestured around the room. "And then decided to stay when all was said and done. It's a good place to be nobody."

"Yeah," you agreed. "I'm finding that out for myself. I've only been here for 48 hours and I'm dreading that eventual drive home."

"Then don't go. I didn't."

"Unfortunately, I can't." You sighed. "It's like the Hobbit. But if Gandalf told Bilbo the opposite of what he did. The world is ahead...but home is waiting behind...you’ve gotta go back."

He closed his eyes and clutched his hands over his heart in an exaggerated fashion. "Say it ain't so, only nerds reference Tolkien."

You cursed your heart for skipping its own beat, as you fought the urge to mimic his actions. That seemed like he was flirting; was he flirting? Or just being nice? Either way, it was hard to imagine this was the same guy that you wanted to strangle two hours ago.

After your laughter subsided, he continued.

"So why is home waiting, then?" Eddie gave a shrug. "Or is it just your inner-hobbit telling you that it is?"

You hid in your beer glass to avoid having to answer. But of course it was your luck that he was the kind of guy who couldn't take a hint.

"Listen, if you're not the one choosing to turn your life upside down, life itself is just waiting to turn upside down for you. And when you're not the one in charge, it's a lot harder to make it work in your favor. Believe me. I've been in both situations."

"So what am I gonna do, huh?" You laughed and set your glass down. "Find a job here, call back home for my things?"

"I think there is a little bnb closer to the beach looking for an innkeeper," he said matter-of-factly. "And all of the vacation rentals have deals on the off season so I'm sure you could hunker down for cheap before finding something long-term."

"And what about my family? Can I really leave them?"

"You married? Have kids?"

"No, but..."

"Then they'll have a nice time coming to visit in the summer." Eddie grinned like the cat that ate the canary. "You can tell them all about your friend Eddie and his great bar and the amazing food and drinks he serves."

"And his horrific taste in decor," you said blithely.

"Hey!" He pointed a teasing finger at you. "I said I was working on it."

The two of you laughed for a second. Actually, you felt...giddy. You'd been gone for a few days and here was a stranger, urging you to get away from all the obligations that waited for you back home as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

"You really have the answers to everything, don't you?" you asked.

He didn't miss a beat when he answered, "obviously, duh. Except for tomorrow's lottery numbers. So don't ask."

He winked at you, and you felt your cheeks burn.

And he was good looking...and flirting...

"I can't believe I'm actually considering running away for good," you muttered, to try and avoid the fluttering feeling he'd caused. Hell, he had really caused all of it. "Escaping."

"I think the term you're looking for," Eddie said as he slid another beer in front of you, "is absconding."

[flygefisk]

emergency commissions!

due to an error with my mom's bank, we have ~200 between us and bills are coming in soon. ~300 should cover the most pressing ones. i'm not really expecting to cover it all with comms, but i need to do something. so i'm open for work!

pricing and more info under the cut. i'm working on a semi-pwyw basis, prices listed are the minimum i'll take for that type of art. wood pieces are more case-by-case, the listed prices are what the examples above sold for. USD only

digital art:

mini bust- 5

bust- 10

halfbody- 20-30, depending on design

fullbody- 30-40, depending on design

character designs (including the pony redesigns)- 10+

ref sheets (includes 1 fullbody + bust + text, more details will cost more)- 40

woodburned art:

i can ship these to you- you cover shipping, which is usually around 15. i price these on a case-by-case basis, depending on the item and design you want burned. dm me with your idea, and i'll send pics of what i have on hand along with what i'd ask for each item. i can't currently buy any new base items, but i have plenty of cedar planks, small boxes, and button blanks. so much cedar lol

coffin boxes- 20

rabbit box- 35

cedar lich comm- 90

cat plaque- 85

more info:

turnaround will be between a few days to around a month. i have several in-person events this month that i need to prep for, but i need this money asap. next month will be much much lighter, so if i don't get your piece done quickly i'll have plenty of time in july! please be patient with me- it's a rough time right now

i can draw any sort of character or subject except robots (cartoony robots may be alright), vehicles, firearms, and real people (again, stylized is fine, but no realism). nudity and some gore is ok.

if you're interested in nsfw art, dm me! i'm very open to this type of work but it's difficult to price without an idea of what you want lol

please consider buying from me if you can, and rb'ing/boosting if not!

[cinder-stella]

𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝓹𝓽. 2

<18+ MDNI, NSFW> here is part 1

in which reader is obsessed with Construction Manager Kento. (yandere fem!reader, twisted obsession, slow-burn)

bit over 6k words

Kento doesn’t move a muscle.

You’re still on your knees, head tilted and cheek pressed to the front of his slacks like you were begging for something.

He should pull away or even call security. But for some reason he doesn’t. Because part of him—although, small and starved—likes it. And you were fully aware of that.

“Kento,” you mutter sweetly, fingers tracing the seam of his pant leg. “You work so so hard…no one ever gives you proper thanks.”

Unconsciously, his grip on your wrist had slackened. Only a little bit.

You smile up at him, head tilted like he was a god. And he was. To you. “I would. Every day. I’d run your bath, rub your shoulders, your feet. I’d lick the sweat off of your chest when you come home. Wouldn’t even let you take off your boots, Kento. I’d earn every ounce of your attention.”

He exhales slowly. You knew what it meant. He was holding back—disappointment, anger, want. “I don’t know who you are,” he states, voice barely above a murmur.

You know he’s lying. Of course he knows you. From the cafe. The corner of the job site where you counted stocks whenever your company delivered and watched him from afar. You made sure you were always there giving him brief moments of undivided attention.

You gaze up at him. You were infatuated. “You will.”

“This isn’t healthy,” he says.

“That’s ok,” you whisper.

His jaw clenches and his fingers twitch. He pulls his hand away like your skin might burn him. You feel the loss immediately—the ache of it. But that’s fine. Because you could see his hands trembling.

“Stand up,” he says, after a moment of brief silence.

You rise, obedient and graceful. You stood closely, breathing him in. He was still quite tall. Even with heels you stand on your tiptoes and let the silence stretch as you continue to admire.

He clears his throat, eyes flicking down, then away. “Go home,” he says.

You smile. “I already am.”

Then you turn and walk away, slowly and deliberately. Making sure your scent lingered in the air like heat on concrete.

He doesn’t stop you or call after you. But he watches and that’s all you need. You know the first few cracks are already there. You’ll wear him down. Break him open. Slowly but surely.

After all…

He was already yours.

𓇢𓆸

It’s late again.

The rest of the crew had cleared out hours ago, and the sky had turned that soft steel blue of pre-rain dusk.Kento’s shoulders ache. His jaw is tight. He’s been thinking about you more than he should.

It’s not just your beauty that bothers him. It’s your consistency.

Every day at the same time with the same coffee and that same slow smile when your eyes meet his from across the street. It was too warm. Too focused. As if you were memorizing him.

He told himself it was coincidence. Told himself he was projecting. Maybe overworked. Sleep-deprived.

But then last week, you said his name without ever being introduced.

And now you’re standing by his car. Again.

You lean against the passenger-side door like you belong there, arms folded, wind catching your skirt. Your eyes light up when he steps into view—like he’s the final scene in a movie only you’ve been watching.

“Glad I caught you,” you say, voice soft.

His keys pause in his hand. “Why are you here?”

You smile. “I noticed your car. And I figured if I waited long enough…”

He exhales through his nose. “You should leave, now.”

You tilt your head. “Why? You’re here.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“But I’m not doing anything wrong.” You push off the car and walk toward him slowly. Your heels crunch on the gravel. “Just wanted to see you again.”

He says nothing.

You take another step. Close now—too close. The faint scent of his cologne hits you. Faded under sweat. Still dressed like he was this morning—tie askew, sleeves rolled. Perfect. He is so perfect.

“You don’t like it when I watch you?” you ask, eyes shining, voice feather-light.

“It’s… inappropriate,” he says flatly. There’s no strength in it. Just ritual.

You smile again. "If it were anyone else, I’d agree. But I’m not just anyone, Kento."

He flinches at the sound of his name in your mouth. It sounded so intimate.

You reach out slowly and deliberately and tug his loosened tie into place. Letting your fingers graze his chest before you smooth it flat.

He doesn’t stop you. Even though he should.

“I know your schedule, you know,” you whisper, voice soft like a secret. “I know you always stay until the work’s done. I know you skip lunch. I know you take your coffee black when you’re tired and with milk when you’re sad. I know you carry stress in your shoulders and neck and hide your kindness in silence.”

Your hand is still pressed to his chest. His heart thuds under your palm. “I know you’re a good person. And lonely. And I know that you’re mine.”

He grabs your wrist. Tighter than last time. “Don’t come here again,” he says.

But you can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t mean it. He’s tired of being seen as cold. Distant. He’s tired of no one noticing.

But you do.

You see all of him.

You lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I’ll wait again tomorrow.”

Then you slip out of his grasp, smiling as you walk away into the deepening dark.

Yet again, he doesn’t call after you. He doesn’t stop you. He just stands there, watching your silhouette disappear. And that’s the problem. He’s starting to want you to stay and you know it.

𓇢𓆸

It’s nearly 10pm by the time he makes it home.

Kento's suit jacket is draped over one arm. His shirt’s slightly untucked, tie limp and blowing in the night breeze, hair messy from the wind. It was a long day. And a longer week. He hadn’t even eaten dinner. He couldn’t. Not with the way his stomach’s been in knots since he saw you again.

He hasn’t been able to shake you—not your voice, not your scent, not the weight of your hand on his chest like you had every right to touch him.

It’s wrong. He knows that. You’re not stable. You’re obviously obsessed.

And the worst part about it is that he’s thinking about you when he rounds the corner to his building and finds you already there. Sitting on the steps. Legs crossed neatly at the ankle, a paper bag beside you. Like you belong. Like this is normal.

His pulse thuds, deep and warning. “Not tonight,” he says, voice low and sharp.

You blink up at him, all bright eyes and sweet patience.

“You’re late.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I brought you dinner.”

You tap the bag beside you. “It’s curry. Extra spicy. Like the one you got three weeks ago. You didn’t finish it then, so I got you some more.”

He stares at you. Disbelief and anger and something far more dangerous pooling behind his stern expression.

He steps closer.

You rise, careful not to startle him, hands loose at your sides like you’re soothing a wild animal. “I thought maybe you’d let me take care of you tonight.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” His voice is a growl now. “You don’t know me. You’re stalking me. You show up where you don’t belong. You watch me every day and think that’s love?”

Your eyes soften. “No,” you murmur. “I know it is.”

He grabs your arm. It’s not violent but it’s not gentle either. “You think I want this?”

You don’t answer. Just stare at him. Calm and unafraid.

“You don’t have to want it,” you say, quietly. “You just have to need it. From me.”

His breath hitches.

That tight control he’s spent years mastering—the professional detachment, the rules, the routines, everything—it all cracks under the pressure of your presence. Your persistence. Your unshakable belief that he belongs to you. Because deep down, there’s something rotten and tired in him that wants to be taken—wants to be seen and undone.

He pushes you against the brick wall beside the stairwell. Not hard, but fast. His hands find your waist. His voice, low and ragged, is right beside your ear. “Is this what you wanted?” he snarls.

Your breath catches. This is exactly what you wanted. It takes everything in you not to shout with joy and plead for more. “Only if you want it too.”

He curses under his breath. And then he kisses you—harsh, hungry, like he’s trying to punish you for making him feel this way.

But it’s not punishment. No, not to you.

It’s surrender.

𓇢𓆸

You gasp from the way his hand fists in your blouse, the way his body pins you against the wall like he’s been waiting to do this.

“Kento,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut, “you’re shaking.”

His breath is ragged against your ear. “Shut up.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He growls and grabs your face, rougher now, forcing your eyes open so you’re looking straight at him. His mouth is parted. Eyes wild and shining with something closer to hate than lust, but it doesn’t matter. You already know he wants you. You knew it weeks ago.

“You don’t get to do this,” he says low, furious. “You don’t get to stalk me, to show up at my home—my life—and act like it’s normal.”

“But—” you murmur, pushing your thigh between his, “You’re still touching me.”

He should push you away.

Instead, his hand slides down your front and grabs a handful of your skirt. He hikes it up with one impatient pull, baring your thigh to the open air. The breeze hits you, but his hand is hotter.

“Is this what you want?” he breathes, furious. His palm drags between your legs. “Standing outside like a whore, waiting to be touched?”

“Yes.”

The word is so easy.

So final.

He shoves your underwear aside like it’s an afterthought and presses two thick fingers against your cunt—hot and already wet.

“Fuck—” he hisses, jaw clenching. “You came here like this?”

You nod. Your voice is syrupy-sweet now. “Only for you.”

He curses again. Something sharp and foreign.

“Say it,” you whisper. “Say you want it too.”

His hand stills, and for one horrible second you think he might stop.

But then he moves. He drags his fingers against you, slow but brutal, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch and your knees buckle.



“I don’t want this,” he mutters, like a lie.

You bite your lip. “Kento—”

He yanks your hips forward. His thigh shoves between yours and holds you still. Now you're grinding helplessly against him, his fingers working you in tight, angry strokes while his lips brush your jaw—your throat.

It’s filthy. Public. Wrong. And oh so perfect.

Your hands grip the lapels of his wrinkled shirt, nails biting through the fabric, holding on while he rubs circles over your clit with just enough cruelty to keep you trembling.

“You think I won’t use you right here?” he hisses in your ear. “You think I care who sees?”

You shudder. “I hope they do.”

His breath stops.

Your lips brush his.

And then he kisses you again—sloppy, furious, too much tongue, too much teeth—and his hand doesn’t stop until you cum with a soft, broken cry against his mouth.

You sag against the wall. He stills. Breathing hard.

And for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Until he growls, “You’re not coming inside.”

You smile, dizzy. “That’s okay. I’ll be here in the morning.”

He doesn’t answer.

𓇢𓆸

The wet heat of you clings to his fingers.

Kento stares at his hand like it doesn’t belong to him. Like if he clenches it hard enough, it’ll erase the sound you made when you came. The way your hips jerked forward, chasing his touch. The way you smiled at the end like this was inevitable.

He could’ve walked away. Should’ve. Every rational cell in his body is screaming that now.

But he didn’t.

And now you’re still there—leaning against the wall, thighs trembling, pupils blown wide with satisfaction.

“Go home,” he mutters.

You smile lazily. “I am home.”

Something twists in his gut—rage, maybe. Or worse, relief.

He turns on his heel without another word, strides to the front door, shoulders rigid and jaw clenched so tight it hurts.

His keys shake in his hand.

You don’t follow.

But you don’t leave, either.

He unlocks the door with a sharp click and disappears inside without looking back.

Then silence.

Inside, the air is stale. His apartment is spotless, untouched. No shoes in the hallway but his. No laughter. No warmth.

He goes to the sink and scrubs his hands with industrial soap until the smell of your arousal is gone.

But the memory lingers.

The sound of your voice. The way you whispered his name like it belonged to you. The way you looked at him with worship—unearned, unsettling, intoxicating.

He braces both hands on the counter, breathing hard, heart thudding like a war drum.

“Fuck.”

It wasn’t supposed to feel good.

But it did.

𓇢𓆸

Outside, the stairs are still warm where you sat.

And though your legs ache and your lips are sore, you stay. Just a little longer. Head tilted to the sky. Eyes soft. Thoughts drifting.

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵒʸ ⁱˢ ᵐⁱⁿᵉ

ⁱᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ

ˢᵉᵉᵐ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᶠᵘˢᵉᵈ

ʰᵉ ᵇᵉˡᵒⁿᵍˢ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ

ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵒʸ ⁱˢ ᵐⁱⁿᵉ

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

You mumbled the lyrics to yourself with a faint grin.

He doesn’t want you yet.

But he will.

He already broke once.

And you're very, very patient.

𓇢𓆸

The sun’s barely up when he sees you again.

You’re across the street sitting on the bench outside the post office that opens at six sharp. A coffee cup in your hands. Another paper bag cradled in your lap. Like nothing happened.

Like he didn’t finger you against the brick wall of his building hours ago. Like he didn’t watch you fall apart in his hands and then go upstairs and scrub the skin off his fingers, trying to forget the way you whispered his name like it meant something holy.

He freezes.

You lift your head, smile softly.

He crosses the street too fast. His jaw was tight. His shirt was fitted and ironed. He’s beautiful without trying.

“Why are you still here?” he grits out.

“I brought you breakfast.” You hold up the bag. “I thought maybe you didn’t eat dinner.”

His chest tightens.

He didn’t.

You pat the bench beside you, casual and kind like this is something you both do. “There’s an salami sandwich in here. Still warm.”

“Stop this.”

Your head tilts. “Stop what?”

“This—whatever this is. It isn’t real. You don’t know me. You watch me, and follow me, and show up at my home, and now you think we have a connection—”

“We do,” you interrupt, gently. “You just don’t know what to call it yet.”

He exhales hard and turns away like he can walk it off. “You need help.”

You stand slowly. “I know what I need,” you say with a shrug.

And before he can stop you, your hand reaches for him—cautious, reverent—and settles against the curve of his stomach. Just above his belt.

Right where you know he’s still warm from the shame of last night.

He goes still.

You press your palm a little firmer. Not to arouse. Just to remind.

“I need you. And I think…” You look up at him. Smile faintly. “I think part of you needs me, too.”

“You don’t get to decide what I need.”

“But you never stop me.”

He steps back.

And for the second time in twelve hours, he walks away from you.

But this time—he takes the paper bag and doesn’t throw it out.

𓇢𓆸

Kento doesn’t usually eat breakfast.

It’s not his habit. Not in the mornings, not with work already hammering in his temples by 6:45 am. Not when there’s always a dozen site issues waiting for him before his first sip of coffee.

And yet, three days in a row now, he’s passed the same bench. Slowed down near that same cafe.

And three days in a row, you haven’t been there.

There’s no paper bag in your lap. No polite little wave. No soft, creepy smile that somehow still makes his stomach clench.

He tells himself he should be relieved.

But his steps falter a little when he sees only empty wood and shadows. He stares for a moment too long. Long enough that someone on the sidewalk bumps into his shoulder.

“Sorry,” they mutter.

He says nothing.

Just keeps walking. Faster. Angry now for even looking. For even noticing.

The fourth morning, you’re there.

Perched like always. Coffee cup in hand. Bag beside you on the bench. Eyes on the sky, not on him. Serene. Too serene. Like you knew he’d come looking.

His breath stutters. He almost walks past you. Almost. Instead, he stops. “Don’t you have work?”

You look over slowly. Smile a little. “I start late on Fridays.”

“Why are you here?”

“I like the sunrise,” you lie.

He sits. Before he realizes what he’s doing. Before he can stop himself. His thigh brushes yours, and he exhales like he’s already lost something.

You hand him the bag and the coffee.

This time it’s a chocolate chip muffin and a hard-boiled egg. He doesn’t ask how you knew. He eats half the muffin without looking at you.

You lean in just slightly, voice soft. “Is this so bad?”

“What?”

“This.” You gesture to the space between you—narrow, tense, intimate.

His fingers twitch. The muffin crumbles slightly in his hand. “It’s wrong,” he says.

You smile. “But it feels so right.”

He doesn’t answer.

You sit in silence for seven more minutes. Then you stand. And this time he watches you walk away. Muffin almost gone. Mind half-mad. He doesn’t move for a long time. Just stares.

𓇢𓆸

Kento isn’t the kind of man who lingers in doorways or follows after women down sidewalks. Well, he wasn’t.

But this morning, when you slipped around the corner—muffin bag discarded, shoulders light—he hesitated.

And then he followed.

Far enough back that you didn’t notice.

Close enough to hear your hum as you walk.

You didn’t look over your shoulder once. You were confident. Like you wanted him to follow.

You cut down side streets. Past a florist. A laundromat. A cheap apartment block with cracked stucco and vines climbing up the side. Then finally, a little office building tucked beside an old train line. You swipe a keycard and go inside. No fanfare. No mystery.

The sign on the door says Tidal Logistics.

It’s a shipping firm. Kento knows it. He’s seen their trucks at the job site before. You're just…an admin. Maybe a dispatcher. Nothing dangerous. No shadowy secrets. Just a woman with a desk job and an unhealthy obsession.

His jaw ticks.

He was expecting something worse. Or better. Something he could point to and say, ‘there, that’s why she’s like this. That’s why this isn’t my fault.’

But instead, it’s just a girl. Quiet. Polite. Smart enough to hide the rot beneath all the warm looks and muffins. You were too smart.

He stands across the street for a while. Observing. Then when he finally turns to go, he hears your voice behind him.

“You could’ve come in, you know.”

He stiffens.

You step closer. “I have a visitor badge you could use. No one would question it.”

“I wasn’t following you.”

You raise a brow. “Okay.”

Silence.

Then quietly, “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Kento.” His name on your lips again. Like always. So soft it leaves bruises.

“I’m not afraid,” he says, quickly.

You laugh gently. “Then why are your hands shaking?”

He looks down. Fist clenched. Trembling.

And suddenly he hates you.

Because you’re right and because he doesn’t want you to stop what you’re doing.

𓇢𓆸

It’s quiet inside the trailer.

A metal desk. An old filing cabinet. Fans humming against the sweltering summer heat. The air conditioning was down as always.

You’re standing at the clipboard rack, back turned, when the door slams open. You don’t jump. You just glance over your shoulder—smiling like you’ve been waiting. “Kento.”

He slams the door behind him. “Stop saying my name like you own it.”

You hum softly. “It sounds good in my mouth.”

He crosses the space in three long strides and slams his hand on the cabinet next to your head.

You still don’t flinch.

He’s too close. You’re boxed in. And you love every second of it. “Why are you doing this?” he bites out. “What the hell do you want from me?”

You blink up at him through your eyelashes, mocking innocence. “I want you to see me.”

“I do. That’s the problem.”

He’s breathing hard now. Not from exertion. From how close he is to snapping.

Your gaze drops to his mouth. He sees it. He grabs your wrist. Hard—but not enough to bruise.

You gasp, breath hitching like a moan, and that makes it worse. He slams you against the cabinet—not to hurt you, not really, just to make it stop.

But it doesn’t stop.

You tilt your chin up, eyes shining. “I think about you every night,” you whisper. “I fall asleep with your name on my tongue.”

“Shut up.”

You smile. “I know you don’t want me to.”

His jaw tightens. His grip doesn’t loosen. He leans in close, breath against your cheek. “You need help.”

“I need you.”

His fist slams into the metal beside your head.

You don’t blink. You just lean into the space between you. Warm. Willing. He’s still holding your wrist. Still furious. Still aching. And when he finally lets go, it’s not out of mercy. It’s because if he doesn’t, he’s going to kiss you. Hard. Brutal. Like a man being devoured.

Instead, he turns and walks out without another word. You hear him cursing under his breath all the way across the yard.

And you smile. You were beaming with joy.

𓇢𓆸

The bar is quiet. Older crowd. The music is low. Lights are amber and soft.

Kento’s second drink is sweating in his hand. His tie’s loosened. Top button undone. Hair a little tousled, like he’s run his fingers through it too many times.

He doesn’t come here to unwind. He comes here to forget. But nothing’s working tonight. Not when your face keeps floating behind his eyes.

Your voice. Your scent. Your fucking smile.

He downs the rest of the whiskey. Orders another.

Then, he hears it. He doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s you. He feels it. He sees you in the mirror behind the shelf of bottles. Framed in golden backlight. Dress black. Fitted. Slight sheen. Something you planned.

Your eyes lock with his in the reflection. You smile and walk toward him like you already know he won’t stop you.

You don’t ask permission. Just slide onto the stool beside him. “Long day?”

He exhales through his nose. “You followed me.”

“I got lucky.”

He doesn’t answer.

You glance at his glass. “How many?”

“Not enough.”

You hum. “I’ll buy your next one.”

“I don’t want another.”

“Then why are you still sitting here?”

His jaw flexes.

Your knees bump under the bar.

You shift closer—just a little—and that satin hem of your dress rides higher up your thigh. His eyes flick there once.

“You look tired,” you murmur.

“I am tired.”

Your fingers skim the rim of his glass. “Then stop fighting.”

He looks at you. And this time he doesn’t mask it. The hunger. The rage. The exhaustion of constantly resisting what’s already poisoned him.

“You want to know what I think?” you whisper.

“No.”

“I think you’re waiting for an excuse. A reason. Something you can blame it on when you finally give in.”

His hand grips the glass so tight, it creaks.

You lean in, breath against his jaw. “I’ll be that reason, Kento.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t speak. Just lifts his drink to his lips, eyes still locked on yours. And drinks. Slow and decisive. Like a man about to do something reckless.

𓇢𓆸

The car ride is silent. He doesn't speak or touch you.

Outside, the city blurs past in amber streaks. The air’s heavy with the promise of summer rain.

When he pulls into the garage, he doesn’t look at you. When he opens the door to his apartment, he doesn’t say welcome. But he holds it open for you. And when you step inside, something in him settles. Like this was always going to happen.

The apartment is neat. Clean. Too quiet. Just like him. You kick off your heels. Let the silence sit. Let him watch you. Then, calmly, “Do you want me to leave?”

He doesn’t answer.

You tilt your head. “Kento.”

He turns to you slowly. Something unreadable in his eyes.

“You’re dangerous,” he says.

“And?”

“I shouldn’t want you here.”

“But you do.”

He walks toward you—measured steps, slow enough to be frightening.

You don’t move.

When he’s close enough to touch you, he still doesn’t. He just looks. At your mouth. At the soft skin behind your ear. At the place your dress clings too tight to be innocent. “I’ve tried,” he says, voice low. “I’ve tried to ignore it. Pretend I didn’t notice. But you—” He breaks off.

Your voice is soft. “Me?”

“You make me forget who I am.”

You smile. “Good.”

That does it.

He steps in, grabs your face in both hands—not gentle—and kisses you like it hurts. Like he’s trying to exorcise you from his blood.

Your fingers slide into his shirt, over the hard line of his chest, dragging him closer. And he lets you. He lets you touch him, guide him, ruin him. Because he’s already ruined.

You pull back, just enough to whisper against his lips, “Say it.”

His breath is hot against your cheek. “Say what?”

“That you want me.”

He doesn’t speak.

But the way his hands drag down your sides—the way he presses you back against the kitchen counter, hips against yours—That’s answer enough.

𓇢𓆸

Your back hits the counter hard.

Kento's mouth is on yours—teeth and tongue and breathless fury. His tie swings loose as he crowds your body, thighs pressing between your legs. You gasp when his hands slide under your dress, fingers rough with calluses, gripping the backs of your thighs like he owns them.

“Up,” he growls.

You scramble up onto the counter and he follows without hesitation, yanking your dress up around your hips. Your panties hit the floor with a snap.

He stares—eyes dark, lips parted.

“I’ve thought about this,” you whisper, voice thick with heat. “You, between my legs, still in your work clothes. You smell like sweat and concrete—”

“Shut up.” He says it like a plea. Like if you keep talking, he’ll lose whatever control he has left.

But you can’t help it. You lean in, breath against his ear. “Do you know how wet I get just watching you give orders?”

That’s it.

He grabs your thighs and pulls you to the edge—slips two fingers into you with a growl so low it rattles in your chest. You gasp, nails clawing at his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “You’re soaked.”

“For you.”

“Don’t say that.”

You tilt your hips into his hand. “You want it.”

He yanks his belt open so fast it clatters to the floor. His cock springs free, flushed and thick, already leaking.

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t wait. Just presses the head to your dripping entrance and pushes in.

You both groan.

He’s huge. Stretching you painfully, perfectly, hips flexing slow—too slow. You wrap your legs around him, dragging him deeper.

“Harder,” you breathe.

He grabs the back of your neck, slams into you with a grunt—once, twice, then another time—and you arch back, moaning his name like supplication.

“Kento—fuck—Kento—”

His head drops to your shoulder. “You’re so—tight—fuck—” He’s panting. His fingers bruising your hips. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“But you are,” you whisper, kissing his neck, tasting salt and skin. “You’re mine now.”

That makes him fuck you harder.

Fast. Brutal. Desperate. Like he’s chasing something he’s terrified to catch. And you take it with a smile. Because you’ve won.

𓇢𓆸

You’re still trembling when he pulls out.

Your slick coats his cock. Your breath hiccups softly in your throat, and your dress is bunched uselessly around your waist. You look up at him with that same knowing smile, the one that’s been haunting him for weeks.

He’s standing there between your legs, staring down at you, fists clenched, trying to breathe like this is salvageable.

You reach for him. Fingers brushing his open shirt.“You don’t want me to leave.”

His jaw tightens.

You trail your fingers down his stomach. “You want to do it again.”

He grabs your wrist—hard. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“But they’re true.”

His fingers loosen.

You lean in, press your cheek to his chest. “You’ve already let me in once. Might as well finish what you started.”

His heartbeat is thunder beneath your ear.

He lifts you off the counter.

Your legs wrap around him instinctively, and he carries you down the hallway, bare feet silent on the floor. His face is unreadable, lips set in a line but his grip is firm and secure.

He kicks the bedroom door shut behind him. Lays you down like something precious. And for a moment, he just stands there. Shirt open. Pants still undone. Chest rising and falling with quiet fury. “This was a mistake,” he murmurs.

You reach for him again. “Then make it twice.”

And that’s the last warning he gives you.

He climbs over you—slow, heavy, final. Kisses you deep, tongue sliding against yours, teeth dragging against our bottom lip. One hand pins your wrists above your head. The other finds your throat.

And then he sinks back into you. Not with anger anymore. But possession.

𓇢𓆸

Your wrists are still pinned.

His grip isn’t tight anymore just claiming. Like he needs to know you’re his now, like the act of holding you there is the only thing keeping him grounded. His mouth drags from your lips to your jaw. Down your neck.

You tilt your head back for him, bare yourself to the weight of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble, the heat of his breath. “Kento,” you whisper, voice raw.

He looks at you then. Really looks—like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Like he’s afraid and obsessed all at once. Then he lets go of your wrists. His hand drags down your body. Over your chest. Your stomach. He takes his time. When he enters you again, it’s slower. Deeper.

You gasp and arch, thighs trembling where they wrap around his hips.

He breathes through his nose, head bowing, forehead brushing yours. “This is insane,” he mutters. “I should never have—”

“You did.” You pull him closer, nails dragging down his back. “And you’ll do it again.”

His rhythm falters.

“Say it,” you whisper. “You want this.”

He groans, hips grinding against you. The pressure of it—the heat, the stretch, the way he fills you—it’s so much worse this time. Better. Worse.

“I want—” He chokes on it. Pushes deeper. “I want you.”

Your lips part.

He spoke not just with lust. But with need. It’s all over his face.

“Again.”

“I want you,” he breathes—quicker now.

Your lips find his. Slow. Tongues sliding, hungry but not rough. His thrusts stay steady, deliberate—watching your face the whole time.

You moan for him. He chases the sound.

Each snap of his hips is matched by a whispered plea—your name, or just curses, or maybe nothing at all. His voice is low and wrecked.

When he angles just right—hits that spot that makes you cry out and clench around him—his whole body shudders. “Fuck, you feel good—”

“You’re not gonna stop,” you gasp. “You’ll keep coming back to me.”

He buries his face in your neck.

“Even if you hate me.”

His mouth finds your pulse. “I already do.”

But he’s grinding into you now, chasing your orgasm with his teeth clenched and hand gripping your thigh like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

You cum first—shaking, arching, eyes rolling back with his name on your tongue.

He follows you with a groan against your throat, cock twitching deep inside as he empties himself, still grinding like he can’t bear to stop.

𓇢𓆸

The coffee pot clicks off with a sharp noise.

Kento doesn’t move.

He’s been standing in the kitchen, staring at nothing, in the same rumpled slacks from last night. He’s shirtless. His hair’s a mess. And all he could smell is you.

He finally reaches for a mug but your arms slide around him before he can pour.

“Morning,” you whisper.

He flinches. Just a little.

You’re still naked. Pressed up against his back, warm skin to warm skin, like this is just another Saturday. Like you belong here.

He exhales. “You should get dressed.”

“I like it better like this.”

He doesn't respond.

You press your cheek to his shoulder blade. “You make a good little housewife, you know that?”

“Don’t.”

“You didn’t kick me out.”

He goes still again.

“Let me stay the night. Didn’t kick me out. Made coffee,” you murmur, brushing your lips along his spine. “What do you think that says, Kento?”

“I was drunk.”

You hum against him. “You weren’t.”

He turns around slowly. And the look on his face…It’s not anger. It’s worse. It’s fear. Not of you but of himself. Of what he’ll let you do. What he already lets you do. His voice drops to something nearly hoarse. “You need to go.”

You tilt your head. “Ok. After coffee.” Then you reach for the coffee pot. Pour two cups.

Set one on the island like this is routine.

“You’re going to keep pretending this didn’t mean anything?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer.

You tilt your head. “You’ll go to work and ignore me like you didn’t cum inside me twice?”

“Kiss me again,” he says, suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

His jaw tics. His hands curl into fists. “Kiss me again.”

You step closer, slowly, searching his face. And when your lips brush his, it’s not like last night. It’s tender. He kisses you back like a man admitting something. And when you pull away, his eyes are glassy. His chest rising like he’s drowning.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers.

You touch his chest, his jaw, his mouth. “But I am.”

And he doesn’t stop you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ᯓ★

a/n: guys…..wut da frick…i got way too excited about this and forced it all into one part…….might’ve lost sleep but it was worth it! :3

m’ladies: @linaaeatsfamilies @zeptorg