#The way that he hated himself for that. But how he falls back on those things as a plea when he's truly helpless for the first time in year

[bigification]

Pretty Eyes

"You've got pretty eyes, you know that." Your boyfriend, Lenny, tells you.

"You think so?" You reply, no one's ever complimented your eyes before.

"Yeah, they're perfect windows into your soul." He smiles as he looks into your deep brown eyes.

You blush in response, trying to hide how much the compliment affected you.

"I think the rest could do with some work, though." Lenny adds.

Your smile drops instantly. Why would he say that? Is he messing with you? What does he mean by that?

"What.." you ask, hoping he starts laughing and says it was a joke. But his face remains serious.

"First let's work on that belly." Lenny says while pulling up your shirt, revealing a soft pad of fat on your stomach.

By now you're freaking out. He's gone way too far for it to be a joke, why is he being so mean? And what does he mean working on your belly? You want to push him away and hide your stomach but you feel frozen, completely incapable of moving or talking back.

Lenny plants his hand on your stomach, it feels warm. He pushes firmly into your body, knocking you back a bit.

"That's better." He says with a charming smile.

You look down in a mix of happiness and horror, seeing your belly entirely disappear. In its place is a perfectly chiselled six pack with a sharp V line leading down to your crotch. But before you can even react, Lenny has moved on.

"Hmmm." He ponders to himself. "That chest needs fixing too."

He cups your soft chest with both his hands and starts to rub. You hate to admit it, but it feels great. So good in fact, you almost forget that you're mad at him. He keeps rubbing, sculpting your pecs into the perfect shape. You notice them grow and grow, but with muscle rather than fat. They begin to push out from your body, creating a shelf over your six pack. You even feel your nipples growing as they slowly drift to the underside of your juicy pecs. By the time Lenny pulls away, you're left with two massive pecs that are threatening to burst out of your tiny shirt at any moment.

"I think I'm gonna need to broaden your shoulders to match your expansive chest." He states as if you have a say in it.

His hands grip tightly onto your shoulders and begin to pull them outward. Each pull broadens your shoulders like they're made of putty, eventually ripping right through your shirt. The torn fabric falls to the ground, unveiling your muscly physique and revealing a tattoo sprawled across one of your pecs.

Lenny continues to pull your shoulders until they're wider than your chest, giving you a masculine V shaped torso. And while he's at it, he massages your traps and causes them to triple in size, forming two solid humps of muscle on either side of your neck.

"It's looking good, but not down until we finish your back." He says as he circles behind you.

You feel his warm hands dig into your back, almost like a professional massage. Unbeknownst to you, though, he is creating waves of muscle up and down your back.

"We're almost done with your upper body, but those arms look pathetic compared to that body." Lenny swings back around in front of you. "I have an idea to fix it." He says with a devilish smile.

He grabs your right hand and sticks your thumb into his mouth. He starts to blow, and like a balloon your arm starts to inflate. Your bicep inflates to the size of an American football as veins start to surface, adding to the muscly look. Your forearm follows suit while a black tattoo forms over it. And finally your delicate hand grows into a thick calloused manly mitt. He then repeats the process on your left arm, creating a star tattoo on your shoulder and another black tattoo on your forearm.

"That completes the upper body, but those scrawny legs just won't do anymore." Lenny states as he looks at your severely top heavy body. And you couldn't agree more as your puny legs are struggling to hold up your hulking upper body.

"First let's get you some manly attire." Lenny snaps, and suddenly your short shorts are replaced by a rugged pair of jeans with a brown belt. The belt doesn't seem to be doing much though, as the pants are still much too big for you. That won't be a problem for long.

"Now let's get you an ass to be proud of." He chuckles to himself before wrapping his arms around you and cupping each of his hands on one of your cheeks. He squeezes your flat ass, pumping it up with each squeeze. You feel the shelf form behind you as your pants get tighter and tighter until they feel like they're about to explode. Lenny finally lets go, making your cheeks bounce as they fall into place.

"Now that I see it, that bulge is basically non existent. Let's fix that." Lenny grabs your crotch and pulls up, aggressively handling your cock and balls. A visceral erotic sensation shoots up your muscular body as he handles your meat. Though you can't help but notice a pressure rising in your pants. Your now tennis ball sized testies are being squished between your legs and your thickening cock is struggling to tuck inside your pant leg. You let out a moan, the first noise you've been able to make and it shocks you how deep your voice comes out. You almost don't recognize it. Though that's the least of your concerns as Lenny finishes his final touches to your crotch. An unmistakable outline of your cock is permanently etched into a bulge in your pants, 10 inches long and as thick as a pop can. No pants you could ever wear will hide that monster from the world.

"You're coming along perfectly, but you're not done yet." Lenny says as he kneels down. "Time to fix these chicken legs."

He grabs your legs, slowly sliding his hands down your pant leg. Your thighs inflate as his hands glide by, making them double in size with muscle and fat. They're so thick that they permanently rub together, even when you try to spread your legs. If your balls weren't squished before, they sure are now. His hands then glide down your calves, leaving them thicker than your thighs used to be.

"Hmmm, these runners won't do. It just doesn't suit you. Some cowboy boots would suit your style much better." He snaps again and your brand new running shoes are gone, replaced by some massive size 20 cowboy boots with the spurs and all.

Lenny steps back and takes a moment to admire his work. "You're lookin good, but there are some details I need to get right before I work on your face."

He starts brushing his hands across different parts of your body. First across your chest, growing thick brown hairs all over your pecs. Then a light dusting over your stomach, arms, and back. Finally you feel an itchy sensation take over your legs as a forest of brown hair engulfs the lower half of your body.

He yet again takes a step back to get a good look at you. "Oh right! I almost forgot to fix your height, 5"8 just isn't gonna cut it."

He first grabs your legs and stretches them by 3 inches, temporarily making you look out of proportion. But he quickly fixes it by lifting up your shoulders, causing your torso to stretch 5 inches. This leaves you at an intimidating 6"4, making you tower over your boyfriend. The longer body really makes you look more manly, and gives more room to show off that six pack.

"And now there's nothing but your face. Don't get me wrong, your face is pretty, but it just doesn't match the rest of your body. So we're gonna have to change it."

Lenny starts by squaring off your jaw and making it sharper, accentuating your chiselled features. He then shaves your head, leaving a short buzz cut in place of your lucious locks.

"Let's give you some more manly features while we're at it."

He pulls out your browline, giving you a simpler and manlier look. Then he thickens your nose, complimenting your square jaw. And he pushed in your cheeks, making you look more mature. Speaking of mature, Lenny has much older plans for you. He starts by receding your hairline slightly, not enough to make you look like your balding but just enough to make you look mature. He massages your skin, forming wrinkles around your forehead, mouth, and eyes, though he makes sure not to touch those beautiful eyes if your. And finally he rubs his hands across your jaw and upper lip, leaving behind a somewhat patchy beard and moustache on your face.

"Now to deal with that pesky brain of yours." Lenny says as he rubs his thumbs over your temples. Suddenly it's getting hard for you to think. What was your name again? What do you do for work? What are your hobbies? You can't seem to remember anything, not even the grueling transformation that your body just went through.

"That should do it." Lenny smiles as he pulls his hands away from your head.

Ahh that's better, so much easier to think. You remember that your name is Bruce and you're a 43 year old farmer.

"What are you looking at son?" You ask Lenny in a deep southern accent.

"You're eyes, they're very pretty you know." He responds.

"You goin make me blush boy." You flash a rare smile as you pull Lenny in for a kiss.

[revelboo]

I'm so sorry for the likes spam. I just find your work phenomenal, and I LOVE coming back to it every day.

No worries

18+ mass displaced mech 🌶️

Stand Too Close

IDW Prowl x Reader

• Mouth sliding against his, you’re liquid fire in his lines, thrumming through his spark as your little tongue traces the seam of his lips and he growls as he lets you in. Taking over the kiss, servos tangling in your hair as he claims your mouth, demanding and letting out all of his frustrations in the feel of your mouth under his, glossa sliding against your tongue. Knowing just how terrible an idea this is, but needing to feel someone touch him even if there’s no affection in that touch. Shifting against you to pin you better when you try to wiggle in his grip, hooking a leg around his hip, little fingers catching the jutting blade of the chevron on his helm and tugging.

• He makes a low guttural noise where his mouth is still on yours, hips pinning you more firmly. The hands not buried in your hair finally letting go of your other wrist, sliding along your side and gripping your hip, your butt in his big hand. And then he bites your lip, the little sting making you gasp, his optics so much less icy as he actually smiles down at you, the twist of his lips cocky. “I hate you,” you hiss, tongue darting out to check to make sure you’re not bleeding as he slides down your body, venting against you.

• Hate? He almost laughs, hands sliding under your top, pulling it up over your head. Those angry eyes dark with need, looking up at him as he runs a palm over your exposed skin. Mapping you out with his servos. “How much do you hate me?” He growls, servos fumbling with the closure of your pants, before he just yanks them down over your hips. Needing to know if this is possible, because you’re his. Servos sliding over your hip, spreading your thighs and finding you slick for him, his spike aching as he frees it. Sees your eyes widen as you suck in a breath, then his mouth is on your hip, denta biting and nipping as he cups you. Spearing a servo into that wet, welcoming heat. “Tell me,” he demands between nips, leaving the imprint of his denta in little crescents on that soft skin, not biting hard enough to break the skin, but enough that you’ll have little reminders that you’re his.

• Shuddering as he strokes that servo inside you and presses another bite to the curve of your hip, you’re aware of the noises you’re making. “Hate everything about you,” you manage, hips lifting as he curls that servo, still stroking to send your thoughts scattering. “Your stupid, growly voice, your big hands.” Cupping you, spearing you with that servo. Head falling back when he fucks you a little harder, a little faster, with that servo, still curling it to stroke deep as your hips buck. Needing more. “You’re awful.”

• That throaty noise you make when he slips his wet servo free, the way you glare up at him, breathing raggedly he wants to remember how you look sprawled under him, face flushed and needy. Taking his spike. Shifting himself between your thighs and feeling you shudder when he slides the length of himself against you, finding your core and sheathing himself deep, loving the way your silken heat grips his spike. “Look at me,” he demands, servos tightening on your hip. “Eyes on me.”

• Lips parting as he cups your chin in a big hand, tipping your head with his thumb on your bottom lip as he rocks himself against you in a slow slide. Making you meet his optics. “Fuck, I hate you,” you moan, feeling every bump and ridge of his spike before he’s driving back into you, thumb stroking over your lip, bumping your teeth and you bite him. Feel him shudder against you, door wings trembling as he looses control completely, hips snapping against yours. And you bite down harder, tongue sliding against him as he braces himself and ruts against you. Those optics never leaving your eyes, his denta bared in a snarl.

• Those teeth and that tongue on his servo as he bucks into you, hearing those lovely noises you’re making even with his thumb in your mouth mixing with the wet sounds of your body taking his spike. And those defiant eyes glaring up at him, dark with passion and need. Hating him, wanting him, needing this connection just like he is. Understanding you, because you’re just as awful as he is. The only difference? You don’t care, you can say the things he has to bite down on, do the things he can’t. What would that freedom be like? Body trembling under his as your hands cling to him, you fist his spike, head falling back with a cry and he chases after, hips pumping as he slumps onto a forearm over you, burying himself deep to release inside you. Those eyes still staring up at him and he has no idea what you’re thinking. If you regret what you just did. “Fuck me,” you groan, throwing an arm across your eyes and a startled laugh escapes him as he eases more of his weight against you, hips settling in the cradle of your thighs, mindful not to crush you. And rests his own forehead against your arm, his rough venting mingling with your ragged breathing. Wanting to curl himself around you, but afraid you’ll push him away if he tries to hold you. Not quite enemies, but not friends either.

Previous

[kkcauseway]

My Number One

Husband Joel Miller x Wife f!reader

Main masterlist

Summary: Every month at that dreaded time you can't help how awful it makes you feel. How insecure you become when you're usually so confident. You can't help the way you become incredibly sensitive, but Joel wont let it remain. Joel refuses to let you feel like that and he's decided enough is enough. Even when you try to cower away from him he doesn't let you, you're perfect and he will make sure you know. Content/warnings: Reader and Joel showering whilst he tells her just how beautiful she is. Joel Miller being the cutest husband. Reader is on her period and feeling insecure but Joel wont let the insecurities remain. So much fluff! No use of Y/n, no outbreak. Word count: 1k A/n: Lil soppy fic of Joel being the most doting husband who refuses to let his wife remain insecure.

You’re in the shower after a long day at work feeling shitty and its only made worse by the fact you started your period on your lunch break.

You always hate your time of the month because more than anything it makes you feel crappy, you can’t look in the mirror without hating yourself. Can’t look at your body because it makes you feel disgusting even though you know you’re perfect just the way you are. And you hear it constantly with Joel forever telling you.

He’s never let the mood swings stop him from being wholly himself with you, if anything it’s even better because he knows you need that extra reassurance when it happens.

You’re hoping that a shower will help with the cramps and just overall shitty feeling that’s clouding you.

“Baby?” He utters softly as he knocks on the bathroom door.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

Shit, he’s gonna see you when you feel like this. Which is exactly the last thing you want right now, but he asked nicely.

“Erm, okay.”

He’s quick to enter the room as you try to hide yourself from him, not that you really can whilst stood naked under the spray.

“You, okay?” He looks to you as he quizzes softly. Leaning against the bathroom door.

You don’t know why the question makes you so emotional, but tears instantly fill your eyes, and you have to do everything in your power to hold them back as you nod.

“S’okay baby I know how you’re feelin’, you’re so beautiful don’t ever forget it.”

Fuck he really is trying everything he can to make you cry right now, but what he asks next snaps you out of it momentarily.

“Can I join you?”

Join you when you’re like this, is he crazy? “Joel I…”

“Baby I’ve always told you I don’t care, I wana hold you.”

“Okay.” You nod, because as vulnerable as you may feel you want nothing more than to be in his arms.

He nods with a smile quickly stripping himself of his clothes and steps in next to you instantly bringing a hand to the small of your back and it’s those little things that are the reason you love him so much, but even so. You know you’re disgusting right now so you can’t help the way you pull away from him.

“What’s wrong?”

You don’t respond you just close your eyes and face the water spray.

“Hey” he whispers after a few seconds “baby look at me.” He turns your body so that you’re facing one another in the small space of the shower. “What is it?” He asks softly.

“Why do you want to touch me? How can you even bare to look at me?” You quiz averting his gaze. Staring down at your feet as you try not to cry.

“Hey.” He grabs your chin, so you have no choice but to face him. “Baby, open your eyes please.”

You take a deep breath before you do.

“Tell me what’s goin’ through that beautiful head o’yours.”

You take a deep breath. “I’m so gross, I don’t know how you can look at me and want me when I’m like this. I don’t get why you want to be in the shower with me right now when I’m bleeding, it’s not nice. I’m so disgusting.” You can’t help as tears fall now.

He shakes his head instantly; his voice is firm as he replies. “No baby, you stop that talk right now. It’s not about whether it’s nice or not, it’s a part of life, a part of you and it’s natural. Baby I want you to be comfortable around me, you have no reason not to be. I love you just the way you are.” His one hand has moved to cup your cheek whilst the other strokes your hip softly.

But he quickly moves to pull you close too him snaking his arms round your body. He leans to kiss your forehead as you close your eyes and enjoy the feeling of having him close. “Bleedin’ or not baby you’re beautiful to me, I will not have you thinkin’ differently.”

You nod into his chest as he leans his chin on the top of your head. He strokes your back softly as you listen in tune to his heartbeat and the spray of water as it keeps your skin warm. “You have nothin’ t’be ashamed of. Your body is part of you, I love every fuckin’ inch, it’s perfect just the way it is.”

You cry softly against him, not having realised just how much you needed to hear those words. It’s nice to hear them and know that they’re the truth. He isn’t just saying it to make you feel better, it’s all meant.

He reaches out to brush his fingers through your wet hair, “lean back baby let me help.”

You do so instantly, keeping your eyes closed as you lean your head back allowing your hair to be completely submerged under the stream. As he lathers his hands in shampoo and begins to gently massage it into your scalp he utters “you have nothin’ t’feel ashamed or embarrassed about. It’s a natural part of life baby and you’re perfect just the way you are.”

He continues to wash you hair gently before helping you to rinse it out. Once done you finally open your eyes to look at him and there, he is staring at you with so much love as he smiles.

“You’re so beautiful I love you so much.”

You smile back adding “I love you too.”

“Now how about we finish gettin’ cleaned up and then go watch a movie in bed? I got some of your favourite ice cream on my way home from work.”

“Yes please.” You smile at him, so thankful to have him. For him to be your number one fan, your biggest supporter through every part of life. He is the most amazing husband in everything he does.

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

Like Birds on a Broken Branch | 5

Monster! Task Force 141 X F!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

Context Warning: NSFW! Mentions of Dub-con/ Non-con, Oral Sex, Author's Poor Attempt in Smut & Dark Fic, Mentions of Slavery, Cunnilingus, Fingering, Fingerfucking, Biting, Overstimulation (kinda), Edging (kinda)

What the fuck.

Those three words were the first thought of train that shot up to your brain as he finished his statement, his tone and his gaze both reeking of confidence and certainty, which made something flip in your stomach.

You had always liked confident men who knew about what they wanted and had the power to back up their actions and words. But that only applied to men in fiction you have read in books. In real life? Especially after the fucking blood-sucking leech who couldn’t keep his goddamn hands to himself and just buy women he could keep fucking by his side and leave you the fuck alone, captured you and sold you, your trust and belief that one day you would meet someone who actually wouldn’t force themselves into their females had broken down like stars in the sky.

Well . . . there was Graves, the same fucking leech you wanted to kick on the balls, but he wasn’t the fucking focus right now.

You stared at Simon, lips parted in disbelief. You blinked your eyes rapidly in repeat, his words echoing in your mind like a broken record, but his low laugh shattered it.

“I see why Price told me he loves watching your expressions,” he said, untying his cloak and letting it fall on the floor.

You frowned at him, face slightly warming at the memories of Price between your thighs, his tongue working on your clit whereas his fingers curled inside your hole. As much as you hated it, the fire-breathing lizard knew how to pleasure a woman . . . and torment you.

But if this was going to keep up, if this was how the rest of your life would play out, wouldn’t it be better to get used to it soon? It wouldn’t be a long while now for them to run out of patience and tie you up on bed all day and night to take their turns to fuck you mindless.

You felt like laughing at the thought, but in your situation, the best course of action to keep them pleased and not hurt you as much was to take their offers—or rather, ask them what you could offer them.

“How would you like to do it?” you questioned in a hushed tone.

Simon blinked, confused by the sudden query, but quickly understood what you meant, and huffed. “No, how would you like to do it?”

For fuck’s sake, this man got a way with words more than the fucking siren did.

You remained lying on the bed as he got up and leaned down on you, the balaclava hoisted up to the bridge of his nose. At first, he seemed hesitant, you both were, but when you flattered your eyes closed, and he was the first to dive down onto a kiss.

It started soft, patient—not any sign of aggression nor cruel hunger in his lips. And as thanks, you reached up to his head as he splayed his now ungloved hand on your stomach. Then, it began to travel down south, slightly tugging on the hem of your dress.

He broke the kiss, slightly pulling himself away from you, and you opened your eyes, meeting a pair of deep brown eyes, but quickly left the contact. You watched his hand disappear under your dress, going under the band of your undergarment. Somewhat, you did not feel any sense of disturbance or disgust being this close to him. The roughness of his calloused hands, instead, made your skin crawl with anticipation.

“Use your words, love,” he muttered the command to your ear.

You took a deep breath. “Go on.”

You shuddered at his touch as you felt his warm digit brush against your wetness, trying to keep yourself relaxed as he circled the small bud of nerves. You let out a pretty little noise, tilting your head back each time his finger dipped into your entrance, and felt your core tighten up and drip onto his hand. You sunk your teeth into your lower lip when Simon found your sensitive nub, running his fingers on it up and down.

A hum escaped his lips. “Here?” He pressed on your clit, eliciting a whine from you, and moved his hand down, letting his thumb do the work while his fingers dove into your entrance.

You grabbed onto his arm, knowing what it did to Price before, only to confirm it going with Simon as well.

He inserted another finger, which your cunt easily welcomed in, and continued his dirty work. His calloused thumb swirled constant maddening circles over your clit, his fingers dragging in and out of your slick walls. He knew you were close, clenching around his digits and your breathing growing quicker. Then, he stopped at the brink.

“Simon,” you cried, cursing in your mind. “Please.”

He quickly resumed his actions, his fingers pushing deeper into you, and his palm smacking against your clit. In return, you chanted his name, and pleasure shot throughout your body. But he didn't stop, still moving his fingers as they grew drenched in a languid pace, till he pulled out.

Simon moved south, pushing the dress up to your abdomen and quickly getting ahold of your panties, pulling them off. You found yourself swallowing as he fixed his mask over his nose and looked up at you. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Bare hands traveled along the skin of your outer thighs, keeping them spread, and using his hands, he pulled your hips closer, bringing your core against his mouth. Like a continuance, his thumb rolled your sensitive bud as his tongue buried deep into your.

Your hand slammed against the mattress, clenching on the sheets at the sensation of his tongue lapping up your fluids, and the feeling began to grow too quickly the moment he threw one of your legs over his shoulder.

Simon clamped his lips over your clit, sucking hard as he watched your back arch onto the bed, and in comparison to the way you held yourself back before, a song of moans and whines left your lips, and never in his life he had heard something so captivating.

You came quicker this time, your hips rolling against his mouth, your flavors flooding his tongue, and reluctantly he pulled away. You watched him crawl over you, tearing your nightgown apart like paper, completely exposing yourself to the monster once more.

However, this time, you didn't mind. You had brought this to yourself and you were willing to take the risk.

His hand traveled along your chest, his rough fingers brushing over your delicate nipple while he bent down, taking the other with his mouth. Without any words said, his free hand went to the buttons of his shirt, and he straightened up, jerking his clothes off, showing off what had been underneath.

Scars dusted his body, trailing like the tails of shooting stars. With how they scattered on his fair skin, it would seem that they were almost connected to form constellations themselves, adorning his muscles.

It was hard not to stare.

But it was harder not to think that he was this beautiful this whole time underneath those blasted layers of his.

“You're staring,” he remarked, and tilted his head, in a way that made something flip in your stomach. “Like what you see?”

“Yes.” You splayed a hand on his abdomen. You brushed your finger along his skin, nails scraping the bumps and craters of the scars as you slowly pulled yourself up to sit. As you reached his shoulder, trailing over his nape, you leaned in and pressed a kiss on his chest. “Quite well.”

Simon found himself smiling. He placed a hand on your lower back and pulled you onto him, your face on his chest, yours against his stomach. In swift yet careful movements, he flipped you over. With his guidance, you maneuvered on his lap, your wet sex pressing against the tent on his pants, and your hands resting on his chest whereas he settled on your ass. Following the movements of his hands, you ground back and forth, shivering, quiet moans leaving your lips, and your breath hitched as he bucked up.

You watched a smirk play on his lips, which you frowned at, and Heavens forbid your impulsive thoughts—you reached between your thighs, unbuckling his belt, leaving it just as that, and popped his button open. You pulled him out from the confines of his pants and swallowed at the feeling of his cock in your hand, precum leaking from its tip. It stood proud for a moment, before falling on his abdomen.

“Go on, I did ask you how you would like to do it,” he reminded and slowly, you began stroking his length, eliciting a groan from him. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You gave a few good tugs, before adjusting from his lap and slid your core against his cock. You gasped out at the sensation, clenching your core over nothing, just as he grunted, squeezing your ass and guiding you once again to grind onto him.

Your eyes flattered close and you let your head tilt back, rolling your hips faster with each passing second. Your thighs began to tremble, brows knitted as you whined his name, to which he responded with murmurs of your name, till strings of his cum shot out, painting his stomach white.

You slowed down and leaned down to him, not minding the stickiness that spread on your abdomen as your skin met his in a searing touch. You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that seemed to be almost in the same rhythm as yours, whilst his hands traveled up to your waist.

“Come here,” he demanded. You tilted your head up and raised a brow in question. He smiled. “On my face.”

Your eyes widened. “You want me to—”

“Very much so,” he cut you off, swallowing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Just move how you would on my cock.”

You swallowed, and finally, after a few seconds, you gave him a nod. Rising from his chest, he picked you up and easily perched you above his face. Then, when he lied back down on the mattress, he lowered you to his mouth and began licking. You gripped the top of the headboard, throwing your head back with a trembling sigh, and just as he said, you ground on him as he devoured you once again.

Simon delved deep, tasting, teasing, and pushing you further and further until you writhed in his grip. He sucked on your clit, hard, bringing you close. Your knuckles had turned white, trying to come back down on the bed, when he let go of your sex to sink his teeth in your inner thigh. You sucked in a harsh breath, and fuck—turned on instead of pained. So close to your sensitive clit, the bite was wildly blissful, and finally, you came together with him.

He groaned, kissing the spot where he left his mark, while still moving you against his mouth and jerking himself off, albeit both slowing down.

When you came down next to him back on the bed, he immediately wrapped his arms around your naked flesh, pressing his lips on your hairline, and didn't seem to mind the sheet of sweat coating your skin.

“I . . .” You paused, catching your breath. “ I thought you were new to this.”

“I am.” He caressed your back, gently massaging your muscles. “But I've seen enough to know and learn.”

“Fucking hell.” You grumbled on his chest, to which he responded with a low chuckle.

“Let's get you cleaned up.”

You blinked away the sleepiness as you felt the warmth of the sun kissing your skin through the gap in the curtains. You shifted on the bed and groaned at the foreign weight over your waist.

“Morning.”

You jolted at the gravely deep voice that reverberated at your side and looked over to see Simon next to you.

He inched closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, where his breath fanned your skin, his teeth grazing over a vein. “Surprised to see me beside you?”

“No,” you placed a hand on his arm over your waist. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Best one yet.”

You found yourself staring at his eyes, reflecting the light like a pool of melted gold, and smiled. “I think I slept well.”

You flinched once again when the doors of your chamber slammed open, and the incubus, the freaking catalyst of the events of the night, sauntered in.

“I knew it!” Johnny yelled and joined you on the bed, taking your free side. “No wonder I couldnae tap into her head!”

Simon shook his head and pulled you closer to him. “Apologize first.”

“What, why?” Mactavish questioned, making you frown.

“Our wife couldn't sleep last night because of you.”

“Oh.” There was a short while of silence before he carefully took your hand. “I'm sorry, Bonnie.”

But you did not answer, annoyance filling your brain at the lack of sincereness in his voice. You pushed yourself further into the wraith's embrace.

“Bonnie? Love?”

You closed your eyes and heard Simon’s scoff.

You heaved out a sigh, staring at the white clouds blotting the blue sky. The wind brushed your skin, making your dress flatter against the grass that prickled your bare back and delivered the scent of the flowers surrounding you. You had never been in a garden before, barely even touched the grass or walked on a field without fearing for your life. But in this place, one you would and could call a cage, you found an unexpected warmth and comfort.

Well, except for the blasted incubus next to you, who hadn’t probably blinked for a few minutes now, eyes as blue as the sky never leaving your face. You still hadn’t answered him when he had been relentlessly apologizing to you, much to Simon’s amusement.

“Love, won’t ya talk to me?” he cooed, and you averted your gaze as he peered into your sight. “Please?”

“I’d be down on my knees if I were you,” the siren’s silvery voice made its way to your eyes, and from your peripheral, you noticed him walking toward you. He sat down next to you and extended a clenched fist to the wraith. “Good call stopping by her room, Ghost.”

“Consent is the key,” Simon remarked, making you roll your eyes, and adjust your head on his lap as he bumped his fist with the talking fish.

“Go to hell,” Johnny glowered at the both of them.

“I dunno ‘bout that,” Kyle leaned down on you and ran his fingers along your jaw. You leaned to his touch, watching his lips curve to a satisfied smile before you latched yours onto his. Quickly, he responded, tracing his tongue over your lips and you parted them, to let him in, but your attention was stolen by a thing hovering in the sky, slowly descending.

You pulled away from Kyle, squinting your eyes at the being, and raised your brow upon realization it was John. Ah, right, dragons can fly.

As he neared, the wind began to blow hard, and Kyle pulled you close to him, shielding you from the harsh breeze, which soon died down when the King touched down.

“Gained intel about the party,” Price fished out some papers from his pocket and handed them to his brothers, before dropping to his knees. He picked up your hand and brought your knuckles to his lips. “My Queen.”

“John,” you simply replied and looked over your shoulder, his words about the upcoming party catching your interest, only to watch Johnny frown upon the contents of the paper.

“That leech is coming?” questioned the incubus, raising a brow at the dragon.

“Graves?” you couldn’t help but wonder. As far as you knew, Graves was the only one who got called ‘Leech’ by his fellow monsters.

“A different kind,” Jonathan intervened. “That thing’s more like an octopus.”

Simon threw the paper away. “Fuckin’ tentacles.”

“Well, Graves is also coming,” Kyle answered on their behalves, making you turn your attention back to him. “But he is not who we are concerned about.”

You frowned. “Who, then?”

The siren sighed. “In the deep sea, there are two kingdoms that have always been in bad blood, and war could break out any minute with one wrong move. That’s my kingdom, the Sirens, and the Krakens.” He handed you the paper, letting you read what was written in it. “And their king, famously known as ‘Konig’ is going to attend the party, when he hadn’t been for as long as we didn’t.”

You found the name he mentioned on the paper. “What’s bad about that?”

“He was at your auction,” Johnny fessed and scoffed. “Why would he even go, he didn’t even buy a female this time.”

“Because of her,” Simon nodded at your way. “I have a feeling he got a word about her before we even laid our eyes on her. If Price wasn’t any faster, she would have been . . .” he trailed off.

You sighed and plopped back down on the grass. “What’s new about that? If he was the one with me now—”

“You would have been dead already,” Simon finished.

As though a bucket of cold water had been thrown at you, you froze in your place, his words repeating over and over again in your mind. You had heard of this Konig, before, from the news and Graves, and Simon’s statement wasn’t far off. The King of Krakens was infamous for killing every woman he was with for unknown reasons. As if that wasn’t enough, he was also known for murdering his own men.

He was the embodiment of monstrosity, the pinnacle of all mortals, the horror of every race.

To think that he was there in the crowd just as you were being sold, watching in the shadows, about to get his hands on you, before Price swept in, made your heart hammer against your ribs. And it only led your mind further down into the hole that maybe, you were lucky to be here, after all.

“One more thing,” John spoke, breaking into your reverie, fiddling with your fingers with his rough ones. “The females will have to perform something.”

“Perform?” You echoed in a meek voice, getting uncomfortable with how the conversation was going.

“Yes, it’s like a . . .” He smacked his lips. “Showcase, or to strike a deal, a trade. If a monster happens to like another female than the one he bought, he can trade with another monster. But if the monster is satisfied with the one he’s got, then nothing will—”

You sat up. “You’re not—” You gripped tight on his hand. “You’re not going to trade me, are you?” You gazed into his eyes, your vision slightly blurring at the welling tears, which you fought back by blinking. “I don’t know what kind of performance I can do, I’m not used to crowds, but I’m–I’m beginning to like it here—”

He cut you off, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that burned the air from your lungs.

Stalemate.

Someone will deserve an Oscar. Also, as stated, there will be "scenes" with Konig, and he will be an antagonist for better or worse, along with some other canon characters. If you don't like it, shoo--I mean, feel free to not read, because I don't intend to write him in the way that the readers will like him.

He may be good in my other fanfic, but here? If you are up to, uhm, real like for real real, dub-con/non-con things, then wait for Konig. I guess. But he won't be the end game.

Remember, This is a TF 141 fanfic!

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own

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[slutforpringles]

The FEA collection seems to have prompted a bit a discourse on Daniel's lack of response (so far) on the Red Bull situation and fallout from SIngapore - and honestly @cecoeur and @billscciardo have articulated lot of how I feel about it all far better than I could have 🫶🏻.

While there is a part of me that would love to see Daniel go full scorched earth on Red Bull and publicly eviscerate both their treatment of him and especially the lies they have told about how it all played out, I also can't help but wonder if part of the reason that we haven't seen/heard anything from Daniel is because he still feels conflicted about what he wants to do.

Daniel's spent the last two years emphasising how Red Bull feels like home and a second family, highlighting how many current team members have been there throughout his entire career and that their belief in him and the way they welcomed him back into the team was so important and special to him, and was a big factor in helping him fall back in love with the sport. Even if he feels totally hurt/blindsided/betrayed by everything that has happened (very understandably), those other feelings don't just suddenly cease to exist, and I do not fault him in any way for wanting to grapple with his own probably difficult and conflicting emotions before unpacking them for the wider public, especially given the way the press have so often been so viciously cruel with how they have reported on Daniel.

And I think as much as I'd love to think that Daniel could publicly eviscerate Christian/Red Bull's upper management/board members, shareholders and decision makers without that affecting his ongoing relationship with those people, is kind of naive and just not realistic. Even if he currently hates Red Bull with every fibre of his being, I think hitting destruct on all of that without at least giving himself time to think it through is just not advisable or sensible.

Anyway these are just my thoughts about it. I wouldn't be surprised if there's also contractual/legal stipulations at play until the season (and Daniel's contract) is over, too.

[wtfdemother]

Slasher AU Hewitt!König biggest sweetheart imo. NSFW below, happy Kinkvember day 13 ☃️🤝

post dividers by tsunami-of-tears

CW: boobs, boobs, boobs, boobs, lotta booobs. Man I make the baddest bitches send me nuuudes/lyr. Anwyay, König got an oral fixation that needs attention.

Hewitt!König who trails behind you that morning on your way to the barn. Luda Mae needed eggs for breakfast and you were more than happy to oblige, thinking nothing of the nervous fidgeting coming from the hulking man who sulked at your side. It was funny, really, sometimes you’d peer out the corner of your eye to catch a glimpse of him, trying hard to ignore you while he was hard at work. You were no fool, you knew behind those bushy, furrowed brows he was dying to be in the place of that three month old calf you coddled, or the one being nuzzled and grabbed instead of the big, squishy nose of a horse.

Hewitt!König who wanted the same amount of attention you gave the chickens and other farm animals on that damn ranch, you’re the whole reason he got his family to raise more than just chickens and pigs! If he’d knew those furry creatures would steal your attention, he wouldn’t have gotten them. Now, he’s paying the price, big time. He hates and loves himself for it, there hid no ill intentions towards your little animals, how they brought light to your face was more than enough to soothe his heart. He learned to share but decided that enough with the chores the minute you spilled a pail of water on yourself.

Hewitt!König who drops whatever it was he was doing, his concentration fizzling out in an instant. His mind is full of you. He steps over the object now lying in the mud, two meaty paws come to grab you tight by the waist, hoisting you up like a bag of flour. “König! We don’t have time for this—” He throws you onto a stack of hay, grunting a mumbled response behind the leather mask to silence your sass. To him you were giving him sass, but you just wanted to change out of this wet shirt. To which he obliged happily, helping you toss that shirt to the ground.

Hewitt!König who ignores your weakly said protests as he kisses his way up your stomach to your throat, giving the delicate skin a small nip before descending lower to your collarbone. From there his kisses get hotter, breathier, marred flesh pressed the kindest of kisses on your skin, your head fell back and you let him do whatever. A deep rumble of approval reaches your ears, making your panties slick from the timbre sound alone. He stills you when you squirm, his breath hot on your peak. Gingerly he licks at the bud, eyelids flutter shut as he groans from the taste of your warmth on his tongue. He swore he could fall asleep suckling at your nipple, but the strain in his pants proves too much to simply ignore. He palms your unoccupied breast with a large hand, for such calloused fingertips they worked most benevolently.

Hewitt!König who closed the entire world off when he was with you, too busy pouring his attention on the firm peak in the warmth of his mouth, gathering as much spit as he could around your nipple as he swirled his tongue and sucked with fervour. You dig your fingers deep in his hair, trying to pull him off but that mountain of a man wouldn’t budge so long as he had a mouthful of your tit. He lets go with a resounding pop!, his lips glistening with spit and his breath short. He doesn’t give you a moment of reprieve, diving in again to latch onto your other nipple. No, he hasn’t forgotten about it, kleine lamm.

Hewitt!König who traps your growing bud between his teeth, giving it a little tug before taking it fully in his mouth. He’s growing demanding, wanting more of you to satisfy that gnawing urge. Growling feral sounds occupy the air, you swore you had an animal on top of you as he tore into the fat of your bosom, leaving small dents the shape of his teeth all around the ample flesh spread beneath him like dough. What a sight, he huffs fondly, dipping down once more to kiss the space between your breasts.

Hewitt!König who only pulls away once he’s done slobbering all over your chest, grinning at the bite marks on your tender flesh and the tears brimming your eyes. He kisses you apologetically, but that doesn’t stop your tits from being sore. He gets that much from the frown on your face, carefully he ducks back to press the softest of kisses on the blues and purples blooming over your skin. Again and again, you can barely hear him moving above but you can feel his lips pressing reverently to each and every bruise. What a sight for sore eyes, he thought.

Hewitt!König who speaks only for you, despite the discomfort. “Tut mir leid, Schatz…” he grumbles, voice hoarse from years of misuse. He doesn’t really need it, mostly just communicates with a series of curt head nods and grunts. But with you? He liked seeing you shine with delight every time he spoke. He leans into your touch as a hand slides down his cheek from the top of his head, his hair a little disheveled from your tight grab. “S’okay, big guy…” you say in a whisper, running a thumb over his scarred face. Beautiful, genuine features you thought, nobody felt so deeply like you did for each other. “I was a little rough too…”

He was too shy to finish y’alls business in the barn, so he quickly carried you home. Later on, sometime in the early evening he brought lunch over to your bed on account of your legs being out of commission, curtesy of König and your shared needs.

[bonefall]

Honest question, how do you think Clear Sky would react if he got yeeted to the Dark Forest upon death. I've been thinking about this for an AU and I have how I'll do it, but I'm super curious how you'd approach it because I like hearing you talk about the worst man ever

Oh he'd build an empire. Like. Immediately. First couple of cats that fall in with him would end up getting turned into his lackeys.

I lean into the Christian coding a lot but like, unironically, Clear Sky is the sort of dramaturge who could deliver lines out of Paradise Lost without breaking a sweat

Paradise Lost is about how Satan's ego lead him to oppose God, how he justifies hanging onto his anger at having had his ass kicked, and how he rallies all his demons to continue to fight for a lost cause they can't possibly win. Milton basically wrote it to connect that theme to humanity itself, exploring the various ways that Satan and humans aren't so different.

It just feels so right with Clear Sky in mind. Everyone knows the "Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven" line that the speech in Book 1 ends with, but the CONTEXT of Satan's words there is that he's looking at all his fallen allies doing the family guy death post at literally rock bottom, all these people who lost everything by following him, and he's giving them a pep talk.

"Ok yes. It smells like a sulphuric fart, the lights keep flickering, and everything is on fire," says Satan, "But maybe this is a you-problem. I'M this funny little thing called an ✨optimist✨ and you know what? Maybe God never built a minecraft base here because he's the real loser. YOU can say it's hell but you know what I call it? Free real estate babey. NOW LET'S GO FUCK WITH HIM!!!!"

And that's honestly the EXACT way I see Clear Sky reacting to something like that. Like he'd ever just lay down and die?? HELL no. He'd be PISSED that StarClan was SO UNGRATEFUL to him, that they did something so spiteful and unfair. Sure, he Made Some Mistakes, but he had to make HARD choices, and he was NEVER WRONG, and deserves his place being honored.

He might briefly have a moment of self-pity, woefully consider just giving up... but in the end, his damning would make him so mad. He'd want to get back at them as soon as his brief pity party is over (just like he did with One Eye), and he's absolutely incapable of ever NOT bossing other cats around. He just needs one or two goons before he's got a little base of power, and you KNOW that cats like Petal would do anything to go fight by his side again.

So yeah. If you're asking me, sending Clear Sky to the Dark Forest would unironically just result in the devil. And you'd have a great opportunity there, because StarClan SUCKS.

Both sides would be terrible options and you can really expand on the unfairness of WC's afterlife system, and the way that banishing a person like Clear Sky to an eternal prison with other desperate cats just ends up enabling and empowering his worst impulses.

[webism]

pornstar!choso has a curated look that throws off a lot of his costars. strong build, straight-set face, hands made to choke and tear… most of those he film with don’t expect to be doted on the entire time.

people joke that pornstar!choso falls a little bit in love with every costar he fucks or gets fucked by. that glossy look that always pulls at his face by the time a scene ends, how his lip trembles with a need to be kissed raw when he cums. he says it's just the bliss of his orgasm—that he gets emotional in the moment, but it doesn't mean anything. well, until he meets you.

pornstar!choso who looks you up before his shoot because your name sounded vaguely familiar when it left his agents lips. he could have sworn you'd fucked before, because when he rolls the syllables of your name on his tongue they're nostalgic and taste like the sweat and laboured breaths of a long night between satin sheets. had you shot a scene together before? or had it been a one night stand?

pornstar!choso who realises that no, he hadn't slept with you before. but the familiarity of your name isn't a coincidence—he's fucked his fist to your videos more times than he can count. your name hits him like lightning, he had typed it into his search bar late in the night, cock hard and in need of instant relief. it's almost scary how well he knows you, what sounds you make when you get close to cumming, how you often arch your back and try to run from the overwhelming pleasure, how your eyebrows knit together when you're feeling so good it almost hurts.

pornstar!choso who realises with a now-red face that you probably don't have a clue who he is, and yet he's cum in time with you for months now. he's pretty sure he's drained his wallet at least twice on your cam shows... what if you recognise his name and piece it together with his username that he donates under? he debates cancelling the shoot, faking covid to get some time at home to hate himself endlessly.

but pornstar!choso realises that this is his chance to get to know how you really feel. he's imagined it so many times, as he fucked fake pussies or his closed fist using spit or his own cum as lube. you'd be warmer, undoubtedly tighter... so much prettier. and he wants to know more: would you prefer to take control and turn him into the toys he so often pretends are you? would you lay back all pretty and let him ruin you on his cock? how deep could you take him he knows he's big but you seem so eager, would you take him to the base with ease or would he have to force it in? bully your pretty pussy until it stretches to his shape?

pornstar!choso who hates the fact that your first, and possibly only, time together would be in front of a production crew and under the unsympathetic lights of a porn set. but he'd fuck on a stage in front of thousands if it means a taste of you.

pornstar!choso who makes it to the shoot before you do, comes ten minutes early to settle his anxieties and get a feel for the scene ahead. the director tells him its a simple shoot, that choso is meant to let you ride him for a while until you pull off and suck his cock for a nice close-up facial shot. the way the director speaks so clinically about sex with you makes choso grimace, he feels pathetic for feeling like this. like he'll be a changed man after feeling you around his cock, which is already painfully hard.

pornstar!choso who hates himself for stumbling over his words when he meets you. he wishes he had never looked you up, though he doesn't doubt seeing your pretty face like this would have wrecked his confidence regardless. you're kind, greet him with a shy smile as if he isn't about to slip balls deep inside of you.

pornstar!choso who, once he has you sitting on top of him on that bed—cameras pointed dutifully as you start to play your role and hike your skirt up so you can sink down on his cock—he can't handle the thought of fucking you like it's nothing, like it's not been the crux of his fantasies in the dark hours at night.

pornstar!choso who, probably to the detriment of his career, pushes you backwards onto the bed and connects his lips to yours in a kiss that surpasses every single fantasy he's had in his mind. you taste good, and he wants more. he speaks against your lips, asks whines a question that makes your stomach coil. 'can i eat you out first? please?'

pornstar!choso who is chided by the production team as he gets his head under your skirt and laps at your pussy in the most desperate act of need he thinks he's ever displayed. those that claim he falls in love with each shoot would be wholly correct in this case: he is in love with the taste of you, with the way your legs trap him in and ask for more. he could eat you for hours, run his tongue from your clit to dip it inside of you in reverence of the goddess he believes you to be. and you laugh at the absurdity of his hunger, at the courage it takes to run off script, and the pure need in which he eats you out.

pornstar!choso who only stops once the director threatens to cut the scene entirely. his cock hurts with how hard it is though, and he thinks the redirection of blood has made him lightheaded, because when he's made to sit back and let you sink down onto his length he swears he meets god.

pornstar!choso who can't help his whines as you ride him, an addiction already laying down roots in his brain. he has to try and think of anything less godly than you to hold on to his orgasm though, because the combination of your body and having subconsciously trained himself to associate you with climaxing is all too strong, and he's a hairs breadth away from cumming prematurely and ruining the scene.

pornstar!choso who realises as you continue, however, that your moans arent the same as he's heard them before, though the speakers of his phone. you're more breathy with him, your moans are less honeyed, more raw—as if coming from your chest rather than your throat. he wonders for a moment if he's not good enough, if you're having to fake your pleasure to save face for the cameras. but you're soaked, and even above the sounds of your shared pleasure he can still hear the squelch of his cock rutting in and out of you.

but before pornstar!choso can question himself further, your eyes are widening and you're latching a hand onto his throat as your pace increases. he can feel the way you tighten impossibly around him, the way your hips stutter and your pupils blow out with lust—you're cumming. and of course he remembers his instructions, to let you climb off of him and take his load over your face... but you're not climbing off of him.

pornstar!choso who understands the pointed look you manage to give him, that it's your turn to bypass the scene direction. you want to be greedy, to feel him finish inside of you, even through the confines of a condom. your moans arent fake, they're the first real ones you've let sound on a porn set—and choso is pulling them from your lungs like a choir's conductor.

pornstar!choso who can't last a minute longer, now with the way you lean in and coax him to climax with your voice, the soft praise that leaves your lips is an aphrodisiac and all too powerful. he sees stars when he cums, full blown galaxies too complex to imagine. call it an out-of-body experience or not, but choso is lost in his orgasm for long enough to warrant you bringing him back down with a soft kiss to his lips. he looks sinful: his hairs come loose, messy and stuck to his forehead. his eyes, though, are what's going to be the subject of a few screenshots taken by his fans: he looks totally infatuated.

pornstar!choso who, after taking a few minutes to settle himself after the shoot, watches as you walk over to him, a very pretty smile pulling at the corner of your lips before you lean down and peck his lips goodbye. he assumes it's the last he'll see of you, that there's no way he's worthy of every tasting you again. that night, he's scared to brush his teeth, to lose the way you linger on his tongue.

pornstar!choso who debates fucking his fist to the memory of you in bed that night. he thinks you've ruined masturbation for him, or sex in general: nothing could quite be the same. and as if its a sign from god that he's done enough good in his life to deserve some positive karma, his phone dings.

a photo of you, a pretty vibrator laid over your stomach. your laptop open in the background, his porn playing on the screen.

attached, a message that makes the poor boy cum in his pyjama bottoms. 'lets meet up again. i want to tie you up and film how stupid you get with a vibe strapped to your cock—a movie just for us, though. no audience.'

pt 2 in the works :p

[tteokdoroki]

tw ! smut, mdni, aged up characters, corruption kink, fem!reader.

megumi is so into corruption and he almost hates himself for it.

he likes the shy girls with little to no experience who go all wide eyed and squirmy when they’re told something nasty. he likes the girls who’s brains get a little bit fuzzy when they’re praised for the first time, when calling them a good girl makes their lashes flutter and their skin warm up.

megumi likes the girls who need to be guided through big crowds or held up in tight spaces because they’re a little clumsy and might fall. he has a l dirty little thing for the ones who post pictures with their pouty, glossy lips and pictures the same pigment smeared along his lengthy dick — teaching them how to suck it just right, messing up their angel faces with tears and spit and all sorts. sometimes he likes to be needed by sweet, innocent things who wear their skirts a little too short and adorn those frilly ankle socks that are enough to drive a man like him mad.

maybe it’s a little gross of him, to prey on the weak and the pure — slaughtering them like a lion feasting on a lamb. he can’t help that he likes the way your the lace frills around your ankles socks dangle over his broad shoulders when fucks you deep and slow against your girly sheets, amongst your soft plushies and pillows.

he can’t help but to relish the taste of your drooly lips and the sound of your babyish tears when he hits that special spot along your sticky, wet insides. megumi wants someone to dote on, someone to press into the sheets and ruin for better ( or for worse ). he wants to be the one who teaches these precious little gems like you how to be bad and the perfect little fuck toy all for him.

flashes of guilt often cross his mind, makes his brows crease at the centre of his forehead midway through bending you over the edge of your bed and ploughing your poor pussy until there’s a darkened wet patch staining your sheets. he really shouldn’t be doing this, not to someone as innocent as you. who doesn’t know any better.

but then you cry out his name in warbled gibberish, reaching back for fushiguro’s large, veiny hand because you like being used by this and how he makes your legs tremble and shooting stars strike a path before your very own glossy eyes. you like this just as much as he does. and suddenly, megumi doesn’t care

because he’s found a twisted happiness in the idea of corrupting you so bad that no one else can satisfy the misguided, devious thoughts in your head. so that you’ll seek him out for pleasure and pain, because you know just what he likes and he’s taught you exactly what he wants you to like. <3

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[peachhoneii]

What I find fascinating is how Stan and Ford project onto Mabel and Dipper differently.

Stan sees a lot of himself in Mabel and Dipper. He sees the positive in Mabel and some negatives in Dipper. Stan misguidedly tries to correct those aspects he sees. He also worries about the Ford-like similarities in Dipper too.

Unintentionally, Stan's teasing pushes Dipper away but manages to pull him back in enough to reassure Dipper that Stan loves him unconditionally. He was misguided in correcting parts of Dipper that Stan saw in himself and hated. It was the method, not the intent that was wrong.

Ford saw 100% of himself in Dipper. In the show, the focus was on Dipper and Ford, because Ford could not separate the Stan v. Ford dynamic in his mind when it came to Mabel and Dipper. He loves Mabel. He finds her charmingly delightful, but he also projects his feelings of Stan onto Mabel. She is Dipper's Stan, therefore she's holding Dipper back from his true potential.

We know that's not true. Stan knows that's not true. It takes Stan "dying" for Ford to get this. It takes him losing his brother to open his mind to the idea that he and Mabel also have similarities. In the ARG, he realizes Mabel is as curious and weird as he is, and he effortlessly finds their similarities when he lets go of that Stan-projection and humbles himself.

Just goes to show that despite Mabel and Dipper's parents having their marital troubles, they've created a healthy home for their children where they can have their own separate identities. That's a major factor into Stan and Ford's issues is the treatment they received in their childhood. They were a single unit, not individuals.

While Stan was codependent on that dynamic, Ford felt suffocated. It's why he wanted to branch out so badly.

Carrying Stan suffocated Ford, but arriving at Gravity Falls forced him to entertain the idea that he also relied on Stan in an entirely different way than Stan relied on him.

[revelboo]

OOOO! Yes yes yes! Please more of the Lost Light crew! I love them all so much!

And more Shockwave (any gen) PLS PLS PLS he is my absolute favorite!!!

Your writing is amazing! All of it! I love every update! Every story is such a treat and the way you write is delicious!

Thank you!

Invisible Monsters Pt 5

Lost Light Megatron x Reader

• “What’s going on?” You mumble as he reaches up to curl his servos around the warmth of you where you’d apparently draped yourself against his neck while he recharged. Hates moving you, but his data pad is lit up. Carefully cradling you to him so he can sit up and reach for his data pad as it dings again. “Megatron?” The worry in your sleepy voice makes him slow down, tracing the curve of your cheek with a servo. Wanting nothing more than to just lay back down with you, because he’s rested better feeling the beat of your heart against him than he has in forever. How long has it been since his recharge wasn’t haunted by nightmares? Somehow, having you there, feeling you, banishes them.

• “Everything’s well.” His words are reassuring, but there’s the faintest hint of a growl in his voice that contradicts him and you’re wide awake now. Whatever that alert was, it’s bad. That feeling strengthening as the former warlord shutters his optics for a moment as if gathering himself. Or praying for strength. Rodimus maybe? “I’ll be back,” he adds, lowering you onto his berth as he stands, hesitating to drape a blanket around you before leaving.

• Stiffening when the finds Ultra Magnus waiting outside his quarters, he falls into step beside the other mech, heading for the bridge. “How many?” And how had no one realized what idiocy Brainstorm was up to? Preceptor is supposed to be watching him, reining him in.

• “Aside from the one currently in your possession?” The look Magnus shoots him clearly giving away his opinion on leaving a human in his care. And it’s not that he doesn’t understand the other mech’s concern, but it still bothers him that Magnus assumes you’re in danger with him. That he’d hurt you. “Three more have been found so far, but Brainstorm isn’t exactly being forthcoming. If that device has been randomly pulling humans here since the first one appeared, there’s no telling how many there are. It doesn’t help that we keep finding new areas of the ship or rooms that were walled off.”

• Primus, what a mess. “The others?” He asks servos lifting unconsciously to touch his throat where your warmth was before he realizes what he’s doing and drops his hand. “Who has them?”

• “Rodimus has one that he tried to pawn off on me. Drift has another that seems to be having some sort of lingering issue with being transported. And Whirl.” Venting tiredly at him as Megatron’s steps falter, Magnus holds up a hand. “I know, but considering their immediate instinct when faced with him was to punch him? I’m not too concerned. I’m more worried that Brainstorm said there’s likely more not on the ship.”

• Running his servos over his face, he swallows a growl, because this mess just gets better. Because how to tell you that they’d figured out what had happened to you, but that you’d been one of the lucky ones? That you might not have been is an uneasy feeling twisting through his spark. He’d never have known what he was missing, never have felt the touch of those trusting, little hands on his much bigger ones. Hands that before had only been used to hurt. “Dead, then?” He hazards as they enter the bridge and he spots Rodimus and Drift both cornering Brainstorm, the scientist appearing bored with them.

• “Or on another ship or world we passed too near. From what Brainstorm and Preceptor have volunteered, humans were only shifted to places where Cybertronians were.”

Previous

[bi-writes]

I think first make out session of Simon and his mail order bride happened because she wore sundress all day ~~ i'm a bit addicted to the way you writing Simon

mail-order bride

reader described as curvier/plus-sized 18+

simon has gotten away with a lot of things ever since he married you. he's kept a respectful distance; gentle touches, affectionate ones, sure, but it's been easy to brush off the itch in the back of his head ever since he scratched it just enough when he kissed you for the first time.

when the itch becomes too severe, he's been able to hide away for a little while; running it out of his system working out, shaking it off in the field, drinking so it quiets when he makes his way to the pub.

but it's gotten a lot harder lately to pretend he doesn't see you for what you are.

a pretty girl.

he tells you that you're pretty all the time. in the mornings when you're still waking up. sitting at the counter as you watch him make sandwiches for lunch. pushing the cart in the aisle at the market, picking out the right cuts of meat or seeing which crisps you both can enjoy for movie night. and you are pretty all those times, all the time, in fact, and you were pretty when he kissed you, too.

but fuck. you're also...you're also so fucking pretty.

simon kicks off his boots at the front door, holding a few paper bags in his hands from his trip to the store. the weather has been getting warmer, summer creeping by (his most dreaded season since it forces him to take off layers he'd rather keep), and you had been begging simon for some sweet icy treats and a water fountain for the cat (it'll keep her from drinking out of your water glasses, simon).

when he steps into the kitchen, you're coming in from the backyard, flowers in your hands that the neighbor must have given you.

and you're wearing the cutest little white and red sundress (and suddenly he doesn't hate summer so much anymore).

it's got a cherry pattern on it and puffy sleeves. the bodice hugs you until the middle, where it fans out in a pillowy skirt, stopping just above your knees. there's a soft bow tied around the back, but simon really can't help himself from his eyes that narrow in on your figure and how incredible you look with the sunlight behind you.

"hi, simon," you coo, and simon glares, fucking tease. he has an inkling you don't even know what you're doing to him, you can't, not with that sweet little smile and the way you rock onto your toes. you even tied your hair up with a bow, and simon can't help but feel like you're his little gift, all wrapped up just for him.

one he wants to pluck, unravel until you reveal whatever you've been hiding underneath it all--

"oh! look it! oh, simon!" you giggle, grabbing the bag from him when you see the box that pokes out of it. you pull out a sweet, red ice lolly, cherry-flavored, and you lean up on your toes to give simon a big, wet kiss on his cheek before sucking it into your mouth. "mmm...thank you...just what i needed, it's so warm today."

bloody fuckin' christ.

your tongue is so pink. it's sliding up the edge of it until you suck it back into your mouth, and simon lets out the shakiest breath. it's unlike him, and you turn to face him fully when you notice the way he's staring at you. he looks good today, dark denim jeans and a wrinkled white t-shirt that stretches around his big arms, and your eyes dart to his tattoo sleeve for just a moment before you smile back up at him.

"what?" you ask him gently. "you want some?"

instead of offering him his own lolly, you simply tilt yours in his direction. he huffs, letting out an irritated laugh before he leans forward a licks a fat stripe up the side of the cherry ice.

you smile a little as he does, and you don't even realize your gaze has dropped. you're eyeing the way his mouth moves, taking in the hinge of his jaw and the light stubble along it and the scar that stretches across his whole face that you kiss sometimes when he falls asleep before you.

he groans a little as he takes a bite of the lolly, and you seize at the sound, dropping the lolly into the sink on accident as you scramble to look up at him. you stare at each other, lidded brown eyes just piercing into your own. you're quiet for only a few more moments before you're throwing yourself at him.

he nearly slams you against the closest wall. your back hits it firmly, rattling the pictures that hang there, and you throw your arms around his neck as he kisses you feverishly. his hands slide down your waist to your lower back, and you stand on your toes, his palms cupping your ass before he picks you up with ease, guiding your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he holds you there.

you don't know how long you kiss against the wall, but you're breathless when he pulls away. you chase him, kissing along his nose, his cheek, any of the skin that you can get, and simon grunts lowly, cradling the back of your neck.

"we shouldn't," he mutters.

"why not?" you whine, and he hisses, looking into your eyes, hungry, big man, struggling to keep himself away from you. but it isn't what you want, you want him to kiss you, you want more, more, more--

you stand back on your toes, pushing him backwards. simon follows you, his hands bunched around the skirt of your dress as you walk him further into the living room until the couch hits the back of his knees, and he sits with a heavy breath. you bend to go sit in his lap, and simon curses under his breath, leaning his head back against the couch as your cleavage crowds his line of sight.

"fuckin' christ, baby," simon says lowly, running a rough hand over his face. he grunts when you take a seat in his lap, stretching your knees to straddle him, and you cage him in with your arms as you guide his chin back down so you can kiss him. you slot your mouth over his, kissing him lazily, and when you press your chest against his, he breathes out heavily when he feels your pebbled nipples through your dress. "fuck--fuck, fuck--"

"not yet," you giggle between kisses, and simon groans audibly as he slips two big hands under your dress and grabs both sides of your ass, his fingertips slipping under the lace of your panties so he can get a warm feel of you. you sit yourself down deeper in his lap, and you pull away slowly when you feel him underneath you.

he blinks his eyes open slowly, and you tentatively sit a little more in his lap, your eyes widening a little when you feel him between your thighs.

holy fucking shit--

"jesus," you stutter, and he looks away from you, ears reddening, and you're quick to cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to you. you smile a little, leaning in again, and you press your forehead to his before giving him the gentlest grind of your hips. "oh--simon--" you kiss him again, soft, whispering against his lips, "s-so...you're so--"

"mhm," he nods, and you move so your lips are against his ear, giving him a light kiss where his jaw and neck meet.

"i'd say you're too big for me," you sigh, closing your eyes, "but i'm a riley now." you giggle. "'n we can handle anything..can't we, simon?"

"shit--"

you squeak a little when he wraps a hand in your hair and tugs, pressing your pelvis to his as he ruts his hips up against yours. you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he chokes on his moans, big arms keeping you pressed to him as he pants into your mouth.

he stills, face a little scrunched up as he sits there with you. you keep kissing him lazily, exploring the way he tastes, licking over his teeth and bottom lip, up until he pushes you just that much away and groans in frustration.

your eyes open, and you giggle, and simon smooths his hands up the bodice of your dress, his eyes blown wide as he takes in how pretty you look in it. pretty little angel in his lap, a nice weight to ground him as he tries not to think about the mess he's made of himself.

"i assume you like the dress?" you ask, and when you laugh, simon can see the red on your tongue from the lolly. he knows if he kisses you again and sucks on your pretty tongue, you'll taste like that awful cherry, taste as sugar-sweet as you really are. simon leans back a little, propping you up on his thighs, shaking his head as he runs a big hand down his solid middle.

"well," simon mutters. "'aven't cum in my fuckin' pants since i was a bloody kid, so i'd say so."

"w-wha--! simon!"

you cover your eyes, overcome with shyness, with warmth, not believing really that anyone could you want that much. that anyone could really want you at all.

but when you laugh, he does, too.

[ponderingmoonlight]

How kny men treat their pregnant wife

Pairings: Obanai x fem!reader; Rengoku x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,5k

Warnings: I went absolutely insane in Sanemi's part lmao, let me know what you think about maybe even more kny complilations in the future?🤍🫶

Obanai – super overprotective

„Darling, you really don’t have to be cautious all the time. I’m fine and it’s mid-day.”

“You never know”, the man next to you mumbles while positioning himself in front of you.

Since the day Obanai found out that you’re expecting your very first child, he never left your side. Not even at night, when he’s usually out fulfilling his duty as a hashira. And if he must go, he always makes sure that you’re not alone.

“I really don’t want to bother you, but Iguro-san sent me here to keep an eye open for you”, Mitsuri explained with reddened cheeks after appearing in front of your door at sunset.

You sign to yourself with a small smile crawling up your face. You never really realized that your husband is so eager to have a child. When the two of you first met, he acted so cold towards you that you were convinced he hated you after saving your life in your village back then. It wasn’t until he showed up at the butterfly estate on a random day and handed you a bouquet of flowers that you realized how hard you fell for that man yourself. Despite his cool and composed walls, despite always staying in the background and leaving disgracing comments from time to time. You really learned how to love the serpent hashira for the man he is: kind, loving, protective and smart.

“Why are you not coming over to cuddle me instead?”, you suggest oh so sweetly while opening your arms as an invitation.

Obanai side-eyes you up and down, his mind visibly racing behind those gorgeous eyes.

“But what if I hurt you and the baby?”, he mutters, still standing his ground.

“I’m not made of paper and the baby isn’t as well. And also, I’m carving nothing more than a hug from my husband at the moment.”

Slowly but surely, he finally turns around. As if you’re made of porcelain, he wraps his arms around you oh so gently. Have you ever seen your husband this cautious and sensitive around other human beings? You’ve seen the way he beats up the other corps members in his training sessions on a daily basis. A giggle escapes your lips before you’re able to stop it. Your man really turned soft due to this pregnancy.

“What’s so funny?”, he grumbles, his vibrant eyes set on you.

“You’re too hesitant to give me a real hug and yet, you’re beating up innocent kids during training. Come on now, I said I want a real hug!”

Before he’s able to protest, you press yourself against him with full force, allow your head to rest against his beating heart. It’s been ages since he last cuddled you the way you always loved it. With your body resting on top of his and your arms wrapped around his broad chest, everything starts to feel like home.

“Don’t you think that’s too dangerous? The baby-“

“The baby will be fine. I can handle a tight hug, darling. I really missed this…”

He shifts his weight underneath you and gently starts rubbing your back. Oh, how much you adore your husband and those sweet little moments between both of you. You never imagined to love someone like this, to fall head over heels for a man who is the complete opposite of yourself. But here you are, falling even harder day by day.

“And…you really think this is safe?”

“I’m absolutely sure it is!”

Obanai pauses for a moment, his eyes almost piercing through you.

“I think you should go and see Shinobu later”, he finally presses out.

“Come on, I already told you-“

“This doesn’t feel safe at all. We’re leaving in just a few minutes”, he continues while wrapping his arms around you.

Rengoku – the proudest soon-to-be dad

“I made you breakfast, my love!”, your husband announces while entering your shared bedroom in his plain white kimono.

“You’re way too kind, Kyojuro. You know I could have done it myself”, you reply while lifting yourself off the futon.

“Oh, let me help you up!”

Gently, he grabs your shoulders and helps you to get up. With your swollen belly, things aren’t as easy as they used to be. By now, you aren’t even able to see your feet anymore.

But it’s all worth it. He’s all worth it.

“Look at you”, he mutters with unusual low voice.

When his hand starts caressing your belly along with that loving gleam in his eyes, you almost forget how to breathe. From the day both of you found out that you are expecting a child, Kyojuro fell head over heels.

“You look so breathtakingly good, my everything. I could stand here and stare at you all day, little flame.”

It almost seems as if Kyojuro’s already heavy feelings doubled during your pregnancy. Not a single hour goes by without him telling you how gorgeous you look, that you are an angel walking on earth.

Even though you know you gained a few pounds and how swollen your face looks. He doesn’t care about the fact that sometimes, you are too exhausted to wash your hair or that you didn’t dress in something nice since your clothes started to get too tight.

Your husband adores each and every fiber of your being.

“Stop, you’re making me blush”, you giggle while playfully freeing yourself out of his strong arms.

“I’ll never stop telling my pregnant wife how gorgeous she looks! How are you feeling, my love?”

You find yourself trapped in his arms with his eyes all over you again. God, will you ever get tired of looking at him, of seeing those vibrant eyes?

“I’m okay. I just feel a little heavy.”

“I’m so proud of you for enduring all of this. Shinobu already told me this pregnancy doesn’t go easy on your body. You’re a real fighter, (y/n)!”

“A fighter? My body is supposed to do this. There’s nothing special about that”, you try to brush his praise off, cheeks already turning dark red.

“Don’t think about it that way. Your body might be equipped for a pregnancy, but Shinobu informed me about all the things you have to endure and how painful and tiring it can be-“

“Did Shinobu really explain all those things to you?”, you mutter through your hands that cover your face in sheer embarrassment.

“Of course! After all, I’m your husband and it’s my duty to support you in the best way possible!”, his beaming voice replies proudly.

“And I can’t wait to meet our little wonder.”

The second he gets on his knees, you see stars. Oh so gently, he pulls your kimono to the side and starts caressing and kissing your womb. Your knees threaten to fail you, feelings all over the place. God, you really don’t deserve a loving and caring husband like him, you don’t deserve all those feelings he holds for you and your unborn baby so openly.

Before you’re able to stop yourself, a violent sob escapes your lips.

“No love, why are you crying?”

Kyojuro meets you eye to eye in an instant, his hand carrying away every little tear that threatens to stain your face.

“It’s just…You are too kind…I don’t deserve your praise…”, you croak out.

“You deserve this and so much more. Now come on, I made you mochis with the receipt Kanroji taught me…”

You sniffle uncontrollably in his arms.

Wait, did he just say…

“You mean my favorite mochis?”, you mutter.

“Of course, little flame!”

“Oh…Then…Maybe we should get going, then…”

Sanemi – doesn’t even know yet

Fuck fuck fuck.

You stare at Shinobu in sheer horror. This can’t be true. Definitely a mistake. A cruel joke, maybe.

You…pregnant?

“Tell me you’re joking”, you mutter under your breath.

Just when you thought things between Sanemi and you started to get better, than you finally managed to live besides. Calling yourself his wife was never easy, especially due to the fact that he only married you because your family literally sold you to him in exchange for not killing you right on the spot. The two of you never seemed to get along that well.

You swallow hard. That night was an exception. You came home drunk, you didn’t know what you were doing when you seduced him, when you began babbling about something as stupid as feelings.

You swore to yourself that you’ll never fall for your husband. And now you’re expecting his child.

“I’d never joke about something like that, (y/n). It seems like somehow, you managed to get pregnant”, Shinobu replies in all seriousness while taking off her gloves.

Fuck.

“He’ll fucking kill me”, you mumble to yourself.

“Maybe he’ll skin me before that, slice open my belly like a fish-“

“Can you just stop?”, Shinobu interrupts you in all urgency.

“Shinazugawa might not be the most empathic man walking on this earth, but he also didn’t marry you for nothing. I’m sure everything will be fi-“

“Absolutely nothing’s fine. I’m fucking screwed”, you huff in frustration while yanking up.

You’re completely fucked. There’s no way in hell Sanemi will ever find out about this, not in this lifetime. You have to make sure that this stays a secret.

“Don’t you dare to tell him a single word about this, got it?”, you literally threaten Shinobu with your shaky finger pointing at her.

You, expecting a baby.

From Sanemi Shinazugawa.

Without even waiting for her reply, you storm out. Are you able to get rid of this situation? Mindlessly, you rub your belly when a new wave of memories from that fateful night hits you.

“I might l-love you”, you blurted into the room, Sanemi’s widened eyes staring at you in sheer horror.

“You…love me? Just yesterday, you told me how much you hate me”, he clarified with harsh voice.

“Are you drunk, (y/n)?”

“I…might be, yeah. But I mean it.”

Against all voices that begged you to stop, you darted towards him.

Until you sat on top of him and wrapped your longing arms around his neck.

“I love u, Sanemi.”

��I can’t believe a single word you say, shithead.”

“Watch me, then.”

It happened so fast you still can’t believe it. One passionate kiss, your hands wandering underneath his uniform, his muscular frame on top of you.

“You really want this?”, he huffed against your cheek, usual so maniac orbs filled with nothing but pure lust.

“Yeah”, you breathed out.

Urgh. You dig your nails into your hair, head spinning instantly. What kind of fuckery is this? Your first night ever and now…you’re pregnant? As if things between you and him aren’t already cringe enough.

“Why are you looking like shit?”

His oh so familiar voice makes your guts turn. For the split of a second, you are literally one movement away from puking all over his feet.

“Why are you talking shit?”, you spit at him, shoulder bumping against his as you try to get away from here as soon as possible.

But Sanemi grabs your wrist before you’re even able to think about your escape.

“Why were you at Shinobu’s? You never visit her.”

“I’m not feeling well”, you jeer at him.

“You even refused talking to her when your bone splatted out of your damn leg. Don’t fuck with me, (y/n). You didn’t come here for nothing.”

“Yeah, I really shouldn’t have done that”, you snap, violently ripping away your wrist.

This is way too much. Your family, Sanemi, that damned pregnancy. You thought this hell trip was over when Sanemi somehow managed to accept you, you really thought you could leave a rather peaceful life.

God, what a fucking fool you are.

“Hey, what the hell is going on? (y/n)!”

Just before your knees hit the ground, you feel Sanemi’s strong arms lifting you back up.

“What the hell has gotten into you!?”

“I’m pregnant!”, you scream on top of your lungs.

“All of this because of that damned night, because I lost my fucking control. I’m pregnant…”

Sanemi’s arms around you tense up immediately. Fuck, you can’t even bring yourself to look at him.

Truth is, you love that man. Fuck, you fell for him harder than you ever imagined, so badly that you can’t stop thinking about him. And that night, you allowed yourself to get a taste of him. After all, maybe this was all you need to finally forget about him, right?

What a fool you are.

“You’re…what?”

Violently you rub away the tear that starts rolling down your cheek.

“You’re…pregnant…”

“Saying it again and again won’t make it disappear”, you bark at him.

“I’ll be a dad?”

Huh? What is that unusual tone in his voice. Did Sanemi Shinazugawa really sound…joyful?

“Yeah…”, you mutter.

In the split of a second, you find yourself devoured in his arms and captivated by his glossy eyes. Your heart skips a beat, mind not able to follow the scene that lays itself out in front of your eyes. He doesn’t look angry at all, not even sad. No, he looks as happy as you’ve never seen him before.

“I can’t believe it. I never imagined this to happen”, he whispers while grabbing your face.

“Gosh, let me kiss you.”

“You want to kiss me?”, you shriek.

Despite your growing feelings for the wind hashira and those countless secret looks you’ve shared with each other, it was always a quiet agreement between both of you to never express any feelings. No hugs, no kisses, no questions. Just living side by side. Fuck, you never even allowed yourself to even gaze at his lips before that fateful night.

And now you’re lying in his arms, pregnant while he asks for a kiss.

“I mean…yeah”, you finally breathe out.

And then his lips crush against yours. Longingly, passionately, filled with so many emotions that you fail to breathe. All this time, you tried so desperately to hate that man, to hide your feelings from him in order to protect yourself. But all it took was a single night and that unexpected pregnancy to make you realize that maybe, allowing yourself to discover your own feelings isn’t that bad, after all.

Maybe, everything will in fact turn out alright.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I CRUMBLE COMPLETELY WHEN YOU CRY ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; after a tense fight with your boyfriend, you flee out into a brewing rainstorm. luckily, suguru is always willing to warm you up again.

word count; 6.2k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, copious amounts of hurt/comfort, no really that’s literally all this fic is, sugu snaps at you for worrying about him, (and then promptly spirals), he makes it up to you though :), healthy communication ensues, [name] is used exactly once, switching povs, soft & fluffy ending <33

a/n; going back to my roots (mindless hurt/comfort) 🙏🙏 i just think that if suguru picked me up like a small kitten and put me in his lap it would fix me

you’re cold.

little shivers run through your body, trail down your spine, and all you can do is clench your chattering teeth and dig your nails into the skin of your palms. heavy rain falls down without mercy, going pitter patter as it hits the asphalt — a sudden lightning strike lights up the town, flashing in the reflection of puddles, and all you manage is a weak jolt.

dark clouds blanket the whole sky, not allowing even a sliver of blue to shine through the darkness of the rainy evening. enveloping you, surrounding you, soft earthy scents — wet asphalt, roses blooming to your left and right, bushes with sweet-smelling flora guiding your path. little petals, glistening with droplets and bouncing with the force of the rain.

it’d be comforting, were it not for one simple fact; 

you don’t have an umbrella.

at this point, thirty minutes into your solemn, sniffly walk, you’re absolutely soaked. with only a measly hoodie to cover your body and head, and a tank top sticking to the skin beneath it — you were stupid to think you’d get out of it unscathed. your shoes are ruined, wet soles sticking to the asphalt, two heavy weights carrying you down the familiar street ahead.

you let out a shuddering breath. 

gosh, this was stupid. you knew it was going to rain, but still walked out without a care in the world; despite the weather forecast, despite suguru’s warnings over breakfast, despite all those dark clouds covering the milk-blue sky. you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. you just felt so helpless.

you just couldn’t stay there.

some fresh air, and a bit of space. that was all you needed. just that one sliver of comfort.

so, yeah, maybe you weren’t thinking very clearly when you stormed out. maybe you weren’t thinking nearly enough, not enough to even grab one of the umbrellas hanging off the coatrack. hanging there just for you, the cutest little frog umbrella, one suguru bought for you himself. big, googly eyes, and a big smile. the most perfect shade of green. 

(he put it there just for you.)

maybe you weren’t thinking much at all. maybe you just needed to get away, away from him, away from the frustration on his features. arguments with suguru are few and far between; that fact only adds to the sting of his cold voice, still ringing in your ears. you bite down on your bottom lip again, just to stop it from wobbling so pitifully. blinking rapidly, tears and raindrops clinging to your lashline.

you were just worried. is that so awful? 

(why did he have to be so fucking mean about it?)

a sigh flows from your lips, heavy and defeated, undeniably tired. you hate feeling like this, feeling this bitter, hate feeling like you’ve done something wrong. more than anything, you hate arguing with him — hate the idea of him being angry with you. hate the way his voice turns colder, just a little sharper, an octave lower. he never raises it, never ever, but somehow he still sounds so scary. 

it bothers you. bothers you how sensitive you are, when it comes to him. just that shivering tilt of his voice, coupled with the annoyance in his eyes, and your eyes were already turning glassy. one little sentence, and you were close to breaking out into a sob. because suguru was angry with you, and that alone is enough to make you feel like you’ve done nothing right all your life.

so you left. because that was all you could do. 

sure, the sharp pelting of the rain hurts a little, and the thunder is scary, and you’re awfully cold — but anything is better than having suguru see you burst into tears over such a small argument. you know he’d try to soothe you, know he’d feel guilty. but that just makes it all the more embarrassing. 

(all the more pathetic.)

so you left, rushed out of your own apartment, and before you knew it the storm was rolling in above you. rain and thunder, something to rival the ache in your chest. it still hasn’t been that long, a little over half an hour, and you still haven’t fully calmed down. you still don’t know how to face him. but —

but fuck, it’s cold. and an undeniable part of you yearns to run back into his arms, to make up with him, to hear his voice turn warm and see his eyes go soft. you want him to soothe you so, so badly. like he always does. 

another sigh — more resigned this time — slips from out your lips. your bones feel sore, you’re almost certain you’re going to catch a cold, and it’s getting late. you’re all alone, and it’s raining, and you look vulnerable and helpless. 

you want to go home.

it’ll be awkward, but maybe you can sneak in somehow — without him noticing. then you can go straight to sleep, on the couch, and maybe you’ll feel a little better tomorrow. the two of you can talk it out over breakfast, over warm coffee, and you can tell him what you meant to say without stumbling over what words to use or dancing around the subject like a scared little child.

you’re just too tired to argue anymore.

he just made you feel so stupid. so very, very small. suguru’s been working so hard lately, coming home late, exhausting himself. all you wanted was to make sure he was okay. that, and to coax him into relaxing a bit; maybe take a day off to recharge. that was all.

but he just brushed you off.

and, well, maybe you should’ve backed off after that. maybe you should’ve taken that as a sign that suguru didn’t feel up to answering your questions. but you were just so worried, so pitifully anxious, and you just wanted to help him so, so badly.

suguru is always so dependable. always there to help you, to ground you, to console you. even when you push him away or insist you don’t need it. he can be pushy, when he feels like he needs to, when your health is at risk — and it’s frustrating, but you’ve always appreciated it. you just wanted to return the favour. push him, just a little, to show him how much you care. show him that he can depend on you the way he insists you do with him.

but then he grew frustrated.

”suguru… you’ve been working so much, i’m —” you bite down on your bottom lip. ”i’m just worried that you’re overdoing it.” ”… god. how many times do i have to say it? i know my limits, [name].” ”but — you just look so tired —” ”well, i’m sorry for that.” a cold smile. ”am i not living up to your expectations?”

(that’s not what you meant. he knows that’s not what you meant.)

and it makes you feel frustrated, too. pardon you for being worried. for wanting to be there for him, for once, for wanting to be a supportive partner and not just a burden. 

pardon you for feeling a little lonely, with him coming home so late, leaving so early. with him not giving you the affection you’re so used to, and never confiding in you about his stress.

pardon you for wanting him to trust you, a little, even just a sliver more than not at all.

god, you’re exhausted. you just want to sleep — can’t you have that, at least? just that one thing? you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, don’t mind feeling like a stranger in your own home, as long as you get to rest your eyes. just for a little while. 

your brain spins in circles, bitterness and longing heavy on your tongue, as you grumble over what to do or how to feel — 

while your feet have already begun taking you home. moving almost on their own, on instinct, walking past rose bushes and backyards, the smell of glucose and rotting apples. 

and you’re there before you know it: in front of the familiar door to your shared apartment, soaked from head to toe. still feeling a little lost.

for a second, you hesitate.

maybe he’s still angry. maybe he was happy to get some time away from you. maybe you’re just making things worse by doing this, maybe you should just —

but your fingers have already fished out the key from within your pocket, unlocking the door in one swift motion. moving up to curl around the doorknob, a desperation in your veins guiding you closer to his steady warmth.

and before you have the chance to waver again, you pull the door open and step inside.

you move slowly, gentle and careful, almost cautious. softly closing the door behind you and taking a couple quiet steps forward, only to shrug off your hoodie — heavy, soaking wet and discomforting as you pull it over your head. clumsily, you try to get it off you, squirming when the warm indoors air meets your sweaty tank top. it feels soothing on your bare skin, though, ghosting over your shoulders and collarbone, hoodie now clinging to your elbows.

in the middle of the taxing endeavor, you almost fail to notice the presence of a certain someone, standing just a little farther away. 

almost, because it’d be impossible for you to miss him, that heavy gaze of his.

and before you can think the thought to do anything else, you’ve locked eyes with him — arms still tangled up in the wet sleeves of your hoodie, raindrops and sweat sticking to your skin.

(suguru takes a moment to look at you.)

not daring to say anything, afraid to part your lips, you simply stand there. in silence, like a deer in headlights. for some reason, you can’t really read his expression — you’re a little too tired, a little too caught off guard.

you can only blink, worry surely evident in your furrowed brows, as the seconds tick on and on. tense, tense, tense.

and then he’s walking away again. 

crestfallen. that’s probably the best way to describe how you feel right now, watching him disappear around the corner. dejected, as your eyes fall to the floor, and your posture wilts like a dying rose. you finally shake off your hoodie and watch it fall to the floor with a gross, wet plap.

it hurts. you want to cry. you can’t help it. even though a part of you is still upset, even though a part of you fully expected this to happen… 

another part was still hoping he’d be happy to see you. as if just seeing his smile again might’ve fixed everything.

but he didn’t even give you that.

that’s that, then. there’s nothing you can do except proceed with your original plan. you’ll change into some warm, dry clothes, and go to sleep on the couch like the miserable dog you are. you’ll leave everything troublesome and disheartening for tomorrow’s you to handle. 

for now, you just have to worry about getting some sleep. you don’t have to think about suguru, or his cold voice, or the way he just walked away without saying anything. 

you don’t have to think about him at all. 

(don’t think. don’t think. don’t —)

— the soft patter of footsteps breaks you out of your anxious spiral. they come closer and closer, until a certain silhouette enters your vision out of the corner of your eye.

a certain suguru geto, hair down and cascading past his shoulders, wearing a comfortable sweater and loose sweatpants with a fluffy towel in tow.

once again, you can only blink. a vaguely confused deer in headlights. suguru comes closer and closer, until you can clearly see his eyes, amber gold, full of an emotion you finally manage to identify —

worry.

(ah.)

before you can say anything, he’s draped the towel around you. it feels nice, a soft texture on your skin, big enough to engulf you completely, cocooning you. cozy and snug. you can’t help but melt a little when suguru places his big hand over the towel and smooths it over your cheek, drying off your skin so gently that you feel like crying again.

”are you cold?” he asks, concern evident in his voice. to your immense relief, it sounds nowhere near as scary as before. ”you’re soaked…”

suguru almost seems to be pouting, bottom lip jutting out the slightest bit, eyebrows furrowed softly. still rubbing the raindrops off your skin. he looks awfully troubled, undeniably anxious, and the way he’s caressing your skin feels so earnestly caring. the towel feels warm, like he went the extra mile to heat it up for you.

and, more than anything, the feeling of suguru’s big hands cupping your face is almost heavenly. even though the touch is indirect, you can’t help but bask in his warmth, almost desperate to cling to it after escaping from the harsh cold of the rain. like he could slip away and leave you again if you don’t stay perfectly still, just like this.

it’s soothing. so, so soothing. but it also makes you feel kind of meek.

you sound sheepish when you answer, voice a little hoarse after your grueling walk. throat dry from all the crying. ”nah, ’m fine…”

the words are tiny, fragile like pieces of glass, and they only make suguru’s brows furrow further, pout turning into a soft frown as he gazes down at you.

(he hates how small you look. like you’re curling in on yourself.)

as soon as you left the apartment, a wave of regret washed over him. it was expected, obviously, because that’s what always happens after the two of you argue — which is almost never, which only makes the cut in his heart run deeper. 

he felt frustrated. and tired, so tired. but when he saw your troubled expression, the way your eyes watered slightly before you rushed out…

he could only feel guilty.

and that sensation only deepened as he sat on the couch and spiraled, over the course of forty long minutes, playing the interaction back inside his head. over and over, thinking about your words, his words, some of which he desperately wishes he could take back. 

and when it started raining? suguru could only feel regret, hot and ugly, dragging him into his own thoughts. could only drown in his worries, look out the window anxiously. thinking of you, his sweet baby, stuck under the onslaught of dark clouds and lightning strikes and heavy rain.

(you didn’t bring an umbrella.)

suguru waited. that was all he could do. 

he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel so useless. fighting with himself, the part of him that wanted to give you the space you needed clashing with the part that yearned to run after you — scoop you up and apologize, hold you tight and protect you from the rainfall. you weren’t answering his calls, and he didn’t want to overwhelm you, didn’t want to make you feel even worse. afraid to scare you off for good.

so he could only sit there and worry, sit there and wait, wallow in his own shame until he heard the faintest sound of the front door unlocking. followed by the sound of it creaking open, slowly — and that was all he needed. 

and there you were. standing by the entrance, entirely soaked, tank top sticking to your skin and that flimsy hoodie hanging off your arms, cheeks a little red from the cold and strands of hair sticking to your skin.

like a tiny kitten left out in the rain.

it made him feel so painfully anxious. his heart aching so deeply, so viscerally, while all he could think about was smothering you in affection. taking care of you, like he always wants to do, needs to do to stay sane. so suguru left, to go grab something to dry you off with —

and now he’s here. in front of you, smothering you with the towel rather than his love, fretting over you like an overprotective mother. 

suguru yearns to soothe you. to take care of you. always, always, always, his hands on your skin and lidded amber eyes staring deeply into yours. offering himself like a shelter to a stray dog, hoping so tenderly that you’ll take the bait.

(he just wants you to feel safe with him again.)

so he stumbles for something, anything to say, afraid of overstepping or making you uncomfortable. you did just argue, and suguru was anything but patient with you. usually he would be; he’d make sure to be. but with work piling up, and exhaustion clinging to every pore of his skin…

he failed at maintaining his composure.

he needs to make it up to you. despite everything — even though he feels a little awkward, a little restless, still drowning a little in shame — he just wants to tend to you. that, and nothing more.

”hang on,” he exhales, stepping back and letting go of the towel. ”i’ll go draw you a bath…”

”ah — no need,” you smile, a little forced, swiftly reassuring him. he can tell you don’t really know how to act after everything that happened; still walking on eggshells. ”i’ll just take a quick shower.”

suguru wants to protest, wants to coax you into taking a proper bath, into letting your cold skin and aching bones relax completely —

but he can only hum, a little unsure. a little sad. 

”… okay. got it.”

perplexed, he tries his hand at another tactic. still so desperate to take care of you in whatever way you’ll allow, like always, but he thinks it’s worse now. even more desperate, after the fight you had, after seeing your frail, shivering self. resisting the urge to scoop you up and coddle you is a struggle.

”i can make you tea?” he tries, inwardly wincing at the way the words spill from his lips; uncertain, awkward. what a mess.

but you smile, slightly more genuinely this time, a soft little thing. it soothes some of the anxiety rotting through his ribs.

”tea would be great, thank you.”

you brush past him, warm towel still hanging off your shoulders. ”i’ll just take a shower in the meantime,” you murmur, and suguru can do nothing but nod, watching you go. 

he swallows thickly.

(that’s that, then.)

tea. right. what kind of tea? something warm, and soothing, and good for your throat. chamomile? peppermint? he’ll add a spoon of honey, just the way you like.

suguru’s mind spins in circles while his feet take him to the kitchen, hands swiftly rummaging through cabinets and getting the electric kettle ready. placing teacups and a teapot on the table, cute little floral designs he couldn’t help but fill your kitchen with. pouring hot peppermint tea into the pot, a strong scent drifting through the kitchen, drowning his senses in bliss.

caught up in his own head, losing track of time, suguru fails to notice you walking from the bathroom — stopping by the threshold of the kitchen, hesitant to make your presence known. a few silent moments pass. with a tiny inhale, mint invading your senses, you take a step forward. calm and sleepy, skin still pleasantly hot from the warm shower, hair still a little damp.

only then does suguru notice you, his gaze drifting to your figure as if instinctively drawn to it.

you’re clad in some comfortable sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie — his hoodie, the one with the unreasonably soft texture, the one you tend to gravitate towards — the one he likes to see you in the most, because you always look so thoroughly comfy in it. almost drowning in the fabric. 

seeing you all warm and cozy, in his clothing no less, sends a tremor of pure warmth running through suguru’s chest. sprouting in his heart and spreading throughout his entire body. he can’t bring himself to resist the soft curl of his lips, gazing at you so fondly he’s almost sure you notice it.

”i made peppermint,” he says, a little breathless, already pouring boiling tea into two cups on the table. ”that okay?”

”yeah,” you answer, instantaneous. stifling a yawn. you’d have been fine with anything, really.

the shower worked wonders for your muddled mind; chasing away the shivers down your spine, that unpleasant chill to your skin. most importantly, it gave you a moment to simply relax, to bask in the peace and quiet. feel the hot water surround you, melt your bones like softened clay. you feel a little better, now. still anxious, more than a little sleepy, but better. and right now, that’s all you need. 

with a groggy kind of pep in your step, you stumble over to the kitchen table, plopping down on the chair across from where suguru is sitting. trying to get comfortable, knees pressed against your chest, muttering a soft thank you while gingerly touching the rim of the cup.

(suguru frowns, just barely, at the sight. usually you’d sit right next to him. but now you’re in front of him, so very far — as if you’re strangers.

it breaks his heart, a little bit.)

a soft hum leaves your lips when you take a sip of the tea — all warm and comforting and minty on your tongue, a vague taste of something sweet. it’s relaxing, more than anything, and it makes you feel a little more okay with everything.

suguru only watches you, drinking absentmindedly from his own cup. not really tasting anything.

finally, he opts to clear his throat — and your attention falls on him instantly.

”hey,” he starts, ready to address the elephant in the room. his voice is gentle, but decisive, firm somehow. ”about before…”

your body tenses, ever so slightly, fingers uncurling around the handle of the teacup. there’s a kind of shift in the air around you, in suguru’s tone of voice — and you were expecting it, waiting for it anxiously, but that doesn’t make it any less harrowing.

here it comes, your mind seems to sing. here comes the moment everything shatters again.

with as much strength as you can muster, you smile. a little sheepish, just a tad forced, refusing to meet his eyes from across the table. staring into the murky green of your cup and hoping in vain that you can somehow escape this discomfort. 

(you just want to rest. you just want to not have to think about anything.)

”it’s fine, suguru,” you cut him off. softly, but there’s a certain tilt to your voice that strikes him as rather cold. ”we can just drop it.”

the decision in his eyes doesn’t waver. you look meek, awfully troubled, and he hates to force you into another discussion when you’re undoubtedly tired — but suguru’s mind is set. he’s been evasive enough, today.

”no. i want to talk about it properly.”

at that, you seem to deflate a little. suguru is nothing if not stubborn, a quality that always manages to coexist with his gentleness, his desire to be a good partner for you. you can tell he won’t allow you to wriggle away, now that you’re both finally calm. he’s not doing it to exhaust you, not doing it to gain some sort of satisfaction out of ”winning” the argument — he’s doing it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. even if it makes you both a little uncomfortable.

communication is important, immensely so. suguru knows it very well.

and you do, too.

so all you do is curl into yourself, shifting in your seat, allowing him to speak his mind and sipping quietly on your tea. biting back a disgruntled huff, gaze lingering on the tablecloth, little calico cats etched into the fabric. he wanted one with yellow stripes, but still bought this one just for you. just like the ugly matching couple mugs you forced him into buying, the green colour of your kitchen wallpaper. he always places you before himself.

(all you wanted was to change that. just for a night, if nothing else. and he got mad at you for it.)

suguru sighs. it sounds fatigued, not frustrated or disappointed. he runs a hand through his hair, and you can’t help but follow the movement, the soft silky strands and the way he smooths them over. practiced, familiar, absentminded. you could watch him do it forever.

”i had a lot of time to think while you were gone,” he begins, recalling the mental gymnastics he went through while you were away. just sitting on the couch and running himself ragged, trying to be impartial, trying to see your point of view without letting his own bias get in the way.

you sink a little further into the chair, eyes downcast. inhaling the scent of peppermint, trying to prepare yourself for what he might say, the ways this could all go wrong.

”and i realized that you were right.”

…

you blink. once, then twice.

hesitantly, you raise your head, searching for suguru’s gaze. he isn’t looking at you, staring out at the rainfall through the window as if in deep thought. his gaze shifts to meet yours, and something soft flickers through his golden eyes.

he looks troubled, though. trying to find the right words, mind clouded by guilt. chewing at his bottom lip anxiously.

it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, to weigh the words in his mind, just to make sure he gets them across as smoothly as possible. he’s had more than enough time to verbalize his feelings, to think about what he wants to say to you. it was all he could do while he waited. 

so his voice is earnest, when he continues, sincerely apologetic and thought out.

”i’m always telling you not to overwork yourself. and here i am, doing the same thing…” another sigh. ”you were just worried. i shouldn’t have lashed out — you didn’t deserve that.”

suguru searches for your gaze, and manages to find it. you falter a little under the weight of his eyes, but they’re warm, remorseful. a setting sun.

”i’m sorry.”

a moment of silence passes. then two. three, five. you look down at your cup, the purple hyacinths etched into the porcelain. crumbling under his gaze, at the sound of his genuine apology. 

and suddenly, you feel silly — silly for being so scared, for thinking suguru might still be angry with you. for thinking he wouldn’t spend as much time as needed to properly think about your words, your feelings, even if he might not have been ready to do so when he first heard them.

suguru can be stubborn, if he’s convinced that he’s in the right. but he always, always seeks you out eventually, always makes sure to genuinely look at things from your perspective. 

and, really, it means everything. it means enough to wash away all your leftover irritation, from having him brush you off when you know you didn’t do anything wrong. all the leftover sadness from being pushed away, from not being allowed to take care of him the way he always does for you.

suguru isn’t perfect, but he tries harder than anyone you know. tries his very best to be as close to perfect as he can possibly get — for you, for the both of you. he’s considerate enough, mature enough to take the time he needs to properly communicate. that’s how much he loves you. 

and yes, doing so makes you a little uncomfortable. but when faced with something like that, someone so kind, who loves you like the rain loves the ground — how could you ever bear not to do the same?

”… it’s fine,” you start, softly. ”maybe i overreacted a bit. ’s just —” a gulp. you’re trying your best to verbalize your feelings, the way suguru just did, the way he always does.

and he waits, patiently. for as long as you need. looking at you from across the table softly, already immensely relieved at the lack of tension in the air.

”i don’t like seeing you so tired. i know that your work is important, and i support you, but…” your voice goes quiet, as you trail off, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. ”you know.”

and suguru does. he does understand, he always will. so he hums.

”i know,” he murmurs, softly. ”it wasn’t an overreaction. i just didn’t realize it myself. got too caught up in everything,” a sharp exhale leaves his lips. ”it’s been… a long week. i’m not using that as an excuse, though.”

you listen attentively, eyes softening at his words. you can tell that he means it, that you finally got your message across. all you wanted was for him to take a break, to take care of himself.

to let you take care of him.

suguru continues. he makes it a point to look into your eyes as he speaks — a little intimidating, especially in a situation like this — but you know it reassures him, that it lets him know you really understand what he’s trying to say. 

so you hold his gaze, as steady as you can, glancing down at his collarbone when it becomes just a little too much.

”i’m grateful that i have you,” he says, voice dripping with softness, gazing at you with a fondness that has you crumbling all over again. ”and that you care enough to set me straight when i need it.”

and suguru means it. he means it more than anything else. not once has he ever stopped appreciating you, all the things you do for him; always so sweet and caring, even when it’s subtle. this was no exception. you’re always worried, always looking out for him. he feels awful for getting so defensive. for pushing you away, when you were trying so earnestly to reach him.

but he’ll make up for all of that, starting now.

”i mean it. i appreciate you so much, you have no idea — i’m so sorry if i made you think otherwise.” for a moment, his eyes look a little glassy, swimming in remorse. ”i really, really am.”

(and when he looks at you like that, when he speaks so very gently —

how could you ever bear not to forgive him?)

you shift in your seat again. gazing down, chewing at your bottom lip. his honesty makes you falter, makes it hard for you not to do the same; even if your voice ends up sounding awfully tiny and awfully close to breaking apart. 

”… i was just worried,” you mumble, meekly, shooing away any tears you have left with rapid blinks. 

”i know,” suguru soothes. the smile on his face is genuine, comforting, honey and peppermint and warmth. ”i was being immature. you were right — i’ve been burning myself out.”

you don’t say anything. only letting his words console you, feeling yourself relax at the sound of him opening up a little. just enough to make everything all better again.

”i was thinking of taking tomorrow off,” he continues, searching for your timid gaze and smiling gently once he finds it. ”what do you say?”

you brighten a little, so obvious in the way you sit up straighter, the way something soft and hopeful blossoms in the scope of your iris. the sight coaxes suguru’s patient smile into widening a smidge, his eyes crinkling at your barely contained excitement.

”that’d be nice…” you murmur, averting your gaze once more. but suguru can tell you like the sound of that, that it’s exactly what would finally put your anxious mind at ease.

a smile, bright and fond. suguru opens his arms. 

”then i will.”

for a moment, you simply stare. at him, his outstretched limbs — that soft smile, as he waits for you to get the hint. and you blink. 

oh. 

you look down at your lap. a little sheepish, almost shy. it takes you another moment to raise your head, again, only to see another gentle flicker in suguru’s eyes — and then you finally get up from your seat.

it feels a little strange. a little awkward, as if some of your bones still can’t help but tread on eggshells, afraid of making him upset again. but it’s suguru, and he loves you, and his arms are waiting patiently to hold you.

and you want that more than anything. 

so you fall into his arms, softly, curling up in his lap and wrapping your arms around his waist. suguru has one hand on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, rubbing comforting circles into your spine to make you relax.

it works wonders. despite your initial hesitance, you melt into the embrace without putting up a fuss — happy to be in his arms again, to feel the anxiety dissipate when you realize that everything’s finally alright.

and suguru is just as happy, just as content. breathing out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding. he strokes your hair lovingly, and you nuzzle into him a little more; making his lips quirk up, eyes filling with adoration. finally, he can relax. having you in his arms feels so soothing. and you’re so sweet, curling into him, seeking comfort and warmth that he’s more than happy to provide.

how long has it been since he had a chance to hold you like this? he made sure to be affectionate whenever he could, before leaving for work and after coming back — but in the midst of all the paperwork and stress…

suguru sighs, a little sadder this time, watching you bask in the attention he had been robbing you of this whole time. without even realizing it.

”and i’m sorry for neglecting you, too,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. muffled by your hair as he presses a kiss against the crown of your head.

that certainly gets your attention.

”neglecting me?” you sputter, eyes suddenly wide open and lips parted in disbelief. flustered, heat rushing to your neck and ears. ”wha — what am i, some high-maintenance puppy? you didn’t neglect me.”

suguru only chuckles, biting back a soft coo that he knows would only fluster you more. instead, he pulls away a little, just to look at you, and pecks your forehead softly.

”well, i’m sorry for not being around much, then. i’ll make it up to you. okay?”

hiding away in his collarbone, again, you mutter a soft okay that has suguru’s heart squeezing in his chest. he cradles you close, engulfs you in his embrace, and hopes you can feel his love through the action. hopes you can feel it in the way his arms fit around you like they were always meant to be right there.

and you do feel his love. feel it smooth away the leftover turmoil in your brain, caress your skin softly. it’s soothing, and comforting, and you feel so incredibly safe. here, in suguru’s embrace, with the sound of rain hitting the window and the scent of peppermint wafting through the kitchen — it’d be impossible not to relax.

before you know it, your eyelids have fluttered shut, breathing softening out and heartbeat slowing down. a peaceful rhythm, carrying you away. suguru notices it before you do.

”you sleeping, baby?”

you jolt a little in his arms — murmuring something unintelligible into his neck, and he only chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm.

”c’mon. let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

suguru smooths a hand down your back, arms tightening around you before he scoops you up and gets up from his seat. ”there we go,” he hums, helping you hike your legs around his waist. ”you can sleep, angel. i’ve got you.”

your arms tighten around him, and you inhale his scent; grounding and comforting, raindrops and roses. tomorrow you can bask in it properly, can take care of him properly. you’ll coddle him all day.

but for now, you need to get some rest.

allowing your senses to dull away, clinging to suguru like a makeshift pillow, you absently listen to the storm still raging on outside. faraway, cold and harsh, but comforting when you’re in his steady grasp.

a yawn escapes your honey-soothed throat.

you don’t miss the i love you murmured into your ear, accompanying you into dreamland as your eyes flutter shut.

[fake-bleach]

ROAD TRIP STOP | LOGAN HOWLETT x READER

taking a small road trip with old man logan where you’re halfway to where you need to be, and you're bored out of your mind. unluckily for you, your boyfriend won't possibly give into your antics.

or, logan fucks you in a gas station bathroom <3

word count: 3.3k

WARNINGS/DISCLAIMERS: (18+ only!) fem!reader, porn w/ slight plot lol, piv, unprotected sex, this shit is roughhh, degrading, filthyyy dirty talk, use of pet names, slight choking, coming inside/creampie, manhandling? i guess?, logan refers to himself as "your old man" bc i'm insane, anddd happy ending bc we all know how much i love those! :D

a/n: there aren't nearly enough fics abt old man logan & i need him Badly.

+ logan pictures from @divinesols incredible moodboard <3

ao3 link! | my masterlist

you’re 4 hours into your road trip, and logan, well, being the man he is, hasn’t let you drive a single second.

he tells you that you can just sit there n’ look pretty and that’s good enough for him. but, he’s getting tired, and the nearest hotel isn’t for another 50 miles.

you notice his eyes getting heavier, his body slouching more, his grip on the steering wheel loosening. so, you do what you do best. why not have some harmless fun with your old boyfriend?

your hands subtly inch over to his thighs, fingers trailing the clothed skin just above his knee, and he flinches surprisingly, glancing at you for a moment with that tired face of his.

“what are y’doing? huh?” he asks, with a quirk in his eyebrow and his voice rasping more than usual from his fatigue; it only makes it all the more arousing for you.

you grin, your head turned to look up at him with a sly expression. “just waking you up a bit. you’re practically falling asleep here.”

your fingers move upwards now, slowly but surely, and right before you can reach the spot just below his bulge, he sighs out, gripping your hand to lightly push it off of him.

“not here. got another hour left til’ we’re at the hotel. then, we can rest up, baby.”

you pout, looking at him eagerly. “are you even gonna make it there, lo?” you tease, “your eyes are getting heavier, you’re tired.. why don’t you just let me drive?” you attempt, but you’re knocked down the second you try.

he huffs, shaking his head. “don’t you try that shit. you know what m’gonna say to that.”

you groan at that, rolling your eyes fussily as your head turns to look up at the roof of the car. “you’re insufferable,” you sigh out, jokingly, of course. but, you were with logan long enough to know just how stubborn he could be. that he could almost always be.

which means, you knew exactly how to get what you wanted, in more ways than one. 

let’s just say this way was more fun, anyway.

you let out an exasperated breath before turning back to face him, your eyes lighting up just slightly before you open up your mouth.

“guess i just gotta..” you trail off, hands now on your body with your fingertips grazing the skin on your chest; roaming around the loose shirt you had on. “..entertain myself for the next hour then..”

logan turns his head to you now, eyes fixing on your hand just long enough to catch you slip it underneath your bra, cupping one of your tits. you let out a low moan as you look into his eyes, fingers rolling the nipple there, and he scoffs.

it’s a sound that has your heart racing immediately.

“you’ve been a good girl so far, sweetheart. would hate for you to switch up when we’re almost fuckin’ there.” he warns you, turning his head back to the road, having seen enough. “don’t you start now. gonna make you regret it.”

a pang of arousal hits you just like that, pussy involuntarily clenching around nothing as he threatens you; a threat that you definitely need to see for yourself.

you merely pout at him again, but his words aren’t enough to stop you. not when you’re just getting started.

your hand leaves your breast, slowly inching down your stomach, then to the waistband of your shorts, all with your eyes still locked on him. you bite your lip as your hand breaches underneath the material, testing the waters before your fingers reach the hem of your panties.

fingertips aching to dip into the wet heat, you anticipate your own touch as your hands lower, but an immediate grasp at your wrist stops you completely, eliciting a gasp from your throat.

mouth falling open in shock, you turn to look at the man responsible with that gruff look on his face, and that snarl from him gives you more than enough of a warning.

you clear your throat, letting out a noise of frustration towards your boyfriend as he all but tosses your hand away carelessly.

“knock. it. off. don’t make me say it again.”

logan nearly growls at you, moving in closer to get right in your face; he isn’t playing around, and you know it.

but, god, does it only encourage you more.

it isn’t until logan’s focus is completely back on the road that you test the waters again; your fingers finally inserting themselves into your soft, warm folds, wet and waiting so impatiently.

it makes you moan, a hushed sound that you try your hardest to bite back from releasing, but you’re evidently unsuccessful.

so, before you know it, the truck is swerving, causing you to pull yourself back to hold onto the sides of the car, anywhere that you could grab onto. the wheels squeal loudly as the high pitch penetrates your ears, and logan makes a harsh u-turn without a second to waste.

“lo! what the fuck!” you exclaim loudly, wild eyes reaching for his own, but it’s no use. he’s dead set in front of him, shaking his head furiously as the white of his knuckles present itself from holding onto the wheel so tightly.

he’s had enough of your shit.

his eyes never leave the road in front of him once, never returning to you. no matter how much you talk or try to get him to respond, he doesn’t budge.

instead, for the next 5 minutes, silence fills the space between you as your eyes shut from your frustration. it’s all you really can do at this point.

but, it’s only when the high screech of the wheels halting and the gear being put into park has your eyes opening again, eyes latching onto the bright lights in front of you.

a gas station, and the convenience store’s white luminescent glass reflecting on logan’s face. he’s out the driver’s side as soon as you can look at him, and before you can process it, he’s dragging you out of the truck, slamming the door shut as he does so.

you scramble against him, fists almost pushing their hardest into his chest as you whine loudly, increasingly dazed and confused.

“logan, what the fuck are you doing?! let go of me!”

you fight against him harder, but there’s nothing stopping him. not now.

he lets out an exasperated breath, his heavy footsteps embedding themselves into the loud gravel beneath them as he drags you along.

“don’t play that shit with me. actin’ like you don’t know what the hell you’re doing,” he practically yells at you in a hushed voice, “you know what the fuck you’re doing.”

“walk.” he orders you instantly, and you don’t hesitate to obey. not when his voice gets like that.

most of all, because it makes your heart pound—pounding in your chest because he’s right. you know what you’re doing.. but, you can’t say you regret it. no, not one bit.

and if he’s gonna make you regret it, you might as well go all out. right?

his grip on your arm is tight as you walk side by side with him, leading you into the gas station with the door open for you. you can’t even acknowledge the cashier from how quick logan swifts the two of you past them; straight towards the bathroom, and it makes you gulp. 

it’s too late for anyone to be around, too late for anyone to care, and you know that. but, the thought exhilarates you anyway.

he shoves the door open with a hushed whisper—one that’s almost incoherent as it escapes his lips. “you wanna act like a fucking brat?” he shuts the door hurriedly, shoving your body against the sink, “i’m gonna treat you like a fucking brat.”

you yelp at the sudden movement, his fingers digging themselves into your skin as you cry out at the feeling. it’s rough and brutal and it burns, but it’s so fucking good.

“lo.. lo, please,” you whine as your eyes shut tightly, the overwhelming sensation of his hands on you and his hot breath hitting your skin being too much to handle.

your body is flush against the sink as you attempt to squirm, to try to get him to do something, anything.

that cruel laugh of his fills your ears—quiet yet booming in your head as it sends chills throughout your entire body, eyes flashing open to look at him in the mirror in front of you. “please? please?” logan mocks you, “do y’even know what you’re asking for, baby? nah.. you don’t.”

“you just want..” logan trails off, his hands mindlessly reaching for your shorts, “to get fucked.. like the whore you are.”

without a single warning, he yanks them down along with your panties, and your whines are impossible to stop when the cool air hits your bare skin. when his filthy words are the only thing you can think about.

“can’t keep these pretty hands to yourself, you gotta rile me up to do it for you?” you hear the clank of his belt unbuckling, the zipper of his jeans sliding down, “gotta piss me off every goddamn time you get so fucking needy? i mean,” he laughs harder now, “not that i really blame you..”

logan pauses, and his eyes that were once staring directly at you now shift to look straight ahead, latching onto your mirrored reflection instead. as if he was looking right into you now. “pretty girl like you.. would be a shame to let this cunt go to waste. so, i’ll do you a favor..”

your jaw falls open in complete shock as your face contorts, as the tip of his cock breaches your tight hole, making your eyes roll back instantaneously with a sob from your lips.

“i’ll use her real good. for what she’s made for, yeah?”

your hands grip the sink in front of you as tightly as possible, body trembling as logan groans into your ear, his hands on your body never loosening.

instead, his grip only tightens as his hips become flush against your ass, his entire cock piercing you to the hilt with a satisfied moan.

“that was easier this time, wasn’t it? gettin��� used to me now. just needed to..” logan takes a moment to pull himself out of you, the tip resting against your entrance as he groans. he slams himself back inside of you so hard that your body fails you, your hands landing on the mirror to hold yourself up, bent over.

“break her in real fucking good.”

your body shakes against him as you cry out at his intrusion, stammering out a string of noises as your walls involuntarily clench around him over and over again. it’s almost as if you’re rapidly adapting to him; the way he stretches you out so much that it hurts in the best way possible. you’re pulsing around him, increasingly growing wetter by the second as your eyes water from the intense sensation.

your words slur with a few whines of what seem to be logan’s name as your hands move back to the sink, attempting to push yourself back up against him, but he stops you. grabbing one of your hands, he places it right against the mirror again, holding it still as he grinds himself into you. it makes you breathe out rapidly, body bent over the sink completely now.

“keep em’ right there. right fucking there. you don’t get to do that. y’don’t get to make any choices here.” he grunts in your ear, his thick beard grazing along your jaw as his eyes flicker from your face back to the mirror. he notices the way you’re trembling, eyes filled with those pretty tears of yours, and it makes him smile—a chuckle leaving him shamelessly.

he takes a moment to admire you, whispering out, “what i’m gonna do to you, baby..” and it makes your eyes flutter shut, warmth filling your core.

his other hand trails up the front of your body now, and it practically covers you completely because of how big it is—your stomach, your breasts, your chest, then finally, your neck. your gasp is loud; heavy, as his fingers wrap around your throat, holding you still for him.

all of you in the palm of his hand—all in his control.

you moan eagerly as he looks into your eyes through the mirror, grinning almost maliciously, “isn’t this what you wanted?” he laughs, his hips stirring a bit as he agonizingly pulls out of you, making you wince, “you wanted my attention so bad, wanted my cock so fucking bad..” he growls in your ear, his hand sliding from your throat to the back of your neck, pushing you down hard, and it makes you grip onto the side of the sink even more. 

“well, now you fucking got it.”

the sound of his rasping grunt hits you first; before you’re sobbing out on his cock, pelvis hammering inside of you with a tight hold on your neck, keeping you there with no chance of stopping, no squirming, no escaping.. no running away from this.

all you can do is take it as he pounds into you, the agonizing ache of his cock sliding in and out of you rapidly increasing the coil in your core, your loud cries and moans enough to make him go harder.

“there you go, there she is..” logan grits out, hands now grasping at your hips, smacking your ass, eliciting a grunt from you, “better fuckin’ hope no one walks in here, or else all they’re gonna see is some whore gettin’ used.”

you cry out as you feel the tip of his cock reach the deepest parts inside of you, nudging your g-spot suddenly as a tear slides down your cheek, your knuckles white from how tight you were grasping at your surroundings. your cheeks grow hot from the idea of that happening, stomach tightening as heat pools your core.

“what’d they think, huh? you think they’d wanna join in on the fun? bet they’d wanna fuck you too after i’m done with you. tightest fuckin’ hole i’ve ever had.”

you whine out now, shaking your head desperately in retaliation as you deny it. you couldn’t ever have another man like this, not now, not ever—only him.

logan sighs out, “no, no, no, i’d never let em’ baby, don’t you worry,” he reassures you, pressing his lips against the top of your head, “this,” he murmurs, his hand reaching to cup the front of your cunt, the rough skin on his palm grazing your clit just enough to make you squeal, “s’all fuckin’ mine. you hear me? not a single soul gets to use her like i can.”

“not like she’d want it anyway. only wants my cock in her. s’the only way she can really be filled up.. fucked stupid and cryin’ for me. ain’t that right? never got fucked by a man like me before y’met me, and i’m sure as hell no one will ever get her trembling like i do.”

you shake your head again, tears continuously spilling out of your eyes as your stomach tightens repeatedly, “n-no, lo, only you—” you stammer out as logan buries himself inside of you to the hilt, plunging into the warm heat of your walls, and he slows, relying on pure power than pace now. the harsh drive of his hips has your head fogging up, so close to reaching your peak with your cunt shuddering.

“ohh, there we go, she’s doing it now. shaking all over this fucking cock, squeezin’ me so tight,” he hisses, “that all you up in this pretty little head, or can you even control it? can’t even control it, can you, baby?”

a string of noises leaves your lips, breathless and mixed with whines and a few tears in your eyes as your core spasms out, his cock hitting deep inside of you repeatedly.

“what was that? can’t really.. understand you, baby, y’gotta speak up..” he teases, a mean laugh escaping his throat, “c’monnn, use your words, really think em’ out, say em’ clearly.”

“c’mon, show me that you’re still my good girl. my good little girl. speak up for your old man, honey.”

you yelp out at his filthy words, “m’.. i c-can’t.. control it, ah!” your moans involuntarily stringing out, eyes fluttering shut and rolling to the back of your head, your pussy convulsing around him intensely. “g-gonna–c-cum, lo, oh—” you spit out, your chest grasping for as much air as possible.

he hums in your ear now, fingers reaching for your clit and fastening tight, harsh circles at it, making you shudder, your cunt throbbing around his cock—pulsating over and over again as you start to see white. “gonna fill you up, sweetheart, gonna make you take it, fuck.”

you can’t even register him anymore as he talks you through it, the “come for me, baby,” muffled in your ears as you listen to him, cunt constricting around him tightly as you soak him, and the sound is filthy as logan chases his release, squelching loudly from your climax.

you let out a muffled sob as logan finally reaches his peak, slamming himself deep inside of you as he holds you there, the spurts of white hot spilling & coating your walls. all you can hear is the ringing in your ears, along with the mixture of your heavy breaths and logan’s rasps surrounding you.

logan’s strong arms pull you up against him as you catch your breath, heart rate slowing as your back leans against his chest tiredly. he mutters sweet nothings to you, praising you with kisses along your neck, cheek, then to your lips.

“my good fucking girl, my sweet girl—oh, baby,” he hums in your ear, eyes shut as he takes you in. you sigh out, breathing him in as your hand reaches behind, landing on the back of his head to pull him in closer, “god, i love you.”

you laugh, pressing a mindless kiss on his skin, “i love you more, lo, i–i’m sorry for acting out, for being such a—” you begin to apologize, but he just shuts you up with another peck to your lips. “shh, you hush now. i appreciate it.. you riling me up all the damn time. s’ the only way i can still feel so young.”

you giggle, eyes opening up to turn your head to him, taking in his disheveled look—tired, old, grumpy. the man you loved, as handsome as ever.

“always young in my eyes, lo..” you smile, “besides.. it’s the only way i can get you to fuck me that good.” you tease.

he huffs, rolling his eyes. “i fuck you that good every goddamn time, n’ don’t you deny it.”

you laugh, nodding. you can’t deny that fact. but, your eyebrows furrow slightly, suddenly thinking back to the previous events.

“did you really fuck me in a gas station bathroom, babe? what if someone walked in?!” you groan, pushing your forehead into his chest, embarrassed.

he chuckles, “locked it the minute we got in here, baby. wouldn’t let anyone see you like that,” he reassures you, gently gripping the side of your head to make you look up at him, “you got that?”

his face is stern now as he looks into your eyes, and those butterflies in your stomach erupt as if it were the first time you ever got them from him. you nod though, gleaming up at him.

“got it.”

he grins, “good. now, let’s get you cleaned up n’ back on the road. back’s killing me even more now n’ that bed’s calling my name.”

you laugh at him, teasing him further. “old man.”

you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[screampied]

sukuna never says “i love you.”

to him, the words are meaningless. he’s been alive for thousands and thousands of years, of course he knows what it means. he’s not stupid, but for some reason—every time it comes out of your little human mouth, his heart aches. you say it so sweetly with the cheekiest grin on your face, not a single care in the world. he hated it. three words, eight letters of pure rubbish. at least, that’s what he thinks to himself. for sukuna, he expresses his love in a different way.

physical touch. flicking your forehead, teasing you, saying things he’d never say to you while you were awake. that was his version of love, he didn’t need those stupid, stupid words. or did he?

“love you, ‘kuna,” you’d pepper another kiss against his cheek. he tchs, the audacity for you to do something so embarrassing. he never says it back but you know deep down he’s got to feel at least something in that cold heart of his. he just has to, after all you did steal his heart in a way. and he stole yours. your eyes always had a glinting sparkle whenever those words would come out and he hated it. his response to you saying you loved him would always be the same.

“yeah yeah,” he gruffs. or a simple, “i know..”

but— there’d be a time where he’d regret not saying it back. a cold, cruel time where it’s just you and him, no one else. except, it would really just be him.

sukuna had a hard time at expression his feelings. it’s not like he hated you—despite his rough, barbarous persona.

he didn’t hate you but he did. it was complicated. it was a struggle trying to put it into words. all he knew was that he loathed how soft you made him, he noticed his behavior would change around you overtime. sukuna’s voice was get more gentle, his shoulders would relax, and he’d always finding himself flicking your forehead for some strange reason. it’s annoying,

you’re annoying.

the feeling was love though, it had to be.

had to be,

so the moment comes where he regrets not saying it back.

it’s something he’d continuously beat himself up over for. because now, here you are, laid all out near the ground in his arms. all four of his arms held you in a tight, cradling embrace and he’s got an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. sukuna’s scarlet red irises were blown and fearfully dilated. his thin nostrils flared up and his slit brows contort in panic and confusion.

sukuna ryomen was scared.

“brat. get up.” he murmurs, three simple words was all he said to you. three simple words but you could barely even hear them.

all you heard was a brief inaudible mumble. you saw his lips moving but barely any sound came out. your body felt crushed, the pain was excruciating. your limbs, they felt like they were on fire. getting up was the last thing on your mind and you’ve probably sone the most careless thing imaginable.

you took a hit for sukuna, a deadly hit that was powerful enough to cost you your life. it’s funny though—all the talk of seeing your life flash before your eyes, and now, being snatched into the inevitable end, you were starting to really see it.

“get up,” he repeats, and this time, a single tear falls right onto your cheek. you meet sukuna’s gaze. the king of curses was a mere mess right before your eyes. he was like this for just you. teary eyed and sniffling, he can’t stand this pain.

you’re being held in his lap and not once does his eyes leave yours. sukuna takes a while to speak again and it’s as if he’s carefully thinking of what to say. time was precious right now, but he didn’t wanna think about anything. his focus was solely on you, his favorite little human.

“can you hear me? say something.”

“you .. you’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep frowning too much, ‘kuna.” you hum, a weak finger stroking against his cheek.

archons, for whatever reason, that little comment brought a smile to his face. you were so annoying to him and yet, he wouldn’t wanna be in anyone else’s presence. everything hurt though,

your body felt scorchingly hot, your pulse remains to ring through your ears and you were wheezing a bit. “hey, hey,” he watches as you try to cling onto his hand. sukuna didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to say - all he did do though, was hold you. it was the least thing he could do. your hand was so small compared to his, his long fingernails gently tickling against your skin.

he didn’t have it in him to scold you for trying to protect him. as fragile of a being you knew you were, you did it anyway. you risked your life for him. sukuna let his guard down and you jumped right in the way without a second thought for yourself. that’s what love was, his heart bleeds at the recent flashback before a shaky breath leaves his lips. “this wasn’t supposed to happen. you can’t leave me like this, please.”

“i’m not l- leaving.” you reply, your voice weak and frail. sukuna knew that was a lie. the more you stared at him, how the look of worry on his face paints and marinates his features, he was really scared. you were his everything, his breath of fresh air, maybe even his one true love. “never gonna leave you, sukuna.”

and sukuna lays there with you on his lap. you seem still - too still. right before his eyes, he watches as your body’s temp run cold, final breaths making its introduction. everything was going so fast. he barely had time to react before he realized,

you were gone.

“no,” he whispers under his breath. the demon was at a loss of words. the feeling in his chest, it was indescribable. painful, and tight as he watches the light leave your eyes, something within him leaves also. a part of him. you were drifting away and there was nothing he could do about it. “no.” he repeats against, feeling a dull ache run cold through his body. sukuna didn’t know what to do. he’s seeing red, but perhaps that wasn’t just bloodshed and anger. maybe, maybe it was the one true feeling he was denying all along,

love.

his breaths become heavy once he realizes you’re actually gone. no movement, no cheeky replies, no random “i love you ‘kuna’s,” no nothing. the tear in his heart was enough to make him see the light with you. it hurt horribly, a lump in his throat builds up before he starts to weep. one tear comes then multiple shortly follow, landing past the thin fabric of his sown kimono and onto your lifeless body.

sukuna hated you. he hated how you made him so soft, so vulnerable, so weak. you came into sukuna’s life, stole his heart, and also broke it.

as his eye twitches, his smile had already faded once you left him.

for the first time in centuries, sukuna was defeated. his enemy wasn’t a sorcerer, a curse, or even himself who he believed was his true worse enemy. sukuna ryomen was defeated by four simple letters, love. not only did you leave him in tears, but you also left him with an engagement ring inside his right palm.

he was far too late, he was gonna propose to you. that way, he’d build up the courage to say those stupid, stupid words. opening up his right hand, he stares at the ring he wanted to give you way earlier before this incident even happened. sukuna waited too long, he’d actually plan this for quite some time but again, he was scared.

with a defeated sigh, he surrenders, glancing at you for one last time. no smile on your face anymore but he just used his imagination. there you laid, peaceful, almost as if you were asleep. taking a deep breath, sukuna gives you his last gentle forehead flick before finally telling you the words he’s been longing to say for years.

“i … i love you too, brat. never leavin’ you either.”