#a trickle of water making its way through

[ainaslastnerve]

HI! First of all, I love your writing and I can't wait for the updates for other fics.

My req is the reader bathing Telemachus (like Polycaste did in the Odyssey) Its up to you if you want to make it smut or just fluff, I don't mind either way!!

Thank you very much for your hard work and the beautiful fics you write!

Where the Steam Rises Softly

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Word count: 1.2k

Summary: In the dim hush of torchlight and steam, Telemachus sheds the weight of duty, scars, and silence. As you kneel beside the basin and tend to him with care more intimate than words, something shifts—something tender, rare, and unspoken. He lets you in. In this quiet moment steeped in lavender and vulnerability, the prince is not a warrior nor a son of Odysseus, but simply a man learning to be soft in your hands. And for once, he stays.

Pairing: Servant!Reader x Telemachus

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The steam curled lazily from the surface of the bronze basin, rising in soft spirals that clung to the air like silk. It carried with it the mingled scents of crushed herbs—rosemary, marjoram, and a hint of bay leaf—alongside the mellow richness of warm olive oil and lavender steeped in heat. The small chamber was dim, lit only by the flicker of two wall-mounted torches, their flames casting gold shadows that danced across stone walls worn smooth by time.

You knelt beside the tub on a folded wool rug, your knees cushioned against the cold floor. Your sleeves were pushed up to your elbows, linen damp at the hem, and your fingers gripped a square of soft cloth soaked in the fragrant bathwater. It was warm—almost hot—and your skin prickled with the closeness of it. The air was heavy with moisture, beading at your temples and clinging to your lashes.

Telemachus sat immersed in the water up to his lower ribs, his knees drawn slightly toward his chest. His body was bare, save for a modest swirl of bubbles and a thin veil of steam that curled around his torso. Stray droplets trickled down from his collarbones to the center of his chest, carving thin, glistening trails. His posture was straight, deliberately so—shoulders pulled back, jaw tight, as if trying to remember how royalty is supposed to sit. But the flick of his eyes, the nervous curl of his fingers against the basin’s rim, betrayed him.

You smiled, small and reassuring, brushing back a damp strand of hair from your brow. “You can relax, you know,” you murmured, voice soft in the hush of steam and flickering flame. “You’re not being judged here.”

He gave a breath of a laugh, dry and sheepish. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one being bathed like a child preparing for a feast.”

“Not a child,” you said gently, dipping the cloth back into the basin. The water sighed as it accepted the linen. “Like a prince. And even princes need someone to look after them.”

Telemachus didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you—his eyes a deep, solemn brown, sharper than flint but dulled now by the heat. Droplets clung to his dark lashes. There was a stillness to him in that moment, as if your words had caught on something inside him and refused to let go.

You leaned forward carefully, the warm cloth trailing rivulets as you brought it to the back of his neck. You wiped with slow, careful strokes, circling the base of his skull, the spot where tension lived like a stubborn knot. He inhaled sharply at the first touch, the kind of breath a soldier might take when being stitched. And then he exhaled, the sound barely audible, but telling.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you murmured, wringing the cloth out again with gentle fingers. “You’re allowed to be tired. To let someone else carry the weight.”

His mouth opened slightly, like he might speak—but no words came. Just a look. A flicker of emotion that passed through his face like wind brushing through tall grass. Then, quietly, the stiffness in his shoulders eased. His posture, once held like a shield, gave way. The tension fell from him slowly, like bark peeling from a weather-worn tree.

From the small table beside you, you reached for a delicate ceramic jar. It was cool to the touch. When you opened it, the scent of lavender and honeyed chamomile wafted upward. You dipped your fingers in, rubbing the oil between your palms until it warmed, then reached up to press it into his shoulders with featherlight pressure.

His skin was hot from the bathwater, muscles firm beneath your fingers, but there was a tremble to it too—a slight, involuntary shiver. Not from cold, but from being touched without demand. You worked in small, circular motions, thumbs sweeping gently across the curve of his shoulder blades. That’s when you noticed them: pale lines and faded ridges across his back, some short and shallow, others longer, winding like the roots of old trees.

You paused, brushing your fingertips over one particularly long scar just beneath his right shoulder. Your voice was a hush.

“This one?”

He tilted his head slightly, not enough to meet your gaze, but enough to remember. “Boar hunt. I was fourteen.” His voice was quiet, almost contemplative. “It gored me in the thigh and caught my back as I fell. I cried.”

You said nothing, only continued tracing gentle shapes around the scar.

He huffed a laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Mother said it was good. That if I still had tears, I still had something left to lose.”

You didn’t answer—not with words. Your hands did the speaking, moving slower now, more tenderly. You dipped the cloth once more, rinsing away the oil, trailing clean water down the path of old wounds. His skin, glistening in the firelight, looked almost sculpted—like marble touched by time. His neck, when he tipped his head back, revealed the vulnerable curve of his throat, pulsing softly with breath.

“I can take over,” he said suddenly, voice gravelly, barely audible above the sound of dripping water.

But your hand didn’t leave his back. “You could,” you whispered. “But would you really want to?”

He turned to look at you, slowly. The pride was gone from his eyes now, the careful posture dissolved. No mask of duty, no quiet rehearsals of strength. Just a boy who had grown too fast, too far. Just a man who wanted—needed��to be still.

“I trust you,” he said. “More than most.”

The words hung there, suspended in the steam between you—simple, unadorned, yet so achingly sincere that they rooted you in place. Your hands, still slick with oil and warmth, paused mid-motion on his back, fingers curling slightly as though to hold the moment still. But inside, your heart surged—fluttering not with triumph, but with something far more delicate: the quiet ache of being seen, the weight of being chosen by someone who rarely allowed himself softness.

You swallowed, throat tight, and slowly leaned in.

The distance between you shrank to nothing, and you pressed your forehead gently to his. His skin was damp, almost fever-warm, and the contact made both of you still. Around you, the world seemed to hush. The flamelight flickered against stone, casting long shadows on the walls, while steam coiled in lazy spirals around your bodies, wrapping the two of you in a cocoon of silence and scent.

The mingled warmth of herbs, lavender oil, and skin hung heavily in the air—intimate and grounding. His breath ghosted against your lips, uneven and shallow, and you could feel the tension still lingering at the base of his throat. He was holding something back, some final wall of control that cracked slowly beneath the gentleness of your voice.

“Then let me take care of you,” you murmured, so quietly that your lips barely moved. The words fell between you like a prayer. “Just this once.”

His eyes fluttered shut, lashes damp and trembling. You felt the soft, deliberate release of breath against your cheek—a soundless yes.

And this time, he didn’t pull away.

He stayed there, unmoving but undone, his brow resting against yours like a silent surrender. Not a prince, not a warrior, not the son of a myth—but a boy allowing himself, for once, to be held without armor.

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THANK U SO SO SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE PRAISE, NEW FOLLOWERS, AND 1K LIKES !!! I LOVE U ALL SOOO MUCHH MWAMWAA (especially my wifey oddy 👀)

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[tojisun]

price calling himself daddy 24/7 just to keep you in a certain headspace. even does it when you’re in a mood and he’s sinking to his knees telling his pretty girl to fuck his mouth about it

oh jesus christ this does it for me

john seeing you be so bratty and mean — full of spite and festered resentment because this day had been so shitty — but he just. folds himself before you, sinking to his knees, all starry-eyed and wobbly lips underneath his scruff.

he rubs his thumb on the inside of your thigh, humming, “won’t you, baby?”

your breath hitches, of course it would, and john is still all quiet smiles and rumbling voice and overflowing patience.

“use daddy to get the edge off, yes? ‘cause daddy just wants to see ‘is baby happy, s’all,” he croons, his eyes darkened with his own desire.

and god, john’s got you all jittery and hyper focused on his touch, feeling like the rug’s been ripped from underneath you, leaving you to free-fall into this haze that john’s coaxing you in. he’s leading you to it with such gentle cadence that you slip underneath the fog easily — your trembling hands reach to tug at your shorts, then at your panties, before spreading your legs wider, allowing john to scoot closer until his breath’s tickling your dampening folds.

“come on, sweet’art,” john rumbles, so close to your cunt you’re sure you felt his voice pulse against your core. “hands on daddy’s head; no need t’be shy about it.”

a whimper trickles from your lips, a broken little thing, as you reach forward to fist at his hair, gripping with a trembling hesitance because john may be offering but it’s still so difficult for you to take the lead. to— to use him, as he said.

because john’s this… big man. not quite literally but he has this pull in him that makes you ache, like more than anything, you are just john’s girl. no expectations, no responsibilities; just john’s sweetheart, the one he spoils with such ease and happiness. the one that makes him fold — to his knees, like right now.

the first glide is uncertain, like testing the waters even though john had devoured your cunt time and time again. but still, this was a different voyage — you feel even more exposed like this, holding his own pleasure and his own control in your lither hands. john moans, though, loud and drawn out, like it’s your face on his crotch. and you stutter, battered with your own crashing desires, and john—

he gets it. he feels your twitching fingers and the tension in your muscles because he digs his face deeper, tongue dragging along your folds with gusto, and this, like this, the dam breaks. your veins sing with pleasure, your synapses buzzing as the onslaught of your ecstasy burns through, devouring everything in its wake.

you don’t even notice the way your grip on john’s head had tightened, so focused on using his face to fuck your cunt — sliding him up-down-in-in-more. “daddy, more!”

and john groans, an apex predator’s bellow, before wider hands grip the plush of your thighs so he could fuck his tongue deeper, pushing his face closer, not minding the fact that any more and he could pretty much be smothered by your cunt and your slick—

god, your slick. the most fucking delicious thing he’s ever gulped down. and you’re so wet, dripping down your thighs and into his tongue, filling up his jowls for him to gulp down. to devour.

his precious girl, so delicious. so beautiful. so desperate for daddy.

“gonna-! daddy, m’gonna-!”

john growls, pushing your thighs further apart. his scalp burns with tiny pricks as you tug at his hair but that’s little sacrifice for this prize that’s laying before him, all sweet and needy. cunt weeping for him. only for him.

your squirt makes a mess out of him, but john doesn’t care. he gulps it down, slurping all that slip past his maw because — “baby. m’baby,” john sighs into your pussy. “so good f’r me, sweet’art. so good.”

john chances a glance up your way but you’re not even with him anymore, your gaze faraway.

“aww, sweet thing,” he croons, finally climbing up to mount you. “come on, darlin’. come back to daddy.”

but all you could do is warble a reply, and john can’t help but coo because like this, you’re even sweeter than usual. so precious for him; so precious in your trembling ecstasy.

[rafey-baby]

rafe has always been close with his sister...(part two)

c/w: incest, some dubcon touching & a kiss from rafe, both of them are more or less drunk, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.3k

previous part & moodboard

if this is something u don’t like, scroll & read something else xx

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s well past 3 am when they stumble through the front door— wobbly on their feet and drunkenly giggling about some stupid joke Rafe had muttered while fumbling with the keys. Yet another party her big brother had dragged her into, and if it weren’t for his hands on her hips guiding her upstairs right now, she’d wake up the entire house tumbling down the stairs when she’d inevitably loose her footing.  

“Rafe, m’never going out with you again. Told you I wanted to leave like two hours ago,” she complains the moment they make it to her bedroom; her feet aching and head spinning.   

“‘N she’s complainin’ again. I mean, my apologies for wantin’ to—to show m’little sister a good time,” he huffs, peeling off the shirt that’s beginning to stick to his skin. “Don’t even try t’act like you didn’t have fun.”  

“Well, yeaah, but now m’sooo tired and gross and I need to shower and…” she yawns around the rest of the words; hand on his bicep for balance while she kicks off her shoes. 

“Don’t— don’t need to worry ‘bout that, told you I’d help you out, yeah?” he slurs, already beginning to tug down the zipper of her dress.  

“Nooo…can’t shower yet. Need to take m’makeup off first,” she blabbers, brows pulling together as if he’s just committed some heinous crime, making him roll his eyes before he’s searching through her vanity for makeup remover.  

And despite her drowsy resistance about wanting to shower alone, Rafe manages to drag her into the bathroom (after wiping her face clean) anyway — the thermal water soaking through her fatigued limbs feeling entirely too good for her to push him away when he corners her behind the shower curtain, its printed seashells beginning to twirl against the cream-colored material when she stares at them for too long. 

And she’s almost starting to believe he’s truly doing all of this for altruistic purposes; thoroughly washing her hair for her and making sure to coat the strands with a generous amount of conditioner afterwards.

But when his soapy palms mindlessly glide along the wet skin on her tummy— inching closer and closer towards her tits, she realizes that she was wrong. However, she’s far too out of it to care, and upon noticing the fact, he’s letting his eager paws grope at the squishy flesh; covering them in the foamy shower gel in the process.  

Only when his thumb is smoothing over a sensitive nipple, does she blink away the haziness blurring the lines of what a brother should and shouldn’t do to his sister. And at first, her dozy complaint doesn’t even reach his ears because he’s entirely too focused on the way her tits fit perfectly in the palms of his hands, wondering how it would feel to—  

“Rafe…can you not do that?” she suddenly takes a tentative step back.  

“Hm? Jus’ makin’ sure you feel all nice ‘n clean,” he drawls out, seemingly confused before he’s tugging her closer with a hold on her waist. “Can you wash my hair next?” he pleads; an abrupt attempt to distract her intoxicated brain. 

“I can barely stand and you want me to wash your hair? Can’t even reach your head when you’re a fucking giant.”  

But when he leans down for her, she reluctantly begins to lather the shampoo into his roots— gaining a delighted grunt from the back of his throat when her fingers absentmindedly dig into his scalp. However, with the new position, he’s now eye-level with her tits; soap bubbles and water droplets trickling down the smooth skin, and with his thoughts muddled, he’s unable to resist the allure for very long before he’s gravitating towards them.  

“Rafe, stoop,” she stumbles backwards when she feels the flat of his tongue laving over the valley of her breasts.

“M’sorry.” But he doesn’t seem all that sorry, not when he looks up at her under his lashes, offering her an inebriated grin— something nauseating coiling in her belly in response.  

- - - - - - - - - -

When they finally make it out of the shower, he insists on patting her dry, the foggy mirror saving her the absolute mortification of having to watch her brother’s eyes skim across the expanse of her bare skin during the unnecessarily long process.  

“Let me take care of m’favorite sister, yeah?” he croons when he’s tugging down the hem of her sleep shirt afterwards — a shirt that just so happens to be stolen from him, the worn fabric apparently softer than anything of her own.  

She’s unsure as to why he’s suddenly being so nice, but she’s not exactly complaining when his uncharacteristically gentle fingertips daub her face with her night cream when they sit down on her bed— making sure to rub the moisturizer into her forehead as well. And she thinks he almost looks cute like this; brows furrowed in concentration, flicking her nose with a sleepy smile when he’s finished.   

“That smells so fuckin’ good,” he groans after applying a layer of chapstick to her lips; his heady gaze fixed on the action of her rubbing them together, something she’s too dozy to notice.

“I know, right? I looove anything vanilla-scented,” she gushes over the product while placing the rest of the skincare on her nightstand.  

“Can I— uh, try it?” his question sounds innocent enough, but she should know better.  

“Of course,” the naive girl fully expects him to uncap the lip balm once more but instead, he’s suddenly grabbing her jaw into his massive hands and pressing his mouth against hers— swallowing her surprised squeak before she’s quickly pulling away.   

“Rafe, you promised you weren’t gonna do that anymore,” she whines, but the way her button-eyes blink up at him — the betrayal so tangible — lures him in to do it again; smearing their mouths together with a satisfied hum before she’s shoving at his shoulder.  

“Ray, m’serious, it was one time,” she lets out an annoyed huff.  

“Calm down, m’lips were jus’ dry, alright?”  

“You could’ve just— nevermind, m’too tired for this right now,” her attempts at putting some much needed space between them prove to be futile when he just follows her under the covers— acting as if he doesn’t hear her muttering how he should sleep in his own bed for a change.  

“Listen, m’sorry, okay? Don’t like when you’re mad at me,” he ignores her protests and nestles his face into her neck, nose soon nudging her throat and eliciting a somnolent giggle from her. 

“Ray, stop. You’re being annoying,” she tries to swat his hands away when his fingers suddenly begin to poke and prod at her sides because he knows how ticklish she is.  

“Yeah? Tell me you forgive me then.” 

Involuntary laughter bubbles from her chest when she shakes her head and squirms in his arms— desperately trying to wriggle away, but he’s much stronger and she’s no match. And when she grows even louder, he’s forced to slap his palm over her mouth to muffle the noise.

“Shut up, Sarah’s gonna wake up ‘n tell dad we were out late again,” he hisses, suddenly remembering how his other sister is sleeping on the other side of the wall, nonetheless continuing his attack when she attempts to escape once more.

“Stop tickling me then,” she manages out between fits of laughter, uncomfortably writhing in his hold because she hates when he does this. However, she quickly realizes he’s not planning on stopping anytime soon, and the feeling is quickly turning into something unbearable, more or less forcing her to finally let out a sigh in defeat. “Okay, okay, I forgive you— whatever, jus’ let me sleep.” 

His breathy chuckle fans the expanse of her neck before he finally relents, but when she tries to shift away from him, he merely tucks her closer against his naked chest; large palm slipping under the hem of her shirt to splay over the expanse of her stomach to keep her right where she is.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs into her hair, tone suddenly desperate, needy. It makes her swallow around the knotted coil in her throat before she reluctantly gives up altogether— entirely too exhausted to put up a fight when sleep is already dragging her into its dreamy embrace and she feels so warm like this.

[sweettu1ips]

PAIGE BUECKERS x FEM!READER

REQUEST: Can you do one where Paige and get gf get caught making out (or full on doing it) in one of the team facilities and they get bullied (in all good faith) for the entire day but the next day they show up with hickeys on their necks and the whole team including coaches see and teammates make fun of them. Later in the day they see hickeys on their thighs and asked crazy questions again and do not let it go | request here

WARNING(S): (18+) slight smut ⋮ oral (r!receiving) ⋮ hickeys on neck + thighs ⋮ making out ⋮ getting caught ⋮ teasing ⋮ established relationship ⋮ think that's all ..

WORD COUNT: 4.9K

| MAIN MASTER LIST |

THE GYM STILL PULSED with the ghost of motion, the energy of the game clinging to the air like an echo that refused to fade.

The sharp squeak of sneakers on polished hardwood still lingered in my ears, phantom footsteps chasing each other across the court.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting long shadows that stretched and swayed as if they, too, were reluctant to let the night end.

The air was thick—humid with the weight of bodies in motion, steeped in the sharp, briny scent of sweat and adrenaline.

It wrapped around us, a heady mixture of exertion and something else, something less tangible but more intoxicating. Something unspoken yet undeniable.

Laughter and chatter rippled through the gym as teammates gathered their things, shoving each other playfully, shoulders bumping, voices overlapping.

The scent of worn leather and cooling skin mixed with the artificial sweetness of sports drinks, the occasional pop of a water bottle cap punctuating the noise. One by one, they trickled out, disappearing into the night, the open world waiting to swallow them whole.

But not us.

Paige and I lingered, the pretense of duty draped loosely over us like a threadbare excuse. Gathering stray basketballs, stacking neon cones, looping resistance bands over our arms—movements automatic, practiced, but our minds were elsewhere.

The silence between us wasn’t empty; it was charged, humming with the friction of something unspoken but growing louder with every second.

It had started during practice, or maybe even before that. The slow, burning awareness of each other, the weight of her gaze when she thought I wasn’t looking. The brush of her fingers against my back, my waist, my hip—each touch fleeting but deliberate, setting my skin ablaze in ways a full game never could.

This wasn’t just cleanup.

This was stalling.

Dragging out these last few moments before the inevitable pull became impossible to resist.

Every stolen glance, every fleeting brush of her fingertips had been kindling to a fire that had long since ignited—its embers buried beneath my skin, glowing, crackling, spreading like molten honey through my veins.

Heat curled in the pit of my stomach, thick and insistent, twisting like smoke from a slow-burning wick, waiting for the moment it would finally catch, finally consume.

Even now, as I stood gripping a stack of disc cones, I could feel the weight of her gaze—heavy, dragging over me like a painter’s brush, tracing every line, every curve with a deliberate slowness.

Mapping the length of my legs, the dip of my waist, the way my sweat-slicked shorts clung to me like a second skin.

Paige wasn’t just looking. She was studying. Committing me to memory in a way that sent a sharp, thrilling ache curling between my ribs.

"Are you even listening?" I narrowed my eyes, placing the cones inside the storage room, my voice sharper than I intended, though it did nothing to break her focus.

Paige didn’t answer.

Instead, she moved—fluid, intentional, her every step humming with a quiet sort of control that made my breath catch. Her hands, warm and unyielding, found my wrist, her grip sending a jolt of anticipation up my arm, down my spine. She tugged me into the narrow hall, the space suddenly feeling too small, too charged, her body a live wire against mine.

Her eyes flickered around, scanning for stragglers, but the way her fingers tightened just slightly around my wrist told me everything.

I knew that look.

And I knew exactly where this was going.

And then, before I could even shape her name into something solid, before the thought of resistance could form, she was moving—swift and sure, pushing open the locker room door, guiding me inside with a silent kind of urgency that sent a sharp thrill down my spine.

The heavy door swung shut behind us, the world outside fading into nothing but muffled echoes, leaving only the pulse of her presence, the charged air stretching taut between us.

“Paige—”

I barely breathed it, barely formed the syllables before my back met cold wood, the shock of it biting through the heat coiling in my veins.

The wooden locker bench rattled behind me, a hollow clang swallowed by the hush of the room, by the press of her body against mine—so warm, so solid, so devastatingly close.

The air crackled between us, thick with something unspoken, something waiting to snap. My skin burned, every nerve alive with the anticipation of her touch, every cell in my body tuned to her. And then—

Then, she kissed me.

It was reckless, molten, a kiss that stole the breath from my lungs and replaced it with fire. Her lips crashed into mine, not tentative, not teasing, but claiming. A collision of want and heat, of something that had been simmering too long, finally spilling over.

The weight of her against me, the way her hands grasped at my hips like she couldn’t stand the distance—God, it was intoxicating.

I gasped into her mouth, fingers clutching at the fabric of her jersey, dragging her closer, needing more, needing her in a way that felt primal. But it still wasn’t enough.

I needed her like a body needs air. Like fire needs oxygen to burn.

I let my hands slip beneath the edge of her jersey, fingertips grazing the soft warmth of her skin, pulling it up slowly as if I could feel every inch of her body alive beneath my touch.

The smooth curve of her waist, the hard lines of muscle beneath, each shift of her body beneath my hands made me ache with a need that settled low in my belly. Every ridge, every dip of her form seemed to hum against my skin.

A shiver ran through Paige, sharp and electric, as my fingers traced the contours of her body.

The quiet groan that rose from her chest vibrated through me like a low hum, something primal, something desperate, and it cut through the haze of wanting, striking me like a blade to the heart.

My own pulse quickened, blood rushing to my ears, the ache inside me sharp and deep.

And then—without warning—I was lifted.

Paige’s hands slid beneath my thighs, strong and steady, lifting me effortlessly as though I weighed nothing at all. My back left the cool, hard wood of the lockers, and I was weightless for a moment—caught in the air, held in her arms.

Her strength was a kind of magic, and when she set me down on the couch, I could feel the weight of her presence settling between my legs. Her body pressed into mine, full of warmth and heat, every inch of her against me—so close that my head spun, my breath shallow and ragged.

The pressure of her, the force of her body moving against mine, made my chest tighten with a craving so raw it nearly stole the air from my lungs.

Her lips left mine, trailing a path of fire down my jaw, each kiss a whispered promise, each breath a silent plea. Her mouth found the curve of my neck, her breath warm and soft, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

She paused at my pulse, lips brushing, then pressing firmly as she sucked—tender, then teasing, then possessive in a way that made my body arch instinctively towards her.

I gasped, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, not caring if she could hear my desperate need in the way I tugged at her, urging her deeper into me. A sigh slipped from her lips, vibrating against my skin, and I felt it all the way down to my bones.

Goosebumps rippled along my skin in the wake of her touch, each fingertip leaving a trail of fire and ice in its wake, as if her hands were both a balm and a blaze.

The contrast was sharp—cool, electrifying shivers meeting the molten heat pooling low in my stomach, a tension so thick it pulled tight across my chest.

My hands roamed the wide expanse of her back, tracing every sinew, every curve, as though trying to memorize the way her muscles moved beneath soft skin. I felt the subtle shift of her posture, the delicate flex of her body as she adjusted, as she pressed closer, her breath mingling with mine.

Each movement was deliberate, every inch of contact like a silent conversation—an exchange of yearning and promise.

We were caught in the tide of something that wasn’t just lust, wasn’t just the desperate need of bodies craving each other.

No, it was thicker than that, heavier—like a dark, intoxicating storm that rolled in without warning, flooding me with a desire that felt like drowning, but in the best way possible.

The ache in my chest, the throbbing pull in my veins, was more than just physical. It was the quiet desperation to feel her, to be with her, to lose myself in the space where she and I collided. We were fire and fuel, each breath a flame that threatened to consume us whole.

When Paige’s lips found mine again, it was slower, deeper—an unraveling.

The kiss wasn’t frantic; it was a quiet, lingering hunger, a study of each other’s mouth, of the rhythm we created, of the way our bodies knew how to bend and fit together, like two puzzle pieces that had been waiting their entire lives to meet.

Each brush of her lips was a gentle claim, a slow unraveling of tension that had been wound too tight. My hands tangled in her hair, urging her closer, needing the weight of her against me, needing to feel the full depth of her hunger.

My lungs burned, but I didn’t care.

Paige wasn’t just my breath.

She was the wildfire consuming me, turning everything to ash and desire, leaving only the scorched remnants of myself behind.

Paige’s back was faced towards the door, her body a steady, comforting presence against mine. We were so lost in each other, the touch of her hands, the press of her lips, the weight of her gaze—that everything else in the world faded away.

The hum of the gym, the sounds of our teammates disappearing into the distance, the lingering burn in our muscles—all of it dissolved into the quiet intimacy of the locker room.

We were cocooned in our own world, where nothing existed but the electric pulse of our skin against each other.

The only sound was the rhythmic thumping of our hearts, syncing in a frantic dance that echoed through the silence, our bodies swaying as if guided by some magnetic pull.

But then came the footsteps.

A faint shuffle at first, barely perceptible, but loud enough to snap us back to reality, to shatter the fragile bubble we had created. The sound of sneakers against tile grew louder, sharper, like a warning bell ringing in the distance. Panic flared up in my chest, sudden and hot.

Before I could process the rush of alarm, the door slammed open with a loud crack that felt like it shattered the space between us.

The sound echoed in the room, jarring us from the fragile cocoon we had woven around ourselves.

My body jerked back, nearly losing balance, but Paige’s hands were like fire on my waist, quick and strong, anchoring me as I crashed into her.

Her breath hitched in shock, her eyes wide with surprise, but there was a flash of something else too—anger, protective and fierce—as she twisted around, her gaze sharpening into a glare, directed at the intruder as if daring them to even think about encroaching on our space.

Her posture was all fire, like a lioness ready to protect her territory, and I felt the power of it settle deep in my chest. The room felt smaller now, but it wasn’t the tightness of walls—no, it was the weight of being caught, of being exposed, that made the air thicken.

We pulled apart, hearts still racing, our faces flushed with the rush of embarrassment and the remnants of heat we couldn’t shake.

But when our eyes found the source of the interruption, it wasn’t anger we felt—it was an awkward jolt of vulnerability.

Our friends stood in the doorway, their wide eyes taking in the scene, none of them saying a word, but their grins spoke volumes. Ice, ever the instigator, raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly, knowing smile.

My heart was pounding, and I could feel the heat creeping up my neck, my cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and confusion.

The air between us was thick, suffocating with the pressure of what had just been interrupted, but the doorframe suddenly filled with the faces of our friends—wide-eyed, mouths agape.

And then Ice’s voice cut through the tension, teasing, light but pointed, as her grin stretched across her face like a wolf circling prey.

“I’m sorry, were you two...?” she drawled, her voice dripping with mischief as she let the question hang in the air. The rest of the team filed in behind her, already laughing, already knowing—too much, too soon.

“Nothing happened!” I shot back instantly, the words tumbling out too quickly, too defensively. My face burned, hotter than anything Paige had made me feel just moments before.

“Nothing, huh?” Sarah’s voice was laced with playful challenge as she gave us a knowing, half-smirk. “We’ll just tell Coach then, no big deal.”

“Shut up!” Paige muttered, her voice thick with laughter that didn’t quite cover the surprise still rattling through her. She tried to brush it off, but it was clear—she was as flustered as I was, and the teasing was only beginning.

Azzi’s voice rang out across the room, teasing and loud, almost playful enough to pierce through the tension.

“You guys are so cute,” she teased, the words thick with a mix of affection and mockery. “Kissing in the locker room like it’s a rom-com!”

“Yeah, how long have you two been sneaking around, huh? Making out after practice?” KK’s voice joined in, her grin cheeky, her wink a clear challenge.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, leaning into Paige’s side for support, her warmth grounding me even as the teasing escalated.

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer, her own quiet laugh vibrating against my ear as we tried to cover the embarrassment we both felt.

But the teasing didn’t stop there. It continued in small bursts—every casual glance from across the room felt like a spotlight, every whisper coated in an undertone of knowing.

The rest of the team didn’t let up. For the rest of the day, we were the subject of every whispered conversation, every sly look, every playful jab.

It was harmless, all in good fun—but still, the intensity of it all made us feel like the center of a universe we hadn’t meant to create.

THE NEXT DAY:

Last night had been something out of a fever dream—clothes flung carelessly across the room, the lingering scent of sweat and skin, the remnants of our desperation painted in bruises along our bodies.

Every inch of me ached, a slow burn of pleasure and exertion coiling beneath my skin, a testament to the way we had taken each other apart, piece by piece, only to put ourselves back together again.

But the morning… the morning was no different.

A slow, building sensation—warmth pooling low in my belly, something slick and wet teasing against the most sensitive part of me.

Even in the haze of sleep, it sent shivers up my spine. My breath hitched, my legs twitching beneath the sheets as pleasure stirred me from the edges of unconsciousness.

Then came the first real stroke of her tongue, languid, deliberate. My hips jerked slightly, a moan slipping past my parted lips.

“Oh, fuck—” My voice was rough with sleep, my fingers blindly searching for something—anything—to hold onto as my body arched against the touch.

My eyelids fluttered open, the dim light of morning spilling through the curtains, and there she was. Paige, mouth hot and eager against my folds, licking into me like a woman possessed.

She pulled back just enough to press a kiss to the inside of my thigh, her breath warm against my damp skin.

“Good morning, baby.”

Her voice was thick with amusement, smug and knowing, before she dove back in, this time wrapping her lips around my clit and sucking, sending a jolt of electricity straight through me.

My back arched off the mattress, a sharp gasp tearing from my throat, my hands tangling in the sheets.

I kicked off the duvet, the fabric pooling at my waist, revealing Paige in all her sinful glory—hair twisted into a messy bun, blue eyes locked onto mine, her mouth glistening with me.

My legs were thrown over her strong shoulders, her grip bruising against my thighs as she held me open for her, completely at her mercy.

And God, she looked starved.

"M’sorry," she groaned, voice muffled as her lips pressed deeper against me, her mouth hot and unrelenting.

The apology was empty—pointless—because the moment her tongue flattened and dragged through my folds, all I could do was arch into her, thighs trembling.

A shuddering gasp tore from my lips as the vibration of her words rippled through me. "Got hungry, baby," she murmured, her grip on my hips loosening just enough to tease me with the absence. One hand left its place, drifting lower, a featherlight caress against my entrance that had me keening.

And then—Paige filled me.

Two fingers, warm and deft, stretched me open with a slow, deliberate thrust, the kind that sent a sharp, needy cry tumbling from my lips. My breath hitched, nails clawing into the sheets as pleasure curled low and deep, winding through me like a live wire.

"Please," I gasped, voice shaking, body trembling against her.

She didn’t make me wait. Paige was never cruel like that. Her fingers curled inside me, finding that devastating spot with a precision so sharp, so consuming, that my vision blurred at the edges.

A white-hot rush seared through my spine, my back arching off the mattress as my legs quivered beneath her touch.

"Right there," I moaned, voice raw, desperate. "Right there, baby."

She hummed in satisfaction, her lips never straying far from where she wanted to worship me.

Open-mouthed kisses burned along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, her tongue flicking over the heat she left behind before she latched on, sucking slow, deep, claiming.

A moan spilled from my lips as I felt it—the mark she was leaving, a deep bloom of purple, a whisper of her possession etched into my skin.

"Paige!" I cried out, my hips jerking when she finally—finally—attached her lips to my swollen clit. The sensation was instant, electric.

The dual assault of her mouth and fingers—sucking, stroking, curling—had me spiraling, toes curling into the sheets as heat pooled molten in my belly.

My thighs tensed around her head, every muscle locking up, strung tight with the unbearable need for release.

My walls clenched around her fingers, desperate, unrelenting, pulling her deeper.

A strangled sound ripped from my throat as my head fell back, drowning in it, lost in her.

"Ugh—baby, I’m so close," I whimpered, voice breaking, pleasure surging in waves. "Please—please, don’t stop."

"Come for me, princess," Paige murmured, her voice dark, coaxing, dripping with sinful intent.

And I did.

The coil inside me snapped, pleasure bursting like a tidal wave, swallowing me whole.

My back arched, lips parting on a silent scream as the world around me dissolved into nothing but heat, touch, and the sweet, unbearable pulse of release.

My thighs trembled, my body wracked with aftershocks as Paige worked me through it—her fingers slowing, her tongue soothing, kissing away the remnants of my pleasure until I was nothing but a boneless, trembling mess beneath her.

I gasped, shuddering as I came down, my mind hazy, limbs heavy, completely undone. The room was thick with warmth, with the scent of us, with the lingering echo of my moans still ghosting through the air.

Still catching my breath, I reached for her, pulling her up—bringing her close. Paige hovered above me, her lips glossy, eyes dark, watching me with a knowing smirk.

But I wasn’t done.

With a lazy, satisfied grin, I rolled us over, pressing her into the mattress, my hands already trailing down, teasing, promising.

"Your turn," I purred, voice still wrecked from what she had done to me.

Then, without another word, I disappeared beneath the duvet—ready to return the favor.

"Morning, y’all," Paige greeted smoothly as we stepped into the gym, her voice dripping with the same ease and confidence she always carried.

But this morning, that nonchalance felt almost too casual—like she hadn’t woken up and stared at the same damning evidence on her neck that I had on mine.

The second we crossed the threshold, the air in the gym shifted. Conversations stumbled to a halt, laughter simmered down, and a thick, buzzing silence settled in its place.

It wasn’t the usual quiet before practice, nor was it the exhausted lull after a hard workout. This was the kind of silence that comes before a storm.

And then—like a fuse finally catching fire—it spread.

Smirks ignited on familiar faces, creeping across lips that barely tried to hold back amusement.

Eyes flickered between Paige and me, scanning, assessing, then zeroing in with a focus so sharp I felt it like a brand against my skin.

Azzi. KK. Sarah. Ice. And—oh, for the love of God—now Aubrey, too.

Goddamn it, Ice and her big-ass mouth.

There was a certain mischief in their gazes, their smirks widening as they took in something Paige and I clearly hadn’t noticed yet. A slow, prickling heat climbed the back of my neck, my stomach twisting with unease.

Paige and I exchanged a glance. Confused. Searching. Unspoken words flickering between us.

And then I saw it. Or rather, I felt it.

A dull ache where her lips had pressed against my neck last night, kissing, sucking, marking. And the realization hit me like a slap.

Shit.

The matching bruises. The unmistakable evidence of last night’s reckless hands and wandering lips, still stamped across our skin like ink that refused to fade.

I didn’t even have time to react before KK’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Oh, it definitely was a good morning, huh?” KK smirked. 

"Guess you two didn’t just kiss yesterday," Ice hollered, her voice ringing through the gym like a gunshot.

A wolfish grin stretched across her face as she pointed directly at our necks. "More like… full-on making out, huh?"

Laughter exploded around us, bouncing off the gym walls, each chuckle and cackle making the heat in my face burn even hotter.

Azzi let out a low whistle. "Damn, y’all couldn’t wait till after practice?"

KK snorted, elbowing Sarah. "That’s why they volunteered to clean up last night. Thought they were being slick."

Sarah shook her head with a smirk. "More like sloppy. Y’all didn’t even try to cover it up."

Aubrey, of all people, chimed in with a teasing grin. "At least pretend to be ashamed."

And Paige?

Paige had the audacity to smirk.

She loved this. Thrived in it.

She simply shrugged, all lazy confidence, like she wasn’t the reason I was currently dying of secondhand embarrassment.

"Jealous?" she drawled, the smirk in her voice just as clear as the one on her face.

A collective groan. Eye rolls. KK threw a towel at her. A chorus of “oh, shut up, Paige.”

I buried my face in my hands, groaning as the teasing escalated, but even through my fingers, I could feel Paige’s eyes on me. Not just watching—devouring, savoring, enjoying every second of my suffering.

And across the gym, CD finally glanced up.

Her gaze flickered over us, cool and unreadable, before settling back down, like she were choosing peace instead of engaging in whatever the hell was happening. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

This wasn’t just any morning at practice.

We could pretend we had walked in like normal. We could act like nothing had changed.

But the proof was already there, written in bruises and smirks and the way Paige’s fingers brushed against mine like last night wasn’t enough.

And judging by the way our teammates were still grinning, teasing, and whispering, they weren’t going to let this go anytime soon… again.

My body was a canvas of aching muscles and fatigue by the time practice ended. Each movement felt like a betrayal, the weight of the day pressing into my bones, the sting of every drill lingering in my skin.

Geno’s harsh words were still burned into my mind, his voice echoing like a drumbeat, demanding more—more effort, more focus. He’d been relentless today, his critiques like sharp stones, each one sinking deeper than the last.

And then there were the girls—constant teasing, their laughter ringing in my ears, pulling at the edges of my patience. Nothing, absolutely nothing, had gone my way today.

I tried to shake it off, willing the exhaustion to loosen its grip on me, but before I could even gather my thoughts, Geno’s voice cut through the air again, sharp and direct.

“Y/N.”

My name bounced off the walls like a sudden storm, filling the empty gym with a weight I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

I turned, locking eyes with him, trying to steady my breath. His gaze was different now, less harsh, almost softened by the weariness of the day.

He ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture signaling that he was about to say something important—something that, for once, might actually make me feel like I wasn’t just the target of his frustrations.

“You know I push you because I believe in you, right?” His voice was quieter now, more personal, like he was trying to reach through the tension between us, to calm the storm in both of us.

I let out a breath, slow and controlled, nodding. “I know.” And I did. I knew he was tough on me because he expected the best. Because he believed I could handle it, even when I felt like I was breaking.

But today... today had felt different. The weight of every word, every move, it had all piled on, and no matter how hard I tried, it was impossible to shake it.

The gym was emptying out now, the sound of bag zippers, shoes squeaking on the floor, and quiet chatter filling the space.

I bent down to grab my bag, my fingers brushing against the cold floor as I tried to push all the noise from my head. But then, behind me, a sharp gasp broke through the hum of the room.

“Oh my god…”

It was Paige’s voice, thick with disbelief, and the instant she spoke, the whole world seemed to stop. I froze. I didn’t even need to turn around. I already knew what she was staring at.

The marks. The dark, unmistakable hickeys on my thighs.

I swallowed hard, my heart stuttering in my chest. No. No, not now. Not here.

Azzi’s voice rang out, light and teasing, as if she’d just found the greatest treasure. “No way,” she said, her words drawing a sharp laugh from the rest of the team.

“You guys are out here with hickeys on your thighs now? What’s next? A map of your entire body?”

And just like that, the weight of my embarrassment crashed into me, a flood of heat rushing to my face. I wanted to disappear. To sink into the floor and never come back. But of course, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Stop it!” I groaned, half-laughing, half-wincing. The teasing was relentless, each word digging deeper, a playful but pointed reminder of my private life spilling out into the open. “You’re making it worse!”

Sarah stepped forward, arms crossed, her expression dramatic and serious, but her eyes sparkling with humor.

“Where’s the line, huh?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Are we gonna see them on your backs tomorrow?”

The entire team erupted into laughter, the sound of it echoing in the gym, bouncy and light, as if the day’s weight had been lifted by this moment of shared chaos.

Even our coaches, who’d been trying so hard to stay professional, couldn’t hold back a chuckle under their breath.

Paige stood next to me, her face a mirror of my own—exasperated, embarrassed, but also unable to do anything but laugh with the team. We exchanged a glance, our eyes saying everything without a word.

This was the price we paid for trying to keep something private in a world that was far too eager to share it.

And yet, there was something freeing about it too. Every time they found a new angle to tease us, every time the jokes started back up, it felt less like an invasion and more like a badge of honor. We had earned this moment. We were owning it, because what else could we do?

The teasing didn’t stop, but neither did we. And as the laughter rang in my ears, I realized it wasn’t the worst thing in the world after all.

…or maybe it was.

requests are open! Also just wanted to say that I loved writing this <3

© sweettu1ips.tumblr 2025 do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

GOLDEN HOUR- D. GRAYSON

day nine of the june bug masterlist

pairing: dick grayson x florist! fem! reader (sex pollen)

word count: 4.1k

summary: a handsome stranger has captured your heart and affections, so its only natural you call for him when a mysterious plant sprays you in your flower shop, and you start to feel... rather funny.

warnings: SMUT, sex pollen used, riding dick grayson on the floor (hell yeah), heavy praise kink, lots of petnames, grinding/ dry humping, man handling, fluff and yearning, making out, swearing, slight masturbation

 “ baby, don't you know? that you're my golden hour, the color of my sky/ you set my world on fire, and i know, i know everything's gonna be alright”- golden hour, kacey musgraves 

The birds chirping in the morning was so peaceful it reminded you of heaven on earth.

Or at least- your version of it.

It reminded you of the soft countryside you called home, before you moved to the big scary city of Gotham. All you needed now was the soft hum of the lawnmowers from the neighbours, or the soft patter of rain that was an open invitation for you to go out in your bare feet, letting the morning dew tickle your toes as you searched for frogs in nothing but your nightgown.

But sadly, home was far away now- and so was the country.

It was a burning dream of yours to go back, to build or find a little cottage where you could grow all the flowers you wanted, having a little garden, filled with sweet delights like berries you could make into jam for your homemade sourdough.

With whoever tended to your dreams with you.

It was what you were working for. And if you found someone along the way, you supposed it would make the cloudy days a bit more comforting.

For now, the closest you could get was your little job at the local florist shop.

It brought you joy, especially on sunny days like today, where business was booming and you could meet lovely people of all ages. Either trying to get some tulip bulbs they could plant in their yard in the fall, or if they needed a bouquet for their loved ones.

The thought of your regular, a sweet older woman named Barbra made you smile at the idea she’d come in, grumbling as usual about the traffic or whatever it may be, just to burst into a smile as soon as she saw you tie a new bouquet together with pink ribbon.

You always snuck her a little flower, typically a baby's breath for her under the counter, to add to her collection of random florals.

You stretched, letting the rarity of sunlight in Gotham trickle through your window and onto your face, savouring the warmth of the summer months. Although you noticed it was a lot more sunny than you were told it would be, since moving here.

An odd fluke, you supposed.

Taking your time, as you always woke up early enough to savour the light of the day as if you were Snow White herself, you made your bed, sheets smelling of the lavender spray from the florals you’d collected yourself.

Next was the tea of course, herbals often woke you up. Letting the soft lace of your nightgown brush your thighs, you headed towards the kitchen towards the kettle, the fresh batch of scones you made the other night your next destination.

As you waited for the water to boil, you couldn't help but lean back against the counter, a soft smile on your face as you observed your indoor plants.

It wasn't the end goal, but it was a beautiful pit-stop along the way. And that, you could be happy with.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Barbra’s presence could be felt before it could be heard.

You peered up at her little frame, slightly hunched over, but in working condition, nonetheless. You called her a well oiled machine. She called herself a grouchy piece of shit.

But today, something was different.

Was that… a smile on her face? Before she had come inside to greet you?

Odd.

You peered out the window, trying not to seem too obvious as you glanced outside, and saw her talking to… a man?

A beautiful man, at that. Tall, at least a foot or so taller than you, his  muscles practically bulging out of his little Black Canary Tour shirt.

You could tie a pretty pink ribbon around them just for it to snap the second he did so much as move his bicep.

But what really captivated you was the baby blues that gleamed at Barbra. The way his smile seemed to twinkle in the sun, real and genuine as he laughed. He was so animated, hands moving as he talked, before his fingers pointed to you.

You froze.

Quickly scurrying away, out of sight to make yourself busy, and to tend to your racing heart.

Soon, a little jingle of the shop bell rang out, and you poked your head out from the daisies, preparing for the worst.

“You’re smiling? Who are you, and what did you do with Barbra?” you teased, making her laugh.

“You got yourself a suitor out there eh? A handsome one at that.” Barbra smiled, wacking your arm gently with her newspaper. Your eyes widened.

“Suitor?”

“Yeah dolly he’s right into ya. I was about to go harass him, as he was staring at you a little too much for my liking, like some black cat on a windowsill. Spooked the damn boy, was about to give him hell until I saw the look in his eye.”

You raised your eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What look in his eye?”

“Love.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Love. Right.”

“You know better than to question me girl. I know best. I’ve lived a lot more lives than you, and I know what love looks like. That man is head over heels.”

Something like warmth bloomed in your chest at her words, and you couldn't help but hope it was true. He was so handsome, and if he could manage to make Barbra laugh, there must have been something about him that was special.

“I’m sure. In love with a nobody flower shop girl who clips flower stems in her free time.”

“The most beautiful girl in the city, who happens to clip flower stems in her free time. Now, shut up and give me some sunflowers dear. I’m on my way to bridge practice and I need to get these to my sister.”

You nodded, collecting her flowers and ignoring her payment.

“Well, get on then you grouch.”

She laughed, slipping you a twenty despite your protests, and was out the door before you could process the sneaky bill slip she performed and give it back to her.

For an older woman, she was fast.

The bell rang again, and you expected her to toss another comment about getting your head out of your ass, but you were royally surprised when the handsome stranger was there instead.

Sun shown from the back of his head, illuminating him like he was an angel, halo burning brightly. You urged yourself to not let his beauty consume you.

“Do you always just watch girls from outside their work, or is this special treatment?” you asked, leaning against the counter.

He smiled. “Only you. Isn't that so cheesy?”

“Or creepy, depending on how you look at it. But Barbra likes you. So I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you for your vigilante activities.”

His hand went to his heart, bowing his head almost in solitude.

“She really knows how to scare a man.”

“I heard one time she twisted a man's balls so hard he had to go to the hospital, because he thought they were going to fall off.”

You laughed at his shocked reaction, turning into an easy grin as he walked towards you, towering over you from behind the counter.

“Now, are you here to buy anything? Or just flirt with me?” you asked boldly.

“Both. Is that okay?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks and you looked away quickly, shrugging.

“Suppose.”

“Y/N…” he read your delicate nametag, the writing in your own penmanship, swirly, girly font with a little blooming tulip next to it.

“Forgive me if this question sounds odd but… what's a pretty thing like you doing in Gotham? You’re the human form of the sun. You shine so brightly here it's almost blinding.”

You froze at his words, trying to not let them know how much they impact you.

You’re the human form of the sun.

No one, no man- had ever said anything so kind to you. So near and dear to your heart. It nearly caught you off guard. All you could do was smile at him softly, batting your lashes at him as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, letting your bracelets jangle.

“I’m here to shine.” was all you said as you shrugged, turning your back to him to gather flowers that matched his energy.

You didn't even know what he was in here for. You were too flustered to ask.

Instead, you felt his eyes following your figure as you selected the blossoms, reaching up on your tiptoes to select some that were out of reach.

Soft blues and whites- blue stars, baby's breath, and columbines. You sprinkled in some soft yellows, buttercups and primroses. Tying it all together with a soft, pale baby blue ribbon, humming to yourself softly.

“For…?” you asked, pen hovering just above the little card.

“Dick. Dick Grayson.” You nodded, writing his name, and feeling even so bold as to even scratch your number just under it. Maybe your countryside future could be closer than you thought.

And by the look on his face as he saw your number on that very same tea stained card, he must have thought the same.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

You had fallen.

Hard.

And god, could anyone blame you?

God himself couldn't blame you, for all the time Richard Grayson had swirled through your mind, clouding your thoughts until they were sprinkles of pollen.

He was sweet, like the lemonade you made for him when he first came over to visit your place.

He had a green thumb. He liked mint chocolate chip ice cream, which you would never give him the satisfaction of knowing, but you liked it too. He was polite, always holding the door for you, a soft palm on your back as he’d lead you inside, always closing his eyes whenever you changed in front of him, claiming it wasn't gentleman like to watch a woman change (though you caught his fingers peel from his eyes a few times).

He was an animal lover. He was nurturing, and wanting nothing more than to provide for you.

And he always listened. About anything, really- but especially when you talked about your future.

With him in it.

It made his heart swell up so large he feared it would break his ribcage, at the mention of your garden, and your chickens, dogs, ducks, cats- the homemade meals and soft cuddles by the stone fireplace.

All involving him.

Of course you included his interests- referring to the dogs as his dogs, mentioning his favourite dishes, and his brothers coming to visit whenever they wanted. Talks on your couch turned into sweet kisses, gentle touches and addicting tastes of mint, coffee and the musk of cinnamon.

It was all you had wanted, and if God, or anyone judged you for the temptations of Eve’s apple, it was something you’d collect seeds from and grow yourself.

An apple tree of temptation, the branches of Dicks embrace wrapping you tightly.

Barbra noticed it too, the effect he had on you. How somehow- someway, she had stated, you seemed even more bright.

Butterflies had practically found their way to you, fluttering on the flowers outside the store, resting on your fingers as you sent them off to the sun. Birds chirped even louder, the faint smell of honey and cinnamon a constant warm embrace around you as you left Dicks arms in the morning, spreading your wings to go off on your own, to tend to the store.

It was an unusual day today though, you noted.

It was cloudier than it had been lately, though that was Gotham. Light sprinkles of rain pattered off your umbrella as you walked to the floral shop, and despite the rain, you still found it in your heart to smile at anyone who passed by.

It was quiet today, and you had expected just as much. Tonight would be equally as quiet, as Dick had plans with his brother, Jason. You urged him to go off and do his own thing, as even sometimes you needed your own space.

Tonight would be filled with fluffy blankets, buttery popcorn, some mint chip ice cream, and superhero movies. A perfect night, in your opinion. Perhaps a beeswax candle could be lit- a reminder of Dicks sweet smell that stained the pillows.

Your thoughts of the Friday night ahead were whisked away as a customer stepped inside, shaking the rain from her bright red hair.

She smiled, waving slightly as she adjusted her very large purse, starting to browse around. You smiled back, turning your back to resume your task, letting her browse in peace. You never liked to hound anyone, knowing how annoying it could be as a customer yourself, when pesky store owners nagged at you, or pressured you to buy something you were having doubts on.

Plus, if she had questions, she’d ask.

You were approachable enough. Or at least you hoped you were.

By the time you turned around again, she was out of sight. Nothing left of her but the gentle chime of the door bell as her heels clicked against the pavement.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

As you were doing your rounds before closing, something had you stop in your tracks.

A plant.

Of course, a plant was not out of place in a florist shop, but this particular one, captured your attention. It was foreign to you, which was unusual, considering you had spent countless years pouring over plant textbooks, and gathering as much hands-on experience in the garden that you could muster.

But this… this was not something you had ordered in.

Then how the hell had it gotten here?

You picked up the pot, observing the unusual markings on the petals. It was beautiful, the flowers almost mimicking those of a lilly. But you knew deep down, it wasn't.

As you picked up the pot, you were blinded.

You gasped, inhaling pollen as it sprayed at you, almost like a mist of freckles that splattered on your cheeks, getting in your nose, your mouth, clouding your vision.

You coughed, setting the plant down where it had rested, waving the air as your vision blurred, tears starting to trickle down your cheeks. Making your way over to the counter, you started to sneeze and cough, feeling as if the vapors were choking you.

At least you could see now, scrambling off your apron and tossing it somewhere- unknown to you.

You’d deal with it tomorrow. For now, you needed fresh air, and a clear head. Whatever had sprayed you, it was having an effect- fast.

Your body felt tense. Like it had been strung up on a live wire. Heat curled in your gut, strong and fast- like a current that threatened to drag you under its vicious waves.

Sweat dotted at your forehead, your fingers curling into fists. It was so hot you fought the urge not to strip naked and lay on the cool wooden floor.

But no, god no- you needed to get home. To lay down, get some rest, and let this do its thing.

But your head was clouded. Foggy.

All you knew was that you felt hot, bothered and needy.

You wanted Dick. But Dick was with his brother and he needed time to himself, and to enjoy his family… and yet you dialed his number anyways.

He would know what to do. He could help you, could touch you, could take away this pain, this need- this want that consumed you whole- like Goya's Satan consuming your very flesh.

It took two quick rings before his gentle voice answered, quickly turning to concern as you moaned.

“Sweetheart? What's going on?”

“Some plant. I found some plant when I was closing, I don't know what the hell it is but it sprayed me and now I can’t- I can't think- God its so hot-” you panted, slouching against the counter, grounding yourself onto the floor as you let your head lull back.

“Fuck. Fuck sweetheart, where are you now? I’m coming right now.”

“N-no s’okay stay with Jason. I just didn't know if you knew-” you hiccuped, groaning again as you felt your clothes start to stick to your body.

“If you knew what it was. Maybe I can sleep it off.”

You heard a low voice in the background, catching some of the words the man, presumably Jason, mumbled. “Its Ivy. That sex pollen shit we saw a while ago, but fuck Bruce hasnt found a cure yet.”

“Sweetheart, did anyone new come into the shop today that looked unfamiliar?”

You nodded, even though you knew he couldn't see you. The drug was making you hazy.

“Some redhead came in with a large purse. But I didn't think anything of it. She was gone before I could offer her help.”

You heard cursing on the other line, before Dick begged for you to stay conscious. “I’m gonna be right there sweetheart, you just stay put okay? Shut the blinds, lock the door and if it's me, I’ll knock three times.”

You tossed your phone as he hung up, tugging at your top. You had turned the air on, yet it felt so stuffy and hot you felt like you might puke.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck I need-” you gasped, letting your hands cup your breasts, toying at your hardened nipples through the lacy floral bra fabric, feeling heavy and aching. You started to unbutton your pants, shimmying them off your body, sweat sticking to them.

Trapped in your own head, you let your fingers trace your body, but it wasn't enough.

Whatever had sprayed you, it wanted more. It wanted him.

And almost as if it was some divine intervention, the plant weaving its vines around Dick Grayson to tug him to the front door, you heard three quick wraps on a knuckle on the door.

“Sweetheart? It's me honey, can you let me in please? I’m gonna make you feel better okay?”

You groaned, starting to crawl to the front door, reaching up to unlock the door for your savour. And fuck, the sight before him made him hard.

It felt wrong, and dirty to feel so turned on at the sight of you- but he couldn't help it.

There you were, on your knees, looking up at him with so much need in your eyes, lips quivering as sweat trickled down your neck. The pollen stained your cheeks like golden freckles, like constellations in the sky that sang to him.

“Oh my poor, sweet girl.” he cooed, locking the door behind him as he crouched down, cupping your cheek with his palm, stroking little circles gently with his thumb.

“M’gonna make you feel better little dove, okay? You just tell me what you need from me. But we gotta, we gotta get this out of your system.”

You nodded, wincing slightly, not from pain- but from overstimulation as his hand trickled down to stroke your bare collarbones, eyes darting to your pretty pink floral set that sent his mind reeling.

“H-how do we fix this Dickie?” you whimpered, his heart nearly crackling into pieces at how sweet his nickname sounded from your cherry blossom lips.

“Well it's a sex pollen honey so I think- well we have to…”

“Have sex?” you asked and he nodded.

“That would make me feel better. All I can think of and feel is this fuzzy, burning need. It hurts.”

He cooed, letting his hand rest just above your throbbing core. “Right here honey? Is this where it hurts?”

You nodded frantically, guiding his hand down to your soaked panties, juices already coating his fingers from the simple brush of his fingers.

He groaned, the sound making you whimper in delight.

“And right here. M’so sorry Dickie-”

“No, no you don't get to apologise for this honey. You take what you need from me, okay? I’m gonna help you feel all better again, get that fuzziness out of your head.”

Your hands slipped up to tangle in his hair, tugging at the soft, dark raven locks hungrily as your lips found his. He melted into your touch, and you couldn't help but savour the feeling of dominance you had over him.

Even if it was an illusion.

You felt so hungry you couldn't help but straddle him, letting your hands roam over his body, touching anywhere you could reach. It was as if he had been sprayed as well, with the way he was touching you back.

Manhandling you up into his lap, gripping your ass as you began to grind on the fly of his jeans, letting the cool flicker of the zipper soothe your ache as you dampened the fabric.

Guiding you with his hands, urging you to do whatever you wanted to him. As if he was in this as much as you were.

Your equal.

“Need- need you now please.” you practically whined, tugging his shirt over his head, his warm chest now flush with yours, his fingers toying with the back of your bra strap. You gasped as it fell, sliding down your arms, his fingers wrapping around the nipple and tugging on it harshly.

The pain was delicious. You needed more.

“Take what you need sweetheart. My sweet flower.”

You wasted no time tugging his pants off, throwing them haphazardly on the floor with your undergarments, hands guiding him down to the floor.

“You’re so good to me.” you whispered, head bowing as he ran his cock through your soaked folds, before slowly guiding himself in.

Your eyes widened, as if sparks had gone off and illuminated throughout your body.

This. This was what you needed.

All of this, the feeling of him stretching you, guiding you in with such compassion and tender praises, cooing at your little expressions and sounds as he filled you to the brim.

It was as if the pain had stopped, just briefly. Dick Grayson was your cure.

“Big stretch I know baby. I’m sorry, I didn't have time to prep you m’just worried… oh-” he was cut off by your sudden movements, riding him like your life depended on it.

Which it did. You didn't have time to waste. And it was like this thing- this pollen had taken hold of your body, and you were a puppet on its strings.

Gripping his chest, your nails dug and scratched him as you tossed your head back, letting him admire you as much as he wanted. The way your lips hung open as your sweet little moans trailed from them, your forehead scrunched in concentration, letting the waves of the pleasure consume you.

Your eyes, closed, lashes fluttering your cheeks, crying out his name.

The sight alone almost had Dick Grayson come undone. But he had to hold off for you, had to help you first. That was always his rule.

“There you go sweetheart, doing so good for me. Feels so fuckin good oh my god- ridin me like that..” he cooed, hands firm on your hips as he thrusted up, meeting you half way.

Until he couldn't control himself, picking a rhythm that you mindlessly followed, body going limp as he pounded into you- taking control. Knowing that was what you needed.

You didn't even need to tell him where you were, he knew, could feel you squeezing him.

“Let go for me honey. Good girl..” he cooed softly, holding you close to his chest as you came down from your high, legs quivering as you clung to him like a teddy bear.

“Is it over?” You asked softly, your head on his steady heartbeat as he stroked your hair. He shook his head.

“I’m not sure honey. You might need a few more rounds, but I promise, you’ll be okay. Its almost out of your system.”

You nodded, feeling the surge of pleasure lap at your insides, letting it consume you wholly again.

“I’m so sorry Dickie.”

He stopped you, silencing you with a kiss. “Stop apologizing, my sweet girl. We’re gonna get through this. We’re in the home stretch, and I’ve got you. I’m here. Gonna make it all better.”

And deep down, you knew that was the truth.

It had taken a few more rounds for your fiery insides to burn down to little embers, loud moans turning to soft whimpers and hiccups. And he was there with you for all of it, on the floor, against the wall, up on the counter.

And each way he handled you, made you feel like a delicate little petal, despite your actions being anything but.

Holding you in his arms when the flush from your body subsided, and your skin had cooled to a normal temperature, when sleep consumed your body as you lay curled in his lap, his shirt acting as a blanket that you breathed in deeply.

His cum trickling down your thighs, that he had cleaned up before slipping you back into your clothes, and carrying you back to your apartment.

And you knew then, that he’d never leave you. Not now, and not ever. 

[chrissonnyangel]

bluecollar!chris x shy!reader

➤ read to me, I like it

Chris swung open the door to your apartment, he dragged his tired feet across the wooden planks with his head hung low.

Today had been hot and tiring for chris, the countless hours of sweating was still evident on his body making him feel uncomfortable the whole car ride home. He accidentally slammed the door shut, the sound echoed through the home making you jump from the bedroom. Chris trudged towards the bathroom frustrated, not uttering a word to you.

The shower started to run, the sound of water making its way to your eardrums. You sat on your bed reading your latest book, eagerly turning the pages moving fast through the storyline. A couple of minutes later he walked out of the bathroom into your bedroom with a towel wrapped low around his waist. Water droplets trickled down his bare chest and back, making him look effortlessly hot. Your attention was now drawn to chris, your bit your lip slightly and forced your eyes back onto the pages. He shook his head vigorously like a dog, trying to dry his damp hair. "How's the book goin'?" Your boyfriend questioned.

"Good. How was work?"

"Shit. But I don't want to talk about it." He gathered his pyjamas that lived permanently at your apartment and boxers from his stash. Slipping his clothing on and jumping onto the bed next to you. Chris sighed heavily and snuggled up to your side. "Can you read to me?" He mumbled into the duvet.

"Why?" You giggled.

"Because I like it." You saw his lips curl up into a cute smile. His hair drying slowly. You sighed playfully and started reading out loud.

｡𖦹°‧

After a couple of minutes, chris had drifted off to sleep, breathing heavily and his body stuck in a comfortable position. You finished the chapter in your head and then softly closed it, placing the book on the bedside table. Shuffling down the bed to get close next to chris, you turned off the lamp and gave a sweet kiss to your boyfriends lips briefly and then nuzzling into him.

"Goodnight chris."

taglist - @whore4chris @courta13 @cherrystainss @leila-marie4 @csturnioloswifey @l0s3rhaha @starryfursturniolo @starsinfrunami @taytaysttpd @sheluvsthesturniolos @tezzzzzzzz @hamzahsn1gf @sturniolo-szn2 @55sturn @metyouinthehallway

[sleep-0-deprived]

In eve’s garden (Yandere dragon hybrid! x human! male reader~!) ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

WC:. 1.2K

content warnings : smut, porn no plot, Amab reader, bottom reader x top oc, dark content, dub con, belly bulges, monster fucking, no protection, yandere content, obsessive themes, mentioned kidnapping at the end, virginity loss, anal crampies (reader receiving), marking <33

Taglist: @miyaisastar @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @yyuinaa @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives @littlelilithsposts @gayaristocrat @whatupbishs

A/N: from th’a poll th’a most requested was yandere Oc works, it’s very short thoo~ ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა

Life is a funny trickle isn’t it? One moment you’re laying around in your garden with your tunic all undone at the top messing with your flowers and the next a dragon like man is on top of you, taking your opened tunic as a chance to ravage you.

you had heard other villagers talking of a dragon being spotted near by but you had never expected to be the creatures target.

Your back was planted firm to the ground whining and hissing when the man bites at your nipples through your thin tunic with his saliva as hot as water from the fresh springs on your skin leaving you in a state of bliss under him.

“Mine- could smell you from so far away”

he would breath out and let his hands roam you, gripping you like a piece of treasure to behold.

His claws pierce the fabric of your pants making them loose around your hips with your cock pressing to the torn cloth, your hands pull at the grass and your eyes tread down lazily onto the creature.

“Sto—ah~”

Your words hang unheard in the air with your thighs quivering on either side of his hot body, you feel a massive bulge pressing up against you rubbing against your tummy.

the scales on his neck brush against the tender flesh of your pecks. He finally slips his hands up your tunic under the fabric and onto your bare skin.

The contact sends shivers up your spine the sound of tearing fills your head when his claws rip off your tunic exposing your bare torso to the blue sky’s above with the cool spring air pressing against your hardened peaks caressing the now warmed flesh.

The dragon hybrids tail sways behind him curling in an eager manner when his slit black pupils look up at you they dilate, his mouth finds its way onto your Adam’s apple and gives it a nibble pressing his shark lime tear to your skin hard enough to leave an little red indent showing he was there.

the feeling of hands gripping your love handles starts again. He gropes you feeling your body up while his face stays buried in your neck sniffing in your scent like a feral animal in rut.

His horns prick at your neck like a bull nudging its mate, in most senses that’s what the creature was taking you for, it’s mate.

“Needa mate you- need to give you my seed”

“Wait- don’t”

The hybrids claws tear away your pants leaving you naked in the garden with your thighs on either side of his hips.

the massive bulge smushes against your half hard cock dry humping you while precum seeps through his pants making a slick mess between your shared bodies, god how you hoped none of the other villagers would see you.

His face stays in your neck never leaving while his sticky palms undo his pants letting a meaty cock press to his stomach.

he looks down at you with his red scaled wings flapping harshly on his back, his tip was all flushed with a shiny pearl running down the underside of his base— oh there was no way you were going to be able to take this all.

Your thigh gets lifted up pressed to your chest with him holding your cheek pinched open spitting and licking at your hole in attempt to loosen it, midway through the creature growls annoyed at the lack of opening for his cock.

He presses the tip forwards pushing it inside you half way, your hymen tearing wide open feeling like a sharp pain shooting through your whole body making your eyes all glossy and wide.

“Ow-ow fuck~!”

Your knee bumped your chest sobbing underneath him, a bulge presses out of your stomach once he fully sinks himself inside you, your rim puckers up tight and you can feel ever pulse, throb, vein, everything his cock does inside of you.

Your stomach caves in when you breathe slipping your hands further up and gripping the ground for dear life getting dirt all under your nails.

As soon as he starts rocking his hips your insides feel bruised, already worn around him and as if your neck was a safe haven for the creature its face gets shoved back into it pressing you down harsh into the soil leaving no room for your to escape it.

The pudgy hot tip starts pressing your prostate harshly making your cock fully stiffen against your stomach.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders gripping at his smooth black hair while the dragon grunts and huffs on top of you, one of your legs rested up on his hip and the other bend to your chest making his angle hit inside you deep.

Your tears drying up but you pout beneath him when he bites a little to hard on your nape nearly bring blood piercing only the top layer of flesh.

“Gonna give you all my pups- wanna make you a mama”

Your hole flutters around him at that statement, your eyes half lidded rolling into the back of your skull almost trying to see your own brain with how deep he was fucking you. His cock was trying to look for a womb to plant itself into wanting to make eggs inside you.

The sound of skin on skin slapping around in your garden got louder with your ass cheeks all tender from his hips constantly slapping against you.

you had given up on fighting the creature instead just accepting your fate, you can hear the deep mewls that left his lips and you could feel how close he was, you weren’t far behind with your cock ready to explode.

A clawed hand reaches down palming your cock between thrusts making sure to move in rhythm with the constant fucking. Another hand pressing down on the bulge in your stomach making you feel how deep you were taking it.

The mix of your blood and his spit lubed you up enough to make a squelch when he rolled his hips nailing your prostate head on over and over.

“Mh right theree!”

Your orgasm his you first heaving and arching under him with your thigh wrapping around his hip taking its cock deliciously when he hits your sweet spot one last time. Your gummy walls milking the orgasm from him.

Your sperm spews from your eager tip getting everywhere in his palm making a mess, his hand works you through your orgasm while you lay with your nose scrunched up.

The dragons rough tail wraps around your waist lifting you closer to him letting the smell of flowers and the intense coupling fill the air leaving the creature pleased when his hips jerk one last time.

It felt like molten lava started pouring inside you making you feel stuffed to the brim with a swollen tummy, your nails dig harder against his scales while his wings lay down relaxing as a wave of calm washes over him.

You can feel his tip pulsing into your prostate. Right when you thought it was all over he lifts you up still on his cock with you fully naked for any and all to see— he was taking you to his home he was taking you into the mountains to his cave.

“Never gonna let you leave- all mine, gonna raise such pretty lil dragon pups with you”

he purrs into your ear sealing your fate.

[prkhaven]

FEELS LIKE SUMMER -l.sh, p.js, s.jy, p.sh-

Meant to be a peaceful summer day somehow leads to an eventful afternoon

pairing— enhypen!hyung line x fem!reader

genre: smut minors do not interact, summer au, p without any plot

wc: 7.1k

warnings: hyung line is very horny, all of them (besides jake) are mean, profanity, magically they are the only people at the beach, so unrealistic

smut warnings: filthy, fivesome, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap the willies), so much cum, creampies, p in v, degradation, praising, slut shaming, multiple rounds, exhibition, agoraphilia, dumbification, squirting, slight manhandling, cum eating, dom!enhypen hyung line, oral (m+f rec.), usage of nicknames(good girl, angel), overstimulation, throat fucking, pussy slapping

Three out of the four yelled in the car in pure excitement, the ocean smell filling the car through the open windows as the breeze swept through their sweaty bodies. Their music blaring as they past through, none of them caring for the looks thrown their way from their ruckus.

“I’ve been waiting all year this, it’s finally summer!” Jake yelled as he slapped his knees repeatedly in anticipation, “How much longer till we get there Hee?” He asked the one driving, who took a look to the GPS

“10 more minutes till we’re experiencing paradise beach boys”

This beach was said to be one of the most beautiful beaches in the costal area that barely anyone came to. It was too far out for most so no one never really bothered going with the exception of a few but in their minds it was jokes on the people who missed out on this beach.

The friend group was more than ready to do the long drive just to experience the wonders of the beach for themselves, desperate to make the most out of their summer.

“Can’t wait to get wet” Sunghoon murmured under his breath, feeling the sweat trickling off his body but Jake shoved him with a disgusted face, “Not like that you nasty freak” Sunghoon spat when he realized how Jake interpreted his words

Jake broke out into a fit of giggles before shifting to the middle seat, squeezing his arms in the middle compartment between the driver and passenger seat. “Jay! I can’t believe you’re sleeping through this awesome trip to the beach. Wake up!” Jake forcefully woke his said friend up from his slumber

“Shut up Jake” Was all Jay said not even opening his eyes as he nestled his head deeper into the head rest

“Don’t stress over it too much Jake. Jay needs his beauty sleep in order to drive back”

Jay teared his eyes opened and whipped his head, staring at Heeseung in disbelief “When did we ever establish that I was making the drive back?” Jay asked and Heeseung cheekily smiled

“Uh about 5 seconds ago”

Heeseung noticed in the mirror how Jay almost launched himself at him and he held out a finger and shook it, letting out an ‘Uh uh’. “Can’t hit me I’m the driver” Jay huffed at his friend’s response, rolling his eyes as he folded his arms in annoyance

“I’m gonna take you down the moment we get to the beach Hee”

Heeseung jokingly shivered in fear but laughed out loud hearing how Jake and Sunghoon erupted in a loud laughter.

“You guys are so annoying” Jay frowned and Sunghoon who sat behind him in the back seat snuck his hand and poked Jay’s cheek causing him jerk away and attempt to grab Sunghoon’s hand

Sunghoon laughed as Jay turned around to glare at him. “I’ll take you down too Sunghoon”

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try” Sunghoon raised his eyebrow, instigating his friend but they were interrupted when the car was parked

“And we’re here!” Heeseung announced and Jake was the first one to shoot out of the car and run towards the beach with a scream

The beach was in fact very true to its reputation, not seeing a single soul there other than them and he was in awe by how beautiful the beach was.

The sand felt like fresh soft snow, the clear water allowing to see the ocean floor. This beach was utterly perfect, Jake felt an arm around his shoulder and he looked to see Heeseung who closed his eyes and sharply inhaled.

“Now it feels like summer”

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Jay stayed true to his words as he was quick to grab Heeseung once they all settled down and attempt to drag him into the water.

“Let go of me!” Heeseung tried to peel his friend off of him as they got closer to the water, “You also wanted to get Sunghoon! Get him and spare me, I’ll even help you!”

Jay stopped hearing at the sudden offer of help to take down the said other friend instead and he let go of Heeseung to show a sign of truce.

Heeseung sighed in relief seeing that he was spared as he followed in suit after Jay who was already marching back to the poor blanket they established for themselves where the other two friends were settled down at.

The summer sun blared against them and Sunghoon who was minding his own business talking to Jake took notice of his two friends looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“What?” He asked and before he knew it, his two friends grabbed him by the arms and attempted to drag him to the water, “What the fuck?!” Sunghoon thrashed in their hold to break free

“Jake help us! You know he’s stronger than all of us” Heeseung called out to the last friend who immediately jumped in and pushed Sunghoon with his shoulder closer to the water

And right when Sunghoon was able to manage free one of his arms from their hold, he was pushed harshly into the freezing cold sea. He landed face first and gasped loudly as he jumped up, covering his face with his hands as he panted for air.

“Thought you said you couldn’t wait to get wet Hoon” Jake teased with the previous words said in the car and Sunghoon shot a sharp glare to his friends who were laughing loudly seeing his soaked state

“You three are so done for” Sunghoon announced before taking big strides out of the water to chase after his already running friends

They were in their own world, oblivious to you, the only other person on the beach who arrived not too long after them. You frowned, ripping off your earbuds as you rested yourself up on your elbows hearing the loud ruckus on the beach.

This was supposed to be a hidden peaceful beach, so why were you hearing not one, not two, not even three but four guys screaming on the top of their lungs.

When you caught sight of the four guys on the beach, you grimaced to yourself realizing they were just like you, just trying to enjoy the summer day on the beautiful beach.

You dragged down your sunglasses to the bridge of your nose to properly get a look at them and your breath slightly hitched seeing them in their little establishment of a blanket that held all of their belongings.

Sunghoon pulled his damped shirt off and twisted it to get the water drained out of it, seeing how the stream of water fell from his favorite shirt made him frown deeply.

“Cheer up Sunghoon, it’ll dry up in the most natural way” Heeseung patted his bare back before pointing into the sky, “By the sun” Sunghoon swatted his friend’s hand away making him chuckle before giving a few more extra pats just to spite Sunghoon

As the rest of his friend were following in suit of removing their shirts, Sunghoon looked around the beach, his eyes squinting from the sun’s glare before stopping on you, he didn’t notice there was someone else besides them.

He froze up, noticing your piercing gaze on them from the opening of your sunglasses that rested midway on your nose bridge.

“Hey” He called out to garner his friend’s attention and Jake who already took of his shirt and threw it down next to Sunghoon’s was the first to react to his friend’s calling

He noticed how Sunghoon was looking off to the distance so his eyes trailed the line of sight and he finally noticed you. Jake immediately slapped Jay’s body in a haste before he could even take off his shirt and the boy was going to curse at his friend before noticing something or more like someone had Jake’s full undivided attention.

He looked to where his two friend were staring at as he saw your held up self by your elbows, your fingers holding your sunglasses down just enough to fully see them.

“What are you guys so quiet?” Heeseung laughed, not paying attention to what was happening and when he finally did

He turned his gaze from his frozen friends to you, the one that made them all suddenly speechless.

There was no denying the fact that you were beautiful. Your skin glistened from combination of sunblock, lotion and sweat as your eyes never once left them. Your eyes hoping from each of them as you drunk in their undeniable strong appearance.

Today must’ve been your lucky day, you were blessed with four conveniently attractive guys on the beach on the hot summer day.

You smirked before bringing your sunglasses up and laying back down on your back to continue allowing the sun to drown your skin.

When you finally looked away, the guys were finally able to breathe as they all turned to each other with shaky eyes. They didn’t know what, let alone why, they were feeling like this but there was one thing they all collectively felt and it throbbed right in between their legs.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

“Go long” Jay shouted to Jake who ran through the sand, arms out to catch the football thrown to him

It’s been a few hours since they’ve arrived at the beach (and since they realized your presence). You respectfully kept your distance and they did the same, worried what would happen if the 5 of you got close enough.

Jake thought he would be able to catch the football but instead it slipped through his hands and fled past him only to land right next to you. Great.

You heard the thud next to you and you peered over your shoulder to spot the football that landed almost perfectly next to you. You turned to the side seeing how Jake was mumbling to himself before lightly jogging over to you with a hand up and a tight smile.

You fully turned around and sat up, grabbing the football next to you waiting until he arrived in front of you. Jake slowed down his pace, gulping down a pant that he excused to be from jogging and nothing else.

“Sorry about that, it slipped through my fingers” The guy in front of you rubbed his nape awkwardly, looking everywhere but at you

You frowned lightly before tilting your head, fully removing your sunglasses. Jake finally noticed you and he let out an audible gasp, seeing your face up close without your sunglasses blocking your face.

As weird as it sounded in his head, you had the most perfect pair of eyes he’s ever see. His eyes that stayed on your face, now lingered down your body. He threw himself into a daze as he unconsciously licked his lips as he tried to burn the sight of you into his eyes.

He realized he must’ve been staring when he hadn’t said anything and the football was still in your hand, he embarrassingly pulled his gaze back to your eyes.

You looked up to his standing figure and slightly smirked seeing the faint reddening in his ear as you realized where his lingering eyes were. You shook the football in your hand, “Make sure to catch it next time” Hearing your voice for the first time made his heart pound uncomfortably against his chest

Everything about you was perfect. He gulped, knowing if he opened his mouth he would ruin the moment. Sticking to only nodding his head and grabbing the football from you as you gave him a sweet sickening smirk, a glint in you that he caught before you placed your sunglasses back on.

You laid back down on your front with ease, your boobs slotting into the holes in the sand you made to fit them perfectly.

Jake began to walk away, trying to get his mind off of you but it was impossible, not after seeing you so up to close even hearing your voice before any of the others.

You made his mind too fuzzy to think properly that he spontaneously turned his heel and walked back towards you, calling out to get your attention.

You raised your head up again and he could feel your questioning gaze through your glasses towards him but he pushed past that as he held the football out to you.

“Wanna come play with us?”

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Now what Jake meant by if you wanted to play with them consisted of you throwing the football back and forth every now and then but mainly for you to just hang around and talk with them.

He didn’t expect to have you sucking the life out of him, his head thrown back as he held back whines by how easily you took all of him in your mouth. Jay who you were sitting in between of his legs had your swimsuit bottoms pushed to the side as his fingers were buried deep inside your dripping wet core.

Heeseung and Sunghoon huddle over you, silently watching the scene before them. It was something straight of a porn video but instead it being through a video, it was happening in real life and to them.

“F-fuck, y-you’re such a good girl. Taking all of me in your mouth” Jake groaned as you continued to bop up and down his shaft in a haste, as your mouth vibrated around him from the curling of Jay’s finger deep inside you

“She’s no good girl” Jay spat as his fingers pumped in and out of you and he smirked wildly feeling you clenching around his fingers, you whined around Jake’s cock, feeling your stomach tightening and Jay could feel you getting closer to your orgasm

He hastily continued to glide his two plunged fingers deeper and faster into you causing you to be a moaning mess. “Continue sucking him off, he didn’t come yet” Jay slipped out his fingers that ripped you away from your orgasm only to slap your pussy harshly making you jolt

You could feel the tears building up in your eyes as spit formed in the corner of your mouth as you tried to continue sucking Jake’s cock after having your orgasm ripped from you.

“You’ll let me use your pretty mouth right?” Jake let out almost like a plea as you weekly nodded and that was all Jake needed before he was holding the back of your head as his hips slammed against your face to chase his own release

You gurgled out chokes as you felt him deep into your throat, his heavy balls slapping your chin from his fast thrust as he fucked you like you were nothing more than just a toy for him. “Your mouth is absolutely perfect” He panted, feeling the build up in his stomach coming closer and closer

Jay who was circling your folds together, smirked seeing how you let Jake use you and he decided to be the second nice one out of the bunch and reward you. His slipped his fingers back into your gaping hole and you strained out a weak gasp, your oxygen levels dropping as you were filled from two holes.

“Taking what I give you so well” Jay hummed satisfied how you easily took his fingers back in, as if they were meant to always be buried in you

“Fuck!” Jake shouted as he stilled his thrust and his warm seed shot down your throat making sure he dumped everything in to have you swallow

He gave a few more shallow thrust before finally pulling away from your mouth with a pop, his lips shivering from the sudden hit of cold air on his wet warm cock. He weakly looked to you to see your dazed out expression, weak moans falling from your lips as Jay continued to slam his fingers into you.

Jake cooed seeing you cupping your face with his hands and rubbed his thumbs against them to ease you. You let out wet strained noises as Jake remained eye contact with you.

“Let go on his fingers” Jake’s soft voice sent jolts into your body and straight down to your stretched out hole

Those words caused you to clamp down harshly on Jay’s fingers as his other free hand found your swollen clit and harshly rubbed it. You squealed as you clawed onto Jake’s body who carefully held you.

“Give it to me” Jay sneered as the stimulation was making you see stars but alongside of the usual build up in your stomach, you felt something else

You shook your head violently, realizing what he was trying to draw out of you. You tried to get away from Jay’s protruding fingers but Jake kept you in your place to continue sucking in Jay’s fingers

You screamed as the gush of stream shot out of you, drowning Jay’s finger, your swimsuit bottom and Jay’s lower body in your release. His fingers slipped out of you and messily rubbed away at your gushing hole, encouraging more of your release to burst out of you.

Your body jerked into Jake as he held you tightly, watching the scene in pure awe. He was going to need that moment tattooed into his brain.

“Shit that was so hot” Jay panted as you shivered violently from the high you were in as your body fell limped against theirs

Jay soothed your bum with his hand as if to tell you ‘good job’.

You could feel your body spent but it was far from over.

“Alright move it’s our turn” You faintly made out a voice through the ringing of your ear, you suddenly felt your body tussled from one to another with ease

You gasped and through the haze of your eyes, you looked to recognize Sunghoon, the first guy you saw on the beach.

“Hoon are you sure she can handle it? Look at her” Jake shoved his softened self back into his trunks as he pointed out your dazed expression and Sunghoon smirked before taping the side of your face with his hand

He smirked to your dazed expression as you stared at him with your teared filled eyes, “Of course she can, she’ll be good to us after all, won’t you?” Your hole clenched around nothing hearing the words thrown to you

You let out a whimper when you felt your swimsuit bottom be pulled the side once again but this time by Heeseung as he watched your closing and opening hole. “So fucking pretty”

“Don’t even think about it” Sunghoon warned as he noticed Heeseung taking in your glistening core with hungry eyes

Heeseung peered away from you to his friend surprised as he saw a stern look on Sunghoon’s face. “I saw her first, she’s mine” He slight shoved Heeseung away from you causing your swimsuit bottom to slip from his hand and snap against you making you squeal

“Shh it’s okay, gonna make it all feel good” Sunghoon whispered in your ear before suddenly pushing you into their poorly held blanket

You had your face down being able to feel the snow underneath the blanket against your face as your ass was raised high to be displayed.

All of sudden like a bunch of seagulls, all his friend flocked around as Sunghoon pulled your bottom to the side to catch glimpse of your dripping self. The moment was embarrassing, having four guys stare directly at your exposed self like it was the best thing to ever exist(to them it was).

Sunghoon’s quickly brought his trunks down just enough to have his harden cock spring out before he protruded it into your hole not wanting to waste anymore time that prevented him from feeling the paradise he knew you were. “Fu-Fuck Jay you didn’t prep her for shit! She’s still so fucking tight”

“How come you’re the first one to fuck her?!” Jay shouted as you struggled to take Sunghoon in your hole, gasping because it was true, you weren’t nearly prepared enough to take him

“Because I saw her first” Sunghoon grunted as he was finally able to bottom out, the grip on him almost made him cum right then and there as you panted by how full you felt

Yet, you didn’t have enough time to get used to his size stretching you out as he suddenly started to slam his hips to you. Your body was sent deeper into the blanket as you gasped loudly, feeling the sand underneath your hand as you clawed at the blanket for leverage.

Your whines soon became louder as Sunghoon sent a smack to the side of your ass loudly. “Sucking me in so good like you were made for this shit”

Your mouth fell slacked, moans, whimpers and babbles mixed together as your back was being blown out by Sunghoon.

His tip soon found the bundle of nerves in you that made your fall completely apart of his cock, “That’s right, fall apart of my cock- Just like that-“

You felt dizzy, the wind was getting knocked out of you by each of his harsh thrust, lead by primal need to fill you up.

“Gonna milk my cock? Going to be good and take everything I give you?” Sunghoon gruntled out as he could feel the knot forming in his stomach daring to snap

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” You answered to his question, not having a full comprehension of what was being said but what you wanted was to milk him of everything he’s got

Sunghoon muttered multiple ‘fucks’ as his pace became brutal chasing the high, the way you tightened around him, the way that you kept sucking him back in when he tried to get even as little a more than midway away from you to slam his cock back into you.

Your hole gripped him like it never wanted him to leave as the wave of pleasure finally crashed down on you as you let out a loud moan as you came all over him. Sunghoon smirked and sent another smack to your ass, you whined loudly as his thrust finally started slowing down with grip on your hip that you knew there was no way there weren’t bruises left behind.

Sunghoon’s warm seed painted your velvet walls white, as he groaned, “So fucking good”

You whimpered as his twitching cock slipped out of you. He was covered in his and your release and he watched how his cum oozed out of you. Fuck he loved it so much.

“Out of my way Sunghoon” Heeseung shoved his friend to the side who tripped over his feet, “I drove over here, it’s only fair that I get to go second” Heeseung explained, excited to finally be getting in on the action after being deprived unlike his friends who at least did something with you

“Nu uh Hee” Heeseung felt a hand on his shoulder as he was pulled back to have Jay squeeze through behind you instead of him, “I’m the one driving back, I deserved to go second”

Heeseung mouth fell slack and the tent in his trunks twitched in desperation need as it realized that it was going to continue being deprived of relief.

Jay on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to rip out his aching self into his hand and gave a few stroke to himself, he saw how Sunghoon’s release came out of you and he felt the need to replace it with his own.

Your broken out noises turned into another loud gasp as you felt an even larger of a stretch by Jay who struggled to slip into you. “All about talking shit Sunghoon- Fuck!-But you didn’t even loosen her enough for me” Jay gruntled as your hole tried to get accustomed to the wider stretch

“O-oh my-“ You clawed harder onto the blanket as the stretch was almost too much for you to handle and Jay took notice of that

He cooed as he rubbed up and down your back, forcing yourself to arch even more for him, “Taking two cocks back to back huh?” He sneered as he tried to remain his usual composure as he moved painfully slow

You whined as you moved your hips to meet with his slow thrust and Jay smirked wildly seeing you were starting to fuck yourself on him.

Jay stopped his thrusting and let you do all the work. You weakly slammed your lower half against him trying to build up the pleasure lingering in your stomach. Jay’s hand rubbed your back as he watched his cock barely disappear inside of you from how shallow you were fucking yourself.

“Come on, you can go faster than that. Don’t you wanna come again?” Jay snarked and he could feel the pure desperation in your movements for him to take over

But he wasn’t going to take going to give you what you wished for. If you wanted him, you needed to prove that you do.

“Please” You begged, your hips not meeting his in the same fast pace you wished for, “Pl-please” Fresh tears spilled from your eyes

“Please what, I need words”

“Please fuck me, I’ll be good- Just please!” The scene before Jay was pathetic

“Never met such a cock hungry girl before, better take all I give you” And with that Jay snapped his hips hard to meet yours half wall causing you let out a loud moan

Jay didn’t have to time to waste, his fingers left indents right next to Sunghoon’s on your hip. “Tightest pussy ever” Jay groaned as all you could do was have your mouth open wide by the sheer stretch he gave your hole

You’ve never been this stretched out before and it made your mind turn into mush. “Letting random guys fuck you on the beach, what if someone were to come and see?” Your hole clenched harder at the thought and Jay smirked, letting out a stifle laugh, “You like knowing that anyone could see you right now”

Your moans and sounds of skin slapping filled the beach as the waves crashed against the shore, the wetness not being able to match the wetness that gushed and stained your hole and Jay’s ramming cock.

His thrust only remained sloppy, his heavy balls slapping against your ass making you coat him in your release as you let out an obscene whine, “Perfect pussy” Jay praised as he felt you grip onto him that even almost forcing him out if it wasn’t for him continuing his raging pace.

“Al-almost there- Shit!” Jay thrust shot your body deeper and deeper, the overstimulation make your eyes roll to the back of your head wondering just how you were able to be in this position

Jay was brutal, merely using you for his own pleasures and it soon came for him as his thrust only got messier until his warm seed coated your already mixed velvet and white walls with his own release. He gave a few harsh thrust deep inside you to push his cum deeper than Sunghoon’s wanting to have his mark in you deeper than the others.

He groaned loudly, feeling the way you gripped him making sure you took everything he gave you without a single thing falling out. When he pulled out, Jay quickly shoved his fingers deep inside you to hold his cum in your hole. You squeaked feeling the replacement of his cock with his fingers. “Gotta make sure it stays in there”

You wailed feeling how your hole fluttered around his large fingers in you and how he would pump them slowly giving the excuse that there was some falling out and he couldn’t have you leaking.

However, there was a tap on Jay’s shoulder and he looked to see Jake who had a softer look in his eyes than him and Sunghoon, “Let me take care of her you assholes” Jake told as he motioned for his friend to move, seeing your fucked out expression and red filled with white hole

Jay scoffed as he harshly removed his fingers from you, seeing how it was coated beautifully by you. He admired his fingers before delivering a light smack followed by a few faint taps against your sore core making your shudder loudly.

Jake ushered his friend to move and Jay rolled his eyes, stuffing himself back into the restraints of his swimming trunks before finally letting his other friend have you.

Jake could feel the betrayal gaze on him and he knew Heeseung wanted to go next, badly too. But Jake saw the way Jay and Sunghoon had used you and that he needed to step in and treat you the way you should be treated for, like the gifted paradise you were for them.

“Hey it’s okay, I actually got you” Instead of continuing your position and having your face down and ass up, Jake carefully flipped your sensitive body around to have you facing him

The sunlight blinded your eye sight, your chest rising and falling from how heavy you were breathing but you could feel the pairs of hungry eyes on you as you laid sprawled in front of them, your dazed out expression, your fluttering hole that leaked the releases that it held. You looked perfect in their eyes.

And Jake was going to make sure you knew just how precious and perfect you are.

Instead of diving straight into your hole with his aching hard on, he wanted to treat you. Jake slotted himself in between you, raising your legs over his shoulder, his breathing fanning over your wet core, he gave butterfly kisses on your inner thigh as he traveled down further and further until he finally made contact with your wet heat.

You gasped, the overstimulation started to overwhelm you but Jake soothed your body with his warm hands, trying to help calm your jolting self.

As he gave open kisses, through the haze of stimulation, yours hands ached to tangle in his hair, his tongue gliding with ease as he buried himself in the sweet venom of you. His nose rubbing against your clit perfectly which finally made you finally claw at his hair. Jake groaned feeling your hands tangle with his already messy fluffy hair and that sent shivers running through as it added beautifully to the sensation of his mouth.

“Taste so sweet” Jake blabbed, “So fucking good, so addicting”

Jake continued to eat you out, his tongue teasing your entrance as his lips worked its wonders on you. The dazed feeling of his open mouth to it closing, sucking everything that was coming out of you. Jake could get lost in you and he was.

The way you tasted, the way he had you arching your back, your hands pulling against his hair as he could feel you closing in on his tongue, this was what Jake strived to forever be in.

Your mewls encouraged him further and right when you could feel the same build up in the stomach that you didn’t even know you could bring out again, Jake disconnect his mouth from you.

You closed your eyes whining how your orgasm was ripped away from you and you lazily looked to Jake who was panting heavily, the bottom of his face smeared with his own spit, your mixed arousals, as he stared at your desperate self. He leaned in once more to give a kiss on your swollen clit before raising his body to clash with yours.

You felt how Jake pressed himself against you as he softly whispered in your ear, “I’m sorry angel, need you to come on my cock instead” He placed a kiss on the side of your face, making your heart twist feeling the wet sensation on your face which it soon melted you as you feel his guided intrusion stretching you out a second later

You gripped his shoulders as he buried himself in the crock of your neck, his thrust allowing him to ease in more and more, his tip pushed further into you as his thrust were desperate but slow. Jake gripped your sides when he was able to find the pace that allowed him and you to feel even more than how you already were with each other, “Such a beautiful angel” His praises made your insides turn mushy as you let yourself get used to the tender side kisses and touches left by Jake

His buried cock slipping in and out of you with a growing pace and you started to feel how he was losing his sense of direction as he started to snap his hips faster into you, “Absolutely perfect- How can you be so- F-fuck” Jake felt your tightening hold on his cock as you wrapped your arms over his shoulder, your chest meshed with his and he shattered feeling the very mounds that he couldn’t get his mind off ever since he saw them

Jake’s hand grabbed your breast in his hand to squeeze like a personal stress ball as his body was succumbing to you. The touch to your sensitive mound made you shake as he only thrusted into you at his quick pace, “I’m- I’m gonna come-” Jake whined as he placed harsh kisses against you neck almost immediately finding your sweet spot which made you break

Just as you gripped him tighter, you felt the twitch of his cock as his thrust were growing frantic for his release, his hot breathe in your ear with endless praises, the hold on your boob growing tighter as the thrust into you were finally becoming sharp thrusts.

His spurts shot inside of you which prompted your own release as yours and Jake’s mixed pleasure came together, coating each other in your releases.

You shivered feeling the new load in your already full stomach, Jake’s pants filled your ears and he continued to place the kisses all of your chest and collarbone, “You did so good angel, the best ever” Jake tried to soothe your shivering self as you heavily panted, closing your eyes, allowing yourself to get used to the warmth of his body with you but that was taken away from you as you felt Jake achingly pull himself out of you

You felt the emptiness once again as he planted a kiss to your worn out knee, a sign of affection before leaving your sore body on the blanket, your expression too far beyond any comprehension.

Jake didn’t want to leave you, wanting to continue relishing in your warmth that engulfed him but he couldn’t be selfish, not when he knew that there was someone else, his own friend who’s been patiently waiting long enough.

When Heeseung realized it was finally his turn, the weight on his shoulder felt heavier instead of lighter, he stared at you with a crazed expression knowing he had to go out with a bang.

You body still shuddering trying to come down from your high and the new addition of release inside of you. You closed your eyes trying to catch you breath when suddenly you felt your weak legs be spread open and you shot your eyes open to see Heeseung staring at your messy sticky hole coated with his friends and yours release. His unreadable expression made your heart hammer against your chest, your mind too fucked out to even try and attempt to see what was going through his head.

Yet, the only thing that coursed through his head was the thought and determination to completely fill you up to the brim.

You exposed on full display for him made him let out a dopey smile before diving his face right into you. Feeling the stride of Heeseung’s tongue on you made you squeal as you blabbed that you couldn’t take anymore, the overstimulation hazed your senes, it being too much for you.

But you could feel the smirk against your core as Heeseung gave it a few kisses and harsh pulls with his teeth making you yelp loudly.

“Come on, you have one more cock to take” Heeseung laughed as he pulled away, his thumb rubbing over your core before lightly intruding it but just as quickly as he gave you that taste, he ripped it away from you

You pathetically let out a whine even though you were complaining you couldn’t take anymore, “Shh it’s okay, I know what you want. Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you” And just like that without a moment wasted, Heeseung pulled himself out, smearing his tip filed with precum with your mess before lightly intruding your hole with his tip that slipped in with ease thanks to his friend’s and yours mixed arousal

You threw your head back into the depths of the blanket feeling the sand that was molded to you head by how much you were pressed onto it. Heeseung soon pushed his tip painfully slower into you and the stretch and his length made your mind go on overdrive and there were no more thoughts in your head. Just thinking about the paradise beach guys.

“Yo-You’re taking me so well..- Shit! You actually are perfect” Heeseung grumbled, feeling himself get lost in you by the sheer amount of pleasure you were giving him

After hearing how well you’ve been taking them, it soared your dark ego as you continued to bathe in the degradation and praises you were receiving for being just so good to them.

He didn’t allow himself to bottom out, wanting to start now rather than later as he’s been the only one deprived for so long unlike his friends. Your body melted into the more easy pace, seeming like he wanted to take his time with you, to have his cock memorize your insides and see which thrust would be able to have you see stars and crumble just for him.

Heeseung’s hands soothed your aching hips as his pelvis would meet yours with slow but harsh thrust, it made your sealed breast to move within the restraints of your swimsuit and Heeseung wasn’t having any of it. He bundled up the top of your swimsuit before yanking it down to release your held breast to witness the beauty of them bouncing with each of his thrust.

The sight of it made his pace stutter and one of his hand gripped your right one, his left hand holding your waist to continue his deep thrust into you. His fingers played with your perky harden nipples which made your body jump, shaking your head as you felt the overstimulation of the sensation mess with your soul.

He pinched your nipple hard when he finally found the spot needed that made you squeal, muttering how you couldn’t possibly take anymore. The tip of his cock kissing your insides perfectly and he darkly chuckled hearing your babbles.

“You can take it- You‘ll take it like the good girl you are” Heeseung’s deep and calculated thrust into you made sure of it, you were going to give him another one and you were going to take what he gives you

Your mind already mushy, you only nodded in acceptance. You knew your babbles weren’t true. You would take what he gives you just like how he said you would. Your cries and moans mixed with the crashing waves of the ocean.

Your hands found the wrist of his hand that continued to pull and pinch your nipple as he simultaneously matched his thrust with the pull your already hard nipple. Your face scrunched harshly from your senses being thrown away as your ears rung, only hearing the waves crashing against the shore.

And right when a large wave crashed, so did you.

You clamped down harshly on Heeseung, who groaned at the sensation of you tightening around him and he lost control as he started to slam his hips into you in order to chase his own high. Your soft moans soon grew louder as ‘uhs’ left your mouth, your boobs bouncing faster.

“S-shit, gonna take me for all I’m worth” Heeseung spat and you only chanted ‘yes’ nonstop until one final harsh thrust lead to the emptying of his balls filled of him to litter your hole with his release.

And just like his promise, he filled you to the brim that it was almost impossible to know if you would ever stop leaking after being pumped so full of cum. Your body too tired and spent as you closed your eyes and heaved heavily trying to come back from the heavy trance they left you in. Heeseung pulled out and all of the friends gathered around to watch your hole leaking out of all of their release alongside yours.

You were the perfect paradise sent their way in order to experience what summer is supposed to truly be like.

Sunghoon who held a marker in hand used his mouth to bite the cap off throwing it off somewhere into the sand as he walked over to your spent self, carefully picking up you aching leg which made you shiver and he rubbed his thumb in a calming matter, smirking at the scene before bringing the marker on your skin.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

You looked down to your littered body, seeing the faint dried up splotches of cum that you didn’t know who it belonged to, the faint indents of their fingers left on your hips.

But what made your heart hammer to your chest were the four phone numbers on your body. Your left forearm having Jake’s number with a small ‘:)’ next to his name.

Jay writing his number on the back of your hand as it trailed to the bone of your wrist with just ‘J’ next to it. While Heeseung wrote down his number on the back of you calf which you had to take a picture of in order to properly see the number and the small ‘Hee’ he added with a dash next to it

While Sunghoon wrote his number in crevice on your inner thigh that was close to your fucked out hole from all that it was put through. But along with Sunghoon’s name with his number he wrote a simple note next it.

‘Call us’

The beach was indeed a paradise like its names as it now held the best memory to date of the perfect summer for all five of you.

——

[thewanderingkaya]

through depths and the shadows of adversity .

pairing: teen!gojo x reader

summary: your bond with Satoru has an intricate history together, starting from the former years in Jujutsu High.. 

wordcount: 1.6K 

a/n: g/n reader, I love teen Gojo, and I love friends to lovers, so why not combine the two?  this doesn’t have any suggestive just reader and teen satoru bullying each other. I feel like it shows a stronger and more intimate bond. this is mainly about the relationship and funny little shenanigans gojo and reader go through. Live laugh love high school sweethearts <3 

dividers : @vesearartistry

TEEN GOJO who pranks anyone and everyone in Jujutsu High, including you. Giggling as he crouches by the corridor; ready to observe your pitiable fate. Poor you falling victim to his stunts, stepping out of your room freshly showered and clean, that is until you step across the threshold. Water collected ina  bucket from - as you could guess - the ditches douses your hair, trickling down your shoulders as your frame freezes up. Your ears are pierced with cackles of laughter, looking over to spot the little nuisance responsible for this practical joke. White tufts of hair bouncing as he snickered away. Your response - simply the most mature thing to do - slip a few insects with one too many limbs into his pillowcase. Shrieking with laughter as you heard satoru’s own shrieks with pure horror, followed by thuds and unnerving crashes. The next morning, your sight is blessed with a mattress and a bed frame strewn about in the hallway, a very suspiciously bed-shaped hole in the wall of Satoru’s dorm room.

TEEN GOJO who slams the door to your room open without a care in the world, his stride unnaturally purposeful. You whipping your head around, battle ready, just to see a dumbass dramatically checking your shelf of trinkets. Unbothered by your presence as he snatches your possessions from the shelf. Shuffling through your personal collection of books, picking them out as if in a public library. Satoru strolls out of your room satisfied, his arms cradling several of your belongings. Leaving you staring at the door, wide-eyed with bewilderment.

TEEN GOJO who constantly flicks your forehead no matter where you are, staring at the blackboard as Yaga explained the consequences of overexertion in battle, practicing your cursed techniques in the courtyard, bickering in an abandoned building as you scout out a special grade… Managing to swerve and dodge inexhaustible attacks of First Grade cursed spirit you were able to maim quite competently.. Preparing yourself to land a killing strike, your engrossment in the battle was ruptured. A perfect circular cavity was present in the cursed spirit’s body, making its remaining flesh a simple hollow shell. Your eyes rounded as you peered straight through the sizable hole, a pair of blue eyes glimmering with complacency stared back at you through the corpse; now collapsed to the ground in a flourish of dust particles. Your mouth hung open as he made his way to you, the swagger in satoru’s pace made you grit your teeth. A frown pulled on your features as you stared up at the giraffe standing before you; a smug grin tugged on his lips and hands placed nonchalantly in his pockets. Your mouth flung open to scold him when you were interrupted; a forceful and sharp pain in your forehead made you flinch. You stared at him, baffled. He had flicked you. The twig fingered bastard stole your final blow and then flicked you. 

TEEN GOJO, who finds it unfortunate that your sense of emotional development hasn’t matured either. Every time the scamp would flick your head with his boney fingers, you stooped down to his level, reaching up to him to give him a taste of his own medicine. Only for him to veer from your vengeful attack. You made do with punching him in the gut every time he violated your poor forehead. Most times when you get caught up in your dispute, it compromises your mission. Earning a strong scolding and punishment from Yaga. 

TEEN GOJO who would constantly wear your clothes, prancing around campus pretending to be you. You would walk into a room and look up to see a sight to behold. Satoru flailing and mocking you with overzealous facial expressions, a high-pitched voice to top it off. You just stand there in the doorway as he performs for Suguru and Shoko, their giggles evaporate as they caught sight of your boiling fury. It takes satoru longer than it should have to notice his audience’s sudden silence, and even longer for him to turn around. When he does he does it with a flourish, halting in his tracks as he locks eyes with yours. Suguru and Ieiri take their leave swiftly as your hands balled up into fists. Not long after, satoru could be seen trailing you - or should I say being dragged by the ear - half naked, your clothes disheveled, assuringly ripped straight from his body. 

TEEN GOJO who would use his infinity every time you tried to hit him, he learned the hard way how hard your blows are. He turns his infinity on subconsciously, often forgetting he has such a power, or fearing your deadly blows and might would shatter her infinity somehow. Every time you try to hit satoru, he lets out a deafening shriek, almost inhumane. The first time he did it was during a class ridden with silence, satoru tiptoed from behind you, plotting to tip your chair back. A squeal made everybody turn around, beheld with the sight of satoru on the ground, hands up in frightened defense, and you on top of him, your chair held high over your head. He can never outlive that embarrassment of a moment. 

TEEN GOJO who would make unnecessary and stupid scenarios at the most random times. Including the less convenient times too. It annoyed not just you, but everyone else too. Satoru would scan the elders facial expressions contort as he asked about the effects of cursed energy during, uh… A mischievous grin appearing on his face as well as slowly appearing on yours. Respect for higher powers wasn’t Satoru’s strong suit, neither was it yours, although you knew when to shut up.. Satoru on the other hand obviously did not. You couldn’t count the number of times you shoved a hysterical satoru with your elbow - multiple times in fact - as a quite stoic elder stood before you. Yet he wouldn’t shut up, until Masamichi gave you both punishment. 

TEEN GOJO who would be weirdly affectionate to you. Coming up behind you and laying his head on yours, casually flopping onto the couch that you were sitting on laying his feet or his head on your lap as if you were merely a part of the sofa, leaning on your shoulder whenever he gets tired of standing. You could call it a blessing, until you had to deal with a lanky piece of dead weight on your back, or bring mercilessly dragged everywhere as repercussion from the leverage he has over you - with his height, leverage over everybody..

TEEN GOJO who would boast and jeer when you got injured, him being nearly untouchable only encouraged his nuisance behavior. He would be walking past the infirmary dangerously slow, purposefully and noisily gloating about how he didn’t earn a scratch on that mission. You just stared holes into the strongest with an unamused roll of your eyes. Satoru pretended not to notice you, snickering as he kept crowing down the hallway.

TEEN GOJO and you who would provoke each other with ultimatums - one would call it childish games. Who can chug the most sake without passing out? Who can take down the most cursed spirits in a limited amount of time? Who can make it from one side of Jujutsu campus to the other without touching the ground or roof? The latter would end up with destroyed walls, startled staff, and a very disappointed and exhausted principal. But none of it ever created a rift between you too, but it developed your chemistry. Competitive delinquency at its finest. 

TEEN GOJO who - you never thought would - listens to all your stories and every thought you had to share. Remembering even the littlest things that you forgot about yourself. Years of information accumulated in his head, down to your specific moods that made you fancy certain things. You always thought he tuned you out, or at least didn’t care about what you had to say. After all, your friendship was built off of bullying and smart remarks. You didn’t mind anyhow, you weren’t expectant of that. His mind always seemed busy, yet he recalls the feelings and opinions you had about foods, tv shows, behaviors. It baffled you every time he made a quick remark or joke you just had to stop and stare. 

TEEN GOJO who would drag you outside, far away from campus borders in the middle of the night. His hand seizing yours with a grip that makes it hard for you to believe that you could ever let go.. Not that you would ever want to. He takes you to an abandoned park, clear from cursed spirits in which he annihilated before hand, grass and other shrubbery peeking through cracks in the concrete, moss scattered across paths where residents once tread. He led you up a hill and into a clearing, pale moonlight poured into the open glade where a destroyed building had opened up and shrouded over with green, a sight to remember.. That night you didn’t get a second of sleep. Exploring the buildings and making quips at each other, only finally resting on the meadow when the moon departed and the sun bathed the surface. 

TEEN GOJO who after a long day, makes himself at home in your room, always seemingly searching for your presence. Helps himself to your cash of snacks hidden behind a cabinet while you’re asleep, he knows you keep a variety of his favourite sweet treats for him like you knew he would be rummaging through the stash. He finds comfort in simply lying with you, whether you are conscious or not, cracking jokes or having deep conversations. Satoru’s arms crossed, propping his head up to stare at the ceiling, his head turns to you. He notices the way your features fall as they sit relaxed, how peaceful your breathing pattern is. Soon, his eyelids feel heavy and he falls asleep with you, arm draped across your shoulders and his snores jumbled with yours.

© thewanderingkaya 2025, please do not copy, credit any of my work, or reupload or translate to other platforms.

[w2soneshots]

neeeeed a george make up sex fic 🤤

Make up, make out -George clarkey

words: 2.0k+

warnings: smut (with plot), unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple positions, lots of dirty talk, angst with a happy ending, Chris is adorable as per, George is a self aware king.

summary: you and your boyfriend, George, get into an argument. You spend the day apart and when he returns home, it turns out all that was needed to resolve it was a quick conversation and some good old make up sex.

notes: hello angels! I made this to celebrate hitting one thousand followers, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for being here🥹💞. I’m crushing hard on George atm so I needed to get this out of my system🙂‍↕️. I hope you enjoy!!❤️‍🔥✨🫶🏼

Not often did you and George argue. When you did it was for something stupid and was quickly resolved with an apology from whoever was in the wrong. This morning was different.

Let's go back to the beginning... you and George met in a bar. He spit his drink all over your dress, went extremely red out of embarrassment, apologised profusely and then offered you his jumper. You fell for him right then and there.

At around seven this morning you were woken up to the sound of the shower turning on. It made its usual loud gurgling sound as the water made its way through the pipes. You groaned into your pillow and tried to fall back asleep.

To no avail, you grabbed your phone and began absentmindedly scrolling through instagram. George opened the ensuite door a few minutes later, wearing just a white towel wrapped around his hips. "Oh, hey babe. Why're you awake?" He asked with confusion as he dried his hair with a smaller towel.

You signed. "Shower woke me up," you muttered back sleepily. He sat on the side of the bed. "Shit, sorry." You pushed yourself up so that you were leaning against the headboard. "Why're you awake?" You asked, head cocked to the side.

"The sidemen are filming a video and needed a guest last minute, since the other guy dropped out," he explained. You furrowed your brows."George?" "Hm?" "Did you forget about our date?" You asked, arms now crossed over your chest.

His eyes widened, it'd completely slipped his mind. "Uhh-" "Oh come on!" You threw the duvet back and stood. "I'm sorry love, I forgot- I- I'll make it up to you," he scrambled, standing to match you.

You lowered your voice after taking a deep breath. "You said that last week," you replied, defeated. "I-" he began but you were quick to cut him off. "Have fun at your shoot, I'll cancel our reservation."

He reached out to you but you threw your hands up and took a step back. "No, no. It's fine!" You snapped before turning and going to the living room to 'sleep' on the couch.

George signed before cursing quietly under his breath. He contemplated cancelling but ultimately decided against it. He then continued to get ready and was gone within half an hour.

Silent tears trickled down your face as you heard the front door close. You were angry. He'd blew you off to film a few too many times and you were tired of it. You wanted him to take opportunities and aspire for more, but when it meant spending your day alone because he had to cancel, you obviously weren't happy about it.

"y/n?" Chris' voice sounded through the living room. You sniffed and quickly wiped your face. "Mhm?" Was all that you could manage without your voice cracking. He walked closer and sat at the end of the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Why're you sleeping on the couch?" He asked, confused, "did George steal all the covers again?" I breathed out an amused laugh. "He left, for a shoot," you responded, sitting up properly. "Oh, right."

We sat there in a slightly awkward silence for a moment before he got up. "Uhm... do you need anything? A blanket?" He asked sweetly. Bless him. You smiled softly up at him. "I'm okay. Thank you. I'm gonna go back to bed now anyway," you replied before standing up. "Ah, okay. Sleep well."

You parted ways and went back to your respective rooms. Living with Chris and Arthur is something you didn't think you'd like as much as you do. You moved in a few months ago and, thankfully, fit right in.

You decided, instead of spending the day moping around the apartment, that you'd ask Shannon if she wanted to go get some lunch and do some shopping (the best therapy). She was quick to text you back with an enthusiastic yes.

As you sat on the rooftop terrace of a pub, the sun shining down on you while you sipped away at your drinks, she let you rant on about how frustrating your morning had been. Since her and Chris had broken up you'd stayed in good contact and actually gotten quite close.

"I get it. It's not selfish to want a little attention from your boyfriend, that's just relationships. Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Sometimes men need it to be spelled out, for them to understand," she advised you with a calm smile.

"God. You give the best advice," you replied with a sigh. She chuckled and before you could continue, your food came. "Let's talk about something else. I'll deal with everything later."

You had a nice day and Shannon managed to distract you enough for you to enjoy yourself. You said your goodbyes and she gave you a firm hug before whispering, "talk to him. He loves you. You'll be fine." Which reassured you immensely, though you were still slightly dreading the upcoming conversation.

When you got back to the apartment Arthur and Chris were on their way out. They explained quickly that they were meeting some of the other boys for drinks and wouldn't be back until late. You bid them goodbye and then went into your room to get unready since you just wanted to feel comfortable.

The creek of the front door opening an hour later made your breath hitch in your throat. George's footsteps rung through the apartment as he slowly approached your bedroom.

You stood in the bathroom, finishing off your skincare routine after you'd just removed your makeup. "Hey," he began cautiously, leaning against the doorway.

You continued to look in the mirror, keeping your eyes on your face. "Where's the others?" He asked, voice still soft and quiet. He was acting as if you were a deer that would bolt at any minute. "Out for drinks. Surprised you didn't join them," you replied plainly, as you picked up your lip balm and began applying some to your lips.

He sighed, he knew you had every right to be annoyed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, head hung low. You turned your body to look at him. "What was that?" You asked, sounding a little meaner than you meant to. His eyes met yours and he stepped closer.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I love you so much and I haven't been showing that recently, but I do. I love you more than anything. You're the best thing that's ever happen to me and- and I don't want to lose you. I promise I'll try harder. Just please, please forgive me?" His voice was slightly horse and his eyes were full of despair.

It took you a second to process what he'd just said. It was exactly what you needed to hear and -as usual- he'd somehow known what you were thinking.

"God," you breathed, in disbelief, "as if you could get any better. I just wanted to be with you- spend time with you. Of course I forgive you. I love you, you big idiot." He laughed quietly, nodded and wrapped his arms tightly around your torso. You both let out a breath of relief when your bodies met.

As you stood there, your worries long gone, all of the things that had just come out of his mouth caught up to you and you realised that you were... turned on?

"George?" You whispered, voice husky. "Hm?" He hummed back. You moved back, not so much that your body's parted, but just enough so you could meet his eyes.

You stared into each other's souls for a moment before, at the exact same time, you leaned forward and connected your lips.

All of the built up emotions from the day made for a deep and desperate kiss that ignited a fire in your stomach. You were all over each other; his warm hands running from your hips, to your waist, to your lower back, while yours raked messily through his fluffy hair.

"The apartment's empty," you managed to mumble through kisses, "we can be as loud as we want." His arms tightened around your waist. "You have no idea the things you do to me darling," he whispered as he broke the kiss to pepper them around your jaw.

You leaned your head back with a breathy moan, giving him more access as your hand gripped onto his hair. "I," kiss. "love," kiss, "you," kiss. Oh my fucking god.

You wrapped your arms around his neck just as his hands gripped the back of your thighs. Like you weighed absolutely nothing, he lifted you off the ground and carried you into the bedroom.

He set you down on your bed carefully, your legs bent ether side of his hips. "Fuck me George. Please," you practically whimpered while reaching down and attempting to take his belt off.

"I've got you baby, I got ya'." He leant back to remove his shirt and undo the belt that you'd been struggling with moments earlier. You went to take off your top but he beat you to it.

It didn't take long until your clothes lay in a pile on the floor and you were both left in only your underwear. He leaned back down and connected your lips once again.

Slowly, he ground his clothed dick onto you and your mouth dropped open with a whine. "George..." at this point you were desperate, and he was teasing you. He let out a low chuckle before finally removing the remaining clothes separating you.

"Ready baby?" He asked softly. You were quick to nod. "Born ready," you replied breathlessly, voice showing how extremely sure you were.

He used one hand to put it in while the other reached for yours to intertwine your fingers, which is something he's done since the first time you had sex in your old apartment. You squeezed his hand tightly when he reached the hilt. "Oh mmm-"

"I'll never get over this feeling," he whispered into your ear, voice strained. "Move," you moaned in response. Didn't have to tell him twice.

The room filled with the lewd sounds of your bodies slapping together, your moans and George's soft grunts during each thrust. "Oh my god, George! Harder George, harder!" You screamed as his cock hit all the right places.

He loves the sounds you make, though there's usually a bit of teasing after the fact which you don't particularly enjoy but in the moment you genuinely couldn't care less.

His thrusts became sloppier and you knew that meant he was close, though you weren't quite ready for it to be over so... you wrapped your arms around his waist and flipped the both of you over.

He was surprised for a moment then looked up at you with raw attraction in his eyes. You'd, obviously, been on top before but had never done that and it was probably one of the sexiest things he'd ever witnessed.

You started using your legs to bounce up and down, hands finding his chest for support. His hands were quick to assist you by guiding your hips into his.

He watched you; head thrown back, tits bouncing and slightly frowning in pure bliss. All he could think was, "what the fuck did I do to deserve this angel."

He could tell you were close so he moved one of his big hands from your hip and pressed his thumb to your clit. Your legs moved quicker, you saw white and... snap.

George came just seconds after you. He grunted as your body fell forwards, landing on his chest as you caught your breath. He ran a hand through your hair and whispered, "we need to argue more often." Though, really, he never wanted to fall out with you again, but if you did... it'd always end with some unbelievable make up sex.

[v6quewrlds]

LOVE ME NOT, JUSTIN HERBERT.

pairing⠀⁎⠀justin herbert x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀3.3k.

summary⠀⁎⠀justin isn't a jealous guy. at least that's what he thinks until his girlfriend catches everyone's attention.

author's note⠀⁎⠀pouty, moody pisces men >>> warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut, oral (m. receiving), 3rd person (she/her)

"Sweetheart, can you grab the ketchup from the fridge?" Justin's voice carried over the sizzle of the grill, where the aroma of barbecue ribs filled the air.

She looked up from her conversation with Quentin and nodded with a warm smile. She stepped away from the chattering group, the coolness of the kitchen a welcome reprieve from the heat outside. Her eyes scanned the crowded countertop, searching for the condiment. The fridge door swung open, revealing a wall of beer, White Claws, and a lonely gallon of almond milk. She grabbed the ketchup and a few beers before heading back out to the party.

The yard buzzed with laughter, the crackle of the firepit, and the occasional clink of bottles as the team's end-of-season celebrations filled the backyard with both sound and light. She, ever the diligent host, circulated among the guests, making sure everyone had a plate piled with food and a drink in hand. Her bright smile and gentle voice eased the tension that often accompanied the hyper-masculine atmosphere, to the relief of the handful of partners that dotted the concrete nearest to the pool.

Her eyes searched for Justin, finding him in a huddle with a few of his teammates, his broad shoulders shaking with laughter at something one of the guys had said. The sight of him, so at ease and so obviously enjoying himself, filled her heart with joy. During the season, relaxation was a luxury that came in fleeting moments, and she reveled in the rare occasion where she could see him truly unwind. She approached with the ketchup and beers, setting the ketchup down on the table next to him before handing a beer to Ladd who stood nearby.

Justin watched out of the corner of his eye as she was pulled away again by a guest, a hand on her lower back guiding her to refill their drink. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes anymore, his jaw tightening as he returned his focus to the grill. The laughter around him seemed to fade into the background as he felt the warmth of his jealousy spread from his chest to his fingertips.

It was an odd, ugly feeling, one that didn't often rear its head in their relationship, but as she slipped away again, the pang of something unpleasant struck him. He knew he had no right to feel this way—she was being a fantastic host, after all—but he couldn't shake the feeling that he would much rather her be at his side. Between the way the others touched her arm, leaning in to hear her stories, and the way she lit up their faces with her welcoming aura, it was like a simmering burn in his chest. He knew it was irrational, but the more he saw her interact with his teammates, so far away from him, the more possessive he felt.

The party wound down as the night grew darker, and the guests started to trickle home. She moved around efficiently, her movements a little slower now as the exhaustion of the day began to show. Justin watched her, his mood growing heavier with each plate she cleared. It was only when they were almost alone, just the two of them and the last few stragglers, that he realized he hadn't had a real conversation with her in hours.

"Hey, let's grab the rest of the dishes," she suggested, her voice a little softer than it had been earlier. She looked over at him with a question in her eyes, noticing the tension he hadn't quite managed to hide.

Justin nodded, a forced smile plastered on his face as he turned off the grill and began to pack up the leftover food. Together, they brought the plates and cups into the kitchen, the clinking of silverware echoing through the room. She started to wash the dishes, and warm water and soap bubbles coated her hands. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes searching for any sign of what was really going on.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Justin's eyes met hers for a brief moment before he turned away to put the last of the clean plates into the cupboard with a little more force than necessary. "Yeah, just tired," he murmured, hoping she wouldn't see through the facade.

She frowned, her gaze lingering on his stiff posture. "You've been acting weird since everyone started leaving," she said, her voice low and concerned. "What's going on?"

Justin sighed, his hand pausing on the cupboard door. He turned to face her, his expression a mix of frustration and embarrassment. "It's nothing, babe. Don't worry about it," he said, his voice gruffer than he intended.

But she knew him better than that. She stepped closer, setting down the dish towel she had been holding. "Justin," she said gently, reaching out to touch his arm. "You're obviously upset about something. Is it something I did?"

He looked at her hand on his arm, the warmth of her touch penetrating the barrier he'd put up. "It's just..." he began, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words. "I don't know, I just... I saw how much attention you were giving everyone else tonight, and I guess I got a little possessive."

Her eyes widened, surprise and confusion flickering across her face. "Possessive?" she echoed. "Of what?"

Justin couldn't help the way his gaze roved over her, taking in her figure in the snug sundress she'd picked out for the occasion. "You looked amazing today," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Everyone couldn't take their eyes off of you. I just... I wanted you all to myself."

Her expression softened as she understood the root of his discomfort. She stepped closer, sliding her hand around his waist. "You know I only have eyes for you," she murmured, her head tilting back to study his tense expression. "You're the one I come home to, the one who makes me laugh until my stomach hurts."

Justin's gaze fell to her lips, his own mouth curving into a half-smile. "I know," he admitted, his arms wrapping around her in a loose embrace. "It's just... I don't know. It's dumb." Almost absentmindedly, he leaned down to kiss her, a soft brush of his lips against hers that spoke volumes.

She didn't miss the undercurrent of insecurity in his words. She knew that Justin's life was in the spotlight, where his every move was scrutinized and commented on. Maybe, in that moment, he felt like he was losing her, the only aspect of his life that was meant to be saved just for him, to the very people who had become his family. She reached up, placing her free hand on his cheek. "You're not being dumb," she whispered, her eyes searching his. "I'm yours, and I always will be."

"I know," Justin murmured, his eyes darkening with something more than just insecurity. He kissed her again, this time with more urgency, his hands gripping her hips firmly. She felt the kitchen counter dig into her thighs as he lifted her onto it, his body pressing against hers. Suddenly, all that mattered was the feel of him, his mouth on hers, his hands roaming over her body like he hadn't felt her in weeks instead of hours.

The kitchen around them grew hazy, the sounds of the night outside fading away as they lost themselves in the moment. Justin's kisses grew more demanding, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts, his thumbs grazing her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress. She gasped, her own hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Justin," she breathed out his name as his hands roamed, her body responding to his touch like a wildfire to dry grass. The dishes and the cleanup were forgotten as their kisses grew more intense, their need for each other burning away any shred of self-control they had left. "Let's go to the bedroom," she suggested, her voice low and urgent.

But Justin didn't move, his gaze dark and possessive. "I want you here," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, making her shiver. His hand slid up her thigh, the fabric of her dress riding up with it, revealing the soft edge of her underwear.

"Here?" she questioned, her voice breathy as his hand inched closer to the apex of her thighs. His warm hands yanked at the waistband of her panties, pulling them down just enough to expose her to the cool kitchen air.

"Here," he confirmed, his voice gruff with want. His hand found its way between her legs, his fingers stroking her in slow, deliberate circles that made her eyes roll back in her head. "I need to know that you're mine," he whispered against her skin, his teeth nipping at her earlobe. "That no one else gets to make you feel like this."

Her breath hitched as his fingers delved deeper, the sensation of his touch sending waves of pleasure through her. She couldn't suppress the moan that escaped her lips as he began to move more insistently, his thumb rubbing her clit in a steady rhythm that had her hips rocking against his hand.

"Oh," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. Her body was a live wire, every nerve ending alight with desire for him. She could feel the tension in his muscles as he held her against the counter, his own need palpable. His kisses grew more fervent, his tongue sliding into her mouth to tangle with hers as his other hand slipped under her dress to squeeze her plush thighs.

The kitchen lights cast a warm glow over them, their shadows dancing on the floor. Her legs parted wider, inviting him closer, her breaths coming in pants that matched the rhythm of his touch. She could feel the heat of him against her, his arousal pressing into her through his shorts. It was intoxicating, the way he claimed her so blatantly, so desperately.

"That's it," Justin groaned, his eyes dark with need as he watched her body respond to his touch. He stepped closer, the heat of his body searing hers as he slipped his fingers into her wetness. Her eyes closed, her head falling back as she let out a soft moan that seemed to echo in the quiet kitchen. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with appreciation.

He slid his fingers in and out of her, the tension in his body grew, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. He knew he should take this to the bedroom, where they could fully let go, but the thrill of claiming her here—where everyone had seen her be the perfect host—was too tempting to resist.

With a growl, Justin lifted her off the counter, onto her feet, and spun her around, her chest now pressing against the cold, hard surface. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as his hands slid down to her hips, pulling her back against him. Ruby could feel his hard length pushing into her, the friction sending shivers down her spine. She reached back, her hands fumbling with his belt, desperate to feel him inside her.

He stepped away just enough to allow her to drop to her knees, her dress pooling around her like a puddle of ink. The sound of his zipper echoed in the kitchen, and she took a deep breath before looking up at him with hooded eyes. His cock sprang free, thick and pulsing with desire. "Take it," he murmured, his hand guiding her head closer.

She parted her lips, her tongue flicking out to taste him. The salt of his skin mixed with the sweetness of his precum, and she couldn't help but moan. She took him into her mouth, her eyes never leaving his. The way he watched her, the way his chest rose and fell with every shallow breath, it was like he was memorizing every moment of this.

Justin's hand threaded through her hair, guiding her as he groaned out in pleasure. The kitchen floor was hard and cold beneath her knees, but she didn't care. All she could focus on was the feel of him, the taste of him, the way he was watching her with such desire. She took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing with each suck. His grip tightened, his breathing growing ragged.

Her eyes watered, Justin's grip on her hair tightening as his thrusts grew more urgent. She could feel the head of his cock hit the back of her throat with each stroke. His sweat-slicked skin smelled faintly of smoke and his cologne, a new scent she had gifted him for Christmas. It was fitting, she decided, that she'd be kneeling before him like this, when he smelled so heavenly, her choice of scent on him.

Justin's hand slid from her hair to her neck, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he whispered, "You're doing so good for me, baby," his voice was a mix of love and lust. She moaned around him at the sound of his praise, feeling her own arousal build as she watched his face contort in pleasure.

With a final, deep thrust, Justin pulled out of her mouth. He hoisted her back onto the kitchen island, her legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned himself at her entrance. Her fingers dug into his back, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as he pressed into her, all passion and urgency. The kitchen light glinted off the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead, the muscles in his neck and shoulders standing out as he drove into her.

Her dress was hiked up around her waist, the fabric clinging to her damp skin. His hands found purchase on her thighs, his grip firm as he pushed deeper, his movements unyielding and possessive. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, mingling with their ragged breaths and the occasional clink of a forgotten dish. Her eyes fluttered closed, her head falling back as she gave herself over to the sensation.

"All fuckin' mine, baby," Justin grunted, his eyes never leaving hers as he claimed her in the most primal way possible. The countertop was cold against her back, but she barely noticed, lost in the heat of their passion. Her thighs spread for him, the smack of his skin against hers punctuating each thrust. Her hands strained for something to hold onto, finally whimpering softly to catch his attention.

He cursed under his breath, roughly biting his bottom lip before bringing his hips to an agonizing still. Justin shifted her position, bringing her ankles to rest on his shoulders. The new angle sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through her, making her cry out. He leaned over to hold her hands, bending slightly at the waist, his pecs flexing with the effort.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice thick with desire. Her eyes locked on his obediently. Green, blue, and hazel was brimmed with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying, a raw, animalistic need that seemed to consume him. It was unlike anything she had ever seen in him before, and it sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold countertop.

Justin's eyes never left hers as he began to move again, his strokes long and deep. Her eyes grew wide with each thrust, her breaths coming in short gasps. The sensation was almost too much, the stretch and the burn and the feeling of being filled so completely by him. But she never looked away, not even when the pleasure grew so intense she thought she might shatter.

"Nobody gets to make you feel like this," Justin reiterated, his voice strained as he pushed into her with a fierce determination. His eyes searched hers, as if seeking confirmation of his claim.

Her chest heaved with each thrust. She felt the muscles in her core tighten, the beginnings of an orgasm building like a storm at sea. "I'm yours," she whispered, her voice barely a murmur. "All yours."

He watched her pupils dilate, her mouth part in silent cries of ecstasy. It was intoxicating, the power he had over her in this moment, the way she surrendered to him completely. His hips slammed into hers, the kitchen light making her skin glisten against his. He blew out a puff of hair, mildly annoyed at a strand that had fallen into his face.

The tension grew, tightening in the air around them. Her eyes fluttered closed, and Justin took the opportunity to lean down, his mouth capturing hers in a rough, possessive kiss. She could feel herself almost fold in half, his length sliding into her so deep she thought she might split apart.

"Don't stop," she panted into his mouth, her nails raking down his back. The words were barely a whisper, but they were all the encouragement he needed. Justin's hips picked up speed, the slapping of skin on skin growing louder in the quiet kitchen.

Her walls clamped down on him, and he knew she was close. He reached down, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing in firm, steady circles. "Come for me," he murmured against her ear, the words a command and a plea all rolled into one.

Her body tensed, a soft keening sound escaping her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she bit down on her lower lip to muffle her cries as the orgasm crashed over her, wave after wave of pure bliss. Her nails scored down his back, her hips bucking against him as she rode the crest of pleasure. Justin's eyes never left hers, his own climax spilling over the edge as he watched her shatter underneath him.

They remained like that for a moment, panting and trembling, their hearts hammering in sync with one another. Sweat beaded on their skin, the kitchen lights glinting off the droplets that had formed on Justin's chest and neck. Her dress was a wrinkled mess around her waist, and her makeup—or what was left of it after a long day outside—was smudged from their kisses. But in that moment, she felt more beautiful than she ever had in her life.

Justin hissed lightly, holding her in place as his cock throbbed deep inside her. He kissed her neck, her jaw, her collarbone, his lips a trail of fire that left her skin feeling branded. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I think I got a little carried away."

Her eyes remained closed, her breaths still coming in gasps. She could feel the tremor in his body, the aftershocks of his release. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice filled with a tired contentment. "It was hot."

Justin chuckled, his body still tense with the remnants of his orgasm. He kissed her forehead, his hands sliding down to rest on the countertop on either side of her hips. "I guess it's a good thing we don't throw parties often," he said, his voice lighter now.

She couldn't help but laugh, the sound a little shaky. "If this is what you're gonna do when we throw a party, we should start having them every weekend," she teased, wincing as he pulled hesitantly, his release slowly leaking out of her.

An embarrassed shade of pink dusted over the bridge of Justin's nose and spilled over onto his cheeks. "I don't know if our kitchen could handle that," he quipped, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. He kissed her nose, setting her back down on her shaky legs. She stepped closer to him, hands sliding over his shoulders. She kissed him slowly, giggling softly when his hands moved from her hips to straighten out her dress in an effort to make up for his behavior.

"Let's go clean up," she said, her voice still a little breathless. Justin nodded, his eyes dropping to her lips briefly before scooping her into a bridal carry, making her squeal with surprise and delight.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 15

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (piv, fingering, double penetration, cock warming) violence, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: guys i think hes trying. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

You don't know how many times you and Daemon walked around the fountain. Truth be told, as the seconds bled into minutes, you began to fear he would get impatient with you and ask you to stop your walk before you were ready to. It didn't help that every time you looked to examine his demeanor, he was already looking at you. His gaze was scalding. You could not keep it for more than a second.

You could not help but pick at the flower in your hand until all its petals were scattered on the floor. You felt uneasy around him.

At some point, you became too restless walking around with him that you opted to sit down and be done with it. "Very well," you mutter, sitting on the wide ledge of the stone fountain, "I shall tell you."

Daemon sits next to you, brows furrowing at the way your breath hitches.

You suck in a deep breath, "our children are-"

"You need not speak of them this instant," he takes your hand, squeezing it, "not if it is unbearable."

You look at his hand. You look at him. You see the softness of his gaze. You feel nothing. You mutter his name.

He mutters your back in response, reaching for your cheek.

You pull away, both your head and your hand.

He gulps, watching you scoot back. He retreats and digs his nails into his lap.

"If I do not tell you now," you shake your head, looking over your shoulder, "I do not know when next I will be willing."

Daemon watches you watch the water trickle. He shifts, "I do not mind."

"I do," you whip your head back, "I do not want to keep you waiting."

He watches your dark hair flow with the wind. He so badly wants to brush it out of your face. He shakes his head, "you have waited enough for me."

You chuckle dryly, "you misunderstand," you look away and reach for the flower drifting over. You grunt as you stretch your arm out, "you make me uneasy."

Daemon's face twitches. Poison spreads through his thorax and an invisible noose tightens around his neck. He opens his mouth, but only a shudder leaves him. You say this so casually too... what horror.

You manage to reach the flower and relax back in your spot after grabbing it. You stare at the rose before turning to your husband. He looked so unlike what he did the day he left you. His hair, which was once nearly the length of yours, now couldn't cover his ears. And his eyes... they were uncharacteristically soft. You lower your gaze, "there was once a time I put a flower in your hair... do you recall it?"

He knits his brows.

You brush your rose petals.

He does not recall. "I recall the day you littered your brother and your ward with blossoms you picked from the field."

You chuckle as you fidget with your rose, "pity."

Daemon swallows a thick lump in his throat, "would you help me recall it?"

"Twas the same day," you smile, looking up at him.

He is winded, "I-"

"I pity you, I really do."

Deep lines form on his face. He shakes his head as his voice breaks, "I... do not mean to forget."

You chuckle again, though there was no trace of amusement in your chest, only tightness, "I know you don't," you tentatively raise the flower and take a deep breath. It takes a few moments for you to gather the nerve to secure the rose by his ear.

Daemon stills as you do so, then helps you put the flower in place.

You pull away, looking at him and his rose. You noticed the way his breathing grew heavy, how his eyes glistened with tears that threatened to fall. You sigh and shrug, "I remember placing a bud in your hair and thinking you-" you stop to chuckle. Youu shrug and shake your head, "-were devastatingly handsome I could not help but stare."

His lips part and his nostrils twitch.

You wait for him to react.

He does not.

"Do you not recall this either?" you raise your brows, "those were your own words."

He knits his brows, sheepish over how you were seemingly teasing him so suddenly for his vanity.

"You came from the City Watch," you clarified, "I did not know it yet, but you had razed King's Landing and executed criminals in the streets—"

His jaw slacks, "ah."

"—you were covered in blood. I stared because I was concerned and that," you point to nowhere, "was what you told me."

He shakes his head, "a poor jest of a man who thinks himself funny," he turns to the bushes, "forget the memory."

You knit your brows, "I do not want to forget."

He looks back at you.

"I did agree," you mutter, "though instead of devastatingly handsome, I would have called you beautiful."

Daemon wanted to speak, but then the flower in his hair was being blown off by the wind. He keeps it in its place, forfeiting the moment to respond.

"It must be terrible to have only the capacity to recall things that cause you rage or suffering."

A wind blows between you and the air in his lung is pulled along with it. Daemon shivers when you reach a hand out to him. He looks at your outstretched palm before taking it in both of his. His heat causes your skin to prick with goosebumps. His hand felt as hot as dragon fire.

"I recall your scent and the feel of your skin," Daemon scoots forward, "I recall your tenderness and your fire. I-"

"You must understand," you cut him off, placing your other hand atop his, "I do not ask you to recall merely to reminisce," you take a few deep breaths, "I do this to explain I no longer feel that way."

His stomach drops. He realizes then this stoic countenance you held was not that but indifference to him. He whimpers and lowers his head, "no, please-"

"I feel nothing for your sadness," you mutter, "I cannot lend you any more of my pity, for where I once saw beauty, I now see only grief..."

Tears stain his cheeks.

"And loss," you pull away to wipe his face, "my babes looked so much like you."

He presses his hands atop yours and pushes them into his cheeks so that you would not let him go.

"Our babes," you correct yourself.

He whimpers. He screws his eyes shut, trying to recall their names. He cannot.

"I did not write about them for I knew you took many lengths to avoid having children with me."

His eyes are suddenly wide open. He is blindsided.

"I, myself, could not believe it when the maester told me I was with child. He explained to me that it is possible to conceive with premature ejaculation."

Daemon's hold on your hands loosen. You knew what he was doing all along? You pull away.

"I was deeply afraid you would doubt me, doubt their parentage because you never spilled inside of me, but... you should know that my tw— our twins both had silver hair," you sniffle, "and violet eyes."

You begin to weep as the punishing memory plays in your head. He feels helpless to see you this like this, twice over because he knows if he touches you, you will retreat.

You whimper and shake your head, "many bore witness to my... miscarriage."

The thought horrifies him.

"Your brother being one."

Daemon's face is aghast.

"You can go to him if you ever wish to accuse me of infidelity."

"You think the worst of me," he groans.

You stare at him for a moment then burst into dry laughter, "I do not. You attacked my guards for something you misheard me mutter in my sleep— I think exactly what I know of you."

He makes a sound, "but I-"

You wait for him to continue.

There is nothing left for him to say.

"You must," you sigh, "understand... I am only trying to make you understand. Where you yearn presently I yearned for three years."

"But I don't understand," he shakes his head, "had I not returned today, would you have still written to me?"

You inhale deeply, "I would."

"Then why don't you want me?"

"Because, Daemon!" you come to a stand, "had you not returned today, you still would have ignored me!"

He looks up at you.

"And my children would remain unburied!"

His jaw drops, "w-what?"

"I did not have them buried!" you point to the side, "I had them kept rotting in a box so that they would be acknowledged once by their father and be sent off in the traditions of their house."

Daemon slowly rises to his feet. He gulps, raising a hand.

You step back, "do you understand?"

He clenches his fists, then relaxes. He nods, "what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to prepare the funeral rites for my children and I want their bodies honored tomorrow."

He stares at you for a moment before nodding again. He mutters under his breath, "eminna ziry gaomagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." I will have it done, my love.

"Ȳdra daor yne brōzā bona." Don't call me that.

He is taken off-guard, forgetting that you now speak his mother tongue.

You wipe your face and smoothen out your robe, "I nightly have supper with my sister and nephew."

He watches you shake your head. Something happens to his heart as he imagines how you've lived without him.

"You are more than welcome to join us, so long as you promise to keep your manners."

He perks.

"But you ought to know I normally invite whichever ward is keeping me guard to dine with us."

His eye twitches. He aimlessly examines the sky, "I..."

You watch his expression closely.

"I do not think I can stomach being around your wards, let alone dine with one."

"But I've explained that-"

He raises a hand. You clench your teeth, watching him shake his head. He releases a deep breath, "it is not my desire that you resent me more than you already do."

You watch him reach a hand out to you.

"Let me walk you at least?"

You stare at his hand for a moment. When you take it, you feel your stomach drop and Daemon feels his spirit lifted.

The walk you take is silent. When you arrive to the solar you dined at, Daemon rubs your hand before pulling away. You watch him fade down the hall and you feel conflicted to see him go.

He walks off to gods know where and aimlessly continues to do so until he hears someone call his name. When he turns, he sees his brother's face.

Viserys had been smiling, up until he got close enough to see Daemon's face. The king's brows furrow. He places a hand on his brother's arm, watching tears stream from his face, "skoros iksis pirta?" What is wrong?"

"I could not ask her... but she said you saw them," he mutters, gripping Viserys by the arms. His lips wobble and his brows tighten, "vestas ao ūndan ñuha riñar." She said you saw my children.

Viserys tenses when Daemon's grip tightens, out of aggression or desperation, he was not sure. To his brother, sometimes the two were one in the same. He places his hands on Daemon's shoulders and tries to calm him down.

Daemon shudders, "what did they look like?"

It hits him. He thinks of the moon you left for Oldtown after Daemon left for the Stepstones and how Alicent worried that it would cause conflict between in your marriage. A sourness spreads in the king's mouth as he recalls Alicent worriedly relaying her sister's worries to him— that Daemon would accuse her of fleeing to Oldtown because she had strayed. Viserys clenches his jaw, "they're your children, brother."

Daemon's brows furrow, "w-what?"

"They're Valyrian— silver hair, violet eyes-"

The prince shakes him, "you misunderstand me." He shakes his head, a whimper leaving his lips, "what did they look like?"

Viserys watches Daemon's eyes water all over again.

"Did they look like me? Did they look like her? Did they have her nose? Her lips? Her brows? Or mine?" He shudders, "were they beautiful?"

Viserys feels his lungs tighten when his brother sobs into his chest. His own eyes water and he throws his arms around Daemon. He leans into him as his brother's arms tighten around him. Viserys does not recall the last time Daemon's wept in his arms.

"Shijetra nyke. Nyke shifang aōha ōdres sir," Daemon says through tears. It forces tears to fall from Viserys's eyes. Forgive me. I understand your pain now.

Viserys holds him a little tighter, "ñuha valonqar." My (younger) brother.

The two remain this way until Daemon was calm enough to part from the embrace.

After supper, you make your way back to your chambers, frowning to see it empty. You take a candle and light it, heading out of your room to look for your husband. In truth, you did not know why you were doing so, for all you knew, he was out in Fleabottom, reliving the early days of your marriage. Still... here you were.

You pad quietly down the halls and ask the occasional servant you pass if they had seen Daemon. The response was the same between them all: no, princess. You nod and bid them good night each time before walking off.

You realize soon your feet were silently leading you somewhere, which is why you stop when you reach the hall to the Kingsguards' quarters. You find your eyes falling to the door that lead to the shared room of the Cargyll brothers. You momentarily recall the rather cold dismissal you gave them, which was so unlike you. Your heart calls for you to check on them. The next thing you know, you're knocking on their door.

You watch the light on your candle flicker as you wait for an answer. You watch it go off when the door opens with a, "princess."

You look up, finding Arryk's worried face, and soon, Erryk behind him.

"Has something happened?" Erryk asks hurriedly.

You shake your head, "no... I," you look at the smoke wafting from your candle, "I just wanted to see if you were alright."

Arryk, even through the darkness, could see your bare décolletage. His eye lingers before he shakes his head, "you needn't worry about us. My brother and I are well."

"It was your husband that ended up badly injured," Erryk quips.

Arryk looks over to his brother. Erryk has his eyes on you, or rather, your candle. He reaches out, "allow me to relight it, my princess."

You watch him take your candle and a shiver runs down your spine as the wind blows down the quiet hall.

Arryk notices and steps aside, "it will not take long, but please, take a seat."

You walk into their room and Arryk motions to one of the beds. You take a seat and watch Erryk look through his drawers, grumbling, "where the bloody hells did I put that damn flint?"

Arryk drapes a blanket on your shoulders, rolling his eyes at his brother, "hang on."

You tighten the blanket around you, immediately feeling warm, not only because of the added layer, but because it smelled like your ward. You watch Arryk dig through his own drawers and the moment he grumbles like his twin, you realize you it was going to take long. You didn't mind at all though.

You decide to lie down and make yourself comfortable. You yawn, knowing then you were, in fact, exhausted.

Erryk decides his flint is lost and snaps at his brother, "where's your fucking flint?"

Arryk glares at back at him, "mind your manners, worm."

Erryk immediately tenses, remembering why he was looking for flint in the first place. His eyes turn to you, throat tightening to see you lying down. He steps forward, calling out your name.

Your heavy eyes open wide, only to fall again at the sight of Erryk, "hmm?"

Erryk kneels beside you, "you cannot sleep here." His hand twitches, dying to touch you.

Hearing his twin's words, Arryk turns. He rubs his chest and curses under his breath.

You merely hum again, snuggling deeper into your blankets.

Erryk speaks your name once more.

You sigh, "yes?"

"Princess," Arryk says, clenching his fists in an attempt to steel himself away, "I do not think we will find flint to light your candle."

Erryk ignores reason and listens to desire; he places a hand on your cheek, belly burning when you lean into his touch.

Arryk gulps at the sight of it. His voice is soft and shaky, "y-you cannot sleep here."

You sigh once more, finally pushing yourself up from the bed. You tighten the blanket around you with a groan. Your heavy eyes look upon Erryk, knelt on the floor, his own eyes were blown, wholly opposite to yours. You then turn to Arryk, stood rigid by his drawers. You notice the way his fingers twitch.

You place your hand on Erryk's shoulders, intending push yourself up on him, that is, until you feel the heat of him; he is impossibly hot. You examine his face, lips parting at the sight of his furrowed brows. Erryk whimpers when your colder hands come to his cheeks. He wants for nothing else than to warm you.

"Do you want me to leave?" you mutter.

Erryk immediately shakes his head. Arryk immediately calls out your name.

Erryk ignores him, eyes lowering to your neck, or what was left uncovered by your blanket.

You turn to Arryk, licking your lips before asking slowly, "do you want me to leave?"

Arryk gulps, lowering his head.

"You're welcome to leave, brother," Erryk mutters, hands coming atop yours. He hisses at the coolness of your skin and mutters rather pathetically, "please."

You ignore Erryk, eyes on his twin, "Arryk?"

Arryk scoffs, lifting his countenance. He does not say a word. He merely walks to the door and locks it before walking in front of you to kneel beside his brother.

Erryk whines when your hand leaves him. You shush him as you take Arryk's cheek, "the gods gave me two hands to hold you both at once."

Arryk leans into your touch, nearly choking on his spit at the smell of your fragrance on your wrist.

"Please," Erryk begs for the second time, "my skin grows hotter. I need to warm you."

You relish the feel of their cheeks a moment longer before pulling away completely. Their eyes watch you like a hawk and you bask in the attention before pushing the blanket off your shoulders. You sigh and nod, tilting your head back.

They are immediately upon you. Four hands roam you at once, two hot mouths on either side of your neck. They move in sync, never colliding with a hand that did not belong to them, their touches somehow contrasting yet complimenting all at once.

Arryk, ever the more level headed and patient, kisses against your throat slowly and gently. His hands work to undress you, to massage your breasts, to assure you of his devotion. Erryk, ever the more hungry and eager, licks and nips against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, though not in a manner that would ever be unpleasant. His hands work to pleasure you, to make you moan, to make known his yearning.

Like clockwork, each twin finds your most sensitive part, loath to part from your skin. Though one was as greedy as the other in their desire for you, your own desire came before theirs, and never has there been a moment where either of them kept you wanting.

You lean into Arryk, eyes screwing shut as you chase after his mouth. He does not make you wait; his hand comes to the back of your neck and the other moves to the opposite breast, pinching your nipple, knowing it will get you to moan. He immediately feasts on your moan, tongue dancing into your open mouth. His hand kneads your breast to warm it like he did the other.

Erryk, now that you were tilted to one side, takes this opportunity to part your thighs more by bringing your leg over his lap. He easily finds his way past your bloomers and rubs your clit, moaning at the feel of your building wetness.

The twins work in efficient tandem, and soon you're all three of you naked and hot. The bed for the guards are unlike your own; it was barely just enough for one, let alone three, and yet, you made it work; the desire to be close to each other made it work.

It was not enough to have Arryk pressed behind you and Erryk in front, you were desperate to have them inside, and you relayed just that by reaching for Arryk's cheeks and throwing a leg over Erryk's hips. Receptive as ever, Arryk kisses your hand and Erryk rubs your thigh.

"I need you both," you mutter.

"You have us," Arryk assures, rubbing your belly.

Erryk manages a kiss on your jaw, "who do you want first, my princess?"

"Both."

"Fuck," Erryk tightens his hold on your thigh.

Arryk's brow furrow, "are you certain?"

You whimper at the feel of fingers brushing between your legs. You mewl as someone pumps in and out you. You arch your back and ride out the sensations, "please."

"She's more than ready, brother."

"We should make her peak first."

"No," you whine, eyes opening to look at them both, "I can take it."

They are about to protest, but their words are smothered by how you grind back into Arryk and grab Erryk's cock, each as hard as the other. You pant, "we've done it before."

Arryk squeezes your hip. His voice is heavy, "a-are you certain?"

"We do not want to hurt you," Erryk softly offers.

You nod and turn to Arryk, kissing him reassuringly. You then turn to Erryk doing the same as you stroke him a few times before guiding him into you. His reaction is instant, he moans when his tip feels your wetness, and the only reason he does not plunge into you is because he holds your comfort higher than his own need.

Arryk kisses your shoulder as he leans into you. The first stretch is the one met with most resistance and he, along with his brother, always ensure you have ample time to adjust to them before even thinking of their own comfort. It's all worth it in the end, because, gods, when they're both sunked in, the feel is maddening.

The sounds that you emit when they begin to move starts soft, but both of them know better than to think it would remain. As soon as they begin to pick up the pace, they muffle your mouth with their own, assuring you have enough room to breathe though your sounds are garbled.

In truth, they could only dampen the noise so much, as there was the sinful sound of wet skin slapping to account for. Soon, the thrusting and squelching became unmistakably lewd. Soon, dampening the uncontrollable sounds scratching up your throat became near impossible.

Faster and faster and deeper and deeper and hotter and hotter and wetter and wetter— then snap.

It was good that Arryk knew your body so well that he clamped his hand over your mouth just before you clenched around their cocks. The sound that left you was loud, loud and to the bone obscene. You make another sound at the feel of them pulsing and twitching inside of you; the twins single-mindedly ride out the pleasure raging across you all with increasingly sloppier thrusts.

Arryk eventually pulls his hand off your mouth, only to replace it with his mouth, and Erryk kisses you soon after. You three remain entangled like this, hot and satisfied. You want nothing more than to sleep in their arms.

An instant stream of hot seed spills down your thighs when they pull out. You whimper in protest, never liking it when they leave you before you are ready. You're rarely ready.

They tell you what they always do, they'd never leave if they hadn't just done so, and they ought to clean you up.

And they do; they clean you up and you whimper some more, this time to complain about the cold. So there, in that tiny bed, all three of you slept, keeping each other warm.

That's when Daemon starts from his own bed, heart racing, body sweating. He is severely disoriented as he turns to the window, blinded by the morning sun, then to space on the bed beside him. He heaves as he scans the emptiness, mind racing with the terrible nightmare he had woken up from.

He scratches his eyes as tears begin to prick in its corners. He jumps, throwing the blanket aside and forfeiting slippers as he marches off. He reaches the door, but then he starts when he hears a squeal.

You gasp, one hand on your chest, another on the door sill for balance. You had just emerged from the bath, startled to see him sprinting off.

Daemon immediately comes to your side, gripping your arm. He notices the smell of your soap first, then the presence of your servants behind you second. He gives them a look and leads you off, silently dismissing them.

Your servants scurry off as Daemon leads you to your vanity.

You look at him, noticing the manic expression on his face, "is everything alright?"

He does not turn to you as he sits you down.

"Is there somewhere you need to be?"

"You," he blurts and shakes his head rapidly, "I was looking for you."

You watch him scratch his eyes. He takes the comb on your vanity and only once he's untangling your hair do you see from his reflection that he looked distraught and teary. You mutter, "Daemon-"

"When did you come bed?"

Your brows quirk and you're about to respond, until he yanks through a tangle, causing you to wince.

Daemon stops and immediately shakes his head as he looks at your reflection, "I did not mean to."

You frown, slowly enunciating, "Dae-"

"Do not answer," he clenches your comb in his hand.

He looks erratic. Your heart rate picks up, "what?"

"I change my mind. I do not want to know when you came to bed," he shakes his head, combing through your hair again. You swear you see his hands shake as he does. He whispers to himself, "or if you came back at all."

You do not catch it, but you do catch his hand, forcing him to stop combing.

Daemon shivers as you come to a stand. You look at him, face falling at the tears so suddenly streaming down his face. You furrow your brows and reach for his cheek. You are taken aback when he pulls away.

You gulp, unsure if you should step forward or back. You decide to stay put and slowly call out to him.

Daemon wipes his face, "I-"

"Is it the wake?"

"..."

Your own eyes begin to water, "... did you, perhaps, have a nightmare?"

He is at a loss for words. He flinches when you take a step forward.

You watch him closely as you raise your hand. He does not move away up until you touch his arm. You must admit, the way in which he shrugs you off stings. Still, you compose yourself with a sigh and nod. "Very well," you step back.

His hand raises, "wait."

You are rendered frozen when he grabs your arm. Your chest begins to tighten and your eyes begin to water against yourself. You shrug and chuckle dryly, "I do not understand."

Daemon's face is pained as he releases you. He lowers his head and steps back, "neither do I."

You both stand there for a moment. You wait for him to say something but he never does. In truth, Daemon was waiting for you to do the same.

He was rather disappointed to hear you say, "perhaps you should take a bath."

He watches you wipe the tears off your cheek and wonders why it was tears found you so easily. Was it your affliction? Or just him? He nods, "very well."

Your gaze is fixed upon him as he heads to the bathroom. You sigh deeply, sitting back in your vanity chair to gather yourself.

[sun-snatcher]

Your take of Círdan being an old man who enjoys pestering people is my absolute fave bc yeah if I was the oldest elf alive I'd be a little shit half the time too for funzies

( credits to the lovely @peregrintook for this beautiful gifset ! )

✵ — WATER-DAMAGED!

summ.  Elrond arrives at Círdan’s workshop. He finds his heart instead. or:  The Herald and the Artisan fall in love. pairing.  elrond peredhel / f!reader  w.count.  1.2k (a lil baby!) a/n.  set in s2e1, friends-to-lovers kinda , fluff galore , mutual pining , Círdan being a thirdwheel (but highkey enjoying it because he’s a little shit like that)

       YOU’RE QUICK TO attempt to bundle Elrond up like a child when he’d arrived. 

Frantic, almost, at the sight of Lindon’s renowned Herald— drenched to the bone, head-to-toe, and dripping river water from his mess of curls, leaving puddles and a wet track wherever he went on the stone of the workshop.

“He’s not here yet,” is what you’d said, when he’d urged you for Master Círdan. The shipwright had gone off to appraise proper timber for the frames of the vessels prepared for Valinor, now that High King Gil-Galad has decreed preparations to set sail. 

“But he should return by nightfall, latest. So will you please sit down, Elr—”

“I cannot,” he overrides, wholly unconvincing through the chatter of his teeth. “You’ll be at risk if I stay.”

You blink. “…From who?”

“I—”

In the distance, a horse whinnies. 

Elrond tenses instantly.

“…Are you— hiding?” you realise, as he springs to his feet to make headway for the sidedoors. “Elrond, wait!”

“Thank you, truly, for your kindness, but I cannot allow the King’s Guard—”

“That was just Silef,” you say incredulously, muscling the door back shut and stubbornly standing in his way. “My mare, remember? From the stables just uphill?” 

A pause. 

He listens with pricked ears: gates of a stable door squeaking; hooves clopping from paddock ground onto pasture grass; the sound of grain and feed being chewed on, after a moment's pass. A notable absence of marching Elven armour and feet stamping its way downhill towards him. 

Just Silef. You’re right. He’d been paranoid. 

“Á quildessë, Elrond,” comes your quiet voice, gentler now as you chase to meet his anxious gaze. “I will make sure no one comes into this workshop, unless it’s Master Círdan himself,” you assure, resting your hands on his forearms. “Just please, sit down. You’re shaking.” 

…He is. He hadn’t even realised. 

It might have been adrenaline, or the bite of the cold from wind and water— but he’s trembling, nonetheless, like a leaf. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, much, much later, when you’d stoked the coals of the workshop hearth to life, and set him upon a wooden seat beside it.

From the open foyer of the atelier, the sea-reflected hues of the setting sun does little to hide the tentative worry in your features. Your voice is as gentle as the lap of tidewater. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“I shouldn’t have… barged in.” 

I shouldn’t have involved you in the first place, and put you at risk for treason for harboring a dissenter.

The firelight paints your face in soft, flickering licks of ochre as you tenderly dry off the dampness in his hair, the water trickling down his face. “You were afraid,” you reason generously.

(You don’t tell him that he looks adorably… pitiful. With eyes like that of a kicked puppy, almost. Even worse that he looks half-drowned.)

Elrond doesn’t argue. You’ve always been a kind friend to him. So, so kind. Ever-ready and steadfast to extend an olive branch, impervious to tactlessness, or even offence, from the sheer tenacity of your patience. Elrond has always admired you for it. Elrond has always—

Liked you. Cared. Loved.

(Too much to allow himself to let you get caught in this tangle he’s been forced into.)

He lays a hand over yours, and you pause mid-wipe of a droplet down his lined jaw. His eyes are shut briefly, as if falling into the comfort of your touch— candid indulgence. It makes your heart stutter.

That you’re allowed a quiet moment to admire him this close, so much so you can see the rings of sundering blue in his eyes; or to touch him this affectionately, so much so you could feel the very change of temperature on his skin— 

You think you’ve been blessed with a handsome vision by the Valar themselves.

“You must be curious,” he says, voice a low murmur. His palm swallows yours entirely. His fingers are warm by now. (You shouldn’t notice such details— but you do. You’re an artisan, after all. Or perhaps hopeless romantic is a better suited term?) “But this is beyond even me.”

He slides your hand down, much to your dismay, and uncurls the pouch he’s been clutching onto since he arrived. Now that it’s infront of you, there’s a pull to it you can’t quite understand.

You reach, almost too keenly— 

—but you close his fingers around it instead.

If Elrond had shown any surprise, you didn’t notice. 

“Must be why you’ve sought out Master Círdan,” you muse, looking up at him. “If it’s beyond you, it’s most certainly beyond me, a mere shipwright’s apprentice.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Elrond adds quickly, realising how he must have come across. 

“I know,” you laugh, before he can take off into a tangent. (It’s bright and musical to Elrond’s ears— thinks if he could drown in its sound, he would have done so willingly.) “You forget I know you.”

Not entirely, he doesn’t say. You don’t know how much my heart sings to be near you. How much your presence— or the very thought of you, even— have always brought comfort to me. 

You don’t know how much I’ve been resisting the urge to kiss you since you first sat me down by the fire.

He feels a little smile coming, the kind he couldn’t help, that would light his whole face whenever he cast his gaze on you. “You do, don’t you?” he whispers, voice sinking into something almost— nostalgic, at the sudden unravelling of old memories shared with you throughout the age.

“Well, when it comes to Kingdom politicians…” you shrug teasingly. “As much as I’m allowed to be privy to.”

He barely laughs, too busy looking at you with rapt, reverent attention. It curls a timidness in your heart. “You are allowed all of me. Always.”

Something takes wing in your chest. Butterflies, maybe. Doves taking flight in your ribcage. 

As are you, to me.

At least, that's what you would’ve said, had your ears not caught the distant clop of hooves headed downwind towards the river edge. “Master Círdan is here,” you say instead, diverted. You recognise the huff of his steed anywhere.

You watch Elrond perk up and tune into the approach: the rustle of saddle and stirrups, the shuffle of robes and footsteps. When the doors squeak open and shut, the Kingdom’s shipwright finds the Kingdom’s herald standing in the heart of his own workshop.

“Elrond,” he says, by way of greeting. There’s naught a hint of surprise in his voice— Círdan had felt a call louder than the sea long before he’d arrived, and now he can understand it’s carried in the herald’s charge. “Have you come to seek a certain apprentice of mine?” he asks, regardless.

It’s playful. Knowing.

“He seeks you, Master Círdan,” you answer politely, rounding from the corner where you’d grabbed your spare pelerine cloak to pass to Elrond. “Here, to keep warm.”

“Thank you.”

You bow your head to them both. “I shall be at the lighthouse just across.”

Your fingertips brush against Elrond’s hand as you leave. It tarries; merely a millisecond— enough, however, for Círdan’s keen eyes to catch— before he watches you depart through the sidedoors to give them the privacy they needed. 

Elrond's hand flexes reflexively. Longingly.

A beat passes.

“…Are you sure it is still me you seek?” Círdan muses, brows shot to his hairline.

The tips of Elrond’s ears burn. 

[vunblr]

A Hand in the Dark (#2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Hurt/Comfort. Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Suicidal thoughts (neither Bucky nor Reader). Canon-Typical Violence.

Summary: In a brief moment of lucidity, Soldat makes a choice. And some choices echo across time, shaping the future in ways no one could predict.

Word Count: 6.5.k.

notes: More tags will be added in the future.

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

She stood there for a full minute, just staring at him.

The rain dripped from the hood of her coat, as the alley around her puddled with oily water and the scattered glint of broken glass

He hadn’t moved.

Still curled in on himself like a wounded animal. His arm glinted faintly where the rain had slicked over it.

This was a terrible idea. She knew it. Every cell in her body screamed to walk away, to call someone, anyone else. To not make this her problem.

But she didn’t move.

Not until the sound of a car rolled in from the end of the street, and its headlights briefly cast long shadows down the alley. Her breath caught. She stepped back. Then forward. Swore under her breath.

He would die out here, if not for whatever wounds he had, for hypothermia. And if not, but someone else found him, if the wrong kind of someone did…

She scanned the alley. Empty. Silent.

No cameras, either.

She’d cursed that before, muttering about cheap landlords and urban crime stats. Now? It was her only grace.

She ran.

Two flights up, and her keys clattered against the lock. The apartment door slammed behind her. She didn’t bother drying off, just yanked open the hall closet, grabbed the thickest blanket she could find, and fled back down, skipping.

Back in the alley, he hadn’t moved.

She knelt, spreading the blanket beside him with shaking hands. The rain soaked her clothes as she rolled him gently, carefully, gritting her teeth as his dead weight shifted on the floor. He groaned once -faint, hoarse- but didn’t wake. She winced and kept going, inch by inch, until he was fully on the blanket. She grabbed two corners, braced her feet, and pulled.

It was harder than she expected, but she dragged the unconscious man through the alley, across the stained sidewalk, and into the narrow lobby of her building. The ancient elevator groaned when she hit the call button, its gears shrieking like some wounded beast.

If anyone saw her now…

She didn’t let herself finish the thought.

The elevator doors yawned open. She heaved the blanket’s corners again, dragging him inside, careful not to knock his head against the frame, and folding his legs to make him fit in the cubicle. The doors slid shut, and she hit the second floor, then slumped against the wall, catching her breath.

Rainwater ran down her arms in cold trickles.

She looked down.

The metal arm was curled loosely over his stomach, streaked with dirt and dried blood. One of the fingers twitched, just once.

She swallowed.

The elevator dinged. Home sweet home.

She dragged his body just far enough to nudge the door shut behind them with her foot.

It was just the two of them.

She exhaled. Stripped off her soaked coat and let it fall to the floor in a heavy, dripping heap. Her fingers were shaking again, not from cold now, but from the reality of what she’d just done.

She dropped to her knees beside him.

First things first.

Pulse.

Still there. Sluggish, but stable under her fingertips.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and leaned back on her heels. The rain glistened in his hair and along the line of his jaw. The metal arm had gone still again, splayed awkwardly across his torso, twitchless now.

His gear was soaked. Caked in dirt, heavy with mud and -yes- blood, dried and fresh. She hesitated. Then reached forward and began peeling it all away, layer by layer.

Weapons came first.

Twin knives strapped at the back of his waist, she unfastened them with care and set them aside. A gun was holstered at his thigh. Another beneath his arm. Tactical belt packed with things she didn’t recognize. She kept moving. She didn’t give herself the time to think.

All of it went into a thick black trash bag, which she stuffed into the back of her kitchen cabinet behind a stack of old baking pans. She’d figure out what to do with it later.

His boots came off next, waterlogged leather, one laced tight enough to bite into his skin. She found another knife tucked inside the right one. Of course.

“Jesus,” she muttered, not meaning to. Her voice sounded too loud.

She worked in silence after that. She unbuckled strap after strap, soaked harnesses clinging to his body like a second skin. Unfastened Velcro, peeled back fabric, and tugged gently when things caught or snagged.

His body was all muscle, scars, and bruises.

His face looked worse up close, with a bump on his forehead, a swollen cheekbone, and a cut just under his eye crusted over with dried blood. His ribs were discolored, deep purple spreading beneath the pale skin of his side.

His right arm, the flesh one, looked swollen near the bicep. Possibly fractured. She didn’t know.

There was blood smeared across the inside of his shirt, but when she tugged the fabric away, most of it didn’t seem to be his. She froze for a second. Then made herself keep going. Tucked the detail away for later. For when she could think straight.

Only one wound looked fresh, low on his abdomen, near the point of his hip. Jagged. Deep. Still oozing sluggishly. That one would need stitches.

She wiped her palms down her thighs and swallowed hard.

Okay. She could do this.

She sat back on her heels again, with her heart thudding in her ears, and stared at the wound.

God.

That soap opera medical drama she used to binge came back to her in blurry fragments. Dim hospital lighting, urgent piano music, beautiful people doing impossible things with perfect composure. She wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t composed. She was kneeling in her living room next to a half-dead man with an ugly wound and a fever.

Okay. Step one: clean him.

She moved fast, before the adrenaline drained out and left her useless. Grabbed the basin she used to soak laundry, filled it with warm water from the kitchen sink. A clean towel. Not even one of the old ones. She used the soft gray one she liked most, because he looked like he’d been dragged through hell, and it was the only thing she could do.

Back beside him, she dipped the towel in the water, wrung it out, and started wiping him down.

His skin was hot under her hands.

Not fever-warm. Burning.

She worked quickly, gently. Sweat, dirt, and dried blood came away in streaks. The bruising on his ribs had darkened since she’d first seen it, and his breath stayed shallow, uneven. His body didn’t stir except for the occasional twitch in his left hand.

When she got to the wound near his hip, she paused. The towel slipped from her hand.

Her stomach turned.

She swallowed.

Okay. Disinfect next.

She found the first aid kit tucked into one of his pouches. Of course he had one. Of course, it was military-grade. She laid everything out in rows, hovering her fingers over gauze pads, antiseptic wipes, and rolls of tape. Then the small sterile packet with the needle and thread.

Jesus Christ.

She’d never stitched anything but a ripped sock. But that was thread and cotton. This was a human being. A broken, bloodied one with a metal arm and too many knives.

She cleaned the wound first, hissing through her teeth in sympathy even though he didn’t flinch. The antiseptic foam bubbled red. She wiped it clean. Again. Again.

Then-

The needle.

Her hands trembled as she tore open the packet and threaded it. Thick black thread. It looked like something you’d use to bind a sail.

She took a breath.

Imagined the skin as fabric. Like one of her old socks. A thick, torn seam she needed to bring back together.

Only this one bled when she tugged.

Only this one made something twist in her gut with every slow pull.

He didn’t wake.

Didn’t move.

Thank god. If he were conscious, he might’ve strangled her for the way she fumbled the third stitch. Or for the way she had to stop halfway through to breathe.

She finished. The last knot was awkward and ugly, but tight.

It would hold.

Probably.

She pressed a fresh gauze pad over the wound, taped it down, and sat back, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

Still breathing. Still burning with fever. But stitched up.

Better than nothing.

She’d done what she could. The wound was closed. The worst of the dirt and blood was gone. But he was still a mess.

So she kept going.

The towel, now streaked with grime and old blood, went back into the warm basin. She wrung it out, folded it over her hand, and wiped down the broad planes of his chest.

Her eyes caught on the place where metal met skin.

The scar tissue rose in uneven ridges around his shoulder, rough and white-pink, the kind of damage that wasn’t new. It shimmered wet in the light, the seams where prosthetic and flesh connected were red and swollen from strain, irritation, and maybe infection.

She hesitated, then reached for the balm she used on her own burns and dry winter hands.

The salve melted under her touch. She worked it gently into the scarred skin, watching as the raw edges darkened with the oily shine.

His body shifted, barely. A twitch in his brow. A curl of his fingers. But he didn’t wake.

She hoped it helped. God knew it had to hurt.

Once she was done, she stood and went to the bathroom, peeling off her wet clothes on the way. The small cabinet above the toilet groaned when she opened it. She shuffled through its contents: cough syrups, old toothpaste, a cracked bottle of nail polish remover, until her fingers landed on the tall white can of dry shampoo.

Expired, obviously.

It had worked for her grandmother when her bones got too fragile for showers. It would do now.

She shook the can, returned to the living room, and crouched beside him again.

The spray hissed to life in her hand.

One round wasn’t enough. Nor the second. By the third, his hair stopped looking something closer to clean. She then used a soft shirt to wipe the excess out. His shoulder-length hair was dark and thick, tangled in places, soft in others.

When she finally leaned back, her knees cracked.

The blanket beneath him was soaked through and filthy. She couldn’t leave him lying in it.

She padded to the hall closet, pulled out another -thinner, but dry- and laid it on the floor beside him. Then she braced herself, slipped her hands beneath his side, and shifted his weight.

One push. A grunt of effort. Another roll.

He groaned faintly, but stayed unconscious.

She got him onto the clean blanket and tugged the wet one free, folding it into a dark, sopping pile against the wall.

And then -finally- she sank down beside him, damp and exhausted, with her fingers trembling in her lap.

He looked… better. Still battered. Still feverish. But human now.

Just a man.

Still breathing. Still here.

She checked on him once more before allowing herself to slow down. No need for a thermometer, her hand brushed his forehead, too hot.

She soaked a clean washcloth in cold water, wrung it out, and laid it gently across his brow. His lashes twitched, but he didn’t wake. She tugged the afghan from the couch and draped it over his body, careful not to disturb the compress. One of the smaller sofa pillows, wedged just beneath his head, lifting it off the hard floor.

It wasn’t much, but it was all she could do.

In the kitchen, she microwaved the last two slices of pizza from the fridge. They tasted like cardboard, cold in the middle. She ate them anyway, perched on the edge of the counter, swinging her feet above the floor. The apartment was quiet, the only sound was the plink of rain against her windows.

When she finished, she dumped the plate in the sink and stripped the rest of her clothes in the hallway, too tired to do anything but leave them in a pile. The bathroom mirror caught her reflection in a quick, raw blur: damp hair, tired eyes, the faint smear of dirt across her cheek.

She opened the shower, and the steam bloomed thick against the tiles. She stepped under it, and finally, the heat permeated her body and chased the chill away.

But the rest came with it.

The breath she hadn’t let out since the alley. The pulse that had refused to settle. She had dragged an unconscious man into her home.

A stranger.

A trained killer.

An ex-HYDRA asset, if the news were to be believed. A ghost from a past she only knew through cold headlines and her grandmother’s whispered story, the one she used to beg for like a fairytale.

The metal-armed soldier who had saved her life and disappeared in the sand.

And here she was. Playing nurse to him like this was a scene from one of those mid-tier dramas she watched with a bottle of wine and an ice cream pot.

Dragging him up from the rain like he was a stray.

Like he couldn’t slit her throat before morning.

She pressed her forehead to the tile.

Stupid.

God, she was so fucking stupid.

----

She dried off slowly and dressed in her softest fleece pajama set, the one with the sleeves too long and the neckline stretched from too many washes. Socks thick enough to muffle the creak of her floorboards.

She padded back into the living room. The apartment was quiet, he hadn’t moved.

Still lying where she left him, fevered but breathing. The cold compress had gone lukewarm, so she replaced it with a fresh one, brushing damp strands of hair back from his brow. Her fingers paused there, just briefly. That face. Worn, sharp, bruised. The same man from those footage clips, but… normal in her space like this. Not monstrous. Just broken.

She stood up as she felt the weight of everything pressing hard on her shoulders.

Bedroom.

She went there next.

Paused in the doorway.

And then turned the key in the lock.

Not because she thought it would actually stop him. If he wanted to, he could break that door with one hand. But if he did try something, she’d at least hear the damn thing splinter. She owed herself that much.

She got under the covers, cold despite the layers of blankets, and curled into herself.

She turned to her left.

Then her right.

Kicked the blanket off. Pulled it back on.

Eventually, her thoughts blurred enough to fall away. The sound of the rain still came from outside the window. She closed her eyes.

Somewhere between one breath and the next, she finally fell asleep.

----

The next morning, she shuffled out of bed on autopilot, her feet barely lifting from the floor as she padded to the bathroom. The faucet groaned when she turned it, splashing cold water against her hands. She rinsed her mouth, washed her face, and blinked blearily at her reflection.

It wasn’t until she turned toward the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes, that she stopped cold.

The blanket was empty.

Her stomach dropped.

Fuck.

Every nerve in her body tensed as her gaze swept the room, searching. The windows were shut. The door, still bolted. No noise, no movement.

Then she saw him.

Curled in the farthest corner, half-hidden in the shadows. Sitting with his knees drawn tight to his chest, his bare feet flat on the floor. His arms wrapped around his shins, the metal one glinting faintly in the low light. Eyes wide, unblinking.

Watching her.

Her heart tried to climb into her throat.

He didn’t move. Not even a twitch. Just stared, like some wounded creature trying to make sense of what it had woken up to.

She raised her hands slowly, with her palms open. “Hi there.”

Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again.

“You seem- uh.” The words scattered, then reassembled. “I’m Y/n. This is… my home.”

He blinked. Once.

His brow furrowed slightly, and confusion morphed the bruised lines of his face.

“I found you in the alley,” she said, quieter this time. “You were unconscious. I- I brought you here.”

The words sounded worse out loud. Ridiculous. Naive.

He didn’t answer.

“You’re safe,” she added softly. “Here. You’re safe.”

His fingers clenched where they clasped his legs.

She took a cautious step forward, and he flinched. Sharp, involuntary. A hiss broke past his teeth, recoiling like a struck dog. Then he froze, wide-eyed, watching her the way one watches the shadow before the hit.

He had reacted. That was bad. That was wrong.

Still, no blow came his way.

His muscles locked as he waited, his breath short and shallow. He expected the slap of a baton or a boot to the ribs, or words. Those were sharper, more unpredictable. But nothing came.

No punishment. No correction.

He didn’t understand that.

“Are you cold?” she asked.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He'd learned long ago to show nothing. To speak only when ordered. Even silence could be the wrong choice, but answering without permission was worse.

“Don’t you want the blanket?”

There it was. The test.

They did that, set traps like this. Left a scrap of warmth, a soft voice, a scrap of bread. He’d reached for those things before. A blanket. A hand offered in mockery. Sometimes, they let him keep it for a minute. Just long enough to convince him he’d earned it.

Then they’d take it. Laugh. Hurt him worse for daring to want. For thinking he was anything but a thing.

Now the blanket lay between them like a live wire. Too close. Too dangerous. He wanted it -his body, sick and aching, wanted it- but the risk was high.

Take it and suffer.

Refuse it and defy.

There were no right answers. Never.

She spoke again, calmly. “You had a fever last night. Still might. Better if you don’t get cold.”

Another trap? Or an order?

He couldn’t tell.

His eyes flicked to the blanket once, almost by accident. A twitch in his jaw betrayed the war inside his mind. Accepting might be obedience. Or it might be reaching beyond his station, daring to touch what he hadn’t earned. Was this a test of loyalty? Of submission?

He could hear the phantom click of restraints, the low buzz of the lights above the operating table, the rasp of a handler’s breath in his ear.

Still, nothing happened.

She just crouched there, with her hands away, like someone trying not to scare a cornered animal.

And he was so tired.

She folded the blanket in half, careful to keep her movements slow and nonthreatening. No sudden gestures, no towering stance. She set the afghan on the floor within reach.

“Here. Just in case you want it.”

Then she backed away -step by measured step- retreating into the kitchen.

The moment she vanished from his line of sight, the tension changed shape. Not gone -never gone- but shifting. Diffuse.

He stared at the blanket. It just sat there, stupidly warm-looking.

Still, he waited. Counted. One breath. Another. A third. In the silence, the whispers of her presence in the other room -the soft clink of a plate, a kettle being filled- sounded unreal.

Permission. Trick. Trap. Comfort. Punishment. His thoughts stuttered, jammed together like shards. The rules didn’t work here. The walls didn’t match the ones in his memory. The floor wasn’t concrete. She hadn’t used a codeword or demanded a report. She hadn’t even asked for his designation.

And, he hadn’t been struck. Yet.

Carefully, he reached for the blanket. His fingers brushed the wool. Paused. Then slowly, so slowly, he pulled it into his lap.

Still no alarm.

He pressed it to his chest before unfolding it and dragging it over his legs, wrapping it around himself in tight folds. Compact. Contained. Hidden.

From the kitchen came the soft scrape of a chair leg and the low hiss of the stove. Normal, domestic sounds.

He didn’t trust them.

----

The scent of toasted bread filled the small kitchen. She slowly poured the milk over the coffee, watching it swirl in the dark surface. Her fingers trembled just enough to betray her nerves.

She hadn’t planned any of this. Not dragging him in off the pavement, not stripping weapons off a body soaked in rain and blood, not stitching flesh like it was a sock, not this, making breakfast while the Winter Soldier sat wrapped in a blanket ten feet away.

He wasn’t what she expected. Nothing like the shaky footage on news channels. Hydra’s deadly ghost. That name came with a story that had weight, a trail of destruction like a curse whispered down generations.

But the man in her living room was something else entirely.

He hadn’t moved from the corner. Still sitting in a corner, watching.

She crept closer to the kitchen doorway, careful not to creak the floorboard that always betrayed footsteps. Just a glance.

There he was, half-shadowed face, eyes too wide, too sharp. Still. Always still, as if movement might summon punishment. But the afghan was around his shoulders now.

What kind of life did someone have to survive to make warmth feel like a risk?

She stepped back into the kitchen and poured a second mug of coffee. Dropped two more bread slices into the toaster. Maybe food was the next step. Maybe not. She didn’t know the rules. Just to be safe, she added an apple and a glass of water, maybe he didn’t like bread or coffee.

She knelt slowly as she placed the tray on the floor, close to him, careful not to clatter the glass or scrape the ceramic. The last thing she wanted was to startle him more than he already seemed. “Didn’t know what you might want,” she said softly, flicking her gaze to his tense frame, the way his body tried to stay small, drawn in beneath the blanket. “Or maybe all of it. That’s okay too.”

A kindness. To her, at least. To him, her words became something else entirely.

His eyes didn’t meet hers. Instead, they locked somewhere behind her, fixed on some far-off phantom, a space he could escape into, away from the impossible riddle placed in front of him. Toasts. Coffee. An apple. Water. He didn’t move, but the flicker of muscles beneath his jaw betrayed the tension rising in his body. His breath started to speed just enough to betray the spiral he’d been pushed into.

Choice.

A thing that was not granted, not encouraged. Punished, even, under Hydra’s boots and commands. Pick wrong, and the pain came next. Pick right, and it still might. Eat too much, and you’d be told you were greedy. Eat too little, and they'd accuse you of wasting resources.

His body remained curled, but his grip on the blanket had turned white-knuckled, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth might crack. That tray, with its modest offerings, may as well have been a landmine.

She saw it. The way his chest hitched. The widening of his pupils. The way the apple became something unnameable in his mind. She’d meant well -God, she had- but it didn’t matter.

“I’m not testing you,” she added, more a whisper than a voice. “You don’t have to eat. Or choose. Or anything. It’s just there… if you want.”

But damage like his didn’t untangle with soft reassurances and trays of comfort food. It took time. Patience. Space to remember how to be human again.

She stood up and left the tray where it was, untouched and looming like a trap in his eyes.

She didn’t try again. Not right now.

Instead, she ate her breakfast in the kitchen. She kept glancing toward the living room, feeling guilty. He hadn’t moved. Still curled. Still silent.

When she finished, she rinsed the dishes, dried them, and stacked them neatly. Something mundane, manageable. Something to do with her hands.

Then she turned to the spare room.

Boxes stacked to shoulder-height, and old clothes draped over the frame of a chair that hadn’t seen sunlight since she moved in. Dust motes swirled in the morning light, and she sneezed once, violently. Of course.

She’d always meant to tidy it. Told herself she would every other weekend. Told herself maybe she’d turn it into a home office, or a reading nook. It was neither. It was a limbo.

Not anymore.

She shoved the boxes toward one side, pulled the chair out, and stripped the clothes slung over its back. Old college textbooks, a broken lamp, a pile of photo albums, she cleared them methodically, and then mopped the floor. Made room for the folded cot she kept under her bed in case she had visitors, and put fresh sheets, a pillow and a cover Wasn’t fancy -far from it- but he’d have four walls, a door, a place to exist that wasn’t the corner of her living room like some wounded stray.

He hadn’t asked for this. Hell, neither had she.

But he had saved her grandmother. Had thrown himself off a cliff for her, according to the story she’d heard a thousand times growing up. If he hadn’t done that… she wouldn’t have been born. Wouldn’t be alive to find him broken in the alley, wouldn’t be standing in this mess of a room, pulling a thick blanket over a mattress that had only ever served as theoretical guest furniture.

She owed him. Not as some myth of a machine of war.

But as a man. Lost. Hunted. Wounded.

----

When she returned to the living room, the tray was still untouched, and she felt her stomach sink. The toasts had gone cold. Condensation beaded the outside of the glass of water. The coffee no longer steamed. He sat in exactly the same position, knees pulled to his chest, the blanket wrapped tight, his eyes vacant and locked somewhere just past her shoulder.

She crouched carefully a few feet away, mindful of every motion, like she might spook him. “You’re not hungry?” she asked softly.

No answer. Not even a twitch. Not of refusal, not of confusion. Just stillness.

She nodded to herself. Tried again.

“I cleaned up the spare room,” she murmured, pausing to let the words test the waters before stepping further. “It’s quieter than out here. Private. Thought you might feel better in a place that’s just for you.”

Nothing.

She drew a breath, then stood and motioned loosely toward the hallway. “You can stay there, for now.”

That last part -the casual, clumsy softness of it- was meant as kindness. Meant to say: no pressure, take what you need, rest.

But something in his eyes flickered. That strange, fragile light behind them shifted. “Stay there for now” was something his brain could process. Could categorize. It sounded like a command. It had boundaries. It had structure. That made it safe.

He stood up slowly and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He didn’t look at her, didn’t glance her way. He moved like smoke -silent, fluid- and padded past her down the hallway.

She didn’t follow him.

Only watched the line of his back disappear through the open door.

----

He stood inside the doorway for a long time.

The room was silent. It smelled faintly of old furniture polish and cardboard from the boxes stacked against one wall. There was a plastic laundry basket filled with things meant to be sorted “someday.” The cot was freshly made, a simple wool blanket stretched across the mattress, a pillow tucked neatly at the head.

Too neat.

Too open.

His fingers flexed around the afghan, clenching on it reflexively as he scanned the corners, the seams where wall met ceiling, the gap under the door. No obvious cameras. No vents large enough to conceal weapons or to slip gas. No soft footfalls outside, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t come. That they hadn’t been told to wait until he let his guard down.

He didn’t lie down. Didn’t even sit.

Instead, he moved. Silently, methodically. Dragged the cot an inch at a time until it was pressed into the farthest corner from the door, half-shielded by the tower of boxes. Turned it so the narrowest part faced outward. Made a barrier with a leaning mirror, the plastic laundry basket flipped on its side, a big towel yanked from its hook, and draped over a pile of forgotten winter coats.

Not a fortress. But it was enough.

He crouched beside it with his knees to his chest again, the blanket still around his body, eyes locked on the doorway. He wouldn’t sleep. Not yet. Maybe not for a while.

But this was better.

Here, there were no restraints. No bright white light drilling into his skull. No fists, no commands barked at him, no sweetly spoken lies he’d been trained to believe and punished for forgetting.

Just quiet. Just the sound of his breath. The scratch of fabric as he clutched the edges of the afghan tightly.

He could do this.

He had been ordered to stay.

He would obey.

----

The sounds were quiet, barely audible. Fabric brushing fabric. Something heavy nudged across the floor. She stood outside the spare room door, one socked foot tucked beneath the other, her phone idle in her hand.

She shouldn’t have looked.

She knew that. He was clearly trying to stay out of sight, to feel out whatever sense of security he could conjure for himself, but her curiosity was big. So she pushed the door open just a crack.

The curtain was drawn taut. Probably a relief, she thought, if he was paranoid enough to crouch in corners, then the last thing he’d want was someone with a pair of binoculars peeking in from the street.

He had dragged the cot across the room, tucking it into the farthest corner and surrounding it with whatever barriers he could cobble together. Storage boxes, an old laundry hamper, and a side table turned on its edge. One of the tall lamps lay sideways like a broken fence post. A chair had been positioned half in front of the cot and half behind the boxes, angled just so as if to block a clear line of sight from the door.

A nest. A bunker. Something meant to hide him from the world.

She didn’t move, barely breathed. Just watched.

And even that was too much.

His back stiffened. He didn’t flinch or whip around or reach for anything, none of the reactions she might have expected from someone feeling cornered. Instead, he went still. Submission was carved into the air around him.

He knew she was there.

The way his back tensed wasn’t because of fear, not exactly. He was waiting for a command, a reprimand, some correction that never came. He braced, because that was what you did when someone with authority caught you doing something you shouldn’t.

It twisted her gut.

She stepped back, careful not to let the door creak, and padded down the hallway.

She stood for a long time beside the kitchen counter, phone warm in her palm. She wanted to help. She wanted to. But she didn’t know how to, didn’t even know where to begin. He looked at her like she was something between a lighthouse and a landmine.

And she was sure as hell she couldn’t tell anyone. What was she supposed to say? That a ghost of war was curled up in her spare room like a hunted thing? That Hydra’s greatest weapon was in her home, feverish, ragged, and mute?

She tapped through her contacts. Scrolled to Seth. Her college friend. Nerd. Oversharer. Proud owner of an encyclopedic knowledge of everything Avengers-related, still proudly wearing a Captain America hoodie in public, even if he had passed his thirties. If anyone had the off-the-record, deep-dive, conspiracy-threaded information on the Winter Soldier, it’d be him.

She hit call.

It rang. Once. Twice. Then, a click, and his voice, too chipper for the relatively early hour.

“Yooo. What’s up, trouble?”

“Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I was watching the news earlier, about the whole… uh, mess in D.C.”

“Ohhh, that,” he drawled, amused. “What, you watching the news? Should I be worried? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “Just got curious, I guess. You know. The Winter Soldier? Figured you might have the good stuff. Beyond what the anchors are barfing out.”

There was a beat of silence. Then laughter.

“Hold on. You’re calling me on a Saturday morning to ask about him?” He snorted. “What, you suddenly get hot for metal arms or something?”

“God, no,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Don’t make it weird! I just figured, you always complain no one listens when you infodump. So here I am. Listening. I’ve got coffee, nothing better to do.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “Alright, buckle up, because that guy is a rabbit hole. Conspiracies, sightings, redacted files, the whole deal.”

Perfect.

She murmured a soft “mm-hm” to encourage him to keep going. While her free hand drifted to the table and her eyes flicked down the hall toward the spare room.

She couldn’t ask what she really wanted. But if she could guide Seth just right -if he rambled the way he always did- maybe she could start to make sense of the man hiding in her house.

The man building a fort like a hunted child.

The man who still hadn’t touched his breakfast.

“So,” Seth started, and his tone shifted from playful to a serious kind, one she rarely heard from him, “after the whole HYDRA/S.H.I.E.L.D. implosion, a ton of files leaked online. Not just boring intel dumps, like, full-blown nightmarish shit. You gotta know where to look, sure, but it’s all there. They didn’t clean up fast enough.”

She gripped the mug. “Winter Soldier stuff?” she asked carefully.

“Yeah.” He exhaled through his nose. “Jesus, yeah. Enough to keep a horror writer fed for life. They broke him. Like, systematically. Psychotropic drug cocktails, routine electroconvulsive therapy, way past the medical limit, we’re talking wipes. Full memory erasure cycles.”

Her stomach churned.

“They used trigger phrases,” he added. “Russian, mostly. To activate him. Make him compliant, deadly. Like flipping a switch. It’s…” His voice faltered. “It’s fucked up. It’s beyond messed up.”

She closed her eyes. The half-warm kitchen felt suddenly airless.

“A chair,” Seth continued, almost reluctantly. “Some kind of device they strapped him into for resets. There’s footage. He- he screams. Over and over. Memory wiped clean like a damn chalkboard.”

Her throat closed. She managed to whisper, “God.”

“Yeah. Full horror movie starter pack. Plus, beatings, isolation, god knows what else.”

She managed a dry, "Well, that explains the… uh, haunted look."

"Haunted and heavily armed," he added, like he was trying to joke, but he failed.

They fell quiet for a beat, her heart was rattling in her chest like it was trying to escape. She could see the man curled in her spare room, blanketed in shadows and silence, now reframed with context that made it so much worse.

“Seth,” she said, her voice quieter, “if you find anything else… text me?”

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll send you the batch I downloaded too. But uh- maybe don’t watch it alone at night?”

“Noted.” She hung up soon after. Her fingers stayed curled around the cellphone long after the screen went dark.

She stared down the hallway. The silence behind that door felt denser now.

Whatever she’d assumed -trauma, yes, confusion, sure- it was worse.

Much, much worse.

----

She was sure he still had a fever. Knowing what she did now, she thought another way to approach him, even if it made her uncomfortable: a sprinkle of command on her phrasing. She lingered at the threshold with a tray in her hands, staring at the open door and the faint rustle of movement inside. Every instinct told her to tread gently. But that hadn’t worked, had it? He didn’t need gentleness. Not yet. He needed certainty. Edges. Something to hold onto that wasn’t going to shift under him. She’d seen what choice did to him. It spun him out, left him staring through walls like they whispered at him. So, she was going to give him an order.

She exhaled and stepped through.

“I’m coming in,” she said clearly, quietly, but sure. Not asking. Informing.

He was sitting on the floor again, behind the makeshift barrier he'd built from boxes and old winter coats. He didn’t flinch, not exactly, but the blanket pulled tighter around his shoulders. His eyes locked on her, sharp and unblinking, reading every inch of her posture.

The part of him that used to brace for pain tensed.

But she stepped in slowly, with her hands visible. No threat, no shout. Just that tray again, carried in like an offering.

He watched her crouch and gently leave the tray on the floor between them.

“Hi there,” she started. “I know you feel bad. You were hurt, and I stitched you up. You’ve got a fever, probably from the wound, the cold, or the water. Maybe because all of it.”

But he didn’t move.

“This is Gatorade. This,” she said, taking a blister pack slowly, “is paracetamol. One gram per pill. I don’t know what’s enough for you. Surely you do.”

Still no reaction, but his eyes tracked her movements.

She tilted her head and softened her expression, not her tone. “I’m going to take one. Same kind.” She took the pill, swallowed it with a gulp of the drink, then put the blister down on the tray beside the bottle.

He watched the capsule, but also her mouth, her hands, her throat, tracking for lies.

“See? Safe.” Then -gently- she slid the tray forward, just inside the line of his little fortress. “I need you to take it.” She exhaled. “So you can get better.”

He didn't move.

“I’m not going to touch you,” she added quietly. “Or come closer. Not unless you ask me to.”

And then she left. Let the door creak back open behind her, and didn’t look over her shoulder. Like she trusted he’d follow the order. Like he was capable.

He didn’t move for minutes. Her scent lingered in the air: coffee, soap, something citrus. Not chemical, not iron. Just something… human.

Her words stuck in his mind like a directive. A clear task with a defined outcome.

He reached out, slowly and measured. Took the blister and popped six pills. Then, he opened the cap of the drink with shaking fingers, and complied.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @civilbucky @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan @escapefromrealitylol

dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[lily-bisque]

part 4 — sleepless ៹ series m.list

“f-fuck,” your olderbrothersbestfriend!sukuna groaned through fluttered lashes, eyes clamped shut as his perspired back damn near stuck to his headboard.

his thick and calloused hand was coiled around his erect, angry shaft, motioning up and down as he tossed his head back.

it’d only been about 12 hours since he last saw you, and his mind was a mess, somehow even worse than it had been before he saw you. his guilt and utter disregard for you was now in his sight thanks to your blatant honesty—slowly eroding a hole in his chest.

not worth it? was he out of his mind when he said that? god, you were so much more than worth it in so many ways. you were an angel that floated from the heavens themselves downwards and maybe he was realizing it all too late.

…wait. what the fuck is he thinking? when did he become such a romantic?

having you upset with him was like a clock turning backwards—it was downright wrong.

sukuna wasn’t good at things like this. he didn’t know how to fix things. in all honesty, he didn’t even know why he was trying so hard to fix things. maybe it was better to leave you alone, but that was still gutting him from the inside out.

he was currently resting on his bed, back at his apartment, trying to rid you from his head as he worked on his hard-on.

stifled gasps and whimpers left his slightly parted lips as he squeezed, pre leaking at his tip.

“c’mon,” he exhaled out, a miffed expression coloring his face, toes twitching at the stimulation. as manwhore-ish as it sounds, jerking himself off wasn’t his preferred route. as most evenings went, he’d meet some other girl whose name he couldn’t remember the following morning and take her back here.

but tonight, he didn’t have it in him. not when his emotions were flying off the charts, emotions that weren’t his usual and preferred expression—anger.

he shook the thought away, wrenching a quicker pace at his boner. he had no idea how he was so hard after his mind was so shot—that was, not until an image flickered in his mind.

his pace stuttered, his empty hand flying to his sheets to grip the silky fabric and ball his fist.

your pretty face entered his mind, the same expression you had on when he had you pushed so snugly in his grasp against the cold, steel refrigerator.

your delicate touch that lingered on his biceps, his nape, tugging at his unruly salmon-colored tresses. your soaking sex that was practically screaming to be plugged and stuffed by him.

sukuna let out a stuttering gasp, bucking his hips angrily into his massive hand. his thumb swiped against his slit and he violently regretted the fact that he hadn’t had you gagging on his shaft, pretty plush lips sucking him in and tongue running along his prominent veins, struggling to take all of him.

his wet pink muscle ran across his lower lip at the thought, a crazy smirk making its way to his lips as he imagined you grinding your hips lazily along his face, where he’d take charge and grip the fat of thighs to drag you atop him, allowing you to ride out your high and use him how you deserved.

you were such a beautiful fucking girl and he was absolutely screwed at the fact he couldn’t feel his tongue slid into your mouth, hearing that pretty whimper you let out when he’d force it in your mouth.

pathetically, sukuna finished in his hand with a loud moan of your name, ribbons of his seed shooting out from his throbbing cockhead and coating his fist.

sweat beaded his furrowed brow as he pumped slowly, chest heaving as he rode out his high.

how fucking unfair it was that it wasn’t your tight little cunt that was wrapped around him and taking every last drop, stuffing your womb till it poured from your hole.

tossing his legs over his bed lazily, he slugged, bare-bodied, to his shower and turned the faucet on. stepping in, he allowed the scalding water to trickle down his back and futilely attempt to undo the coils wrapped taut in his bulging muscles.

he placed a tattooed forearm against the dripping glass, propping his forehead against it as his body adjusted to the torturous temperature.

“not worth it,” he muttered, clamping his lashes shut, lashes that were ‘wet from the shower,’ he told himself, and shaking his head.

again, he imagined the dress that wrapped that sexy, minx-like figure of yours in the club just a few nights ago. you danced with such an assuredness, such a grace, something he’s failed to notice in you before.

his free hand twitched, wrapping his hand around his length in resignation and tending to his sensitive erection once again.

he wished he could fix things, so he could have you dress up in that pretty thing again and dance for him, dance with him.

a hum left his lips at the prospect, fingers running over the prominent veins running down his cock.

“pea,” he breathed out, imagining you stripping yourself from that slip and stepping into the shower with him. he’d waste no time pulling you into the water and bending you over for him, admiring the pretty curve of your back.

he’d test how far it could go, pushing a palm against the small of it to get you to whine out his name.

oh, his name. it sounded the prettiest coming from your pretty lips.

when you were more than infuriated at him intruding on you this morning, you still sounded so effortlessly enticing.

he groaned deplorably, bowing against the frosted glass of his shower as he picked up the pace, leaving the ghost of his warm breath to adorn it.

was he a creep for this? jerking off to the idea of you when you hated his guts? probably.

but it was the only thing keeping him sane.

maybe it was better this way. he could keep his distance–uphold whatever respect he had going with your brother, and shield you from his untaming and destructive personality.

you were a sweet gir,l after all. his sweet pea, still somewhat untainted from his presence.

if it kept you away from him, your built up anger fueling your avoidance of him, so be it.

lamentingly, sukuna finished in his fist again, a drawn out groan of what sounded like “sweet pea” coming from his lips as his seed coated the shower floor.

despondingly, sukuna cleaned up the shower and himself after such a pitiful display, crashing in his bed, naked, from utter exhaustion thrown onto him from his mind. 

៹ next part

taglist (open): @poopooindamouf @yuaisen @ariskywlkr @sukubusss @your-mum3000 @noooo-onee @simpforyoubitch @emoedgylord @gojosatorusprettyprincess @nappingmoon @simplyraeblue @i7ghoul @notasimp56785

[marisolls]

121924. ❀ ₊˚⊹ HERSHEY’S KISSES

haikyuu 𝜗𝜚 tsukishima kei x fem!reader

you’ve had your fair share of experiences when it comes to relationships. yet for some reason, the one you have now, with a certain blonde who gives you love that’s tangible enough to feel its warmth flowing your skin— makes all your hair from your nape rise in an indescribable feeling. it’s a mix of apprehension, excitement, and an overwhelming desire to do something you have never done before.

or: 4 times you felt the urge to kiss him, and 1 time he acted upon it.

❀ MASTERLIST. I. KNOCKS YOU OUT OF BREATH. NEXT

content 𝜗𝜚 casual post-match celebration with the karasuno volleyball team. subtle hints of physical intimacy and affection. tsukki is very attentive. reader's falling in love all over again.

you feel a bit silly about the whole thing. hinata keeps bickering with kageyama over the last piece of karaage, their voices rising like two squabbling crows. yachi is trying—and failing—to keep them from spilling the table. nishinoya, meanwhile, sneakily grabs a skewer of yakitori from tanaka’s plate, stuffing it into his mouth with an exaggerated wink that tanaka doesn’t notice until it’s far too late. across the table, yamaguchi can only smile awkwardly, as though secondhand embarrassment is the price of admission for sitting here.

you don’t think your presence makes any sense. this is supposed to be your boyfriend’s and his team’s little celebration after a taxing match—just something to spend their time together after all their hard work. yet tsukishima hasn’t really given you a choice. or rather, everyone wanted you here, even offering to pay for you if you admitted to being short on savings.

your dress feels tight under the humid heat of the air. their laughter feeds your heart full. sweat trickles down your temple and you’re slightly having difficulty with breathing. yet you’re happy, a proud smile etched on your lips. it’s inevitable; karasuno’s joy is very, very contagious.

light flickers on clinking ice. to your right, tsukishima slides you a glass of cold water. it hits the back of your hand where it rests on the table, cupped together as though you’re trying to fit yourself small and still.

your hands unravel themselves as you take the glass, mumbling a thank you which you’re sure he couldn’t hear with how quiet you are. the coldness soothes you, washes down the unease settling your throat.

he doesn’t say you’re welcome back. instead, he gently brushes your hair behind your ear, pulling out a small handkerchief to pat it over the side of your face. he gives you a look of knowing. stays quiet. but you can hear him over the million voices swirling around you.

he blinks, briefly glances, and points to the doorway at the back. eyes telling, do you want to leave now?

the question lingers with the way his gaze just stays on you. and he knows even a simple question like this can lead your mind branching out too many factors to consider. too much hesitation. so he waits, with a stare so familiar and so quiet that no one dares glance at the two of you. like it’s only you and him existing, even for just a short while.

yours and his plate are finished. you doubt you can refuse hinata’s or nishinoya’s insistence to eat more! take anything! but you don’t want to leave yet, either. you promised yourself you’ll bask in this moment until its end. you don’t want to ruin the atmosphere. you don’t want to be selfish and ask him if he could escape with you.

(though he would. for you, of course he would.)

you gulp down your water as you shake your head, no. you gift him a little sheepish grin, as if to say you’re sorry, because you can’t ever be rude to anyone even if you tried.

he sighs through his nose. okay. he expected it. and as careful as he can, he scoots closer to you. and you do the same on instinct. his arm finding a home on your back with ease.

like it’s natural, like it's breathing. it’s this small but thoughtful act that makes you a little bit in love with him, how he cares for you in a way that’s freeing. less burdened and more reassured. it leaves you aching for some reason. a smile that can't be suppressed curling your lips and you can guess from the way tsukishima's hold tightens tells you that he's pleased.

you kind of want to kiss him right now.

oh...

oh—

wait, what?

it’s a small admission. a tiny hidden rock on asphalt as you stumble in collision with it. you feel your body tense, all noise lulls in the backdrop as you feel tsukishima’s palm rubbing your back in circles. he takes a gulp of his own water and watches everyone with cool nonchalance, adam’s apple bobbing up and down. he doesn’t notice how you zone in on his lips, glistening under the warm lights.

it’s tantalizing, pricking your skin and raising the hairs on your nape. what the hell has gotten into you?

it’s bad enough that the weather makes it a pain to wear anything from your wardrobe, full of thick clothing that covers almost all your skin. you’re hyper-aware of everything—the dress clinging to your skin, the damp heat settling on your shoulders, and most of all, his hand. it’s starting to feel like a live current residing on your back, sparking warmth that spreads through your chest, thrums with every slow circle his palm traces.

you haven’t felt this way in so long, like the air itself is too heavy to breathe.

and then it hits you. one larger rock emerges in front of you, forcing you to take a step back with caution.

you also haven’t kissed anyone despite your fair share of experience with relationships.

it’s not that you haven’t wanted to. it’s just—

well, every opportunity seemed to slip through your fingers, like sand spilling from a cupped hand. moments passed by unnoticed or ignored, until now, with tsukishima’s palm against your back, his quiet affection settling into the spaces between the both of you. it feels monumental. intimidating.

oh shit. now you might want to escape before they notice the expression you’re making. which you’re unsure what it is. you probably look like you’re suffering from constipation.

you risk a glance back at him, your breath catching for reasons you don’t want to admit. he’s not even doing anything special—just being himself, as sharp-tongued and soft-hearted as ever. but suddenly, the idea of leaning in, of closing that short distance, able to mesmerise him more than what normal circumstances provide, seems almost impossible.

just daunting.

“you okay?” his voice is low, barely audible over the team’s raucous laughter. his brows knit slightly, his hand pausing mid-circle against your back. there’s no mockery in his tone, none of the usual sarcasm. just the familiar level of concern when it comes to you, carefully wrapped up in his usual aloofness.

you nod quickly, too quickly, the motion jerking like a marionette’s strings pulled taut. “yeah, i’m fine. just, um, warm.”

“obviously.” he snorts, but his hand doesn’t leave your back. instead, it shifts, the warmth of his fingers brushing against your arm, grounding you. “you’re overthinking again.”

“no, i’m not,” you mumble defensively, though your pulse betrays you with how it thuds and skips.

he doesn’t press, doesn’t ask. tsukishima is many things, but he’s not the kind to push when he knows you’re teetering on the edge of something. he leans back, his hand falling away as he picks up another skewer of yakitori, and for a moment, you almost miss the contact. god.

you’re left to wrestle with the quiet thought that’s now lodged itself firmly in your mind. the thought that maybe—just maybe—you want to kiss him.

it’s so ridiculous. the way your heart stutters and stalls over something so simple and small. but the more you sit there, the more the idea takes root, twisting through your torso like ivy, reaching your throat, making everything breathless and slightly helpless.

he’s looking at you again now, his expression unreadable, though there’s a hint of exasperation in the slight quirk of his brow. “what?”

“nothing.” your voice comes out too quickly, too high-pitched.

his lips twitch, just barely, and you’re struck again by how they catch the light, the way they part slightly when he exhales, the way they curve when he’s fighting off a smirk.

you’re spiraling, absolutely spiraling.

(and yet, despite the mortifying heat crawling up your neck, you can’t bring yourself to look away.)

taglist (open!) — @stellar-haikyuu @kokokoula @luvether @yoru-exe @reirain @hwanghyunjinismybae @astolary

reader is so strong if i were in their place i'd be ravaging him idc

© SOLVIA 2024. HERSHEY’S KISSES. do not alter/repost !