#all of that is light-hearted so don't worry

[dilf-docs]

Hand To Heart (I'm Gonna Stay Faithful)

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: a pregnancy scare makes you realize just how deep you are in this.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pregnancy scare, fingering (WE GET IT U LIKE IT), bit of praise kink, humilliation kink, breeding kink (they're stupid and insane acc), dacryphilia, sex thru the looking glass (there's a mirror in reader's dorm), ANGST in capital, they're starting to catch the feels™ ur honor, hurt/comfort, plot thiccens, this people are clearly NOT in a good headspace btw idk we listen read and don't judge.

word count: 4,757 words

side note: everyone calling this joel nasty but thirsting after him too? was going to hold a trial over my citizens but yk... what the hell, sure! i too want nasty bfd!joel to ruin me: he can be my baby daddy who doesn't pay for child support of our 4 kids and we'd make way to bed for our 5th LET'S GO also spam time! but i also happen to write in wattpad, and got a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) it's on spanish tho, but if u speak the language and would like to tune in, u can read it here

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It's a regular Tuesday when his phone rings at ten in the morning.

"Dad"

Joel gets up from his desk in a brash move, immediately picking up his daughter's worried tone. Tommy bursts inside, telling him to calm down, but all Joel can hear is the anxious beat in his chest.

"What's it, babygirl? You okay?" his throat tightens. "Talk to me"

There's silence before she answers, as if she's unsure to continue.

"It's not me" he feels his muscles relaxing, but then Sarah drops the bomb. "It's y/n"

Joel's heart beats with a different type of worry.

"What's wrong with her?" voice firm but emotionless.

It's almost summer again, and he's still seeing you. In a way, you had carved a space for yourself in his cold heart, so naturally, fear settles in. He'd never admit this things out loud, though.

"I don't know, dad" his daughter starts to rush the words out, panic evident on her voice. "She has locked herself in the bathroom and won't stop crying. I-I didn't know who else to call"

"Don't worry" but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "M' comin'. S'anyone else in there?"

There's a pause on the line before she answers.

"No"

He thinks of you. He'd seen you cry before, of course, but it'd been over silly childish stuff, like getting sent to bed early or not getting what you wanted for Christmas.

He thinks of you. Images of your pretty face, etched in pain, make his stomach drop. It isn't fair: your face was one destined to be happy for eternity, your smile so contagious Joel would sometimes find himself surrendering to your juvenile joy, his crow feet a little more notorious since you entered his life and carved your space on it by force; a light in the dark.

He just couldn't bear to see a mirror of his dullness on your face. It wasn't right.

"Stay put. I'll be there"

He tries not to think about your eyes drained of life. He tries not to think he's the cause. And then, he hangs.

As soon as Joel enters your dorm, your perfume is up his nostrils, providing him with a sense of relief he didn't know he needed. It was comforting and familiar, words that used to be hollow now carrying a knowing feeling that stung right on his chest.

"Dad" Sarah calls out, going for a hug. Joel embraces his daughter tightly while caressing her hair. "I'm so glad that you're here. I didn't know what to do"

"Breath in, babygirl. S'alright" he looks at your door, closed. Broken sobs can be heard, and his wounded heart feels like a heavy burden on his chest.

"My class starts in ten" Sarah speaks against the fabric of his flannel, "but I just couldn't leave her like this"

His daughter has a good heart. At least one of them did, anyway.

"Go to your class" he's commanding before he can fully process what he said.

Sarah breaks the hug, looking at him with a look he can't quite place.

"What? But, dad-" she tries to protest, concerned for your wellbeing.

"I'll take care of it. Always do, haven't I?" he sees her hesitation, and afraid of where her doubts would take her, Joel adds a small joke in there. "Y'know those classes ain't free, kid. Go ahead"

"Okay" she gives up. "Just... tell me if anything happens, yes?"

"F'course. Trust me"

"I trust you"

He still remembers when Sarah's kindergarten teacher handed him that drawing: Joel was wearing a cape, and she said his little girl had told everyone in class his dad was a superhero because there was nothing he couldn't do. That same admiration and faith is there in her eyes, even as the small naive kid slips from his fingers and turns into the woman that stands before him. He's not the devil, but the worst father in the world, and that is pretty much the same to him.

When Sarah is out of your dorm, he's trapped inside the small room with your heavy crying on the other side of the door. He looks at the small place, thinking about all the times he's sneaked inside during the night, hiding like a criminal as you wait for him behind the door full of scrapped stickers, ready to capture his lips with an eagerness that gnaws his chest.

Now it's just him and your sobs, his terrified reflection displayed in the mirror in front of your bed, mockingly staring back.

What are you doing? it questions, and Joel, always ready to answer, has suddenly lost the ability to speak.

Forcing himself out of such a pitiful state, he approaches the door, knocking softly.

"Sarah" your hoarse voice speaks up, and just then, he realizes how much he loves hearing your voice, no matter how it sounds. "Don't you have classes to go to? Leave me, please. I promise I'm good, I-"

Joel hears your distress, so he interrupts what looks like the start of a nervous rambling wreck. Huh, doesn't he know you so well?

"Sarah's gone" a beat, "It's me, Joel"

As if you wouldn't recognize that deep voice even if you were deaf.

There's silence before the door flings open, surprising Joel, who takes a step back, barely noticeable to the rest, but obvious to you, who has spent hours admiring him and all his small movements, he who you could draw by memory and built in your head as real as he who was standing before you, his eyes circling with a whirlwind of emotions you can't quite place, yet make your heart race.

Joel takes in the sight of you, deciding it's unfair how good you look, despite your disheveled hair, run mascara and red-rimmed eyes: you are still the prettiest sight he's ever seen, and now he doesn't know what scares him the most.

"You're wearing my shirt" he says out loud his latest discovery. It's all he manages to say: not an are you okay? nor an what's wrong?

No, Joel just happens to be very stupid(ly in love).

"Sarah didn't see me" you hug the fabric that makes your frame look smaller, or maybe it's your tired composture that makes it seem that way, avoiding Joel from enjoying the way his shirt looks on you. "If that's what you wanted to know. Been inside there for hours, already was when she came by"

The fact that you rather explain and assure him of his supposed possible worries instead of sharing your own, makes his stomach tie on a knot. Were you too kind or perhaps selfless? Maybe just stupid(ly in love).

Joel grunts, and you're not sure if it's his way of dissmissing your comment (maybe he thinks you're lying), chastising you in a shallow manner or the fact that you're poorly trying to avoid the elephant in the room. Maybe he thinks you're still a foolish careless child who can't comprehend the weight of whatever it is you're doing by being with your bestfriend's dad behind everyone's back.

"Tell me" he gets closer to you, fingers on your cheeks, but they don't dig the skin, instead, his roughness hiding a surprising tenderness to them. "What happened, y/n?"

The rawness in his voice takes you by surprise. Joel Miller, who seemed a man impossible to waver, now stood before you, wrapped in a gloom that left you at loss for words, something akin to hope planting it's seed on your heart.

"Tell me" he demands, yet his pupils move as unsteady as your heart. There's no power for command in his voice, only what you could allude to helplessness.

Was it because you were putting up walls like he did?

Was it because the consequences of being with you are starting to dawn upon him?

Whatever it is, you don't like it.

"What's wrong?" he's pushing for an answer softly, such a contrasting image to that of him in bed. "Please, talk to me"

Please.

The words slip past his trembling lips, defenses crumbling.

Joel Miller hasn't pleaded since Sarah's mother packed her bags and walked out of their shared home. He promised himself he would never be vulnerable again, never at the feet of a loved one, beggin to be seen.

To be heard. To not be hurt. To be loved.

But here you were, red eyes blown wide at a confession spoken through other words.

Please.

Your chest feels heavy, breath constricted.

"Joel..." you utter his name like a prayer. As something to believe in; something to hold.

He rushes to your side, strong arms caging around you as your labored cries fill the tiny room.

"S'alright" he whispers against your ear, burying his face on your shaking shoulder. "M' right'ere, doll"

Your hold turns more desperate, practically clinging as if your life depended on it.

"Take your time, y/n" your name so soft, you feel like crying more. "I ain't goin' anywhere"

"Promise me" you whimper, holding tightly.

"I won't go" he assures. There it is, the same unwavering strength you know. It's for you, he thinks.

"Joel" you call out again, tone terrified. "I think I'm pregnant"

It takes him at least a minute to speak. Even to breathe.

"...What?"

He feels your erratic pulse against his chest.

"Joel. Look at me"

He doesn't feel your heartbeat anymore. Just then he realizes he's backed down, embrace letting go of yours. Joel takes in your eyes, shimmering with new tears and fears.

"Joel?"

"I'm here" his voice sounds like it belongs to someone else, and the reminder like it's for himself.

"I know" your small voice speaks up, "but, just- please, look at me"

Joel holds your gaze, and it's like your air supply as been cut.

You don't want this.

"Are you sure?" Joel asks cautiously, as if you were a small animal he's afraid to scare.

"No" you breath in. "I bought the test, but I couldn't take it... I was, for the very first time in my life, scared. But there's always a first, isn't it? That's when Sarah found me"

There's always a first. You weren't afraid when he pounced you next to his sleeping daughter, neither when you didn't stop coming and he let you in everytime, and absolutely not when he obscenely ate you out while Sarah was on the phone. No, you were brave―brave enough to stand defiant when his conflicting gaze pierced through you, daring you to be the first to leave this mess and forget about him. But you were brave because you stayed, despite it all.

That had to mean something, right?

"You said you wouldn't leave me" it comes out in a shaky breath; a threat. Your voice seethes with a quiet rage. "You promised, Joel"

Like the word promise was a dagger twisting on his insides, not a sacred oath.

So he forces himself to be that hero Sarah still thinks he is. After all, he promised her he's going to solve this, didn't he?

"I did" he runs a hand through his hair. "Got the test with you?" You slowly nod. "Take it, then. I'll wait here"

You don't move from your spot, chest still moving uneven under your labored breaths.

"When you come out, I'll promise I'll still be here"

He can't promise you more. The world? It's what you deserve but not what he can give; Joel can only give so much.

"Okay" your tone is clipped, and that's all you say before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The room feels smaller than it is, the small plastic stick feeling heavier in your fingers than it actually is. You hear the clock's tick, Joel's frantic pace and your own irrational beat. It feels like a bomb: ready to explode and destroy everything within it's range.

Time drags like a cigarette, walls closing over your shaking pale frame. Your phone has a timer going on, yet for some reason, it feels an end to your beginning. You hug your body, wishing it was Joel's arms doing so.

But you saw it: fear, hesitation. It was on his eyes, auburn cracking like wood under fire. He was weak, and so were you. All of this... it starts to loose it's meaning. What started as a summer fling now falls upon you like a second skin you can't quite wash off, and it's suffocating as much as the enclosed space where a stupid line could change the rest of your life forever.

Joel outside isn't doing much better. He's aware his walking probably set you on edge, so now he's sat at the small bed that dips under his weight. He takes one deep breath, two―then looses count.

How could he be so careless? For a brief moment, why did he let himself believe it could be?

For God's sake: you were his daughter's friend. He had seen you and Sarah play on his house, laughing on his porch, gossiping on her bedroom. Growing up.

He wanted you, a desire so consuming it sometimes kept him up at night, thoughts confusing with something else. Probably fear, probably acceptance.

Joel is aware you changed his life. You, with your wild spirit and obnoxious laugh. You whom he couldn't tear his gaze away when standing in the same room, a magnetic force making the world around you drawn to you and that dangerous allure you had that made it impossible to resist you. To forget you. To leave without you.

He feels dirty. A monster. A wolf with an insatiable hunger, sinking his canine teeth on your soft flesh. He'd drink your blood, to always keep a part of you with him; to be one. Like a lamb sent to the slaughter: but you wanted it. You had placed your head inside his jaw; trusting. As if knowing he could devour you, yet he'd never hurt you. Daring, almost.

Show me you can love me. Take a bite. Take me as yours. Mark me. Ruin me for anyone else. My blood, it belongs to you. This isn't a sacrifice―this is love.

When you exit the bathroom, hand holding the pregnancy test, it's all clear to him.

For a moment even, Joel forgets there's a world outside and sees a small baby: they have your smile, your eyes―and nothing of him, because you're the sun of his moon, the light of his darkness, and that baby is a mirror of you and your beauty. You and your warmth, devoid of his cold and far from where his filth can taint it. They have to look like you, because you are the most beautiful person in the world, and suddenly, the idea one more of you is possible, makes it feel like just you isn't enough.

"It's negative"

For the second time in the day, Joel is rendered speechless. His gaze is trained on the floor, lost in thought. Besides his lack of an answer, whatever he's thinking makes you nervous.

"Joel, are you okay?" you call out.

He swallows the lump on his throat, pose akward before he moves next to your bed.

"M' fine, baby. C'mere" he sits over it again, motioning with his hand the empty spot next to him. Joel's embrace is warm, like it shields you from the cold harsh truth.

"Are you upset?" you ask over the comfortable silence, the underlying tension stretching like a rubber band.

"No" his answer comes quick, "but I won't lie to ya', doll. Thought for a sec and ol' man like me could give a pretty girl like yourself a baby as beautiful as their mamma"

A treacherous pink dusts your cheeks. Had you lost all your common sense? Seconds ago, your life hung by a fragile thread, and now all your body can think is to go for the same risk again. Fuck it.

"Did you? I thought you were too busy freaking out"

Joel lets out a nervous laugh. "M' a busy man, doll. Learned how to do two things at once"

A fire settles in your stomach when his touch lingers over your soft flat belly, longing.

"Hmm, I see" your fingers move from his hold to his collarbone, as they play with the buttons he hasn't wore.

"Y/n" he warns. You stop for a moment, not because you're unsure, but because when you look up, his eyes don't shine with that glint of danger and hunger that gives you the thrills. Instead, they look at you with a fondness he doesn't seem to even realize―the one that gives you the hope of it all.

"I want this" you speak up, voice confident.

"I don't think that's a good idea, doll. What'ya need is-"

"You" your face gets close to his, cutting his words and breath. Joel's adam's apple bobs, your throbbing pussy going through a Pavlovian response, such action an indicator he's surrendered to you, mouth watering at just the thought. "You said you could do two things at the same time, right? The comfort me in the only way you know"

There's hesitation on his eyes, and while you think it's because he's still hung up on the idea this isn't what you need, Joel's mind is stuck in the fact you think he can just warm your bed but no your heart. It's stupid, indeed. It can't affect him that much. Ashamed, he cuts the space hanging between your lips and traps them in a heated kiss.

"Hmh, Joel" your voice barely audible as Joel's fingers grip on your hair, his sleazy tongue sliding it's way into your mouth until you can feel it in your teeth. "Please..."

He chuckles at your neediness. "Please, what?"

"Please" you whimper, feeling your back heat with droplets of sweat under Joel's shirt, the sticky feeling akin to that starting to pool in between your thighs. "Please, make me feel good"

Joel smiles adoringly, moving your body until your legs are up his shoulders. Sure, his knees covered by his dirty worn-out jeans are ruining your fresh laundry, and his joints may crack here and there, but you don't pay mind to this little things: all you care is how he's kissing your bare thighs, his salt and pepper stubble tickling skin that feels more sensitive than ever; burning almost.

"Gon' touch 'tis pretty pussy 'til you forget y'r name, doll" he breathes out. "Will ya' let me?"

You nod eagerly as he helps you get out of your panties, throwing them somewhere around the room. You smack his arm playfully at his rough manners, but then he's pressing his lips with wet ticklish kisses on your legs and laughter bubbles at the tingles it's causing.

"S-stop, Joel!" you beg, legs shaking. Your giggles are contagious, and soon the foreign feeling lifts the corners of his scowl into a smile, a concept becoming more familiar with time.

"I ain't stopping" his fingers then graze your clit, tauntingly. You whine, as Joel doesn't let up on your clit, his calloused digits coated in your arousal. "'Tis what you asked for, baby. So 'm gonna make you feel good. So good until you can't speak nothin' that ain't my name"

The threat feels like a delicious promise, so you tell him you'll behave.

"I wanna try somethin', doll. Wait" you whine at the loss of his fingers inside of you, and then he's moving your body until he's against the wall and you're on the border of the bed. With your eyes, you follow his line of view. "So needy, ain't ya'? Cockhungry slut. Jus' scared the shit out of me and now you want me inside?" he tsks. "Sick fella"

"Joel..." you breath out, desire pooling into your orbs.

"Wanna see you, doll" you see your reflection in the mirror as Joel lowers his head to whisper on your ear, eliciting goosebumps on your skin. "Want you to see yourself, too. How you'll be beggin' for me"

His middle and ring finger dip between your folds as he continues the minstrations, fingers pumping in and out as they graze your moist cunt. They start to go in circles, and even if it's not exactly next to your bed, you can see the mirror begin to fog, whines condensed in the heavy air.

His shirt clings uncomfortably to your body, but you don't care. In a way, he feels even closer to you, as if he was an extension of yourself.

Joel's body radiates heat on it's own, making the room's temperature skyrocket.

You lean your head back onto the mattress, moaning.

"Need ya' to use that pretty mouth of y'rs, doll. Say it" his fingers linger on the dip of your hips, waiting for an answer with a smirk and daring manner. "Say what ya' want; that's if you can"

It takes you a while to speak up, the slippery sound of Joel's coated fingers the only sound to be heard on your dorm.

"I... I need" you whine through labored pants, "I need you, Joel"

I need you, Joel. It's in the heat of the moment, really, yet on that very instant, he makes a silent vow that hangs unspoken in the air.

"Good girl" he bites your earlobe, making a chill run down your spine.

His fingers fuck into you just how you like it: swirling to explore your inner tight walls.

"Fuck. Love how your pussy takes me, doll. 'S mine, isn't it? Say it, say who this pussy belongs to. Who's the only man allowed to have it"

You close your eyes, but the answer comes clear. "You, Joel. Just you"

You whine, feeling him go harder in a new-found confidence. Your nails dig on his biceps, but he doesn't flich, still busy burying his fingers inside your clit as his mouth continues spilling filthy shit you barely can comprehend, mind starting to go numb.

Normally, Joel would make you cum on his fingers, always making sure to lick it after, claiming it was bad manners to leave to waste. But today, the clock ticking in your wall, he knows he must hurry.

"Eager, eh?" you taunt back, seeing how quickly he's pulling down his underwear, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance.

Your dripping cunt welcomes his cock, tip teasing your entrance.

"Don't" he seethes.

"Don't?" you laugh. "Don't what, laugh?"

His fingers grab your jaw tightly, forcing you to look behind you.

"Don't stop lookin', doll"

Joel slips the tip of his cock into you, his hands grabbing your waist to steady you. He looks at you through the mirror, seeing your dazed eyes, waiting as you bite your lip.

"That's it, good girl" he praises, purring against your ear. You see his face go down and lick the side of your neck before sinking his teeth in it. "Gonna reward you for'at"

Your mouth falls agape when he fully pushes his cock inside of you, burying himself to the limit in the first thrust. You moan, stretch wet pussy trying to adjust to his girth. He groans, his hips moving back and forth with yours, to meet his thrusts.

"R-right there" you whimper, feeling eyes starting to water. It had been a long day, and with his cock buried deep inside you, you can't think of anything else: just him―like this, for the rest of your life; you don't need more. "Fuck, don't stop"

His thumb rubs across your cheekbone, capturing a tear that had slipped past your foggy mind in a brittle moment of vulnerability, brown eyes flickering with something else. It could be.

We could be.

"Fuck, you cryin' over this cock, doll? What'a fuckin' slut" he laughs incredulously, but there's a hidden fondness to it. "S' that how good 'm makin' you feel?"

You can only moan, his dick harder now, his infatuation with your fucked-out state evident in the way his movements become more hectic.

"Can't even speak? What'a dirty minx inside 'tis sexy little body"

"Mhm" you blabber, tears running hot down your cheeks, landing on the mattress in fat droplets, noticeable through the reflection even. Joel stares back at your puffy eyes, devotion pouring at your glossy gaze, coated in a faint red tint, more pronounced from your earlier cries. Fuck. Never did he think your lambent eyes and sniffle sounds could turn him on this much. Something about him being the cause of it has his head spinning.

"New rule" he growls, "you keep those pretty red eyes lookin' at me when you cum"

You whimper at his words, the powerful aura they carry pushing your orgasm closer to the edge. You feel your tight folds clenching around his cock, hands holding to his back while your nails dig in it. You feel yourself approaching your release, multiple tears escaping down your cheekbone. In an obscene gesture, it isn't his thumb but his tongue what removes the wet stream from your body, feeling the salty drops on his tastebuds.

You were already so worked up, it was a matter of seconds before you could cum at any moment. Your walls clench around his length, and before you can process, Joel pulls your body up, caging your tits until they're pressed against his soft chest. You face the white paint of your wall, and Joel can see your back in the mirror as he's still buried inside of you. You gasp at the change in position, all of the sudden, a painfull delicious sensation flooding your senses.

"You're gonna cum, aren't ya', doll?" Joel's asking, hot breath nestled in your neck.

"Hmh" you barely manage to blurt as he fucks into you harder, your arms clutching onto him. You were being so loud now that you were sure you'd get at least one noise complain, hoping it stays there; if they found out not only had you been fucking, but with a fourty year old man who happpened to be the father of your bestfriend, you'd probably get expelled. "So close..."

"You know?" he whispers, voice fragile over the sound of your pants and worked up breaths. "I was scared, ealier. M' sorry you had to see that" your body trembles, making you close your eyes. "But I need ya' to know, for'a moment, I did think about having a kid with you"

Your forehead drips with sweat, mixing with the sodium of your tears.

"Maybe in 'nother life, huh?"

Your heart feels like it's about to burst when he sloppily kisses you, as to prevent any words come out of your mouth―humilliating or full of regret, avoiding the heart ache of a rejection. Joel, for a moment, lets his heart wander off to territories he shouldn't, thinking of things he should leave to be. Joel digs his hole deeper, but he doesn't care: he just wants to be the best grave in your cementery.

"Maybe" you answer, but it sounds like a possibility, the promise of a foolish mind betraying the guarded hidden hope.

"Fuck, Joel" you bury your face against his soft pecs, your orgasm crashing over you. Your whine comes our rather loud, trying to drown the sound against his body. He doesn't stop holding you on his arms, firm; you'd probably fallen if he didn't.

"Wait for me, doll. 'M close"

"Please" you plead, kissing his jaw. "Need you. Want to feel you, Joel"

Not daddy, but his name. I want you. I need you. Want to feel you; for you to fill me. He groans, rhythm sloppy as he crashes his lips into yours. he should stop, especially after today's events, but God, his traitorous head is filled with images of you, belly round with his child, one carved to be the spitting image of you.

Do it.

You moan inside his mouth when you feel him finish inside of you, thick, your fingers running through his dark greying hair damp with sweat.

"M' right here" he says his words from earlier, and you feel yourself hugging him to keep his body next to yours even as he pulls out.

"I know" you hum, arms around his neck. "Thank you for coming"

"What of both?"

You let out a laugh.

"Jesus, Joel" but your tone is devoid of malice, adquiring that layer to it, just like his own. There's a shift in the air, and if you felt it before, now you know there's no point of return. "You sure are something else"

dts: @ann-gell; angél de mi corazón, tkm mucho, gracias por llegar a mi vida, ah.

[myjklei]

"You had a bad day, and your boyfriend did his best to cheer you up."

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

Genre: Established relationship

Warnings: Cigarettes, she burns him with the cig once, vaginal fingering, hair pulling(m!receiving), nipple sucking(f!receiving), riding, choking and face slapping(m!receiving), unprotected sex but they are clean and in birth control!!! He cums inside her. Cuddlesss :(

Wordcount: 2,7k

a/n: That's one of my favorite lives of him, and he cheered me up that day when i was feeling terrible, so why not?

You close the door of your apartment, take off your shoes and coat and leave them lying around, then go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Your boyfriend is sitting on the sofa with his cell phone in his hand, following you with his eyes.

"Hey my love, you arrived late, I was already going to call you. How was your day?"

You sip your water and set the glass down on the counter, letting out a tired sigh. He turns off his cell phone, puts it on the coffee table, and then walks over to you.

"Want to talk about it?" he asks, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

"Nothing much happened... just a couple of coworkers who made the atmosphere in the company bad and delayed everyone's work, that's why I arrived much later than normal, also I didn't wake up in the best of moods this morning."

He gives you a worried look, and you give him a small smile.

"I'm fine, my dear, really. I'm just really tired, and my whole body aches. But I'm going to take a long cold shower and come back to you brand new."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, my love, I am"

"Then go take your bath, relax, I'll wait for you"

He's incredibly beautiful in your eyes right now. He's wearing a basic black shirt with sweatpants and wearing his prescription glasses, smelling like a freshly-taken bath. You gave him another smile and a kiss, then headed to the bathroom. You spend a significant amount of time in there, as you said you were going to take a long shower, you really needed it.

You do your skincare, put on a pair of boxer panties and a shirt, which happens to be Jungkook's, and when you get to the living room, you're confronted with a scene that warmed your heart. He turned off all the main lights, leaving only the lamp next to the sofa on, prepared some snacks and beer, and there's music playing on the TV. All this as a plan to take your mind off anything that wasn't him. And that worked perfectly.

"Oh hey darling, feeling better?" He looks at you opening a beer.

"Yes, thank you... what's all this?"

"You were tired, so I thought i could cheer you up. Here are the snacks you like, I've turned on the TV and... Is the lighting okay for you?" He stares at you in a child standing position, and you let out a hearty laugh.

"It's perfect, my love."

"Come over here," now sitting on the sofa, he taps the empty spot on the sofa next to him, "sit here with me."

You go over and pick up the other open beer on the coffee table and sit down next to him. "You didn't need to prepare all that stuff for me Ggukie"

"Of course I did, you've had a bad day, I can't stand seeing you like this. If I could I'd have all your bad days for you."

"You're so sweet"

He smiles and looks down, sniffing the mouth of the bottle. "Is the playlist good? Or do you want me to change it?"

The playlist that's playing on the TV was created by the two of you, with the name Nights together ♡ and it was made especially for moments like this, or for when the two of you couldn't sleep and ended up staying up all night chatting and making out until you got tired.

"No you don't have to, it's good"

"Hmmm... but what about your coworkers?"

"Oh, they're husband and wife, at least they used to be. The wife caught her husband with someone else, someone else who works with them, the other woman almost had her hair pulled out"

"A couple who work together in the same job? And the guy still does this, basically to his wife's face?"

You nod, taking a sip of your beer.

"The atmosphere there got awful, the wife started crying and everyone took her in, I just hid in my computer and carried on working, I am less late than the rest of the people, but still, I was supposed to finish everything today."

“You were smart” he puts his mouth on the bottle.

“I still came off as the heartless one, and I'm not even close to her, even I've been a cuckold and I didn't suffer like that” Jungkook laughs and holds back from spitting out the sip of beer he was about to swallow. “You can laugh. She was yelling... Why did he do that to me? I got him this job! How ungrateful!” You imitate the wife. “And everyone was smooching her, comforting her, I can't stand it. She treated him so badly every day, he couldn't do anything wrong and she'd yell at him, that he was worthless, that she didn't know what she was thinking when she married him.” You eat some of the snacks.

“Maybe that's why he cheated on her”

“That's what I thought, but as I said, I'm not close to her, he could be a scumbag at home.”

“I'd never cheat on you, you know?” You giggle shyly and look down at the bottle in your hand, ”I mean it.”

You look up again and find him staring at you with his eyes shining.

“I missed you today”

“Just today?”

“Every day” his smile appears.

“Do you want to watch a movie while we cuddle?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing”

“Do I choose or do you choose?”

And there you are, late at night, watching your second movie. You're lying on his bare chest, and he's stroking your hair, you're paying more attention to the sound of his heart beating than to the movie, which is pretty boring by the way, but you don't care as long as Jungkook is with you. The door to the balcony is half open, and the chill air from outside comes in softly and spreads through the room with the smoke coming from the ashtray on the coffee table. Jungkook takes the cigarette from his fingers to his mouth, and you look closely at his arm, the veins popping out, pale skin, waiting to be marked. He blows out the smoke.

“This movie is so predictable”

“Huh?”

“Everyone knows that when he walks in there the door will close behind him” he offers you the cigarette, and you accept it looking at the screen, ”I told you, they don't make good horror movies anymore, they're all copies of each other”

You blow the smoke out of your mouth and sniff it back in through your nose, looking at him while he still insists on watching the movie. His glasses disappeared along with his shirt when the first movie ended, his hair is slicked back, he's lightly biting the piercing in the corner of his mouth and you have a perfect view of his neck. You snap out of your trance when you feel the cigarette starting to burn your fingers, and you reach out to put it out in the ashtray, but now all you can think about is the hand he has placed on your waist to prevent you from falling off the sofa.

“The idiot still tries to talk to the entity. These characters are so easy to kill”

You kiss his sternum trying to get his attention, “what a bad movie, I don't think I know how to choose movies anymore”.

“You say it's bad, but you can't take your eyes off the screen”

He looks at you, “I'm sorry, baby, I wanted to see how far the bullshit would go”

“Why don't we do something more interesting?” he puts his arm behind his head, using it as a support to see you better.

“Something on your mind?”

You stretch again, but this time, to get a new cigarette straight from the box, you also pick up the heater and sit on the lap of the dark-haired man below you. You light the cigarette, take a drag, and blow it in his face, who closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, you turn the tip of the cigarette in his direction, and he gets the message, leaning on his arms to sit on the sofa and get face to face with you.

You put the cigarette in his mouth, and he puts his hands on your waist, helping you to get comfortable on his lap. He looks away as the smoke comes out of his mouth. The cigarette goes back in your mouth, and Jungkook is already looking at you with big eyes again.

“Blow in my face again... please”

You do what he asks, and you feel him shudder and squeeze your waist, “I don't even think about the movie anymore”.

A smirk comes over your face, and you run your hand through his hair, “You've been so nice today, organizing everything to spend time with me, helping me relax... I want to thank you for that”

He wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin between your breasts.

“My bunny... I've been keeping an eye on you since I got home"

“You can take your frustration out on me whenever you want”

“Would you do that for me?”

“Anything for you”

“Even if it means I'm going to be mean?” You wrap your fingers in his hair and pull it back slowly.

“Yes... I can be your personal punching bag if you please”

“Are you sure?” You say as you stub out your cigarette on his arm, staring into his eyes.

“Yes I am” he keeps his gaze glued to yours, tightening his arms around you. You drop the cigarette on the floor and attack his mouth.

He moves his hands up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and he pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same action.

“Lean your back against the sofa, it'll be better” you stand up, leaving his lap missing you, and he does what you said, being able to get a better view of you taking off your panties.

“Close your mouth, or you'll drool,” you say, smiling and getting back on top of him, ”I'll leave the shirt for you since it's yours.”

He laughs, you raise your arms, and he removes his shirt from your body, which he does with pleasure, then kisses his way down your neck.

“I've wanted to do that for a while”

“Then why didn't you do it before? You preferred to waste your time with that awful movie”

“I'm sorry, punish me for that” he says into your ear

You laugh, “you naughty boy”

He brings one of his hands down to your pussy, and runs his middle and ring fingers over it, “you're so wet”

“I've been wet since you took your shirt off, like an hour ago”

“Can I put them in?”

“Have at it, before I do it myself”

He puts his fingers inside you, looking at you as you close your eyes and arch your back. “You're so beautiful” you squeeze his shoulders, leaving your fingernails almost bruising him.

“Curl them” you ignore his compliment and give the order, he moves his fingers with ease, offering his thumb on your clit as a treat.

He puts his mouth on one of your breasts and licks his way to the nipple without taking his eyes off you. You pull his hair and call his name as he sucks your nipple and curls his fingers again. His other hand is on your waist, squeezing lightly. “I can't take my eyes off you, my sweetheart"

You growl and throw your head back, not giving a damn about the pain you're causing him by scratching his back like a wild animal, because that's how he makes you feel and that's how he asked to be treated.

He licks you from your nipple to your neck and nibbles on your earlobe, causing you to shiver.

“Jungkook stop.”

He pulls his fingers out of you, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I just don't want to cum on your fingers, I want to cum on your cock” he sighs shakily, ”pull down your pants”

He lowers his sweatpants along with his underpants as much as this position allows him, and you put one of your hands on each of his shoulders, fitting your entrance to his tip.

You both moan in unison, feeling your bodies fit together perfectly, and you lower your hands from his shoulders to his chest. You move at a faster pace, and he grabs your ass, leaning his head against the back of the sofa. He lets out a whimper that was supposed to be your name.

“Look at me,” you order, squeezing his neck.

Your bouncing gets harder, his hands roam desperately over your body in a clumsy way, tears start to form in his eyes, and he coughs, obediently waiting for you to release his neck.

“Hit me”

“What?”

“Hit me, my love, please”

You stop pressing your hand to his neck without taking it away. He takes a deep breath, and you slam your hand on his cheek, marking your territory.

“You're so beautiful,” you slap him again. “I love you,” another slap. “My goddess,” and another slap. “I'd never cheat on you. You can treat me like shit every day, but I'll still love you and worship you, I'll do anything for you. You're my muse. I need you."

Your head is spinning, the cold wind coming from the balcony is chilling you, his mouth is seeking yours, and you connect them by wrapping your arms around his neck. You would be trapped for hours, days, even years in this moment, in what he, only he, causes you. In the way he, only he, loves you.

“Fuck, baby, I'm close”

“Let go, my love, I'll be here to hold you”

His words were like a trigger for your high to come. You scream his name and tremble around him. He kisses your neck in a sloppy way. Now he's moving his own waist, hunting his own orgasm.

“Baby, I'm sensitive, baby”

“I'm almost there, baby. Just hold on a little longer, please. I know I asked you to be mean, but don't do this to me.” You laugh and kiss him, moving your waist again.

He squeezes your waist and whines into your mouth.

“Love?” he breaks the kiss and looks deep into your eyes.

“It's okay, go on, I want you to,” you stroke the hair on the back of his neck.

And he allows himself to, sinking his head into the crook of your neck, hugging you as if someone wants to steal you away from him. The two of you hug in silence, and you can hear his breathing and his heart beating again, the TV already showing the typical Are you still watching? line.

He looks at you, with his hair messed up, his mouth red and wet from kissing, and droopy eyes.

"I love you so much. If you left me, it would break me, I don't know how I could live without you by my side. You're my life."

"I'll never leave you."

"I know, I know." You caress his face, and he closes his eyes, seeking your touch like a magnet. You lean his head against you and hug him like a child in need of comfort.

"I love you so much, my bunny"

"I love you... I love you..."

"Thank you."

He looks at you again, "Thank you for today. You were very sweet for doing all this"

"Baby, you deserve so much more than this. This was a little treat. You deserve the world, and I feel guilty for not being able to give it to you"

You kiss him passionately and lean your forehead against his, "You're already my world, my love." He smiles with his eyes closed, and your breaths synchronize.

"Baby, I love that we're cuddling like this, but I really need to get cleaned up"

"I know, me too, take a shower with me, and then we'll watch another movie, or play a game, before bed"

"I'd love to."

"But if it's a movie, it has to be a good one," you smile.

"Then you choose this time."

He'll always make you happy, you don't need anything else, he'll always be your dopamine.

[leonastarry]

[ Don't belong here ] ✧. ┊    s.jinwoo x isekai!fem!reader. part 1 - part 2 ( here )

He lost you.

He really lost you.

He couldn't accept it.

Because he was so upset, he immediately rushed into raiding the dungeon. All he knew was raiding, fighting the monarchs, and raiding again. He turned himself into a killing machine. The shadow soldiers were really worried about him, but they all knew their liege's feelings, so they decided to say nothing and just follow his orders.

He fought Antares. He used the reincarnation cup. He spent 27 years killing all the monarchs again. Then, he returned to his world in the hope of finding you after he used the reincarnation cup to go back to the past.

Jinwoo still couldn't find you.

His world collapsed.

In order to forget you, he dated Cha Haein. But he felt he was still unhappy. He felt like he was cheating on you, even though you had been gone for a long time.

He was unhappy, so he broke up with Cha Haein. He thought she deserved someone better, someone who truly loved her. Strangely enough, he felt relieved to do so.

One day, a fragment of light came to Jinwoo and said he knew your whereabouts.

"What do you mean she doesn't belong to this world?"

"That is true, Shadow Monarch," the fragment of light explained. "Do you remember the Architect? That's who brought her here. This was absolutely not in our expectations."

"What?"

"[Name] should never have appeared. She's not from here. The place she actually lives in is a place where there are no monarchs, hunters, or mana."

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes. "So you mean she’s returned to her real world?"

"Yes," the fragment of light looked into his eyes. "After all you've done for this world, we've decided that we can take you to her world. But that means you might not be able to return here."

Jinwoo accepted that. He informed his family that he was going to find his true love, and that he might never return.

His family sympathized. He has sacrificed so much for this world, it's time for him to really live for himself.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Jinwoo woke up in a strange room. He knew he had come to your world. He tried to call out to his soldiers.

"Yes, my liege?"

Beru's answer made him realize that his power had followed him to this world. So he ordered his shadow soldiers to spread out and find you.

Soon after, a soldier announced that he had found you. Without hesitation, Jinwoo ordered the soldier to find a nearby hideout and use 'Shadow Exchange'.

With all the joy and longing, Jinwoo immediately went to look for your figure. But he immediately stopped.

He saw you. But you were hugging another guy and smiling intimately. You looked so happy.

He held his breath. It seemed like you had moved on. You had found someone new. You didn't need him anymore. You didn't love him anymore. He is no longer anything to you.

You left him. He should have known. Jinwoo still loved you but that doesn't mean you still love him. You probably don't remember him anymore. Or if you remember, what he did to you might have hurt your heart.

And now he stands here. Alone. In a world he doesn't belong to. Watching the person he loves the most with someone else.

It hurts.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

...

You were hanging out with your brother. Suddenly you sensed a huge surge of mana. Mana? Why would someone have mana in this world?

You immediately turned around to find the source of the mana. You saw that it was coming from a man. Tall. Black hair. Familiar looking… Jinwoo!?

Is that Jinwoo? Are you mistaken? You quickly ran away at your brother's sudden cry. You touched the man's shoulder.

"Excuse me?"

The man turned around.

"Jinwoo!?"

It really was Jinwoo.

"Why are you here-"

You suddenly fell silent under his gaze. Teary. Pain. Love. Longing.

Even though you told yourself to stay away from him. But seeing him like that, you ignored it all. You hugged his cheek.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying? Did someone do something to you?"

He didn't say anything and suddenly hugged you. Jinwoo buried his face in the crook of your neck. Tears fell on your shoulder.

"I miss you..."

You hesitated but hugged him back, patting his back..

"I-I miss you too.."

After all, the universe brought the two of you back together.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"So he's brother? You didn't love anyone else, right!?"

"That's right. I have never loved anyone but you."

"Thank god... I love you so much! I'm sorry.."

It would have been done sooner but I was busy receiving lucky money hehe =)

Lol I feel like I wrote this part badly ToT

[hell-drabbles]

Lucifer 6

Summary: You have Lucifer leaning on your torso while you ask him what is it about you that turns him on.

(This drabble is also weirdly sweet, so enjoy!!! I swear I'll write for a different character eventually. I really want to gush about all the ideas in my head with somebody... There's nothing more fun than just gushing about one's own creations.)

"Hmm? What is it about me that turns you on?" You leaned against your hand, idly stroking the side of Lucifer's face as his back rested against your torso. His skin was fully flushed, mouth hanging slightly agape. He turned to try and capture your fingers, but you pulled away. "Come on, you can't avoid the question by stuffing your mouth. Tell me. I won't be angry."

You busied yourself with Lucifer's buttons, popping them open just enough to press patterns into the valley of his chest. A pleasant hum rumbled beneath your fingers, and finally his voice formed words.

"Your… your voice," he said, as if you had a vice around his neck. You've heard of devils being driven mad by lust, but somehow it never connected that such a thing was real. You can't deny it now, not when you see this devil before you ripping holes into the sheets below just to keep from touching himself. You can practically see his every twitch and throb through his pants. Any other devil probably wouldn't have as strong a self restraint as him.

"My voice is all it takes huh?" you sighed, then cupped Lucifer's chin, guiding him up until he can no longer look away from you, "that's cute, actually."

Stray hairs stuck to his skin as Lucifer was overcome with full body shudders. You couldn't help but trail a finger over the pulse on his neck, just to feel the fluttering beats of his heart.

"Mm-hmm, very cute." You back away before Lucifer could lunge for a kiss. His eye narrowed to a light glare, still refusing to give him any mercy. Funny. "You know, I was always fascinated by your eyes." You brushed away the hairs to see them clearly, allowing him to snuggle up into your palm. "They're filled with an endless patience and a soft, soft love for the world around them. I never have to worry about doing anything wrong just for being my stubborn myself. And I find them wonderful. I find you wonderful, Lucifer."

Lucifer has lived too long to be shocked by such words, but they softened him nonetheless. His face was still overtaken by a deep flush, with a small smile that looked almost shaky. "…you love to try and make me cry, don't you?"

You softly laughed, "Yeah yeah, but you know I meant every word."

A breath shuddered it's way out of his throat, "I know. That… also affects me, in many shameful ways."

"A lot of things about me affect you, I see," you readjusted yourself and leaned back against your hands, "show me exactly how. You have my permission now."

His pupils dilated so quickly, you thought his iris would disappear. You feel bad for the poor devil that will probably have to repair his clothing. Tore through that poor thing like it was nothing. And what a nice snake design it had.

Just to further mess with him, nudged his moaning mouth wider and pressed your thumb flat against his tongue. His fangs grazed against your skin, as if Lucifer was entertaining the notion of clamping down and never letting go, but never will go through with it without your say so.

It's nice, never having to worry about you suddenly being subjected to random whims and then being forgotten about once that boredom was sated.

Here was Lucifer, a devil king that was essentially untouchable, a king that forces the other kings to hold a level of caution about them, and a king that was currently masturbating with your permission.

How fun. How nice that you two have found and come to know one another.

[daenysx]

can I humbly make another request for the starry girl sleepover? 🥺🌷 3AM with Tangerine and some hurt/comfort — him coming wounded from a mission and his gf helping to patch him up.❤️

you can make as many requests as you want, my angel, i love writing them all!! thank you for being here with me <333333

3.00 AM | TANGERINE

"Hey, love," Tangerine stands by the door. "How are you?"

"What-" your lips open up in shock. "You're asking me how i am when you look like this?"

He puts a fake dramatic hand on his chest. "You don't think I look handsome anymore?"

He's all covered in blood, a cut on his eyebrow and a scarred lip. He looks handsome, but you're not gonna tell him that. It always goes on like this, he's trying to undermine his pain to stop you from worrying.

"Come in," you extend a hand to him, inviting him into your apartment. "To the bathroom."

He listens to you. Slow steps, as if he's afraid of ruining the comfort of this place. He sits on his usual stool, bathroom lights are low, but clear enough for you to see his scars.

"You need to take your shirt off," you say softly. His eyes are cold blue, blood dripping from his eyebrow. You know your eyes are wide as you take in his scars. He reaches to hold your hand.

"It doesn't hurt," he says. "You know I'm made for worse things than this, don't you?"

You shrug, you don't like it, but you feel helpless. He's supposed to be yours, that's what he tells you every time he kisses you, so why does everyone hurt him? His fingers squeeze yours. You try to smile.

"You can always kiss them better, huh?" he murmurs. Teasing, but he knows how you feel about this. He knows everything.

"Take your shirt off," you tell him again, softer this time. "Your pants, too."

He doesn't say anything as he does what you say. Bloody clothes find their places on your bathroom floor. Tangerine sits again with a quiet groan. He can take it. He can take worse.

"I'm gonna clean your face," you say. "I don't think you need stitches."

He nods. You start cleaning his cheek. He follows you with his eyes, your gentle fingers take their time as you turn him into his usual self.

"Tell me if it hurts."

"It doesn't, love," he whispers. "You never hurt me."

He holds your waist with big hands, pulling you closer. You settle down on his thigh as you keep cleaning his face, his fingers draw shaky circles on your back. This is very nice, being this close to him. You can still smell his favorite cologne, faint but familiar even with all the blood.

"Close your eyes, handsome."

"Handsome, huh?"

"Yes," you smile. "You're getting very clean and very handsome."

His gaze lingers on your face. He tries to keep his lovesick smile to himself, but he's just a man. A poor man with bloody hands and a tainted heart. You do a good job with his face, he knows. It must be clean enough to brush a kiss on your lips.

"You're distracting me," you whisper before kissing him again. He can count your eyelashes this close, you're so pretty under this light, so sweet on him. He cups your cheeks gently to deepen the kiss, you follow his lead. Tangerine finally finds some peace in the middle of the night, sitting with you in your tiny bathroom. He'd never give up on these moments even if it means he'll have scars on his body.

starry girl sleepover ☆

[renshengs]

post-canon yuanyi snippet (~1000 words)

that yuanyi post-canon fic (estimated wc 15k-20k) that i said i'd post one day yeah i'm still writing it don't worry. here's zhao yuanzhou freshly rebirthed into a koi pool and a new life of clownery.

—

The good thing was, the first person to find him didn’t try to kill him. To avoid disturbing the fish any further, he gathered all the strength in his arms and dragged himself bodily across the pool until he could throw his elbows over the stone, rest inoffensively against the curving border. Moonlight skittered across the water and minnowed around his robes, bright enough it made his eyes ache. He shut them.

His first transformation, when he thought back to it, had only involved a great burst of red smoke, his yaoli, as his body had abruptly jolted him through the change from a white-furred ape into something resembling a real human person. Back then, the only living thing who’d been around to laugh at him and his hairless limbs had been Li Lun, and that wasn’t so embarrassing because it was Li Lun, who’d known him since they had both been no more than a tiny ape and a juvenile sapling, feeding together on the same rain. And not even a shichen later, Li Lun too had been dark-haired, branchless, his own body suddenly a stranger.

Certainly nothing about this was shaping up to resemble that.

One benefit of having been dead was that you didn’t remember much of it. All Zhao Yuanzhou could recall before he’d been so unceremoniously tossed back into life and all its bruises was that blue light, the hazy shimmer of it like distant smoke in the timeless space of nonbeing. He didn’t know who the wielder of the Yunguang Sword was now, if it was still Zhuo Yichen.

Likely it had to be. The sword had called out to him, lanced bright through the veil between life and death to tug his soul from those muddy depths. He recognized that stubbornness, had recognized it even in death, in the dark rivers of nothing that carried away all memory. Zhao Yuanzhou could hardly fathom the possibility that Zhuo Yichen might be long gone, might have passed the last trailing veins of his sorrow down to any descendants of his, to a new inheritor of the sword. Harder to imagine he would’ve allowed his descendants to take on the weight of that burden at all.

The Bureau was still standing, was still recognizable—it couldn’t possibly have been more than a hundred years or two. And Zhuo Yichen was a yao now; that seemed important to remember. Whole fistfuls of centuries would pass him with ease.

So where was he now?

Zhao Yuanzhou had only just resigned himself to the long and uncomfortable wait of a trapped animal when there came the low groan of the hall doors being pushed open.

He held very still and didn’t breathe. He couldn’t estimate exactly how much time had passed since his death, and no way of knowing if the Bureau would receive him harshly as they once had. He had been trying not to think of that unsettled question: if, in the very end, he had been remembered for all the horrors he had caused, or that one single piercing act of good.

His safest choice was to uphold caution. At his level of recovery, a poisoned arrow through the heart would send him right back where he came.

“Is someone there?” A young woman’s voice, unrecognizable. Light pulsed red from the lantern that swung in her hand; after waking in so much darkness, Zhao Yuanzhou had to narrow his eyes at the lashing color. “Xiao Peng, if it’s you again, don’t think I won’t tell your shifu you’ve been violating curfew and sneaking off into her—”

Abruptly she caught sight of him and came to a stop, whole body stiffening as though spellstruck. This close, only a few strides from the moonlined lip of the pool, Zhao Yuanzhou could squint through the blinding lantern brilliance and see her face, flame-lit and startlingly sharp-featured, as if before she was flesh and blood she had first been whittled from wood. There was something distinctly familiar about the dip of her brow as she took him in, the way she carried herself, sure and straight-shouldered. If she was a descendant of someone he’d once known, he could not see their face in her.

“You’re a yao,” she said, then blinked. “How on earth did you end up in the forbidden courtyard?”

Forbidden? Zhao Yuanzhou opened his mouth to say: That’s supposed to be my question, but found that no sound emerged when he tried.

Her eyes darted over his face where his demon marks surely were, then lower. “Heavens, you’re not a carp yao from the pool, are you? I was so sure Xiao Peng was joking with me.”

“What?” Zhao Yuanzhou croaked. Yes, there was his voice. “No, I’m—” Water splashed over the stone as he doubled over, coughing and spluttering. No good—speaking felt like trying to move sand through his throat, and every word in his mouth tasted wrong.

“And there’s no reason to get in the pool if you’re only trying to steal a few fish,” continued the young woman, unfazed. “So if you’re not one of them, then how did you get in here? Forgive me, but you don’t really look strong enough to break through our privacy array. Besides, there’s not even anything in here to steal.”

Then why is it sequestered off? Zhao Yuanzhou thought. And why did I return here, of all places? She wouldn’t have the answers, of course—she looked barely of age and was unmistakably human, perhaps a student or the child of whomever now owned this place, and spoke with an unfiltered keenness that reminded him sharply of a younger Wen Xiao, years before the weight of the realms had fallen to her shoulders. But it was very possible she might know someone who did.

Taking great care not to irritate his throat, he asked, “Is this the Demon Hunting Bureau?”

She tilted her head. A frown was beginning on her face. “Esteemed guest, this is the Demon Relations Bureau. Though—”

Without warning she stopped and went very still, as if listening for something, then whipped around and hissed a terrifically unsavory phrase beneath her breath. The lantern bumped against her and sputtered. “Of all times, really?”

Zhao Yuanzhou peered out and saw nothing, only the unoffending darkness of night.

Then: a deep, resounding crack as the double doors burst open once again.

[flowerchild28]

6th Member part 1

Louis Tomlinson imagine

Warnings: fluff, crush

1.3k

I love this one; it's slightly based on a request, but don't worry, there will be a second part because I can't leave it like this.

The thing about Y/N is that she doesn’t even realize how effortlessly she lights up a room. It’s maddening, really. One minute she’s laughing at something Harry said, her head thrown back with pure, unfiltered joy, and the next she’s perched on a stool in the studio, strumming her guitar, completely lost in the music.

And me? I’m just sitting here, trying to act like my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time she looks my way.

We’ve been a band for a couple of years now, and having Y/N as the sixth member of One Direction was probably the best decision we ever made. She fit in with us instantly, her talent undeniable and her humor sharp enough to rival mine (though she’d probably say it’s better). It’s easy to get along with her—maybe too easy—and somewhere along the way, I started noticing things I probably shouldn’t. Like the way her hair glints under stage lights or the way her nose scrunches when she’s concentrating.

“Earth to Louis,” Liam’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. He’s waving a hand in front of my face, grinning like he knows exactly what I’ve been thinking about.

“What?” I mumble, trying to play it cool. “I was listening.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “Right. So what’s the plan for tomorrow, then?”

I scramble for an answer but come up short, and Liam laughs. “Mate, you’ve got to stop staring at Y/N like that. It’s getting obvious.”

“I wasn’t staring,” I protest, even though I absolutely was. I glance across the room, where Y/N is sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She looks up, catches my eye, and smiles. My stomach does a somersault.

Liam smirks. “Whatever you say.”

Later that evening, we’re all crammed into one of our hotel rooms, laughing and joking like we always do after a long day of rehearsals. Niall’s sprawled out on the bed with a packet of crisps, Zayn’s doodling in his sketchbook, and Harry’s trying (and failing) to teach Y/N how to do a card trick.

“No, no, you’re doing it wrong,” Harry says, laughing as Y/N drops half the deck onto the floor. She’s laughing too, her cheeks flushed with amusement.

“Maybe you’re just a terrible teacher,” she retorts, bending down to pick up the cards. I’ll admit, my eyes linger for a second longer than they should, and I quickly look away, hoping no one noticed. My heart does this annoying little skip, and I scold myself for being so obvious.

“Maybe you’re just hopeless,” Harry shoots back, grinning.

“Alright, enough of that,” I say, cutting in before they can start bickering. I grab the cards from Harry’s hand and shuffle them expertly. “Let me show you how it’s done, Y/N.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Alright, Tommo. Impress me.”

I don’t know why, but the way she says it makes my chest tighten. I launch into the card trick, my hands moving quickly as I shuffle, flip, and deal the cards with practiced ease. By the time I reveal her chosen card, she’s staring at me with wide eyes.

“Okay, that was actually impressive,” she admits, clapping her hands. “Who knew Louis Tomlinson had hidden talents?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I say, winking at her. It’s meant to be playful, but the way her gaze lingers on mine makes my pulse race.

“Show me, then,” she fires back, a sly smile playing on her lips. The challenge in her tone makes my heart stumble, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. But Harry steals her attention again by taking the cards from my hand and explaining the trick again.

The next day, we’re at soundcheck, running through the setlist for tonight’s show. Y/N’s in the center of the stage, her microphone in hand, as she sings her verse in “Little Things.” Her voice is soft and sweet, and the arena—even though it’s empty—feels like it’s holding its breath.

I’ve heard her sing this song a hundred times, but it never fails to make my heart ache in the best way. When she reaches the chorus, the rest of us join in, harmonizing around her, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

As the song ends, she turns to me and grins. “Not bad, Tommo. You might actually be getting the hang of this singing thing.”

“Oh, I’ll take that as a compliment,” I reply, bowing theatrically.

The others laugh, but Y/N just rolls her eyes, though there’s a smile tugging at her lips. It’s the kind of smile that makes her whole face light up, her eyes sparkling with amusement in a way that feels like she’s in on a secret joke. And even though it wasn’t much of a joke to begin with, her reaction somehow makes it ten times funnier.

That night, the show is electric. The crowd’s energy is infectious, and we feed off it, giving everything we’ve got. Y/N’s on fire, her presence magnetic as she moves across the stage, singing and interacting with the fans. I can’t take my eyes off her, and every time our gazes meet, it feels like the rest of the world fades away.

By the time the final song ends and we take our bows, I’m completely buzzing with adrenaline—and maybe something else, too.

Backstage, the atmosphere is jubilant. The crew’s congratulating us, and the six of us are laughing and hugging, riding the high of another incredible show. Y/N’s face is flushed, her eyes sparkling, and I know I’ll never forget the way she looks in this moment.

“You were amazing out there,” I tell her as we head to the dressing room.

She glances at me, surprised. “Thanks, Louis. You weren’t too bad yourself.”

“Just ‘not too bad’?” I tease, nudging her gently.

“Alright, fine. You were great,” she says, rolling her eyes but smiling. She bumps her shoulder against mine playfully, and the touch sends a jolt through me, like sparks electrifying my body and traveling to a place that’s a bit too obvious for comfort. “Happy?”

“Very,” I reply, my voice softer than I intended.

Her smile falters slightly, like she’s caught off guard, and for a second, it feels like there’s something unspoken hanging between us. But then Liam calls her name, breaking the moment, and she turns away, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding in my chest.

That night, as I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I can’t stop replaying everything in my head. The way she looked at me, the way she laughed at my jokes, the way she sang with so much heart that it felt like she was singing just for me.

I’ve been trying to ignore it for months now, this thing I feel for her. It’s complicated, being in a band together. We’re supposed to be teammates, friends, family. Adding feelings to the mix could ruin everything. But the more time I spend with her, the harder it is to pretend that I don’t feel something more.

Sighing, I grab my phone and open our group chat. Everyone’s still awake, judging by the steady stream of memes and jokes being sent back and forth. I type out a quick message:

Great show tonight, everyone. Proud of us.

Almost immediately, Y/N replies:

Couldn’t have done it without you, Tommo.

I stare at her message for a long moment, my chest tightening. Maybe Liam’s right. Maybe it is obvious. But for now, I’ll keep it to myself. Because as much as I want to tell her, I’m not sure I’m ready to risk what we have.

So instead, I type back something cheeky, something safe:

Obviously. I’m the star of the show, after all.

Her reply comes with a laughing emoji:

Dream on, Louis.

I smile to myself, putting my phone down. For now, this is enough. Sharing the stage, the laughs, the moments. And maybe, someday, I’ll find the courage to tell her the truth.

But until then, I’ll just keep falling for her, one little thing at a time.

[brighttears]

Stranger Chapter 7

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description

Summary: At the end of the day, you show up nervous at Joel’s door, and he welcomes you with open arms, then holds you in them. Sleeping with you in his bed is beautiful, and it's innocent, until it’s not. Things between you shift, and he finds a new title for you—his lover. 

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings: About half of this is smut, size kink, a tiny bit of thigh riding, praise, a little rough, creampie, light christian themes here and there (fucking you is heavenly), pet names (honey, baby, sweet girl, darling)

A/n: the smut has commenced!!!! unavoidably more to come <3 sorry it took so long to post, i had a bunch already written when i started releasing this but no more is prewritten. i literally have like one day a week that i can actually just write and really have to squeeze it in otherwise, might start to get busier unfortunately :( but I don't want to let this thing die with a whimper and am starting on the next chapter now! much love to u all 🫶

series masterlist

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Sharing a table over grilled cheese and tomato soup, your discomfort seems to wane a bit, and soon enough the air is almost light—just three old friends kicking it again, and Joel begins to hope that Jackson lasts a lot longer than the time limit he had initially come up with. 

After the meal, you part ways, having your own responsibilities around Jackson, and Joel goes on a tour of the commune followed by a shopping spree conducted by his brother. In the late afternoon, he’s left to his own devices, and basks in a burning hot shower, fresh clothes, and doing what he can to fix that nail hole in his wall, before the three of you join back for dinner. Tonight is your shift on patrol, so the brothers share a short drink alone at the bar, opting to keep the conversation relatively easy, before Joel retires back at his house. Though he’s tired from the full, yet comparably uneventful day, Joel still finds himself restless in the big, empty house. 

By the time the stars have shown, he’s still wide awake in bed, when his ears perk at slow, crunching footsteps outside, and gets up to peer out of his window. Below, he spots you, looking weary as you trail your way up to your house. Despite your clear exhaustion, seeing you coming back unharmed from patrol pulls a relieved sigh out of him. 

He considers heading outside, checking in, seeing if you need anything… he can’t help but be worried, even if there isn't a trail of blood behind you. Maybe a bit lonely, too. The last time the two of you were in the same vicinity, you were basically tired at the hip, so it feels almost unnatural to not be now that you have the option. And, the feeling of having you curled against his side won’t let go of him. But, he can’t screw this up. He doesn’t want to smother you, make you feel like he’s trying to coddle you, like he thinks you can’t handle patrol when he knows you can, that you have been. So, he keeps his head, fingers twitching and tapping on the window frame as he watches you step up to your door and unlock it with a faint jangling of keys. 

As you cross the threshold and disappear into your house, he sighs, staring for only a moment longer before giving up, shuffling back to bed and flopping down onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Still, he can’t help but keep himself awake, just in case…

Within about twenty minutes, he hears a knock at the door, and his heart rate spikes. It’s gotta be you. Anxiety starts to rise in his chest, and he sits up quickly, hurrying downstairs. Pulling the door open, he’s met with you, relief blooming in his chest, though still thorned with worry as his eyes instinctually search for any sign of injury, and immediately notice your tense demeanor. 

“Hey, Joel,” you greet him, breaths puff of white air in the biting air, shifting on your feet, and crossing your arms, eyes darting between him and the snow dusted wood at your feet. “Hey.” He replies, brow pinching as he regards your state. 

“Um,” you start with a nervous sigh, eyes now glued to your shoes. “I, um, I was just—I wanted to, to see if, um well, if—if—” Bashfully, you glance at him again, and he can see your lips struggle as you try to find your words, and his heart aches at it. A wave of concern, along with personal anxieties, washes through him, already starting to become overrun with a thousand potential reasons you could be acting like this, fears and doubts of all kinds, and he wants to push, ask what’s going on, tell you to stop being so nervous around him, but then Tommy’s words ring in his head: ‘be patient… wait for her to come to you…’ So, he waits, keeping his expression mild. 

“Um,” you try again, scratching your head, trying to force eye contact, “well it’s just that it felt, weird, with you here—I mean, no, I was just—well, patrol was—I just—I was wondering, i-if I could, um, if you just, maybe, I mean,” you let out a huff in clear frustration at your own floundering, before finally spitting it out. “I just wanted to see if I could, stay with you, tonight, I just…”

Joel’s heart leaps and flutters, shifting in the doorframe. 

“Yeah, of course.” He answers quickly, because, of course, because there’s nothing more he wants. 

Finally, you meet his gaze, letting out a heavy, relieved sigh. 

Though he wishes you would have just waltzed right in, not even having to question if he’d allow it, want it, his heart feels lighter at your exhale, and he gives you a small nod, stepping aside to open the door. “C’mon.” He mumbles, “Get outta the cold.”

You duck your head as you come inside, shoulders still slightly hunched in remaining nerves he’d like to reach out and skim off of you as you unzip your coat. Joel wants to just wrap you up in his arms, soothe you, keep you warm, melt that unease, like he’s supposed to. 

“You alright?” He asks automatically, eyes flicking over you. He can’t help but wonder about what’s left unspoken, you wanting to stay with him tonight, sleep next to him in his bed, be close to him in such a vulnerable way again.

“Mhm.” You reply, nodding as you shrug off your coat, and he watches as you turn to hang it up on the peg, right next to his. “I just um,” you begin to explain, sounding almost small again. “I guess… I’m just, used to sleeping in the same room as you, when you're around, you know? And I… you know, it just felt weird, and I guess I just… missed you…” 

“Yeah.” Joel nods, voice soft and quiet. “Yeah, I get it.” It’s touching, knowing you want him, want to be near him, with him, and because you missed him, too. You’re still connected. He’d been laying awake, because he knew you were going to knock on his door. Because you still don’t know how to be apart from each other. Because there’s still some magnet, you could never let go of each other, you still can’t. A house away is too far. 

You nod back, still visibly relieved, before bending to untie your boots. You look so exposed, small and precious, and he wants you tucked under his blankets, wants to watch you fall asleep, hear your breaths slow and even, see how your lashes rest over your cheeks again. Wants to see you relaxed like that again. He wants to fall asleep next to you, and not worry about it. Know that he’ll wake up and everything will be okay, you’ll be there, still tucked in, warm, and safe, and with him. 

“I—Did I wake you up?” You ask softly as you toe off your shoes and push them next to his. “No.” He shakes his head, “Couldn’t get any sleep yet.”

“Oh.” You nod, turning to him. “Good. I mean, not that you couldn’t sleep, just—”

Joel can’t help a soft chuckle, shifting forward a step to gently touch your arm. “It’s okay, Y/n.” He assures you in a gentle murmur. Glancing up at him, you nod, letting out a breath, and he watches you, eyes flicking to every subtle shift and twitch of your gaze. You’re still guarded, but he knows you want it off, so, after a silent beat, he offers a hand out to you, cocking his head towards the stairs with a quiet, “C’mon. Let’s go to bed.” As he turns and starts for them, he feels your hand slip loosely into his, and he holds onto your fingers to lead you behind him. 

It’s strange, a mix between deep recognition and something novel—your nervousness, being in pajamas, the clean and numbered blankets awaiting you; while this is just another added to thousands of nights he’s shared with you, every other has been not much more than a shuffle into a prayed for break from exhaustion, and this feels like some sort of event. 

Despite how sharp you’ve made yourself out to be, despite how sharp you believe you are these days, your hand has never felt this fragile in his. And last time he held it, it was connected to the arm you’d lost a bucket full of blood from. But, last time, your hand felt assured in his, you had gripped his back; now, it’s timorous. He pulls a slow breath into his lungs, urging himself to be softer with you now than he’s ever been, and to not think about the last time, not overdose on guilt, because this isn’t fucking about him. You’re nervous, you’re vulnerable, and you came to him for comfort and for warmth, and it’s late, you’re tired, and he's the one you’re looking to. So he's going to take care of you. He’s going to give you what you need, and it’s not his guilt, it’s not his sorry, you don’t want it, and the words mean nothing. You need kindness, and warmth, you need your rock. You need the comfort you’ve only ever found in him. He can do that. He is that. 

In his bedroom, Joel pulls back the covers on, murmuring gently, “Crawl in,” as he slips under them himself. As the bed shifts, the only sound the soft shuffle of blankets, Joel’s heart flutters again, perking with happiness, to have you here, with him, in the safety of night, where silences don’t fall and stretch but pool and settle, and there’s no rifle to be had ready in his hands, no dark woods to watch or pulls of exhaustion to will himself away from, and there’s no crucial conversation to be had, nothing to think to say—he can just lay here, with you curled up next to him, and look at you, looking at him, with your nose tucked under the blankets.

“Feel better now?” He whispers, gentle and affectionate. You nod. The silence stays for a moment, before you whisper, “Do you remember that night, Ohio, in the winter?” 

He hums. “Yeah. Can’t forget it.” 

2015, the first coldsnap of the year—ruthless, the kind of air that hurts, wind so hard in your face it’s hard to breath, and the snowflakes were fat and just wouldn’t stop fucking falling. It was the dead of night when you finally stumbled on the farm, the only structure within miles; you’d had to just keep walking until you found something, you’d die if you didn’t, but even under the layers of hay that you’d buried yourselves in, exposure was a looming threat in the derelict barn. 

You were shaking like a leaf. He’d never held you before, but that night, he did, because he was so scared. And it was that night that started to realize how much you were starting to mean to him, how precious you were, how special his heart had come to hold you. He needed you to live. He needed you to be okay. There wasn’t another option.

“I don’t know how we survived that night.” You whisper. “It was so cold.”

“I know.” He whispers back. He remembers how you shook, how his muscles strained against the cold shuddering his own bones as he pulled you closer. He remembers how the fear kept him up all night. “I thought you were gonna freeze to death.” 

“Me too. Or that I’d have to crack your arms off from around me in the morning.”

Your quiet words make his heart ache, imagining the horror of waking up to the embrace of a corpse. He blinks, sighing to brush the thoughts away, because you’re here now. “Well… we both survived. We always do.” He murmurs, and you nod. 

Though tonight, it’s warm in this house, and you’re safe in Jackson, you look just as vulnerable, as raw now as you did then, and he feels a familiar tug to pull you closer. 

He shifts, tugged further, needing to feel your breathing again, feel your skin be warm, and extends his arm, gently placing it over your waist. You shift into him, nestling in against his chest, and he lets out a long sigh as he gathers you into his arms. It feels natural, the reciprocated maneuver to fit against each other, to feel you close, to keep you close. A wave of deep comfort washes over him followed by a bloom of contentment as you wrap your arms around him. 

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, nothing else. Your warmth, the feel of your form under his fingers, brushing them idly up and down your spine with the other cradling your waist, the tickle of your hair on his chin, quiet breath skimming over the skin of his neck. The air is your smell. Filled with your presence, he closes his eyes. 

After a moment, you pull him in a little closer, and he wraps his arms further around you, pulling you in until there's barely a bit of space between you at all, and in that moment, he feels you relax, warm and solidly pressed, a soft sigh leaving your lips. 

Safe. Soothed. Protected. 

“You warm?” He whispers after a moment. 

“Yeah.” You mumble back, and he can feel the smile pulling your cheek against his chest. “Are you?”

He hums, mumbling into your hair, “I dunno, I think I could use a blanket.”

Your chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Want me to go get you one?”

He huffs, smiling wide and whispering back, “No, I think you’ll do.” You chuckle again, and warmth spreads through every part of him. “Stay.” He whispers, muffled in your hair, “stay right here.”

“Okay.” You whisper back. 

Okay. That quiet sound. 

You sound happy. 

Okay.

The sound of the smile in that word waltzes through his brain, slow, cast in faint moonlight, lulling his breaths to slow, the gentle rhythm of your breaths, chest gently expanding and relaxing under his arms relaxing his weight, the faint beat of your heart against his chest like a soundless lullaby, easing him into a dreamless sleep. 

He doesn't wake, doesn’t stir once, and in the morning, when the light streaming in from the windows makes its way past his eyelids, he finds that you haven’t moved at all, all night. Your arm is still draped over his side, the other still fitted between your chests, hand curled around the curve of his neck to rest in the hair on the nape of it. You’re the perfect mold against his body, under his arms, his hands. 

Warm. Safe. Protected. Sound in your sleep. Everything is okay. 

It’s perfect. Every bit of it.

You asked for this, requested to sleep in his bed with him, wanted for his closeness and went to him, to feel him in the night. You remembered that first time he held you, when you needed it most. He hadn’t thought about it that way—that maybe you needed him last night. And he was there. 

And he was there. 

As the thought hits him, he feels his heart flutter and skip, and he lets out an inadvertent, deep sigh. At that slight movement, he notices your eyes shift under the lids before they flutter, stirring from sleep. Watching the moment, Joel tries desperately to commit it to memory, the way you look tucked so tightly in his arms, etch the feeling of your unconscious clinging into his mind, the way your face is still so relaxed, so utterly at peace in his embrace. And in that moment, he feels himself fall just a little bit harder for you. 

Your eyes crack open, just barely, and he watches you register the sight of him, a lazy hand brushing up his back. It’s a sight for sore eyes, you in the morning. The sun filtering through the curtains brings out the color of your eyes, strings of hair highlighted in its light. He could count your eyelashes this close. He soaks it up, with your fingers brushing over the curve of his spine, the faint shuffle of blankets the only sound in the room. It’s so peaceful, so simple, so domestic. A small, gentle smile brings itself to his lips, and he watches you watch it, eyes still sleepy, only half open, and then you bring your hand out from between your chests to trace a lazy finger over the corner of it. He melts, physically feels his insides turn to mush, smile pulling further. 

This is the first glimpse he’s gotten to that gentle side of you you used to wear on your sleeve around him. It feels like pulling the curtain back, like there’s not a wall left between you, and it's so soft, and god he loves you, god, he adores you, and god does he want to kiss the fingertips dancing right in the corner of his lips, god does he want to kiss you, after all this time, all the times, he wants to know, wants to know how it would feel.

For a moment, your eyes trail up to his, before they return to his lips, tapping them lightly, almost absently. 

He’s a mess. You were always so soft when you were sleepy, and it always made him weak. Right now, he’s completely lost in it, spellbound, and the whispered words slip right now. 

“You’re so beautiful.” 

Your eyes move to his again, and he can almost see them register, and as they do, your fingers leave his lips to instead slip over his jaw, but before he can think about it, your eyes are fluttering shut and your leaning in, and then he can’t breathe, because you kiss him. 

He lets out a nearly stuttered sigh, body reacting immediately, hand splaying over your back, leaning his lips back against yours as his brain explodes into a kaleidoscope of butterflies. It’s soft, and gentle, he can feel the slight chap of your lips, and he’s never had that feeling he’s heard of in movies and from luckier friends back in the day, about how it just feels right, how it’s natural, effortless, like a gentle current, but at the same time, he’s lightheaded and the swarm is only growing bigger. He could drown in it, the sensation of you so close, the sound of the breathes leaving your nose and a quiet smack as your lips dance, and he can’t stand the thought of it ending, not yet, not yet, so he slowly, tenderly, tilts his head to press a little closer, sliding his hand to cradle your jaw, trading the other to hold your back, keeping you close. Just a little while longer, and a little while longer, to soak up the gentle embrace, he can’t stand to part, but then he gets a real taste of your spit, and he knows he needs to pull back, just for a moment, because he feels a switch flip in his brain at it. 

He parts only a couple inches, letting out a quiet breath as his eyes flutter open again.

Very quietly, you whisper, “Was that okay?” You sound so small, and there's another beating of velveteen wings, and he replies, low and gentle, sweeping his thumb over your cheek, “Yeah, honey. You can kiss me whenever you want, darlin’. I’m not gonna complain.” 

He’s used terms like that very sparingly—it always felt wrong, either condescending or just too far over the made up line, too close for comfort, but he feels out of his wits in a way, floundering under these new circumstances. He doesn't know where the ground is, but apparently neither do you, and after only a beat, you kiss him again, and he feels his brow pinch, and he wants it and he has it, and it’s so warm, and when he pulls you in you shift right into his arms, as if you’d done this a thousand and one times, and he wants it again and again and again. He drinks it in, the warmth, the softness, the feeling of your torso in his hands. He’s selfish, he’s greedy, he’s needy. With each small break before going right back in for another, he thinks, wait, because he wasn’t done, he needs more, more to hold onto, as if every slight repositioning of lips is a chance for you to slip away into dream world and he’ll wake up and see you again, and wonder all over again what your lips feel like. 

As the moment goes on, his heart only beats faster, need slowly overcoming him, his hands moving over more of the expanse of you, your sides, your neck, your jaw, with your touch on his face, in his hair, his shoulders, arms, back, and he wants it, wants to be enveloped in it, he wants you to touch him and kiss him until he can’t think, until he’s incapacitated and all he can sense is you, like this, in this moment, in the morning, where nothing else exists. Not his wrongs, not the pain, not time, not memories, just the feeling of you, the taste of you, the sound of you as a soft breath leaves your lips—a small, quiet moan. 

The sound surges him, arm automatically snaking around your waist, his fingers weaving into your hair, holding the world in his hands with your legs tangling themselves with his, hooking your ankle around his calf to pull his thigh between yours—god you’re somehow still being so soft and gentle and it’s starting to feel like his brain is melting, all he is is nerves and the feeling of you. And then you squeeze him, kissing him a little harder, a little messier, and there’s something so vulnerable about it, so needy but loving. God he wants you. He wants you he wants you he wants you. He wants you to have him, just let you have him, do what you please, he wants to please you, feeling the affection and desire wash over him like being pulled under the tide as his hands slide over your body, feeling the way your ribs meet your waist, your jaw to your neck, your shoulder blades, learning these things he’s never quite gotten the chance to before. The taste of your spit. The taste of your skin as he presses his lips along your jaw, slow, tender, making his way down to your neck, and then there’s that sound again, a little more breathless, and he pulls in your scent through his nose, shifting until he’s almost on top of you. 

He wants you to know how much he wants you, how his pulse quickens, how his body heats up, how much he loves you, needs you, wants to show you, show you just what you mean to him. He kisses your skin softly, lips lingering as they press over the muscles of your throat. Another soft sound, just a breath of a moan, falls out of you again, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Every press, every movement, he wants you to feel the affection, the care he puts into it, like he could have you absorb all these things he doesn’t have the words for. With his lips on the underside of your jawline, you shift closer, a silent request, the way you pull and push, and he needs to give you the closeness you’re asking for, show you he’ll give you anything—he wants to, he’ll give himself to you willingly. He loves you desperately, wants you to take him, hold his heart in your hands, ride his cock like it’s a fucking toy until you cum, and then cum again, until he’s got nothing left, and then take more. It’s all for you. 

He lets his lips part, pressing his tongue right between your ear and the corner of your jaw, just close enough to whisper something, but the words escape him as you let out a near whimper, and he knows the message is received as you move against him, pulling his leg until his thigh is right in between yours, and he feels his jaw go slack for a moment until his teeth reconnect with your skin, and, “Ah,” God. Without a second thought, he slides his thigh against you, fitting it where you need the friction, and you squeeze, and whisper, “Joel,” and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. 

He wants to make you cum, to make you tremble, whimper and whine and moan until your throat’s fucking raw, and he’ll lick it like a wound as he fucks you or fingers you or just uses his fucking leg, whatever you want. Whatever you need, whatever you want. He wants you to know how good this is, feel what you’re doing to him, like honey in his veins, swelling his cock, so he moves his hips, the bulge pressing against your stomach, and your breath hitches, and the moan is involuntary, and the rest of the world is lost to him. He hardens more just at that, from a chub to something that tents his sweatpants in about four seconds. Your warm hands slide down his sides, slipping under the hem of his shirt and starting to push it up, touch running over his skin, warm and buzzing. He’s on fire.  He wants you all over him. He wants your touch. Needs it. 

Hurriedly, he takes his hands off of you just long enough to pull his shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere, and in the time it takes for the fabric to pass over his eyes your shirt is being thrown after it, and his jaw nearly drops. 

He can’t help the way his hands press, sliding over your bare skin, he can’t help being so needy, he needs you more every second, feeling the curve of your breast, your nipple hard under his palm, the flesh of your waist under his fingers. Your arms nearly fling around him to pull him back in, meeting in a messy, heated kiss.

Every sense is lit in flames, and he slips his tongue against your lips, and you part them for him and fuck it’s so hot, feeling your tongue press back against his, your leg over his waist pulling him closer and his cock is straining as it presses against you and you moan in unison and fuck he needs to get you naked. 

It’s nice to know you’re on the same page, by the way your hands fall down to the buttons of your jeans just as the thought enters his head. He curses under his breath, keeping one arm braced beside your head, struggling with his haste to pull his sweatpants and boxers down. His legs wrestle under the sheets to use his feet to strip them off, and it’s a quick shuffle to ditch the layers before hot skin meets hot skin again, and precum is already beading at his tip by the time his length is pressed at the seam of your stomach. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper in a breath, right before smashing your mouth against his, and he moans, low and muffled, every part of him practically singing like a discorded chorus. He loves you. Adores you. Wants you. To love you like this. To dote on you. Worship you To fuck you, feel your sweet slick around his cock, feel your squeeze, make you whimper and moan and cum until you see stars. 

And fuck, you move for it first, reaching down to take him in your hand and slip him up and down your cunt until he��s right where he wants to be, but he still doesn’t move, waits for you to bring him inside, relishing in the feeling of your hand around him, the hand he knows so well on a part of him you’ve never touched before. Both of your mouths are dropped open at this point, eyes half lidded, but he takes care to watch your face as his tip finds its way between your folds, taking in the expression, a rough moan falling from his lips because you’re already so wet. 

“So wet.” He murmurs, faces so close it’s as if you’re trading breaths. “You want it, baby?” He asks, needing to hear you say it, to know that you do, and to hear how your voice comes out when you have his cock in you. “Yeah,” you reply, like an exhale as you move him deeper inside, and he exhales a moan in response, gripping the sheets in a vice, other hand a little more gentle on your waist. Slowly, so fucking slowly, he presses into you, inch by inch, feeling himself twitch with every one, your warmth pulling him in. As he bottoms out, he lets out a rough moan, and kisses you again, tongue licking into your mouth. Your touch is hard and tight as it travels over his sides, up his back, grasping at him, and he can’t help but bite your lip, more turned on than he was when he was a fucking virgin because god damn it it’s been a fucking while, and he loves you and has been pushing down how fucking horny you can get him for fucking years now, and here you are, naked, underneath him, wrapping your legs around him and moaning into his mouth. 

He tenses, crooning with the urge to fuck you like his body is disposed to, deep and hard like a fucking animal, because god damn it has been a while and you’ve gotten him wound up like a fucking toy box, but no, that’s not how he wants this to go. No. Gentle. Slow. Loving. Until you’re begging for it. 

The kiss is loud and messy and wet, one rolling into the next, but he moves his hips slowly, filling you up, relieving the pressure, then doing it again, keeping an easy pace. He’s gotta find what you like. What tempo. What pressure. Where all your sweet spots are. If you like it when he kneads your tits, pinches your nipple, presses his hand where he can feel himself through your stomach. But his hands won’t touch your throat. Won’t grab your hair. He won’t bruise you. Not even with his mouth on your neck. He can’t help but lick it though, wanting you to know just how fucking bad he wants you, long and flat, almost panting against the wet line, feeling like a fucking animal but still enough of himself to keep it fucking slow. Angels sing in his ears in your moans, breathy and soft, and yes, you can leave all the marks you want on him, drag your nails, squeeze him until he’s bruised if you’re so inclined. All he wants is you. Whatever you want to do, whatever you do. 

He kisses the corner of your mouth, your chin, your jaw, his knees planted in the mattress so that he can slide his hands along your sides, hold your body in his hands, know what the weight of every bit of his desire feels like, know what the clouds in heaven feel like under his fingers. He wants to know what the waters up there feel like up there, so he reaches a hand down, digits swirling your clit, and they’re warm and drooling, and the sound of the pearly gates opening are in the moan that almost trills from your throat. His mouth falls down to your skin again, tasting what the gods eat with his lips on your collarbone. Heaven is filling you up, thumb on his base, feeling every inch sliding in and out with his index and middle playing with you, testing out spots and rhythms to make you sing. 

He wants to make you feel good, so fucking good, with his fingers and his mouth and his dick. Wants you to feel loved by him, taken care of by him. Desired and needed, but cherished. Gentle, until you ask for more, if you want it. He can fuck you slow, too, grip the reins to keep himself under control. Still, the sounds that come out of him are desperate hums that are almost groans as your nails scrape down his back, leaving the muscles underneath them humming in their wake. With his lips mouthing along your shoulder, he hears your head hit the pillow, he hears the whimper. 

Electrified, he husks, hot against your skin, “That feel good?” 

“Yes.” He hums, deep and low, pressing soft kisses up the side of your neck until they reach your ear, “You like how I fill you up?” Though he keeps it measured, he presses a little deeper, almost just to show you what he can do, and it pushes another soft moan out of you. “Yes.” 

Perfect, so fucking perfect for him, like a sheath, so slick and easy to fit into. “You like how this dick feels?” Tying your ankles around his back, urging him in deep again, you moan, “Yes,” 

“Fuck,” He swears under his breath, sliding his palm back up your side, drinking up the way every touch makes your breath change. He stops at your chest, slowly enclosing your breast with his hand with his fingers still twirling your sensitive bud as he whispers, “You want me to fuck you?” The word leaves you in a whimper, “Please.”

“Fuck, Y/n.” Joel moans, hips pressing you into the mattress, grip back around your waist, fingers denting your flesh as he holds you to take him to the hilt, reveling in your moaned sigh. “Tell me how you want it,” It’s a shameless plea in your ear as he leans over you; he wants you to know he’s for you, all of him, it’s for you, his heart, his soul, his cock, his hands, his lips; his body, mind, and soul, just the way god intended.

“Harder.” You whimper. 

“Harder?” He repeats lowly, forehead against your temple to keep his whisper steadily in your ear, feeling his gut burn. 

“Yes.”

His hips twitch in a quick jolt before he can start his own rhythm, barely in control of himself when he gets the chance to fuck you how he wants, like its the last thing he’ll ever do on this earth, thwaps of meeting hips filling hitting the walls, each tight thrust pushing a breath out of you like he’s giving you fucking CPR, “You want it like this, baby?”

“Yes, God, ah,” your hands grip his biceps, flexed like every other muscle in his body, every bit of testosterone pumping out in the sweat starting to slick his skin. “That feel good, honey?” He thrust the answer out of you, a breathless, “Yes,” and he feels like a god now. To be able to get these sounds out of you, to get you all breathless and flushed with your legs spread open for him. “You like how my cock feels?” His voice is a deep, low hum, honeyed and hot, met with a lighter, breathless, “Yes, fuck me, fuck,” 

That phrase hits a nerve, and he moans like he’s being beaten, but the blood tastes so sweet in his mouth. 

The bed is starting to shake a little at the rhythm of his hips, knees dug into the bed, fingers swirling your clit in the way that has you trilling like a hungry cat with his other hand holding your waist to keep you in place as he stays just a step away from pounding the shit out of you. He’s never been the type to pride himself on his length or girth—he’s not in college anymore—but he’s hitting your cervix, loading himself into you, and its just as tight as if it was his hand, but it’s Y/n’s cunt that he’s fucking right now, and the cum is stringing his cock, making a mess where your hips meet when he looks down and does nothing less than gawk, the sight making a moan crawl out of his throat and fuck he feels that hot coil, and flings his hand out to grip the headboard, because not fucking yet god damn it, because you’re begging, voice almost shrill, “Please, don’t stop, just like that, fuck right there, right there,” and he shuts his eyes, caught between memorizing the moment and trying to keep himself from cumming first because he wants to feel you, and pump you through it, and yes he’ll do whatever you want but god how he would love to watch you whimper and squirm as you take him, he wants to have you until you’re spent, he wants to make you cum again and again and again, until the sheet is soaked through and you’ll both just have to sleep the rest of the day again, stay in this bed together, and he’ll fall alseep and wake up again to the smell of you, the taste of you. 

“Fuck,” he pants, willing himself to look down at you again, and he can tell before he even asks, almost cooing, “you close, darlin’? Gonna cum soon?”

You nod, face twisted up in sweet pleasure, breaths becoming more stuttered with the force of his hips, “Yeah.” Your hands, before loosely on his hips, slipping in and out of grip as he pressed them down again and again, are now nearly clawing, nails scraping against the muscled bone, mewling, “Yeah,” 

With a harsh moan, Joel brings his face right down over yours, panting against your lips, “Yeah? You gonna cum on my cock? That’s how good it is, baby?”

“Yes, fuck,”

“You like how I fill you up to the fuckin’ brim?” He murmurs, “You like feelin’ me in your guts? You have no idea how good it feels, baby. Love feelin’ how your pussy squeezes my cock.” Nearing pussy drunk, he starts to ramble, almost smothered under the sound of the creaking bed and skin slapping skin and the moans that march from your throat, “Takin’ me so fuckin’ well, Jesus Christ, Y/n, you’re sending me to heaven, baby. You sound like the angel’s fuckin’ singin’, Y/n. Make me feel so good. I wanna make you cum, baby. Wanna feel you fuckin’ cum for me. Cum on my cock, cum for me, honey.” 

“Oh, fuck, fuck me like that, yes,”

“So fucking pretty like this, baby,” his voice stays a soft murmur, more breathless by the second, “you got no idea. So fucking beatiful. Yes, baby, yes, I know, I know you’re so fucking close, cum on it, baby, lemme fuck you through it.”

“Oh fuck,” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” he ruts, thumb twirling around your clit as your thighs clench around his waist, mouth in a perfect O, pouring out moan after shaking moan, brows titled up, lashes fluttering, “keep cumming for me, baby, fuck, fuuuck,” he pants, moaning almost just the same, barely an inch making it out before he plunges back in, fucking you into the bed, and the way you’re hanging onto his hips almost ensures it, “god you’re takin’ me so good, so good, baby,” both hands grasp the headboard now, hanging on by a thread as your pussy grips and quivers around him, so tight in its convulsions he could swear he can feel every ridge of his cock slipping in and out. 

“Oh, God, Joel, fuck,” you’re almost incomprehensible, with the way your body is being jolted into the bed and the way every word is jumbled with a moan, “don’t stop, don’t stop, please,”

“So god damn good, baby, yes, keep cumming for me, feels like fuckin’ heaven, Y/n. Gonna make me cum, fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna fill you up with my cum, sweet girl. You want that, baby? Wanna take my cum?” He coos, moaning, dumb on it, “I wanna fuck my cum into you. You gonna take it? Gonna let me? Show you how much I fuckin’ love you? How you fuckin’ get me?”

Sounds loudening, quickening, you brace your hands on the headboard, tits on display as they jump under his force, stomach muscles clenching and tremoring, “Fuck, yes, yes,”

Joel falls back over you, snaking his arms under your back, cradling your waist as he pumps deep inside you, fucking like an animal. “Yes, yes, yes,” he calls, forehead in the pillow, “keep cumming for me, baby, that’s it, keep goin’ for me, feels so fucking—” his words drop off in a deep, desperate moan, movements fast and harsh, stuffing you up, wet squelching in a mix of cum. “Oh, fuck, I love you,” he lilts, seeing white as he pumps his cum into you, hips jolting hard, holding you tight against him with his arms encircling your waist. Your nails are in his back, heels at the base of his spine, locking him in, taking it, trilling, “Yes, yes, yes,”

Joel’s moans are harsh breaths breaking out from his throat, eyes screwed shut as the primal sensation washes through him, a deep seated desire to profess his need, his love, his devotion as his hips stutter, fucking his seed as deep as he can into you. The aftershocks feel like the moment you see that white tunnel, and he’s reduced into a state of stupid pleasure, lazy sounds falling from his lips as you milk his cock, each ridden out twitch causing his hips to swing again, until he finally stills. 

Joel stays like that, locked deep inside of you, panting against your neck. You’re both sweating, and his animal brain brings his tongue to your skin, lapping up the salty taste. One last breathy moan falls from your lips, and he sighs, long and shaky. 

Finally, he floats back down to earth, sighing, “Shit.” You hum in response, a breathy, almost sleepy sound, and he slowly releases you from his near primitively possessive embrace, your body slumping back down on the bed. Taking in the sight below him, he supports himself over you with a hand planted on the bed, slipping out of you, leaking over the sheets. Your skin is glistening, chest rising and falling gloriously with your breaths. 

He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life, beauty that stuns him, stupefies him, locks time, eyes traveling over every inch of your skin. Your thighs still rest on either side of his waist, the curly mess between your legs drooling and beaded in cum, a trail of his oozing out to drip onto the white sheets. A strip of sunlight casts a line over your chest, like a blessed spotlight to highlight the curve of your waist, the way your breasts lay, the bend of your neck from your collar. Your face is still flushed, lips parted, eyes half lidded, but he can see something in them, something else. 

This changes things. 

He feels tethered to you now, tied, his beautiful girl, his woman. His right hand, his best friend—his lover. 

The term sounds right. You're the one he loves, in every way he can, now, like this. Giving you pleasure like that, seeing you, hearing you, raw, making your nerves scream in rapture. From him. Another thing he can give to you. 

His lover. 

[zoieru]

Cosy ~ Dan Heng looks after you on your period.

Wrote this in one again. Warnings: Gn, fluffy :3 Dan Heng behaviour, mentions of period cramps (duh), Himeko, March 7th, no blood. 2.1k words.

The lights of the parlour car seemed too bright, despite being dimmed slightly more than usual for the early evening. Sat in one of the red booths, legs lifted knees to chest, you were curled in a pained ball quite like the knots you imagined writhing in your lower stomach right now. As your chin fell onto your knees, you contemplated which Aeon you should most likely be cursing as a result of these cramps that riddled your otherwise healthy body, rendering it useless for the evening. Hmph.

A gentle sliding and releasing sounded through the room as the door to the room-hallway slid open revealing a Dan Heng who's eyes were fixed on you. You lifted your head off your knees, but remained in the little ball, tilting your head subtly as he entered. He told you he'd be working on a paper earlier, went off a few hours ago. You hadn't bothered to tell him you were on your period or were currently fighting a bloody war in your abdomen, not wanting to make him worry or disturb his work unnecessarily.

He wandered over, eyebrows furrowing a little as he saw your form, curled tightly as if to squeeze the pain smaller. He paused in front of you, fingers of one hand resting gently on the table. "I have something I'd like to show you," he said, voice steady and stoic as usual but with just a hint of that softness reserved for you, and sometimes March if she ever did something super sweet. His blue eyes traced your face, looking just a little awkward, somehow.

You looked up at him, feeling a gentle wash of guilt. You hadn't moved from the parlor car because moving sounded like the worst idea you could possibly conceive as of now. Letting the cramps have their way, flowing through the rest of your body instead of squeezed into this tight ball? Nah. No thankyou. But telling him meant worrying him, right?

"I'm...really not in the mood for lots of thinking and things right now, I don't feel that great. Can I see later?" You asked, voice a touch sheepish. It hurt your heart to turn him down even a little bit, despite him never minding, or seeming to mind. You were getting better at reading him, but he was still a mystery sometimes.

His eyes flickered with a touch more concern than before, hand on the table reaching out, palm upwards, towards you. "It's not work," he assured, a gently insistent statement. It made his insides all fidgety making you be in more pain than you were, but he needed you to come with him. This was a good idea? Right?

He paused for a moment, hand still outstretched, "please?"

His plea gave you pause, an unfamiliar request from him. He wasn't one to ask for much, though was always polite when he did so. Now it seemed he needed you to come, and who were you to deny him, despite the pain.

You took a little breath, steeling yourself for the expected discomfort that came with moving, and unfurled yourself from your ball of self-pity and climbed off of the seat, taking his hand in yours as you did so, while attempting to seem in better condition than you were. He still wasn't sure what was up, you needed to be strong.

He started leading you back the way he came, arm following behind him, hand gentle but firm on yours as he lead you until he reached the door to the archives, his room, his pulse quickening slightly with every step. This was a good idea, right? It would help. He needed to help, he couldn't just let you be in pain. This was good, you'd like it, why wouldn't you?

He opened the door and stood to the side, letting you through first, eyes fixed on you and your expression as his anxiety started to reach through his mask of stoicism.

Inside, it was dimly lit, a soft warm glow coming from...is that fairy lights?! Your eyes drifted to the corner that usually held his soft pillows and futon, and usually a book or two, and they fell on what could only be described as a nest. Pillows and blankets were piled in a sort of circular cosy shape, some cushions and plushies dotted between and on top, a small pile of books on the edge of the blankets, along with a little tray with a box of tea and all the things needed to make one, chocolate and pieces of your favourite fruit laid out along side.

Each little detail had your heart do a little flip in your chest. Dan Heng was watching you, hands slid into his pockets, shoulders slightly tensed from anxiety as his eyes flicked across every micro expression you made to assess the landing. He'd never done something like this before, and while objectively it wasn't that big of a grand gesture, it felt so out of his comfort zone, he had no idea whether it was going to be welcome or he'd just made a big weird mistake.

He wanted to wait for you to speak first, but his nerves got the better of him, so he found himself blurting an explanation as if that would soften the fall. "I...I wanted to help. There's no obligation to..." He was cut off by you kissing him. Your lips saying all the things you were unable to, emotions bubbling up all at once, but mostly overwhelming affection. He froze for a second, still not used to this, but quickly melted into it a little, heart still like a hummingbird, lips moving softly against yours. His hands moved to your waist, fingers sliding across the clothed skin gently, almost careful.

"You knew? I didn't tell you anything was wrong, I thought you were finishing up that paper?" You said, after pulling your face away gently, unable to keep the subtle happy curl off your lips. The cramps felt almost non existent for just a moment in the swell of affection for this boy.

As you both broke the kiss he felt his cheeks prickle with a splatter of pink, eyes averting slightly to the corner and back to you. "I...knew there was something off. You kept saying it was fine earlier, but you're bad at lying. I worked out what it was, myself, eventually," he explained, eyes averting again. This felt so awkward, but filled him also with a slight almost giddiness? You seemed to really like it, and it made him all fluttery, unusual, but it wasn't unpleasant. Not at all. "I asked Himeko what I could do. I didn't want to just stand by-" he explained.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly as you listened to his gently sheepish cute ass response. He asked Himeko about periods? It felt like your heart and brain both stuttered simultaneously, as your mind brought up the picture of Dan Heng going up to Himeko and instigating a conversation about how best to deal with periods. It was somehow the most endearing, surprising, cutest, most adorable thing you could possibly think of.

Meanwhile, Dan Heng was hoping he didn't sound as stupid as he felt. He saw you seemed to like it but was still restless with anxiety. This wasn't something he had done, or would usually do, it felt...weird.

"You went to Himeko, and asked what to do about my period?" You asked, trying to act less giddy and overwhelmed with affection than you actually were, eyes tracing the fairy lit cosy corner with a new light.

"I wasn't sure what the best way to help you was, I thought she might have some better insight," he said quietly, almost a confession. You nodded, it taking a whole lot out of you to not just squeeze him. He would not appreciate that.

His hands fell from your waist as your fingers linked again with his and walked a few steps over to the corner he'd set up for you. You knelt and picked up a plush of a monkey you knew March had in her room on the sill usually, and turned to him raising an eyebrow with a little smile.

His blush seemed to deepen a little, eyes hidden behind his eyelashes as he averted his gaze again. "March helped, too. But she was much more infuriating about it than Himeko."

The smile on your lips kept growing as you listened to his words, watched his expression turn more and more bashful. It was so rare to see him like this, is was like a treat, he was so beautiful. Your eyes traced and retraced every aspect of the cosy corner, and you took a few steps closer, before sitting down into it, settling into nest of blankets and pillows comfortably, hand still lifted to his as he stood watching.

"You coming?" You asked with an almost cheeky smile. He paused a moment. It was obvious that you'd ask, sort of, but he still felt a touch surprised somehow that you wanted to share it, wanted him there. He shifted on his feet, heart slower now but still doing silly weird flips in his chest, and then nodded once, lowering to settle beside you. He wanted to comfort you, after all, that's what all this was for, to make it more bearable. And if him being there would help, so be it. He... might, enjoy it too. Just a little.

As he settled next to you, your backs propped up against pillows on the wall, both of you bathed in soft warm light from the fairy lights also inevitably borrowed from March, he allowed you to snuggle a little into his side, his arm shifting around your waist to rest at your hip.

"You like it, then," he stated, half a question, half almost a reassurance to himself aloud. Though you responded quickly, hand coming to run tentatively over his jaw as you looked up at him. "I love it. It's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, it's so cosy, it'll help," you replied, reassuring his worries that popped through the cracks in his composure. You already felt ten times more relaxed than you had, the cramps still writhing but subdued just slightly by the comfort of the spot and all the fuzzy emotions swirling in your body.

He smiled a little, letting out a soft breath along with a touch of tension he didn't know he was holding, and let himself rest his head on top of yours as you snuggled back into him. A success? It seemed so. He couldn't help the wave of satisfaction and honestly relief that washed over him at the fact you appreciated and liked this, that he did this right. He always wanted to do right, by you. More than he had about much, to be honest, which scared him, but also lit that flame of excitement in his chest.

"I can't believe you asked Himeko and March. I bumped into them having a hushed conversation earlier, looking like they'd witnessed the return of Idrila with their own eyeballs or something," you said with a little chuckle, remembering their faces. That's why. They must have been almost killed off by the shock of Dan Heng asking them willingly about how to help you in this situation.

Dan Heng let out a huff of air, brushing your hair gently with the movement, both slightly indignant and reluctantly amused. "Neither can I. I thought I might pass away from embarrassment," he admitted, almost a bit pained from the memory though his voice was mostly warm, relieved, relaxed finally. He recalled how he had paced around in here procrastinating before deciding to finally go and ask them for advice, for the materials. He shifted ever closer, if that was possible, as if seeking out the comfort of you, safety from the slightly uncomfortable memory. He did it, though, for you. He wanted to.

"I'm glad you like it," he murmured, quieter, into your hair. His heart swelled with warmth and affection for you, as you both sat a while curled together in the cosy corner he'd built while he was 'working on his paper'. A flicker of pride passed through him, that he could do this for you, be this comfort.

You both stayed there all evening, drinking the soothing tea he'd got, reading those books he picked out, or him reading them to you, until you both eventually drifted off to sleep, cramps seemingly long soothed and forgotten by the gentle and achingly loving salve that was Dan Heng and his care for you.

Here's my Jing Yuan period one if you want it (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) req more if u wanna.

[sweetmariihs2]

my first sonic post but oh well lemme just write something quick

Shadow the hedgehog would have a heart attack if a friend showed him Aurora's songs. yes you heard me.

she talks about humanity in her songs. how she loves the world and how it pains her to see all the bad things happening out there. in her songs she encourages her fans to be kind and be honest with their feelings, which is also something she talks about very often. she believes feelings are human, and even though she writes songs about kindness and hope, she also writes songs about anger, about sadness, about how these feelings are all part of the human experience and it's okay to have them as long as you remember who you are. 90% of these songs don't even touch on a romantic subject so don't need to worry, they're all about human connections.

"Don't lie to yourself... don't lie to the world... don't lie... to a girl." — dreams

"Stay right here, stay in the light, my dear, until the love you crave falls in your arms // I know your mind moves like the waves sometimes, if you can't rise for love, do it for us" — echo of my shadow

Aurora sings that she's angry because of something that happened to her in the past. It's definitely a rage song (and it's okay to show your anger). In the middle of the song she bottles up everything, showing inner anger. In the end of the songs she screams her heart out, admitting that she is, indeed, very, very angry about what happened. And ends the song with the lyrics "soft hearts need protection". In the Shadow context, can be his POV thinking of Maria during his revenge.

"I bleed no blood and I never die, my body is not mine, I need no body [...] when you need my heart, you cry, you need my body" // "the past feels like another life, in the story they somehow all survived, repeats itself so many times, written cold in blood, heavy as a bible" — my body is not mine

Bonus songs that I won't ellaborate further:

I need, need, need to see edits of him with the first songs, but Aurora is SO UNDERRATED. only her fans know her songs (except for runaway). PLEASE can someone edit Shadow and Maria with the "don't lie to yourself, don't lie to the world, don't lie to a girl" of dreams I THINK I'D DIE

[whump-in-the-closet]

Interrogation

CW: manhandling, creepy whumper, psychological whump, fucked up superhero agency, implied torture, interrogation gone wrong, aftermath of raid

Masterlist

There’s no clear line between waking and not—just a creeping awareness of how wrong everything feels. The tilt of Teddy’s head is off, gravity pulling in strange directions, his body a disjointed puzzle he can’t quite piece together. 

As he regains consciousness, it hits him– all coming back, all at once– and his stomach drops. He shifts, instinctively, but cold restraints bite into his wrists, holding him fast. 

There’s dried blood matted into his hair. His right eye won’t open all the way. Something is wrong. His body, his mind—everything’s breaking apart. 

Then– 

Rufus. 

Bile rises in Teddy’s throat, worry twisting his stomach into knots of red horror. He had closed the teenager into the hiding spot before Savior had gotten in, but did he stay hidden? Was he still safe?  

The door swings open, as if on cue, and a man in a blue-striped shirt steps in, holding a steaming cup of coffee. The smoke peels upwards, vanishing into the white light. 

Teddy swallows. Hard. “Hello.” His voice cracks, his anxiety carrying his voice up an octave. 

The man smiles, lifting his cup in greeting. He takes a sip, then sets it down with a careful, deliberate motion. There’s something very controlled about everything he does. “Good morning.” 

Teddy’s voice doesn’t quite work the way he’d like it to. “It’s morning? How long–” How long have I been here? 

His panic is tangible, physical, very much there in the room between him and the officer, with only the desk between them. 

The man’s blue eyes are deep set and they widen dramatically as he laughs. The man doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s eleven a.m.” 

“Oh.” Fuck. Then. “Where’s– can I ask, sorry, where’s Elias?”

The man folds his hands around his mug. His smile reveals crooked teeth framed by a scratchy, half-grown beard but it seems genuine. “You’re polite, Mr. Wade. I appreciate that.” 

Teddy freezes. “How do you, wait–” he stammers, words coming out in uneven bursts. “How do you know my name?”

The man continues as if there’s been no interruption, but his smile tightens. “I’d like to ask you a question myself.” He lets the words hang in the air for a split second, then says, “Are you harboring a fugitive?” 

Teddy answers on instinct. “No, sir.” Lies on instinct. But his heart jumps into his throat and stays there. 

But he has to bite back a smile. Because that question means Rufus is safe.

Free.

Teddy shifts in his Christmas pajamas, ducking his head to hide the curl of his lips that he can't smooth out. Sure, his shoulders ache, and his blood is crusted in his hair, and the man across the table stares at him with an unreadable intensity.

But the taste of triumph is behind his teeth and he can feel the tension between his shoulders lessen in relief.

"No, sir," Teddy repeats, quieter.

The blue-eyed man leans forward with a quiet sigh. He's blunt, like a hammer, an open palm, a kick to the knees. "Don't lie to me, Mr. Wade. That would make my job rather difficult because I like you."

Teddy blinks rapidly, focusing on the dents on the table, on the dust motes floating through the light, on the dull thudding coming from his chest--anything other than those calculating eyes. "I'm not--" he breaks off, faltering, "I-- I have rights. Can I make my call?"

The man laughs. It's soft. "Do I look like the police to you, Theodore?"

Teddy's gaze flicks up. Shit. "You're..."

"Savior. Or at least, I work for them. No hero stuff though. Just a guy doing his job. So, where's the kid, kiddo?"

Alarm bells go off in Teddy's head. He plays dumb. "Who?" Then, “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

"Oh, Theodore," his voice is conversational like they're discussing the weather. "Here's the thing. I don't believe you. And my friends? They don't believe you either."

Teddy scrambles for anything to say, and the sarcasm slips out before he can stop it. "Sorry, here's the thing, I go by Teddy. Theodore was my dad--"

The slap comes out of nowhere, knocking Teddy's head to the side. The taste of iron fills his mouth and Teddy, briefly, sees an explosion of stars.

He coughs, spitting blood onto the floor. It splatters in dark droplets against the stark white tiles. "You--" Teddy's voice cracks, "You can't do that!"

"Yeah, I kinda can." The man's kind demeanor becomes much more jarring as he slaps Teddy again.

Crack.

Teddy blinks hard, trying to clear the dizziness, and shifts his jaw to test for damage. The copper taste lingers, bitter and metallic.

"I'm not lying!" Teddy manages. "I'm not! I don't have a fugitive, this is ridiculous--"

The man crouches next to him, his face uncomfortably close. He has a tattoo peeping out of his shirt collar. "Do you think I'm stupid, Theodore?"

Teddy squeezes his eyes shut. He shakes his head slowly, his face throbbing with the movement.

He doesn't know what to do.

Their plans never went this far.

He has no idea.

"Don't make me ask my friends for help," the man says. He smells of too much cologne and it makes Teddy's eyes sting. "They won't be as gentle as I've been."

Teddy trembles.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs, his hand clamping down on Teddy's shoulder in a mockery of comfort, ignoring how Teddy flinches, breath faltering. “You're not built for this, are you?"

What Teddy wants to say is, I'm a fucking pianist, no. Instead, he says, in a whisper. "Sorry, but I don't know about any runaway."

The man's grip instantly tightens, pinching down.

And Teddy arches his back in pain, "Ah--"

"I never said anything about a runaway, Theodore," he whispers.

Teddy’s breath catches. “Runaway, fugitive—same thing!”

"So we've established you're a liar." The man's hand shifts to the back of Teddy's neck. “Good.”

Teddy squirms but says nothing, the silence broken only by the shallow rasp of his breathing.

"I'm going to get my friend." He pats the back of Teddy's neck and turns to leave.

As he picks up his coffee mug, he flashes Teddy one last smile. Cold. Deliberate. "And welcome to Savior, by the way."

Teddy's eyes widen. "What?"

"Yeah, you think you're leaving now? You lost that privilege when you started lying to me."

"No-- fuck, man, let me go!"

"See you around, kiddo."

Taglist: @rainydaywhump @whump-in-the-night @chaotic-orphan @violets-whumperflies @whump-till-ya-jump

[writer-with-jazz]

I saw that requests were open how about a Poly Marauders x reader one where reader is the Slytherin Skittles hufflepuff friend that there really protective of but the Marauders have a crush on her so every time one of them comes to flirt with her a skittle walks by and is just like “ no not happening come on” and tug her away. I just think it would be funny to see like Pandora and James bickering because she won’t let him into the slytherin common room to flirt with reader.

okay I might or might not have postponed writing the part two to bad nights just to write this fic before- it was such a bloody good idea!!!! Thank you sm for requesting hun, this was so fun to write, i did spend four hours writing this I hope it fulfills

Duck goose chase.

James had been trying to sneak past the portraits in the hallway for the past ten minutes, his eyes locked on the Slytherin common room entrance just ahead. His usual confidence was somewhat dampened by the fact that Pandora, was standing guard like a lioness.

"Come on, Pandora, you know I just want to talk to her," James said, trying to charm his way through.

Pandora crossed her arms tightly over her chest, narrowing her eyes at him. "Not happening, Potter. You’ll have to find a different way to flirt with her."

James grinned, leaning casually against the wall. "You know, I don’t think ‘flirting’ is the right word. I’m just talking to her."

"Flirting, talking—same difference," Pandora retorted, tapping her foot. "You're not coming in."

He glanced toward the entrance to the Slytherin common room, where he knew Y/N would be waiting for him, hoping he’d be able to slip past Pandora’s watchful gaze. James had gotten pretty used to the way Pandora was when it came to her friends. And when it came to Y/N, well, Pandora was relentless.

"Come on, you know I’m not a threat to her," James tried again, his voice light but his patience wearing thin. "I just want to see her for a bit. You can stay and supervise if you want, I don't mind."

Pandora raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh, sure. And what’s your plan when you get in there? Sweet talk her into giving you all her attention while you ignore the rest of us? No, James. Not happening."

James had to admit, she had a point. Every time he spent time with Y/N, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, but he never meant to make anyone feel left out. He wasn’t about to start a fight with Pandora, though—he knew better than to challenge someone who could take him on in a duel and still look calm.

"So, what’s the big deal, huh?" he asked with a shrug. "What are you so worried about?"

Pandora gave him a pointed look, her lips pursed. "I’m not worried about Y/N. I’m worried about you—getting distracted by all the pretty girls in the room, then forgetting about her entirely. Or worse, not respecting her boundaries. I know how you work, Potter."

James held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I get it. I’m not here to mess things up, I promise. Just wanna see her for a minute."

Pandora seemed to soften just slightly but didn’t move. "I’ll give you one minute," she said, her tone firm but not as harsh. "One. And if I think you're taking advantage of her, I’m pulling you out by your ear."

James held back a laugh at the sheer intensity in her voice. "Deal. But don’t go easy on me—let me in!"

Pandora hesitated for a moment, clearly considering her options. Finally, with a huff, she stepped aside and waved her hand toward the entrance. "Fine. But you better not break her heart, Potter."

"I never do," James said with a wink as he passed her, grinning to himself. He was about to reach the entrance when Pandora’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

"One minute, Potter," she called after him. "I mean it."

James chuckled, flashing her a quick thumbs up. "One minute. I promise."

He stepped into the common room, and as the door shut behind him, Pandora stood there, her arms still crossed, waiting.

Inside, Y/N was waiting for him. She was sitting on one of the plush armchairs, an amused smile playing on her lips as she watched James enter.

"James Potter, sneaking into the Slytherin common room?" she teased, her green eyes sparkling. "What happened to the rules?"

James flopped down next to her with a dramatic sigh. "Pandora happened. But don't worry, I’ve got one minute before she comes charging in like a storm cloud."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the situation. "You’re lucky she even let you in. She’s a tough one to get past."

"I know," James said, grinning as he leaned in closer. "But I’m tougher."

"Not tougher than Pandora," Y/N replied, her voice teasing, though there was something softer in her eyes. "She looks out for me, you know. I’m glad she does."

James couldn’t help but admire the way Y/N always stood up for herself, even when it came to her protective friends. It was part of what made her so damn captivating.

"She’s a good friend," James said, his voice sincere. "I get it. But I can hold my own, too."

Y/N smiled at him, but just as the warmth spread across her face, they both heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps—Pandora’s.

"Alright, your minute’s up," Pandora called from the door, looking decidedly unimpressed. "I’m not getting into trouble for you, Potter. So, out."

James gave Y/N a playful wink. "Guess that’s my cue to go. I’ll see you later?"

"Of course," Y/N said, her smile bright. "Don’t make Pandora chase you next time."

As James stood to leave, he exchanged a brief, almost apologetic glance with Pandora, who was still watching like a hawk

He chuckled, leaning toward Pandora as he passed her. “Next time, I’ll bring a gift. Maybe that’ll win you over."

Pandora simply raised an eyebrow. “Not happening, Potter.”

——

The stands were buzzing with excitement as Gryffindor and Slytherin’s Quidditch teams faced off. You were with your Slytherin friendsPandora, Dorcas, and Regulus—cheering loudly for the Slytherin team. You’d always enjoyed Quidditch, though you preferred to watch from the safety of the stands. But today was especially tense, with the Marauders making it impossible to look anywhere else but the field.

James Potter was also playing and you couldn’t help but notice him as he flew, winking and blowing kisses to the crowd. He glanced over at you, his signature grin plastered on his face. He pointed directly at you and mouthed, “Catch me if you can,

before zipping off again, nearly colliding with a Chaser.

Your friends, however, noticed James’ flirts immediately. Pandora leaned in and muttered, “Not again… I swear, if he keeps this up, I’m going to hex him into next week.”

“Relax, Pandora,” you chuckled, adjusting your scarf, but you could feel the heat in your cheeks. “He’s just being James.”

But before Pandora could respond, Regulus was already standing, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as he spotted James flying near the stands. 

“Does he ever stop?” Regulus muttered under his breath, eyes locked on James, clearly unimpressed. “He’s making a spectacle of himself.”

Sirius, who was playing Beater, caught sight of you. As he swung his bat to hit a Bludger, he looked over and winked directly at you, making it obvious he was aware you were watching.

“Are they always this blatant?” Dorcas asked, crossing her arms and leaning back in her seat. "This is ridiculous."

Before you could reply, Pandora jumped to her feet, her voice sharp as she looked over her shoulder at the Marauders. “Alright, that’s it. You two are waytoo much.”

“Pandora, calm down,” you said, but it was too late. She was already waving her arms toward James and Sirius, sending them both a pointed glare. “Focus on the game, boys!”

“Hey!” James called out from mid-air, throwing you a wink that made your heart race. “I’m trying to win this for you, (Y/N)!”

Regulus, clearly fed up, stood beside you, his hand lightly resting on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, (Y/N), they’ll be gone in a second. Let’s move away before they get any more ideas.”

Pandora grabbed your arm, gently pulling you away. “You deserve better than their theatrics anyway.”

As you moved farther from the field, you glanced over your shoulder to see James and Sirius both frowning, realizing they wouldn’t get the attention they were hoping for. You couldn't help but smile a little, even as your friends steered you toward a quieter spot.

---

You were sitting in the library, surrounded by piles of books and parchment. It was a rare moment of peace, and you needed it for your Herbology essay. But peace in the library had a tendency to get interrupted, especially when Sirius Black was involved.

You felt a shadow fall over your desk and looked up to see Remus standing there with that signature smirk. “I was wondering when you’d show up in here, (Y/N),” he said, casually dropping into the seat next to you without waiting for an invitation. “I could help you with that essay, if you want. I’m excellent at… writing."

You blinked up at him, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m good for now, Remus,” you replied, trying to focus on your work.

Remus , however, had no intention of leaving. He leaned closer, his voice lowering to a teasing whisper. “Are you sure? You wouldn’t want to end up with a C only , would you?”

Before you could formulate a response, Dorcas appeared beside you, her tone sharp. “Remus, you’re really not helping here.”

Remus didn’t budge. “I’m just offering to make things a little easier for (Y/N).”

Dorcas crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look. “That’s what you say, but it’s just a distraction. She doesn’t need your help. She’s doing fine on her own.”

Remus rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered. "Alright, alright. I’ll give her space… for now."

But Regulus, who had been watching from the far end of the table, strolled over, his voice calm but firm. "Actually, I think (Y/N) has had enough of your 'help' for today."

You couldn't help but laugh quietly at Regulus’s deadpan delivery, even as he gently began gathering your books, nudging you out of your seat. “Come on, (Y/N). You’re much better off away from the chaos.”

As Regulus guided you toward a quieter section of the library, Pandora and Dorcas both shot you teasing looks.

"You know," Pandora muttered, shaking her head, "They’re relentless, but I think they like. the chase."

but as you looked back, you saw the marauders mouth “hogsmede, 5 pm” to you. Maybe you could sneak off, you thought, blushing as red as a tomato.

Thank you for reading! Requests open for all characters and themes!

also I might start a marauders rp! Dm if anyone wants to join! If we get enough members we will start!

p.s: this was proof read by my sweet friend @hers-miche !! Thanks love ! They helped me loads with the adjectives <33

[taichissu]

lmao what????

[smile-files]

a blackhole of happiness, greedy for the light it cannot give back

[rexcaliburechoes]

the lyrics to detect my love sound oddly ominous, not gonna lie...

[your-internet-bf]

It's been a while since you've seen a doctor, and you're nervous as you follow the nurse back to my office. What's there to be nervous about, this is just a little checkup, right? You notice the nurse's manicured burgundy nails as she knocks sharply on the door. She turns to you, smiling prettily, and says, "the doctor will see you now."

You push open the door and enter quite a large room. The nurse follows, closing the door behind you. In the center is the examination table, off to the right is a small crowd of young adults, appearing to be made up of men and women, and on the left is me, seated at my desk. "Welcome," I say, standing and extending one hand. My voice is deep, warm, and smooth, and you fumble for a moment, blushing a little, before you remember to shake my hand. Your hand is dwarfed in mine, my strong fingers encircling you, and a thought flashes unbidden through your mind - what would those fingers feel like inside you? - but, come on now, that's really not appropriate...

"I have a few students with me, as you can see. Is that alright?"

"Well, yes, of course!" Why shouldn't it be?

"Excellent. Now, I'm pioneering this new full-body examination method - it's really quite extraordinary, the maladies I can detect this way - but be warned, it is, shall we say, unorthodox. Is that alright?"

Just for a moment, you see something in my eyes, something behind the genial smile and gentle, reassuring tone. Just for a moment, you feel like some specimen, some piece of meat, pinned down under the lights with nowhere to go... but just for a moment. Surely, nothing bad can happen, and I'm a doctor, aren't I? You can trust me. So you swallow your fear, and you acquiesce.

"Excellent! Let's have a seat on the table, if you don't mind, and we'll make a start. Nurse V, if you would..."

As you sit on the table, the clinical, sterile seating a little cold against your skin, the pretty nurse steps behind the table, facing you, waiting for something. From your right, I approach, and you feel again just how much larger than you I am as my broad shoulders block out one of the ceiling lights. With all these people watching you, it takes all you have not to squeeze your legs together, just a little bit.

We begin with a quick examination of your face - "you have beautiful eyes, you know," I purr into one ear. I place one hand on the side of your neck and tilt your head; god, you've been reading too much, haven't you, the way you want these strong, expert fingers to close around your throat.

"Now, open your mouth for me, please." You oblige, and I cup your chin and slide my thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. Your eyebrows jump in surprise, and you look at me questioningly.

I smile again, still inside you. "Unorthodox, remember? Now, close your mouth and try to swallow." From behind, the nurse strokes your cheek with the back of one hand, and you feel a sudden ache between your legs. You close your lips around my thumb and swallow. It tastes... clean, mostly, as one might expect from a doctor, but you can taste the sweat underneath.

"Very good, one more time for me."

You swallow again, and you feel me slide my thumb over the surface of your tongue, pressing down, swirling in circles.

"And, one more time... yes, that's it, good job, very good job."

The praise for this degrading task is more than you can bear, and you squeeze your thighs together. Fuck, it's humiliating, everyone just saw you do that... All these eyes on you, the beautiful nurse behind you, this big, strong doctor with these big, strong hands and that big fucking bulge... but no, this is just a checkup, nothing is going to happen, right?

While you were thinking, I dried my hand off and had begun speaking.

"I'm - I'm sorry?"

"No worries. I was saying, can you remove your top, please? We need to examine your heart and your breathing."

You stare at me. "Remove my - "

"Yes, remove your top. The fewer barriers between me and you, the less interference with my examination." My face is quite serious, almost bored - this really must be routine. You look back at the nurse, and she smiles slightly and nods. So you undress, your nipples betraying you, standing at attention. You blush as the crowd of students looks at you intently. The nurse lays one warm hand on your shoulder, slender fingers gripping you reassuringly, and your eyes are drawn once more to those burgundy nails.

I step in close, and you feel my breath warm on your chest. "Now, observe the stiffness in the patient's nipples - this is to be expected, given the cool air, and it's certainly nothing to be ashamed of," I say, smiling. I press my stethoscope up over your heart, the metal cold on your skin, and your mind is betrayed by the pounding of your heart. My eyes flick up to meet yours, and I grin, predatorily, and once again you feel like a piece of meat beneath the lights.

I examine your breasts, starting with your left. Enclosed in my big, strong hands, I squeeze and push, prod and pull, ostensibly feeling for any abnormalities, but the way my fingers brush over your nipples, the intensity with which I sink them into your soft breasts, heaving now as your breath comes faster... My practiced tongue rasps over one nipple and a tiny moan escapes your lips as you try desperately to hide how much you're enjoying this; try desperately, and fail.

Abruptly, I pull back. "Excellent! All seems well here." I rest one hand on your other shoulder and turn to the students. "Note the pleasure response during this section of the examination, and I hope you were paying attention to the oral technique."

I turn back to you, my eyes dancing as they meet yours. "Fully undress, if you would. The inspection must continue."

Your hands tremble as you slide your clothes down off your waist, and the nurse aids you, her lovely hands stroking along your thighs and calves as she does.

"And spread for us, please."

Obediently, your thighs open, exposing your cunt, your needy, aching wetness, to all.

"Note the beauty of the patient's sex, here. The shape of the folds," I murmur, tracing one finger along your sensitive lips, "the balanced ratio of the clitoris to the vulva overall," sliding two fingers on either side of your clit, squeezing gently between them, "the appropriate pleasure response in - "

You lose what I say as I plunge two fingers inside you, powerful and dextrous, knuckles slipping past your tightness easily. It feels so fucking good to finally have something inside you, after all this aching and teasing, and god, so many people are watching, they're all watching your pussy spread and toyed with by this big, strong, handsome older man, and now the nurse's slender fingers are across your throat and her lips are on your forehead, and she tells you that you're doing so well for me, you've been so good...

My fingers press up inside you, finding your g spot, and with my thumb rubbing on your clit, I start melting you. Waves of pleasure course through your body, you gasp, moan, whimper, and with your eyes closed you can't tell whose lips are so soft on yours, but it feels so fucking good, and all those people are watching and it makes you want it more, your back arching, chest heaving, melting under the attention, and finally, mercifully, you cum, contracting around my fingers, squeezing your thighs together, trembling, shaking, gasping for air. You hear me say something, but you're so overwhelmed with pleasure that all you can make out from my speech is "very, very good".

The hand withdraws from your throat, and I gently, gently, extricate my fingers, and settle my hand atop one thigh, fingers slick with your desire.

The nurse whispers affirmation in your ear as I address the class. "Stimulation in this manner, of the two most sensitive sex stimuli, brings the most consistent and powerful orgasms to those possessing these organs." I stroke the inside of your thigh reassuringly, before turning to you.

"The final part of this examination is seeing how well you handle penetration. I'm going to need your unequivocal verbal consent before proceeding."

The nurse leans in and whispers into your ear, "might I suggest 'please, sir, will you fuck me?'" You'd blush harder if you could.

You swallow, nervously, and there's a twisting in your gut as you say it. "Please," you begin, voice cracking. "Please, sir, will you fuck me?"

"Yes, that is sufficient. I must say, though," I warn, unzipping my jeans, "that I am quite large." I slap my cock down on your tummy, and the sheer weight of it shocks you. You've seen size like this in porn, sure, but fuck, you've never touched something like this. When you tear your gaze away from my cock, I'm grinning down at you, predatory again. "You can back out at any time, you know." My voice is low, teasing, challenging. "Should we continue?"

You nod shakily, and spread your legs a little wider.

One hand on your raised knee, one hand guiding my cock, I push against you. For a moment you realize the exam had to be done in this order; if you weren't so fucking wet, there's no chance you'd be able to take me. But all thoughts are blasted out of your mind as I push harder and slide in.

It's so fucking thick that you can't help but groan. You've never felt so full, so strained inside, being pushed in every direction; you're not built for this, maybe there's just too much, your body is rejecting me - and then I push again, another few inches, and you slam your head back against the padded table, a long, drawn-out "fuuuuuck" wrenched from your lips. You feel my strong hands brace at your hips, and with a final thrust, slamming your cervix up into your guts, moving your entire body, the ridges of my cock sliding deeper and deeper, sliding painfully, pleasurably past your walls, I'm inside you.

The nurse rests her hands on you again, and purrs in your ear, "you're doing so well for him, I know it's hard, it's so hard, but you're doing such a good job, pretty girl..."

Glacially, I pull out, allowing you a moment to rest, before thrusting in again, hands still at your waist. You sob once, loudly, and then you sink into it as I pick up a rhythm, deep, deep strokes inside you. You hear me grunting, whispering something, and I grow more frantic, impaling you a little harder, and through the wall of pleasure you hear me rumble, "nurse V, begin the overstimulation procedure."

"Certainly, doctor." She leans over you, lips fiercely meeting yours, and one of those slender hands reaches down to abuse your clit. An image of those burgundy nails on your cunt flashes through your mind as I continue pounding you, forcing you to spread for me, adjust to me, even as the nurse plays your clit like an instrument, and fuck, she's a virtuoso.

You sing a song of moans and voiceless curses under our combined mastery, knowing your audience is entranced, filled with a blazing, lusty pride. The deep bass of my voice, resonant in your skull, is saying something, but you cannot hear me; you're moaning, groaning, pleading, "yes, yes, oh my god yes" over and over...

The song swells to a crescendo and with two sudden strikes, two powerful thrusts into you, it ends with a thick, hot, sticky white wave of my approval inside you. You feel it pulse deep, deep inside, filling you, load after load delivered straight past your bruised, abused cervix.

You come back to reality with my cum spilling from between your legs, trailing thickly down onto the exam table. I zip up my jeans while the nurse helps dry you off, from all the sweat and saliva. She dabs caringly at your mouth, and you notice that the cloth is dyed the same shade as her lipstick.

"Now," I address the class, "I hope you were paying attention." I rest one hand on your aching, trembling thigh. How many times did you cum with me inside you? How long were all these people watching you writhe beneath me, begging, losing yourself in the pleasure? You have no fucking clue. "This patient has bravely volunteered for each of you to examine her, here and now, while she's available to us."

Your jaw drops. When did you agree to that? You would never - but you were begging, "yes, yes, yes" earlier, weren't you, while I was talking. You agreed. Everyone heard you say it.

"One at a time, please. And," I say to you, grinning wolfishly, "don't worry. I'll be watching the entire time."