#and I’m going to take a bite out of him with my jaw unhinged | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dakusan · 2 hours ago

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📁 ASK DUMP 𓆩🩸𓆪 | 03 JULY 2025

Welcome back to the velvet-lined cathedral of chaos, thirst, and feral mythos. We are gathered here today, under blood moons and broken morals, to crack open the vault—because y’all? Have lost your damn minds. Again. And I love you for it.

From soulmate blood-bonds gone wrong to doctor coat filth, from dream manipulation to desk-bending professor Hyunjin, today’s inbox was a spiritual exorcism of horny, hungry, hysterically brilliant asks—and I’m here to feast.

As always: 🧛‍♀️ We honor the lore. 🧛 We protect the safe space. 🧛‍♂️ We serve unholy cunt.

Now sharpen your fangs, lace your corsets, and take a deep breath.

Let’s get into it.

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🦕 ANON LOGGED: "Hyunjin fucks like he choreographs — you're not surviving the final act."

OH 🦕 ANON... it was you, and yes. I do sometimes clean up asks just a tiny bit if the flow gets funky — only ever to enhance, never to distort. So if I gave your brain a sexy little editorial polish: you’re welcome, I’m feral, and it’s mutual. 😌🫡💋

Now about this 3AM Hyunjin spiral…

“it’s like a dance to him and you’re his favorite partner”

HELLO????? That is actually the most devastatingly hot and romantic thing I’ve ever read. He would absolutely fuck like it’s choreo. Not performative — immersive. Like his body exists to move with yours, to draw sound out of you like melody. Like every stroke has a rhythm, every snap of his hips hits a beat only the two of you can hear.

He'd murmur against your mouth, “Stay with me. Keep up, baby,” …as if you’re not already trembling, clutching him, trying to match the tempo of his love-soaked destruction.

He dances with his whole soul — why would he fuck any different?

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🖤 nojerama logged: "your writing dragged me into the skz fandom and now i’m emotionally compromised—thanks i guess 🥲"

AWWWW NOJERAMA 🥺💖 welcome welcome welcome to the SKZ cult—I mean fandom 🩸✨🖤

The fact that my chaotic, feral little fics helped pull you into the Stay vortex??? I am HONORED. Like actually squealing in a corner.

Also, thank you sm for the kind words — “master of your craft” is sending me into orbit 😭 I’m just out here frothing over vampires and trying to keep this corner of the internet fun, safe, and utterly deranged.

Wishing you the best intro era ever. May your bias wreckers multiply and your playlists overflow 🩷🖤🩷

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🎀 ANON LOGGED: “what happens if you bite vampire!skz?”

You came in here talking about biting vampires like it’s not going to get you thrown to the mattress with your soul halfway devoured?? Be serious. Be so serious. That’s cuteness aggression to you—but to them? That’s an invitation. A trigger. A signal. You nibble on a vamp’s arm and expect to walk away? Baby, you’re staying right there. On your knees or on your back, take your pickThank you 🎀 anon for this unhinged masterpiece of an ask

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 If You Bit Vampire!Chan

He freezes. And then he groans — deep in his throat, head tipping back as if you just opened a valve inside him. You thought it was playful? Cute aggression? Not to him. Your teeth grazed him, and now his pupils are blown wide, blood stirring like wildfire in his veins.

“You wanna play like that, baby?” he rasps. “You forget what I am?”

He pins you down so gently you almost don't feel it—until you realize you can’t move. His fangs peek just slightly from under his lip. “One more time,” he whispers against your neck, “and I swear I’ll ruin you.” Spoiler: you do, and he does.

🩸 If You Bit Vampire!Minho

Smirks. Darkly. A low, feline sound escapes his chest, and he tilts his head like a predator who just spotted prey trying to bite back. He lets you—at first. Then grabs your jaw.

“Mm. Thought you were soft. Guess I was wrong.”

Suddenly you’re not on top anymore. His hands are bruising, his gaze unreadable. He kisses you like he’s claiming territory and murmurs, “My turn now.” You regret nothing.

🩸 If You Bit Vampire!Changbin

Startled. He gasps—like you bit his soul. Then? Immediate chaos. His strength surges. He grabs your thighs and slams you into his lap, muttering,

“Oh my god… You’re gonna kill me—don’t do that unless you want me to lose control.”

He’s panting. Whimpering. Torn between wanting to stay sweet and needing to devour you. You bit him and now he’s short-circuiting with need.

🩸 If You Bit Vampire!Hyunjin

He shivers. Shivers, eyes fluttering shut. For someone so composed, he falls apart at the smallest bite. Especially on his shoulder, his collarbone, his wrist. It undoes him.

“You… you can’t just do that,” he breathes, shaking. “You don’t know what it does to me.”

He holds your face gently, forehead pressed to yours like he’s trying to calm himself down. He can’t. He kisses you like your mouth is salvation and lets out the most sinful sound when you do it again.

🩸 If You Bit Vampire!Jisung

Breaks. Down. Immediately. Loudest gasper of the group.

“Did you just—holy shit, no, wait—do that again. Please. No actually—fuck.”

He spirals. You’re laughing, and he’s gripping your hips like he’s in danger. “You’re evil,” he moans, eyes fluttering. “I can’t believe you just bit me. I think I love you.” You bite again. He bites back. Everyone wins.

🩸 If You Bit Vampire!Felix

Soft gasp. Blushes. Hard. Like, his freckles are the only part of him not pink right now.

“That… that was really cute. And hot. And cute.”

He covers his face. Then peeks through his fingers and says, “Can I bite you back?” in the sweetest voice possible. You say yes. He latches to your neck. Your bones melt.

🩸 If You Bit Vampire!Seungmin

Confused. Then mildly offended. Then:

“You bit me? Are you serious—do you know how much restraint I use around you already?”

He doesn’t react dramatically. But you feel the shift. His grip is tighter. His kisses are sharper. When he finally does bite you, it’s deep. Final. Not playful. “Two can play this game,” he mutters, breath hot at your jaw.

🩸 If You Bit Vampire!Jeongin

Oh, you just awakened something. He licks his lips slowly. Smirks.

“That all you got?”

Now it’s a challenge. He leans in, daring you to do it again. “I like you a little feral,” he whispers. “Bite harder next time.” You do. And then he does. And then you don’t get out of bed for hours.

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Thank you 🎀 anon for this unhinged masterpiece of an ask. Bite responsibly (or don’t). Just know: once your teeth are on them, it’s already over. For you. For them. For the bed frame 💋🦇

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🔮 ANON LOGGED: “Holy bloodlines, marble towers, and one vampire she should never have kissed.”

Oh you wanna build lore with me? You wanna throw holy oil on the marble floors of Vatican cathedrals and carve out bloodlines raised on Latin war chants and cruciform daggers?? You wanna hand me a soulmate hunter princess who was trained to slit throats but ends up backed against an altar by the one vampire she was born to destroy—and crave?

Yeah. Sit down. Buckle in.

🔞Warnings: Explicit smut (MDNI), Vampire x human dynamic, Enemies to lovers / intense power play, Religious themes & sacred imagery, Bonded/soulmate tension with feral dynamics, Dirty talk / degradation, Chan is unhinged. Reader is worse, Sacred smut. Holy filth. Vatican enemies-to-lovers madness, please don't be offended by this, it is purely fiction, don't wanna insult anyone

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You meet him under the vaulted apse of a decommissioned chapel in Trastevere.

His coat is black, not leather, but older — raw silk lined in blood-colored satin. One fang flashes behind a mocking grin as he steps into the stained light filtering through a fractured Madonna.

“You gonna stab me, princess?” He says it like a challenge. Like a dare. Like he wants you to.

You do stab him. Right under the ribs, silver-inlaid blade angled up toward his unbeating heart. He moans. The bastard moans.

“That all you got?” he purrs in your ear, grabbing your wrist and yanking you into his chest like he didn’t just take three inches of hunter steel to the gut. “Thought Vatican girls were trained better.”

“Get fucked,” you spit.

His eyes glitter. “Oh, I will.”

And he does.

You end up pinned to the altar your grandmother once bled her vows on — dress ripped at the seams, thighs shaking around Chan’s narrow hips. He ruts into you like he’s trying to exorcise something, like your cunt is the curse he was marked with centuries ago.

“I’m your enemy, you filthy fucking bloodsucker—”

“You’re my bonded,” he snarls, dragging his fangs over your neck without sinking in. “I can smell it every time you breathe. You wanna kill me, sweetheart? Then why are you this wet?”

You hate him. You hate the way he fucks like vengeance. Like domination. Like he’s waited three lifetimes to ruin you.

And you let him. Because the second he pulls your hips down on his cock with a growl that shatters you—

You believe in sin again.

Your thighs are bruised with the imprint of his rings. Your breathless gutted sobs echo off the apse.

And when he finally bites you — not to turn, just to taste — you cry out like absolution.

He licks the blood from his teeth.

“Blessed are the damned,” he whispers, “for theirs is the kingdom of you.”

⸺⟡⸺

Thank you for this blessed ask. You're also absolutely added to the emoji roster, welcome home 🔮—now stay sharp, the order is watching. Keep the asks coming 💋🦇

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🕷️ ANON LOGGED: "SKZ vampires mid-stroke when you deadpan: 'Is that all you got?'"

You are SO real for this because let’s be honest — nothing would ruin a vampire’s god complex faster than “that’s it?” mid-stroke. Or maybe it makes them go feral. 😏 Either way, you’ve just created a bloodbath of ego destruction and unholy overcompensation, and I thank you for your service

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💥 SKZ VAMPIRES WHEN YOU SAY “IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?” MID-FUCK

Bang Chan

You whispered it. Not moaned. Not cried. Whispered. And now you're folded in half with your knees near your ears and your hips lifted, pinned by the sheer force of his ruined ego. “You wanna test me now?” he growls, sweat dripping down your throat as his fangs graze your collarbone. “Alright, baby. Let’s see if you’re still talking when I’m done.” You die. Literally. You pass out. He waits. Then does it again when you wake up.

Lee Know

Oh, you want to play games? Say less. He freezes — buried inside you, still, cold, unreadable. You say his name. Again. And again. Silence. Then he leans in, smirks by your ear, and whispers: “Beg me to stop when I finally give it to you.” You don’t beg. You scream.

Changbin

Goes red. Like ears, neck, chest. He was being gentle. Thought you were fragile. Not anymore. Suddenly he’s tossing you around like a weightless ragdoll and pounding you so deep the headboard cracks. “You asked for this—you said it first!”

Hyunjin

You say it and he laughs. Actually leans back and laughs like he’s offended on behalf of art itself. Then his eyes flash. Veins light up. And suddenly it’s performance time. Rhythm in his hips like a dance, blood trailing down your skin like warpaint, his hand gripping your throat as he leans in with a sneer: “Say it again.” You can’t.

Han

Cracks. Fully loses composure. “You—HUH?! Nah, you did not just say—” Cue 2 minutes of flustered yelling while you gasp in laughter. Then he gets quiet. Now you’re sobbing into the mattress and he’s feral whispering in your ear: “Still bored, sweetheart?”

Felix

Entire aura shifts. “Oh, angel. I was being kind.” Then he gets mean. Snaps your wrists into the mattress, fucks you with that terrifying calm that makes your brain go static. You wake up half an hour later with his arms around you and his lips to your temple: “Did that feel like enough?”

Seungmin

Smirks. Smirks. Does nothing at first. Keeps it slow. Controlled. Icy. “Is that all I got?” he repeats. “Okay.” Then two seconds later you’re being folded, bit, filled, wrecked, broken, edged for an hour straight, and he’s cooing, “Still got complaints, doll?” You apologize. He doesn't accept.

Jeongin

Stops. Laughs. Slaps your thigh. “You got a death wish?” And now it’s over. He fucks you so deep your vision blurs, your legs shake, and your thighs stay bruised for three days. “No one’s ever said that to me,” he growls, dragging fangs over your pulse. “Wanna be the last?”

⸺⟡⸺

This ask?? A god-tier move. Thank you for dropping this cursed little thought in my inbox — I’m still screaming. SKZ vampires are dramatic, egotistical, sex-drunk gods and I just know one “is that it?” would have them committing actual war crimes in bed.

🖤 Please never stop thinking like this 💋🦇

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🦔 ANON LOGGED: “SKZ as pent-up doctors fucking you in their white coats using filthy medical lingo — the kind you don’t even understand but moan for anyway.”

🦔 ANON COMING IN HOT with one of the filthiest, most chaotic concepts wrapped in respectable white coats and sterile gloves. How dare you. How perfect of you. This is that niche genre of doctor roleplay but ten times dirtier because—SKZ actually being doctors? And you just… innocently visiting?

Let’s scrub in. 🧼

⚠️ WARNINGS: Explicit sexual content (18+), Public/semi-public sex (exam room, call room, closet), Medical roleplay + doctor/patient power dynamics, Light degradation, dirty talk, and clinical language, Implication of unprofessional conduct (consensual but very NSFW), Penetrative sex, Slight overstimulation, teasing, and brat-taming themes, DOES NOT depict safe or realistic hospital protocol — pure fantasy

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💉 SKZ DOCTORS FUCKING YOU IN THE EXAM ROOM BECAUSE THEY’RE TOO PENT-UP

Bang Chan — Cardiothoracic Surgeon

You're just dropping off lunch. A sandwich. A juice box. “Thanks, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple— But then he’s pulling you into the call room, pinning you against the counter, lips grazing your neck. “Do you know what tachycardia feels like?” he whispers. “Let me induce it.” And then it’s gloves off, coat on, stethoscope dangling as he bends you over the sink. You hear him muttering about pulse points. You don’t understand a word. You moan anyway.

Lee Know — Trauma Consultant

It starts with you sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. He’s just finished stitching up a patient. Then his hand slides up your thigh. “You’re not on my chart,” he hums, “but I can squeeze you in for a… pressure exam.” You're stripped bare in seconds. He lays you back, fingers in your mouth, whispering filth behind his surgical mask. “Open wider. Wider. Let me assess.” Every thrust is controlled. Clinical. Cruel. You leave bruised and with discharge instructions.

Hyunjin — Neurosurgery Resident

You’re curled up in his chair, yawning, scrolling. He’s still in his white coat, sipping black coffee. “You know,” he murmurs, “the human body has 7,000 nerve endings. But the ones I care about…” He slides two fingers between your thighs. “...Are right here.” Suddenly you’re bent over his desk. Papers flying. His hips slam in with every anatomical term he can remember. “Pelvic tilt. Cervical extension. Neural overstimulation.” You’re not even sure he’s speaking Korean anymore.

Han — Emergency Department Attending

He’s grinning the second you walk into the ER lounge. Pulls you into the supply closet and locks it. “You came to visit?” he teases. “Aww, baby, you’re about to leave on a gurney.” Then he’s fucking you against the crash cart. “Vitals: ruined. Pupils: blown. Cognitive function: demolished.” He makes you count backwards from ten. You reach seven. He records your heartbeat. While railing you. He gets paged. Doesn’t stop.

Felix — Anesthesiologist

You sit on his lap in the break room. He’s still got his clipboard open, writing post-op notes. “You know,” he purrs, “if I time it right, I can make your body go numb... just everywhere but here.” His fingers slip between your legs like he’s testing reflexes. Then he flips you over, one hand still typing on the tablet, and rails you slow, deep, nerve-deadening. “You’ll be sore. You’ll limp. But I promise—no memory loss.”

Seungmin — Diagnostic Specialist

Deadpan. Clinical. Terrifying. “Your dopamine’s low,” he mutters, pushing you onto the table. “Let’s see if we can fix that.” Gloves on. Glasses sliding down his nose. He says nothing else—just spreads you open and studies you like a patient case file. “Hmm. Contraction here. Spasm there.” He makes you orgasm and mutters “noted.” You think he finished? He turns you over and snaps his gloves again. “Still inconclusive. Test 2.”

Jeongin — Internal Medicine Resident

He doesn’t even close the exam room door all the way. “I’m on break,” he whispers. “You came at your own risk.” Then he shoves your skirt up and fucks you on top of the exam table. He’s talking through gritted teeth about clinical ethics, how this is so illegal, how you’re gonna get him fired. But his fingers are in your mouth and his hips are ruthless. He finishes, then casually goes, “You need follow-up care. Same time tomorrow?”

⸺⟡⸺

🦔 ANON… you are SO real for this. You have unlocked an entire hospital AU from hell in my brain and I can’t thank you enough. Now I need an actual doctor!SKZ hospital

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🍄 ANON LOGGED: “What if reader has a wet dream… but it’s not just a dream — it’s bf!vampire!SKZ controlling it on purpose?”

HELLOOO 🍄 ANON you sneaky little pervert (affectionate) — this is such a feral idea and I am obsessed with it. Dream invasion?? Mind control??? Cocky supernatural boyfriend getting off on making you squirm in your sleep?? YES. YES YES YES.

Let’s go dream-walking. Let’s go ruin your sheets

⚠️ WARNINGS: NSFW / SMUT (18+), Dream manipulation, Wet dreams, Mind control (consensual via established bond), Dom!vampire dynamics, Marking / scent claiming, Power play, Subspace & afterglow, Cocky boy behavior, Filthy language, Psychic bond kink, Mild overstimulation, Sleep-fucking / lucid dreaming themes, Minor corruption kink vibes (in some), Jeongin is especially unhinged

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🌙 BF!VAMPIRE!SKZ CONTROLLING YOUR WET DREAMS — AND KNOWING IT

BANG CHAN — “Whimper for me, even in your sleep.”

He lays next to you, propped on one arm, watching your face twist in pleasure. He knows exactly what you’re seeing. He’s showing it to you — the mirror, the collar, the way his voice wraps around your throat as he ruins you slow. In reality, you’re grinding your thighs together, moaning faintly. And he just smirks. “Such a needy little thing, even in your dreams.” He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. He waits for you to wake up soaked and shaking, then leans down to whisper: “Did you think that was your own mind? No, baby. I fed it to you.”

MINHO — “You were begging for it, sweetheart. While you slept.”

You dreamt of him. Of his hands on your throat. His breath on your ear. Of being bent over the table, sobbing out his name— And when you wake up, soaked and breathless, he’s there. Smirking. “Oh?” he says softly. “You thought that was your own fantasy?” He slides his hand under the blanket, into your panties. “Poor thing. You don’t even know when I’m in your head.” Then he matches the rhythm from your dream exactly. Because he wrote it.

HYUNJIN — “Every sound you made? I tasted it.”

He fed on you gently before bed, just enough to sync your heartbeat to his. Now you're asleep, cheeks flushed, breath hitching. In the dream? He’s tying your wrists with silk. Telling you you’re beautiful. Telling you to take it. You wake with tears in your eyes. Pleasure-shocked. And he’s already stroking your thighs, whispering, “I know, baby. I made it that good.” Then he leans in and hums against your ear, “You’re not just mine in this world. You’re mine in every plane.”

JISUNG — “I didn’t mean to—wait. Yes I did.”

He pretends it was an accident. Like he just slipped into your dream because of the bond. He’ll giggle when you wake up flushed and shaking. “Oops,” he grins. “You should’ve seen yourself. I made you say my name. Twice.” And when you whimper at him, he gasps dramatically. “Wanna go back in? I can really fuck you stupid this time.” And yes—he says this while palming himself under the covers.

FELIX — “Did you like that, baby? Want me to do it again tonight?”

He spoils you. Even in dreams. Lays you on silk sheets, worships you slow, drinks from your thighs while your body trembles. You wake gasping, and he’s already holding you—pressing soft kisses to your jaw, murmuring, “You looked so pretty. So perfect. I made you cum in your sleep.” And then, voice lower— “I can do it again. Want me to? Just say the word.”

SEUNGMIN — “You’re mine even in your subconscious.”

He controls your dreams like strings on a puppet. Ties you up in the astral plane. Makes you kneel. When you wake up fucked-out and ruined, he doesn’t stop you from catching your breath. He just pushes two fingers into you without a word. “I started it,” he mutters. “Now I’ll finish it.” And you realize—you’re still dreaming.

JEONGIN — “You thought that was your dream? Nah, sweetheart. That was me, balls-deep in your subconscious.”

He brags about it. Texts you in the morning: you were so loud last night When you ask what he means, he just grins. “You think dreams come from nowhere? Baby, I planted that fantasy like a seed.” Then he leans in close and mutters: “Next time? I’m not pulling out.”

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🍄 ANON YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE. Keep your dreams locked up tight, or bf!vamp!SKZ will break in and fuck them 💋🦇

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🐈 ANON LOGGED: “Best friend Seungmin teaches you baseball—but being close to you? His composure crumbles. You’re just trying to hit the ball. He’s trying not to fall in love.”

OHHHH this made me smile so wide you have no idea. Best friend Seungmin in quiet panic mode over how good you smell? How cute you look in his hoodie??? Yeah. It's going in the Sunday Softdrops queue. I’m picturing sun-warm skin, laughter echoing across an empty field, and a kiss that tastes like Gatorade and delayed confessions. Thank you for trusting me with this one, 🐈 — we’re gonna hit it out the park together 🖤

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🫦 sheerfreesia007 LOGGED: “They don’t stop until your voice breaks—raspy, ruined, gone. That’s the finish line. Or maybe just the halfway mark.”

My most villainous flower, I felt this ask like a hands-around-the-throat whisper. That kind of obsession—measuring satisfaction by how hoarse you sound? That’s not just hedonism, it’s strategy. It’s pleasure as conquest. And you’re their battlefield

⸺⟡⸺

Bang Chan is methodical about it. He coaxes moans like he's composing a symphony—slow, soft at first, then louder, rawer, until your voice cracks on his name. When it finally does? He kisses your throat and whispers, “That’s it, baby. That’s the sound I was waiting for.”

Lee Know doesn’t stop when your voice gives—he tests it. Pulls another moan just to hear how rough it sounds, low and breathy like a ghost of itself. He looks proud. A little feral. "You sound broken," he says, pressing kisses to your neck. “Sing it again.”

Changbin takes it personally. Like a mission. Every time you whimper or gasp too loud, he smirks and goes deeper. He’ll stretch it over hours, whispering, “Still got some voice left, princess? Let me fix that.”

Hyunjin wants to ruin you for art. Fingers in your hair, lips at your jaw, “Keep talking. I want to hear how wrecked you sound.” He doesn’t stop until your voice trembles on every syllable and he has to carry you to the bath, still throbbing.

Han is obsessed with the contrast. Your confident voice fading into broken sounds, rasps, croaks of his name. "Holy shit," he moans, “You sound so gone. So pretty when you’re wrecked.”

Felix praises you through it. “Doing so good for me, baby. Wanna hear that voice go soft.” Every ruined gasp makes him kiss you harder, until even your moans are silent, just trembling breaths. He finishes with your throat bruised, kissed, adored.

Seungmin leans in to your ear after hours of teasing and fucking and just smiles. “You can’t even ask me to stop, huh?” His voice is velvet-dagger soft. “Guess I’ll keep going, then.”

Jeongin laughs when you try to speak and nothing comes out. Not mean—just delighted. “Oh? What happened, baby? Don’t tell me I fucked all your words away?”

⸺⟡⸺

I hope your voice recovers soon, angel. Thank you for your offering at the altar. Your villain queen hears you 🖤🦇💋

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🔪 Anon Logged: "What if the blood doll was gaslit by a Normal vampire—lied to, told they were 'defective,' and made to doubt the bond—when in truth, they were a soulmate... to SKZ?"

Before we even reach the boys—let’s clarify:

That kind of lie? That level of manipulation? Saying “You’re broken” when in fact you’re just with the wrong one? That’s not just toxic. It’s a sacrilege. A violation of something cosmic.

In this universe, soulmate bonds are rare, holy, and undeniable. For someone to abuse that—especially a Normal vampire—is deliberate cruelty. They knew you weren’t theirs. But you were sweet. Addictive. And lonely. So they broke you down to keep you.

Now enter: the right one

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Bang Chan

He feels it the second you walk into the room. That thing inside him—feral, ancient—snaps taut. He sees it in your posture: the tension, the self-doubt, the way you flinch at praise. “You’re not defective,” he says softly, but his aura is monstrous. “They broke the mirror so you wouldn’t recognize your reflection.” And then he finds the vampire who hurt you. And he doesn’t just kill him. He deconstructs him. “You tried to rewrite fate,” he growls, voice split like thunder. “So I’ll rewrite your bones.”

Lee Minho

He doesn’t speak. He just kneels in front of you and presses his forehead to yours. When your soul thrums in resonance, when your breath catches like instinct—he knows. “They made you feel small,” he whispers. “Let me make you seen.” He will personally track down the Normal vamp. It’s not about rage. It’s about ritual. You don’t steal fate and walk away breathing. His execution will be elegant, surgical, inevitable.

Seo Changbin

He doesn’t care that he’s not Abnormal. The moment he hears what was done to you, he stands up, cracking his knuckles. “He gaslit you out of your own soulbond? Nah. I’m gonna show him what 'real' feels like.” Changbin’s protection is immovable. Once he confirms you’re his soulmate, he’s on his knees kissing your scars—and then on his feet, fists clenched, saying: “Point me toward the fucker who made you feel less.”

Hwang Hyunjin

His fury is quiet. You’re explaining, stammering, apologizing for being “too sensitive”—and his expression shatters. “No,” he says, icy. “No one ever gets to convince you your instincts are wrong again.” He will look that Normal vampire in the eyes and smile—just once. “Next time you feel a soulmate bond? Hope it’s your own death calling.”

Han Jisung

Oh, he’s dangerous when he’s smiling. “You really convinced them they were defective?” he says, voice light, tilting his head. “Funny thing, though. Turns out they’re mine.” And you don’t see him leave. But hours later, the Normal vampire is found half-drained, symbols carved into his skin like confessions. Han returns to you with blood on his lips and a lollipop. “Feeling better, baby? Wanna hear what he screamed last?”

Felix

He sobs when he feels the bond—because you flinch. From him. But when you whisper, “He said I was hard to love,” he loses it. The air in the room changes. “He lied. I can feel you like sunlight in my veins.” Felix burns with quiet rage. He doesn’t kill the Normal vampire. He makes him beg. On his knees. For every lie. For every flinch. For every time you cried wondering what was wrong with you. “You’re not broken,” he breathes, cradling you. “You were just meant for me.”

Seungmin

“Oh,” he says, reading the file. “So he used soulbond rhetoric to entrap them.” He closes the folder. Then he looks up and smiles. “That’s not science. That’s psychological warfare. Which makes it my jurisdiction.” Seungmin will legally, magically, and physically dismantle the bastard. Every whisper of control is turned back like a blade. “You don’t know what a real soulmate feels like?” he purrs in your ear. “Let me teach you.”

Yang Jeongin

At first, he’s gentle. “Hey,” he says, touching your cheek. “You feel like mine.” And when you tell him what the other vampire said— “Oh,” he murmurs. “He lied to you.” He disappears for three days. When he returns, there’s blood on his boots and fire in his eyes. “I cut out his tongue so he never lies to anyone again,” he says simply. “He’ll heal. But not soon.” And then he holds you like you’re made of fate. Because you are.

⸺⟡⸺

This prompt was brilliant. It threads abuse recovery, soulmate redemption, and cosmic justice all in one—and you’re absolutely right. Abnormals wouldn’t just be mad. They’d unleash hell.

Thank you for the ask, angel. You are not defective. You were just meant for better 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦋 ANON LOGGED: “Menstrual pain got me curled like a shrimp, but my brain? Fully running horny laps. Dry sex with vampire!SKZ. Messy. Desperate. Ruin me. Thoughts?”

you said dry sex and my brain said: GRINDING. THROUGH. CLOTHES. desperate. teeth on lips. slick stains blooming in expensive fabric. hands on hips like bruises, fangs glinting just barely close to skin. needy gasps. belt buckles. the sound of denim dragging between thighs. the kind of friction that makes you sob before anyone’s even naked.

AND YOU THINK THEY WON’T LOSE THEIR MINDS???

nah. vampire!SKZ is out here growling against your throat like

“Can’t even touch you properly and you’re already soaking— what a mess, darling. look what you do to me.”

like sorry but if you think Chan or Hyunjin or Jeongin wouldn’t fuck your whole soul with just their hips and breath and pressure alone?

you’re wrong. respectfully. they’d destroy you dry. AND THEN thank you for the privilege.

thank you for the ask, my dearly suffering 🦋 anon. may your uterus find peace and your vampire dreams find chaos. keep the filth coming 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

Anon Logged: “Vamp!SKZ takes you on vacation to their secluded Caribbean cottage?” (+ tried to claim the jellyfish emoji—sorry bb, it’s taken! let’s find you a new one. something ocean-coded and soft for our coastal sweetheart!)

🌊 Before we sink in — can I just say: this is SO hot? You knew exactly what you were doing when you said “secluded Caribbean cottage”. You didn’t say hotel. You didn’t say villa. You said cottage. As in: barely-wired, dark-wood, mosquito-netted, candle-lit, blood-warmed, ocean-kissed, nowhere-to-run-from-his-mouth cottage.

🛑 Warnings: NSFW / 18+ content, Bloodplay (vampire feeding during sex), Rough sex, public sex (implied beach scenes), Biting, marking, light bondage (Lee Know), Soft dom / hard dom dynamics, Voyeurism (mirror play – Seungmin), Slight lingerie destruction (lmao), Hypnotic vibes (Hyunjin’s art scene), Ferality. Everywhere. Sun-drenched. Moisturized. Blood-drunk.

⸺⟡⸺

Bang Chan

He carries you through the door and doesn’t put you down. Just sets you on the edge of the counter, pulls your swimwear to the side, and fucks you while the stove preheats. “Dinner can wait,” he rasps, saltwater still drying on his skin. He feeds on you after. Gently, carefully, licking your shoulder while your thighs shake around his waist. The ocean breeze hits your back. His mouth hits your throat. You scream into the sunset.

Lee Know

He takes you snorkeling. Pretends it’s innocent. But in the water, he drags you under—kissing you, biting your lip, teasing. That night, he ties your wrists to the canopy bed and says: “You wanted to play, kitten. Now hold still while I make the ocean jealous.”

Changbin

Beach days, sunset fucks on the sand, his tongue in your mouth as waves break over your calves. “I haven’t fed all day,” he grits, fangs glinting, “but you’re sweeter than anything I packed.” He eats you out on the deck. Twice. Leaves you sun-kissed and bite-bruised. Then draws a heart in sunscreen on your stomach like a menace.

Hyunjin

He sketches you naked in the sun before touching you. Later, he lowers you into the outdoor tub and drinks from you in warm water, whispering poetry in your ear. “My baby,” he breathes, licking your blood like wine. “You taste like heatstroke and honey.”

Han

He insists on fucking you on every surface in the cottage. The hammock? Done. The porch swing? Twice. The sand? He lays his shirt down like a blanket—then ruins you on it. “Don’t worry,” he laughs, “I left blood bags in the fridge. But I’ll only be drinking from you.”

Felix

He wakes you up with kisses—and his hands already between your thighs. “You okay, baby?” he says softly. “You were whimpering in your sleep. Thought I’d help.” Then he feeds while you cum. Shakes through it. Whimpers into your skin. You taste like paradise, and he treats you like a prayer.

Seungmin

“Oh? You packed lingerie for me?” he grins. You don’t even get to wear it—he rips it off and feeds on your inner thigh before your legs stop shaking. He fucks you in front of the mirror. Makes you watch. “Sunburned and sore. Just how I like you.”

Jeongin

He’s sweet the whole trip. Until you tease him. “Oh, you think I can’t make you cum six times?” He spends the night proving it. Licks you open. Sinks into you slow. Drinks you while you scream. “Caribbean cottage, huh?” he pants. “Bet you regret asking to come now.”

⸺⟡⸺

This was a GORGEOUS ask. Vacay vamp sex is the summer serotonin we all needed. Thank you for sending this in. Askbox open. I’ll see you at the beach 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🧋 ANON LOGGED: “What if Hyunjin was your devastatingly hot professor and you failed the midterm because you couldn’t stop staring at him? Now you’re bent over his desk for...a private lesson.”

🧋 anon… you knew what you were doing when you sent this. You want desk fuckery, academic corruption, and the soft hiss of “You’ve been a distraction since day one”? WELL. OKAY. Let’s talk.

📎 Warnings: NSFW / 18+, Professor!Hyunjin x college student!reader, Power dynamics (consensual), Spanking, fingering, desk sex, Dirty talk, degradation + praise, Exhibitionism risk (semi-public office), Slight dom!Hyunjin, strict but so into you, Reader is an absolute mess for him

⸺⟡⸺

The office door locks with a quiet click behind you.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything at first—just looks at you. Glasses low on his nose, that white button-down rolled to his elbows, a hint of Versace cologne lingering in the air. His jaw is tight. One hand flexes against the wooden edge of the desk.

Your test is in his other hand. A fat red “D+” scrawled across the front.

“You know what bothers me?” he says, voice low, controlled, like you haven’t been tormenting each other with eye contact for weeks. “You're smart. Brilliant, even. So what the fuck happened here?”

You try to explain, stammer something about not sleeping, about studying late—but he cuts you off.

“No,” he murmurs, stepping close enough that you have to tilt your head to keep eye contact. “You weren’t distracted by the material. You were distracted by me. Weren’t you?”

Your silence confirms it.

His fingers hook under your chin, tilting your face up. “Eyes glazed, thighs clenched, chewing that pen in my lecture like you wanted me to bend you over the damn desk right there.” He chuckles—dark, dangerous. “You didn’t even try to hide it.”

Before you can respond, he spins you by the hips, palms flat against the desk now, your breath catching as he steps up behind you.

“Keep them there,” he orders.

You obey.

There’s no warning—his hand slaps your ass, and you jolt forward with a soft gasp. He hums at the way you arch. "That's one for zoning out during class."

Another slap. “One for biting your lip every time I picked up the whiteboard marker.”

He slides your panties down your thighs.

“And one for failing the test.”

Then he sinks two fingers into you—slick, wet, embarrassingly ready—and growls into your ear, “But don’t worry, baby. I’m going to make sure you never forget this lesson.”

The pace he sets is deliberate. Cruel, even.

His fingers curl just right—knuckles brushing your walls as he fucks them in and out of you, slow enough to keep you begging, deep enough to make your knees tremble. You bite down on a moan, hips twitching back into his touch, and that’s when he tsks—low and disappointed.

"Didn't I say," he growls, dragging his teeth down the shell of your ear, "keep them there?"

His free hand presses flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the desk. Your cheek hits the wood, cool against your flushed skin. You whimper. His fingers don’t stop.

"You think this is about the grade?" he murmurs, voice velvet-wrapped steel. "This is about you showing up to my lecture in that fucking skirt like you wanted to ruin me. Looking at me like you knew I’d eventually snap."

You can't think. Can’t breathe. His fingers fuck into you with no mercy now, wet sounds echoing in the quiet office, obscene and unrelenting. Your slick coats his hand, drips down your thighs, and he drinks it in like a man starved.

"Oh, you like this, don’t you?" he breathes, lips brushing your nape. "The good girl act was just for show, huh? What would your little classmates say if they knew you were bent over your professor’s desk, soaking his fingers, begging for cock?"

Your moan betrays you.

He pulls his hand out.

You whine—high, desperate—but it dies in your throat the moment you hear his belt unbuckle. The soft clink of metal. The rustle of his slacks. You don’t even turn around. You can’t. You’re panting, already ruined.

He strokes himself once—twice—and then grabs your jaw, forcing you to look back at him.

“Beg for it.”

You hesitate—barely.

“Please,” you whisper, raw and shaky, “Professor… I need it. I’ll do anything, just—fuck me. Please.”

His cock slams into you in one thrust.

You choke on your own gasp. One hand claws for the edge of the desk, nails dragging down wood. He’s so deep��stretching, filling, punishing—and his grip is bruising on your waist.

Hyunjin doesn’t move right away. Just leans down, hot breath fanning across your neck as he groans, “That’s better. Now take your punishment like a good girl.”

Then he fucks you.

Hard.

Relentless.

Desk creaking. His hips snapping forward again and again. Your body jolting with every thrust. His name falls from your lips in breathless cries as he ruins you—sharp, brutal, perfect.

"Next time," he grits out, fucking you faster, deeper, filthier, "you’ll pass my test."

And if not? You already know how he’ll make you study.

⸺⟡⸺

🧋 anon, I am not okay because of you. You have permanently infected my brain with Professor Hwang brainrot. I hope you’re proud. Thank you for being degenerate with taste 🫡💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

lillymochilover LOGGED: “What about aging? Won’t the blood doll eventually die of old age?”

Babe. You’re not allowed to die. That’s the whole fucking point.

Do you seriously think they’re just gonna watch you grow old? Watch you wrinkle, wither, lose your fire, your blood, your mind? Are you insane? You think a vampire—especially SKZ—who’s already blood-bonded, scent-drunk, soul-entangled, ravenous for you on a molecular level… Is just gonna hold your hand while you fade?

No. They’ll destroy you. And then rebuild you. Not figuratively. Literally.

Because once the fear sets in—once your scent starts shifting subtly, once they catch the faintest chemical whisper of age or decay—it breaks them. And then it drives them.

🩸 Turning is inevitable.

Here's the truth:

No vampire wants a love with an expiration date. Not when they’ve burned through centuries just to find you.

You’re gonna get turned. You have to get turned. Because your vampire isn’t watching you die. They’re watching you become.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

If you made it to the end of this unhinged theological filth scroll disguised as an ask dump… congratulations, you’re already damned <3. Here’s a cookie 🍪. Here’s some water 💦. And here’s a very specific warning not to read this again in public unless you’re ready to bite your phone. Proud of you. You’ve earned your fangs today.

i love you. Protect your peace. Hydrate after smut.

Also, real talk— Lately I’ve been thinking of releasing all the 2024 albums I have so that I can finally, slowly, start releasing my 2025 ones… but idk?? Should I just drop them? Should I take it slow and let each one breathe?? Thoughts? Opinions? Screams into the void?? IDK HELP ME.

ANYWAYS, please—keep those asks coming. This circus runs on blood and brainrot. Thank you all, love you see you......... for filthy friday! 💋🦇

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countxcrimson · 8 months ago

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Ryou smells like sugar cookies to me and I’m sick of not speaking my truth, ill even.

He’s pale like the cookie and his hair is white like the frosting, to me he just look like he smells like sugar cookies. He has sugar cookie energy.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

#yugioh #ygo #ryou bakura #bakura ryou #crimson rambles #He’s warm and sweet #and I’m going to take a bite out of him with my jaw unhinged

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lazysoulwriter · 22 days ago

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mr. & mrs. pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: fluff, implied spice, celebrity couple, romantic chaos, social media explosion, humor, public thirsting, extremely cute married vibes.

---

The romcom was already a cultural reset.

But the photoshoot? That’s what broke the damn internet.

You and Pedro, golden couple of the year, had been everywhere lately — talk shows, red carpets, interviews. The chemistry on screen was enough to melt steel beams, but the real fun? That lived in the moments behind the camera. And the photoshoot to promote the movie? Yeah. That was the cherry on top of the frenzy.

A chaotic, horny, and unhinged cherry.

The second the studio released the official images plus the BTS video plus the outtakes (because your PR team is genius and a little evil), the internet collectively lost its mind. It was like someone pulled the fire alarm in the middle of a Pedro Pascal convention. Twitter crashed. TikTok flooded. Instagram became a shrine.

The photos were... a journey.

Some were so soft they made people cry — you in Pedro’s lap, both in cozy knits, smiling into each other’s mouths like no one else existed. His hand tangled in your hair. Your fingers tracing his jaw like you couldn’t help yourself. The caption read: “love, actually.”

Others were chaotic — both of you in matching suits, dancing like idiots mid-frame, tongues out, eyes crossed. Pedro lifting you bridal style and pretending to run away. You sitting on his shoulders while he did jazz hands.

And then there were those ones. The ones people could not handle. The ones that came with warnings.

Pedro shirtless, your legs over his thighs, your hands in his curls, both of you looking like you just finished something illegal. You biting your lip. Pedro with that look �� heavy-lidded, sinful, like he knew exactly what he was doing to people. Spoiler: he did.

The behind-the-scenes video was even worse (better).

— Pedro tripping over a light cable and you yelling “he’s fragile, he’s fifty!!” — Him calling you “mi esposa” every five minutes like it was a game. — You smacking his ass between takes and him giggling like a schoolboy. — Both of you arguing over who kissed who first in the movie. — The makeup artist having to fix Pedro’s lipstick smudges after a steamy take. — “Don’t look at me like that,” you whispering, and Pedro going: “How am I looking at you?” and the photographer going “GOD, CAN YOU TWO STOP BEING PERFECT FOR ONE SECOND.”

And the comments?

Absolutely feral.

“WHY ARE THEY LOOKING AT EACH OTHER LIKE THAT. THEY’RE MARRIED BUT I’M STILL JEALOUS.” “the soft smiles, the matching rings, the giggles, THE HANDS. they are what love should be.” “these pics healed my childhood trauma and gave me new kinks.” “petition to let them do every romcom from now on. every. single. one.” “i don’t want a relationship unless it looks like pedro letting her sit on his lap in every frame like she belongs there.” “they look like they fuck and do sudoku together. i want that.”

Pedro reposted one of the more provocative pictures on his Instagram story, adding a casual “whoops 😇” and you replied with “you knew exactly what you were doing.”

And yes — the movie is breaking box office records. But you two? You’re breaking hearts, ovaries, and the space-time continuum.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure@barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom

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bobafetts-princess · 10 months ago

Text

Logan Loves to Bite

Summary: This is quite literally an homage to how I feel that Logan Howlett fucks and that’s all there is to it.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: Established relationship, Logan bites sometimes hard enough to break skin, hair pulling, ass smacking, choking, oral (fem!receiving) rimming (fem!receiving), no condoms on this blog

A/N: Welcome to my most popular AO3 fic! If you’ve seen it there, I’m the same person! This one is my favorite Logan fic, it makes me unhinged every time I read it. I hope yall like it here ✨

It was just in his nature as a feral mutant. He bit. He bit when he was nervous or scared, and he bit when he got off.

He was lucky you had a great healing factor, while it wasn’t as quick as his (no ones was), it was still fast and your ‘love bites’ disappeared in a matter of hours. His mouth was always on you when the two of you fucked and Charles even had to sound proof your room because Scott and Jean kept complaining about all the noise.

His favorite way to fuck you was from behind, either his hand wrapped in your hair to give him leverage, or your body pulled up against his so he could bite his way along where your neck and shoulder met.

He was animalistic like that, wanting to take you from a position where he had the most power, the most control. He’d pull your body up so it fitted against his and wrap a hand around your throat, nose buried in your hair as he pounded up into you. His increased sense of smell was his secret kink. He could smell your arousal from rooms away and sometimes you would see if you could get yourself off before Logan found his way to your shared room, sniffing the air and taking over.

Every once in a while he would let you ride him, but it wouldn’t take long for him to pull himself up to you, sinking his teeth into the soft spot where your jaw and your neck meet. He would turn your head, whispering dirty words in your ear as he fucked up into you. He said he loved the scent you released when he was fucking you. He would bury his nose where you released the strongest scent, between your breasts or behind your ears or along the hairline on the back of your neck.

He loved to go down on you too, burying his nose in the crotch of your panties, inhaling deeply and telling you how fucking sweet you smelled. He was always leaving marks on the insides of your thigh as he worked his way towards the apex of them.

 He’d grunt and groan, eating your pussy for all it was worth, pausing only to bite your inner thighs or dig his fingers into your hips. He always said he loved to bite the skin on your inner thighs the most. The part where it always seemed to be soft and pliable, no matter how hard you worked to make it go away. The bruises always faded faster than the bites, but he loved seeing you covered in them anyways.

Then he’d flip you over, smacking your ass and leaving red marks before he’d sink his teeth in the soft flesh. If he was feeling especially dirty, he would work his tongue towards your puckered hole, massaging the tight ring at the same time his hands did the same with your cheeks.

Logan would slip inside you, pressing until he was fully seated and you felt him in your throat. He’d give you a couple sharp thrusts, relishing in the way you’d gasp when he’d hit that spot. He’d pull your upper body backwards, fitting it against his hard chest as his teeth scraped along the edge of your ear and he would tell you how fucking good your pussy felt clamped around him. Logan liked to fuck and he liked to fuck dirty. He loved to get you so fucked out so you just fell asleep on his chest when he finally came, spent from hours worshipping your body. He loved to make you scream his name, loved when the only logical thought you could come up with was “Logan, Logan, Logan.”

He loved seeing the way your pussy looked stuffed with his cock, the way he stretched you as you gripped him. He loved the whimpers and whines you let loose when he had your hair fisted in his hands, or his fingers wrapped around your throat. He loved getting you so worked up you were begging for him to give it to you, begging for it harder, rougher, dirtier.

You’d long since given him the okay to bury himself in you if he woke up from a nightmare and you’d lost track of the amount of times that you’d been woken from Logan pushing into your wet heat, hands gripping tightly at your hips as he used your body to drown out his nightmares. He’d pin you down to the bed, needing the control as he pounded into you, teeth scraping along your shoulder blades until he finally bit down, grunting against your skin as he spilled himself into you.

He loved the little sigh of pleasure as he drove home for the first time, filling you completely. He loved the little gasps you released as he nibbled his way across your shoulders, the way you arched in for more. He loved the way that you arched when you came, highlighting your breast’s and making him all the more ready to nibble on them. He especially loved the way when he finally came, biting down hard enough to break skin, you would always let loose this throaty groan that shot straight to his groin. Because when it came down to it, you loved to be bitten as much as Logan loves to bite.

#karie writes #bobafetts princess writes #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett xmen #wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #x men smut #x men fanfic #x men fic

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sommerregenjuniluft · 3 months ago

Note

jirgin chronicles

HFKSKKFKDD it’s been a Month since you sent this and i just saw jfkskf shame on me but

Yes. yes and ily and this is for you ino (nsfw warning)

It’s been approximately half an hour since James has thrown his phone across from him on the mattress and then flung himself onto his bedroom floor and anxiously been doing sit-ups to distract himself from the atrocity he’s just committed.

He’s utterly, absolutely and astronomically fumbled it, is what he’s done.

James counts 283 and there’s a knock on the door.

Hm. He wasn’t expecting visitors.

James gets up and strips his shirt on the way, balling it up in his hands to dab at the sweat that’s been collecting on his face and neck and pads to the front door of his small apartment.

He doesn’t bother peeking through the spy hole but instead swings the door open, ready to help a stranger to their right destination. Most likely someone else’s flat in the building. James is positive that he has the last names from the doorbell signs down enough to give helpful instructions.

What he doesn’t expect to see there, is a familiar face.

Or, rather, a much too familiar, instantly heart beat skipping, agonizingly pretty face.

Regulus is standing there, arms ramrod straight at his sides and face flushed. “What exactly did you mean when you texted— and you’re naked.”

James looks down on himself but sure enough he’s still in shorts, socks and slippers.

He gazes back up at Regulus who sorta looks more flushed than just a second ago, but perhaps it’s just a trick of the light.

“Why are you naked?” Regulus presses out. “And sweaty?” His tone makes it sound more like a statement.

Shit, does James stink? When was the last time he used deodorant? His shower after lunch? Yes, he did. That should do.

James shakes his head, “I’m not naked.” He gestures down at himself.

Regulus makes a noise like he’s frustrated and his eyes roll back. James is not thinking any indecent thoughts.

“Why are you like—” Regulus gestures at James as well. There’s a lot of gesturing going on comparatively to how short this conversation has been going on. “—like this?”

James refuses the instinct to let out a dumb Uhh and think of a plausible answer instead. He shrugs feebly, “Been doing sit-ups.”

“Sit-ups?” Regulus parrots in vague disbelief. His arms cross in front of his chest, frown pulling at his expression. James wants to bite his cheek.

“Yes,” he confirms. He rubs his shirt along his neck once more. “Um,” James mentally slaps himself, “did you want- I mean, was there something you came here for?”

“Is there something I—” Regulus makes another one of his noises and then simply stalks past James and into his apartment.

“Yeah, sure, come in,” James calls after him, closing the door. He turns just in time to see Regulus disappear into his bedroom. “I- Reg, what? Wait a god damn second.” He quickly heads after the younger man just to find him searching around his room like—and there’s really no better way of phrasing it—a drug sniffer dog.

Before James can even get a word out Regulus toes off his sneakers and gets on his bed, working around in the sheets. It takes no longer than a few seconds before he resurfaces with a vindictive A-ha, proceeding to hold up James’ phone.

James feels his cheeks heat with familiar shame.

And he feels them heat even more when Regulus clambers off his bed, the curls of his hair all tousled, and steps up to where James is rooted to the spot. He holds the phone screen up at James in an almost accusatory way. Yet, again, before James can even think to explain, Regulus snatches it away again and swipes his thumb over the screen.

James’ jaw almost unhinges, “Did you just do that to unlock my phone with face ID?”

“Yup,” Regulus says, tapping away on James’ phone.

“I-” and that manages to snap James out of it and catapult him into a more intelligent homo sapiens headspace, “Give me that!”

“No,” Regulus counters immediately, stemming a surprisingly deft palm against James’ sternum. He makes another swipe for his phone but Regulus keeps angling himself away with all the grace of a younger sibling that’s taken something that doesn’t belong to them.

James whines and tries wrapping an arm around Regulus to pull him closer, to get closer to the phone that is held one Regulus arms length away. Regulus makes a noise, a different one, but inexorably no less sexy. “Stop that,” he chides.

“You stop it,” James volleys back, desperately trying to keep his focus on the fact that Regulus is currently still going through his phone for whatever reason and off how good the other feels pressed right up against James body. “What are you even trying to—”

With a sudden start Regulus’ posture changes and he twists around to shove the phone back into James’ face. If James wasn’t so focused on not focusing on Regulus’ hand on his biceps and the way his belt is pressing just right against James’ crotch, he might not have taken as long as he does to realize what Regulus is trying to show him.

“So?” Regulus demands, wiggling the phone in front of James’ nose, just as his eyes adjust to the proximity of the object.

The screen projects their chat.

It presents James with the two most idiotic text messages he’s ever hit send on. But it also tells him Regulus’ reaction he so clearly unsuccessfully tried to avoid.

16:42 you’re more stupid than i thought if you really believe that inexperience consequences bad sex, potter

16:43 did you not also hear pandora and dorcas deflower each other in the room over at my birthday party in year 11?

16:46 wait are you drunk??

16:46 it’s literally not even five pm

16:51 if you’re not answering me in the next 10 minutes the offer is off the table..

17:00 james i’m fucking serious

17:00 also, don’t you dare answer if you’re gonna make that joke

17:01 i will actually choke you to death

17:05 hello??

17:08 i’m coming over

And, well.

James doesn’t really know what to say. Or think. Or do.

Anything really.

Regulus is glaring up at him next to his phone screen and it’s searing. He’s warm too, sturdy and a comfortable weight in James’ arm.

Oh, he really doesn’t want to let go. That he knows. That James is more than one hundred percent sure of.

And he’s here. Regulus threatened to pull back on his agreement to James’ insane question but instead of actually doing so he came here.

James asked Regulus if he would like to have sex with him, told him that he’s in truth a virgin and not at all confident in doing well in bed, and Regulus had put on his fucking shoes and walked his snotty, sexy, little ass the 7 minutes it takes to get from his shared flat to James’.

It’s a little too good to be true.

A fresh apple found on the forest ground of rotting foliage and James is waiting for net to snap up beneath his feet and hold him in elevated imprisonment.

James has to ask. “Why’d you come over, Reg?”

Regulus clicks his tongue. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t want to guess,” James insists as Regulus crosses his arms again, averting his eyes, “I want to know.”

A moment ticks by, and then another, in which Regulus stubbornly stares at a spot over James’ shoulder, not saying a word.

James reaches around further and pinches Regulus’ waist to make him jump. He does, predictably, and then bares his teeth in an almost growl when he returns to face James. “Because…” Regulus sighs out of his nose with force.

James holds him tighter at the waist again, in warning. Coincidentally pulling Regulus more onto him, making them both gasp softly.

Regulus’ lips part and James eyes bulge. “Sorry,” he mutters, voice husky.

Regulus groans, almost distressed, and James is about to apologize properly when Regulus stops him short. “Because,” he erupts, “you’re like stupidly hot, James, and it’s fucking pissing me off. It’s been pissing me off for a good five years, at this point, and I feel like if I don’t do anything about it, I will go mental.”

Oh.

James needs a moment to process that. Several actually.

The muscles in his arm start straining from how tight he’s holding Regulus against him but James doesn’t care. All he can think about is Regulus at 19, shy and small, but spitting venom at any attempt of getting closer. A time where Regulus’ hair was short and choppy after he cut it all off himself, where his skin was still pale and untouched by ink, where he still had a lot to unlearn but was visibly thankful for the environment he was brought into through his brother. That little baby snake, teeth sharp and going for an attack every few seconds, wasn’t repulsed by James at all. He was angry with himself for not being repulsed by James.

Oh, James should have known, he should have noticed. Or at least it shouldn’t have taken him this long to fucking find out. Because it only took about two years before Regulus started to become malleable in James’ proximity, in his palm. Jabs easier, quips more playful, and an uptick of the corner of his mouth. James had nearly run laps from the happiness these small victories brought the first few times they happened.

But it was supposed to happen like this. If James has learned one thing from building his relationship with Regulus, it’s patience, no matter how badly he’d wanted to tear out his own hair at times. It would have been no use rushing into it and scaring him off.

Because now Regulus is the one who came, who made the step. Who is here, in James’ arms, a desperate, pretty little thing. Worn thin and helpless, eager and frustrated and—

“You’re into me?” James breathes, something inside his chest fluttering.

“I just said that,” Regulus scowls again and James almost explodes.

His still unsure how to do this but James wants, fuck, he wants so badly. Wants to eat Regulus, wants to fuse with him, wants Regulus to spit in his open mouth and make him swallow.

James has made out with people before, at parties. He’s been told he’s a good kisser.

“Reg.”

“What?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Regulus does a double take at him. His mouth drops open and his eyes go all wide and soft, gaze so dewy it nearly cuts James off at the knees.

“You—” Regulus interrupts himself in favor of pulling James down by his nape. Fingers wind themselves into the back of James’ hair at the same time as Regulus licks his tongue between James’ lips and it’s heaven.

Immediately James’ body feels oversensitive, blood rushing and prickling inside his veins like sour candy, light headed, gut clenching, lips tingling where he can feel Regulus’ press against his. It’s wet and open mouth, nip of teeth, but it’s soft, gentle despite that.

James lets out a happy sigh and it turns into a moan when Regulus tugs at his roots. Turns into panting and a whimper when Regulus breaks off but keeps his hips pressed into James’.

Oh, that’s dangerous. That’s so, so d—

“James, did you just get hard this quickly?”

Again, it sounds less like a question and more like a statement. Which, technically it has every right to be, since Regulus is completely correct.

It doesn’t feel quite on par with James’ ego to outright and immediately admit it though so he intelligently keeps gaping at Regulus momentarily.

But Regulus isn’t having it. He fastens his grip in James’ messy hair, his other hand coming up to loosely rest against the base of James’ throat and then Regulus leans in to lick at the seam of his lips. Touching just the tip of his tongue to James’ sensitive kissed, open mouth like he’s coaxing the answer out of him like that.

Insane behavior. James needs to lock Regulus away from everybody else in the world. He can’t have him going around being this hot just for anyone to see.

It works though, in a way, at least. James doesn’t manage to form a coherent verbal answer but his hips do the job for him when he ruts them forth and into Regulus in response.

The younger bites his lower lip at that, pupils blown and smoldering, “That’s a yes, I suspect.” And then Regulus says something that is the exact moment of the beginning of James Fleamont Potter’s ruination as the world knows and adores him. He knocks James head around slightly, carefully and coos at him gently. And then Regulus says, “Already stupid in the head, huh?”

James’ body nearly takes a screenshot. His gut tightens immediately, all the blood leaving his head and rushing straight to his cock, so fast and hard it’s dizzying. The tips of his fingers tingle with blood loss and a noise rips from his throat that’s as animalistic as it is pathetic.

From then it’s all a bit hazy.

There’s a lot of begging involved on James’ part and a lot of leading on Regulus’. They end up on the bed, kissing each other’s mouths raw, James on his back and Regulus in his lap, grinding down on him like he’s trying to grade James’ braincells away like a parmesan. It’s working. To the point where he’s so lost in the feel and weight of Regulus, in all the way he makes him feel good like the fucking angel that he is, that James doesn’t even notice he’s about to cum before it’s too late.

It barrels through him like a fucking freight train, spilling into his shorts, Regulus pressing down on and milking it out of him.

One would imagine this is already intense enough but then Regulus mumbles something into his ear and James vaguely remembers blushing again and nodding. There’s the sound of a zipper and some adjusting and then Regulus lets out a shaky moan that has James snapping back into the present so fast he’s afraid he gave himself whiplash.

Because Regulus is on top of him, hand down his jeans and eyebrows scrunched like he’s feeling just so fucking good and James has to kiss him again. They do that until Regulus shudders through his own orgasm and James feels like his bones turned into al dente pasta.

And lastly, because Regulus is still an evil, little shit, he gives James one more dirty, wet kiss before extracting himself entirely.

He pats James on the knee as he rebuttons his trousers, “Now, if you wanna continue this, you know where to find me. And you better text me back before I get home or this’ll be the last time you had an orgasm through your dick.”

James just so refrains from telling him he’s in love with him.

#jirgin #virgin james #the jirgin chronicles #vomiting up smut at 11 am before work is wild #jegulus #jegulus fic #james potter #regulus black #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus microfic #marauders #lune writes #lune’s tiny fic #the last half is probably bad and rushed i dont have the braincells to proofread this rn soz xx

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wordsofwhimsy · 3 months ago

Text

【Ｏｐｐｏｓｉｔｅｓ　

Ａｔｔｒａｃｔ】 - Part Nine

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice of life, some serious showboating, Mark's still geekin 'bout that damn dress

Word Count: 2,285

Chapter Synopsis: Jealous Mark being jealous and a little unhinged. We love him tho.

a/n: Kyle better watch his mf back, that’s all i’m finna say on it

Part Eight

He tried. Really he did. Tried his damnedest to relax, to be normal.

Mark sat in his bedroom with the blinds drawn, biting into a bag of discount pretzels with a bit too much ferocity. He’d even turned on a movie—something dumb and loud and full of explosions—but none of it was enough to keep him from picturing you. Picturing you in that dress. At a stadium. Surrounded by people. With Kyle.

He pictured the way you’d smiled. Smiled at him like you didn’t even realize what you were doing to him. Like you didn’t know that standing there looking like that, in front of him, might’ve actually been the end of Mark's already-fragile grip on sanity.

He so clearly pictured your boobs. Those soft, beautiful legs. You had no idea what kind of weapon-grade arsenal you were walking around with.

And now Kyle knew too.

Kyle, who didn’t even understand what he was dealing with. Who had no idea that this was your first real outing, that you’d never done something like this before, that you’d said yes because you were trying to be brave and open and—

God.

Mark groaned, head thudding back against the wall behind him. The drywall cracked a little.

You looked genuinely happy. That was the worst part. You were glowing in that stupid dress. Excited. Nervous. Glorious.

Mark dragged both hands through his hair, muttering a string of absolutely unhinged swears in a language that would’ve made most human ears bleed.

This was fine. Everything was fine. It wasn’t like he wanted to choke slam Kyle into the dugout or anything. It wasn’t like he wanted to fly straight to the stadium and insert himself into the date like some divine act of vengeance.

...Except that was exactly what he wanted.

The thought of you giggling at Kyle’s bad jokes, eating stadium nachos, maybe leaning over the railing to see the field better while Kyle stood behind you?

Absolutely not.

He stood up too fast, moving back and forth across his room. Mark wasn’t pacing. Pacing would imply restlessness. A lack of direction. No, he was strategizing—moving with purpose. And tension. And a very specific, deeply personal vendetta against pastel-colored clothing.

He needed a plan.

He turned abruptly toward the window, peeking through the blinds as he scanned the skyline. There had to be something going on near the stadium. A mission. A security issue. A minor alien invasion. Anything.

He yanked his communicator from his pocket. “Cecil.”

“Mark,” came the voice, dry and staticky. “What did you break now?”

“Nothing. Yet.” He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “What’s the situation around the city? Any, I dunno… threats?”

“You’re calling in for patrol voluntarily?” Cecil asked, incredulous. “Who are you and what have you done with my least cooperative agent?”

Mark’s eye twitched. “Just answer the question.”

Cecil hummed, clearly suspicious. “Well… now that you mention it, there’s been some unusual energy signatures downtown. Not urgent, but weird enough to keep an eye on.”

Mark’s jaw set. Downtown. Close enough.

“Cool,” he said, already moving to gear up. “I’ll take it.”

“You sure you’re not stalking someone?”

Mark ended the call and zipped into his suit like he was going to war.

Because he was. Emotionally. Spiritually. Possibly physically, if Kyle so much as looked at you too long.

With his boots on and communicator clipped in his ear, he lifted his window and took one single breath.

He took to the sky fast, slicing through the clouds like he had a deadline for destruction. It wasn’t like he knew exactly where you were sitting—he wasn’t that unhinged. Probably. But the stadium was easy enough to find. Loud. Flashy. Crowded. Filled with people in cheap jerseys and overpriced hats.

He hated it already.

Mark landed on a nearby rooftop, crouched low beside an old vent, and surveyed the scene like a total lunatic. His communicator buzzed softly in his ear as Cecil chimed in again.

“Update: the energy spike moved closer to the stadium. You seeing anything?”

Mark narrowed his eyes, scanning the crowd like a sniper. “Just civilians. Screaming. Eating corn dogs.”

“Sounds like your natural habitat.” Mark just grimaced.

Below, the crowds roared. Some guy in a mascot costume was doing cartwheels. People were chanting. A wave rippled through one section and died halfway around. None of it mattered. Not when he finally spotted you.

Mark’s jaw locked.

There you were. On the edge of a lower deck, drink in hand, laughing at something Kyle said like it was the funniest thing in the universe. And that dress? It was still on. Which meant your legs were still out. Your collarbones were still out. Your boobs were still out.

Mark was going to die. Not metaphorically. Literally.

He squinted his eyes as if it’d help him see better. He didn’t have a scope, but if he did it would’ve been locked on Kyle’s stupid, boyish face.

Mark muttered under his breath, “Say one more word, Kyle. One more fucking thing I swear to God...”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, fingers flexing at his sides. Control. Focus. This is about surveillance. That’s it. This isn’t about her laugh. Or the way she keeps brushing her hair behind her ear. Or the way Kyle just offered her his hoodie like he wasn’t a certified level-seven threat to national security—

His spiraling thoughts were snapped back into reality as he noticed Kyle make a catch.

A damn fly ball.

It was nothing. No real skill. No flashy move. Just some basic baseball shit. But you—you—reacted like he’d just pulled off a grand slam. Eyes wide, mouth open, practically glowing with excitement, cheering him on like he was some kind of god.

Mark’s blood turned to fire. Seriously? That was what had you so impressed? A fly ball?

His jaw clenched so tight it nearly hurt. He leaned against the edge of the roof, fists white-knuckling the metal as he stared down at you. The thought of Kyle getting that look from you made him want to snap something in half. It didn’t even make sense.

You had no idea what you were doing to him. None.

You were just happy. And that was fine. Great, even. But this? Kyle? No way.

Mark slammed his fist into the side of the building, leaving a small crater. He exhaled sharply, staring at you across the distance, and he suddenly felt like a switch had been flipped.

His muscles tensed, the urge to do something, anything, scratching at the back of his skull. And then, just like that, he was in motion. He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the sheer jealousy pumping through his veins, but something told him he had to make his presence known.

He blasted into the sky without a second thought.

Mark didn’t bother to think it through. He didn’t need to. It was instinct. Something primal. He shot over the rooftops as the stadium grew closer, his eyes scanning the crowd for the one person that mattered. You.

And there you were—again, smiling at Kyle, your whole face lit up like you had stars in your eyes. That was it.

He was done.

With a speed that left the world behind, he swooped down to the field, landing with a deafening crash on the pitcher’s mound. The ground trembled beneath his feet, the air buzzing with electricity from the impact.

The crowd went dead silent.

Mark stood tall, eyes locked on you immediately. Your eyes widened when you saw him, your jaw dropping. There was no way you could’ve expected this.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers, cutting through the stunned silence of the crowd.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe it, folks! Invincible is here to watch the game! I think he wants to throw out a pitch!”

Mark smirked, his gaze still locked on you, but the moment the announcer’s words echoed through the stadium, he knew it was time to step it up. He didn’t need an excuse. He didn’t need any permission. He was already in control of this situation.

A nervous-looking ball runner, probably no older than sixteen, jogged out toward him, holding a baseball in both hands like it was a fragile piece of glass. His eyes were wide, mouth opening and closing like he was going to say something, but nothing came out.

Mark looked at him for a beat, barely suppressing a grin. “Thanks, kid,” he said, taking the ball with a casual flick of his wrist.

The kid nodded, wide-eyed, clearly starstruck. Mark couldn't help but relish it, feeling that familiar rush of power. The kid was impressed—and that was exactly the kind of fuel Mark needed right now. His chest tightened with a sense of superiority, and all his frustration and raw need to one-up everyone around him funneled into that one, cocky throw.

He didn’t even look down at the kid anymore—he was beyond that. He rose up into the air, the stadium below him shrinking away with every foot he gained, until he was hovering just above the roofline. He could feel the eyes on him, the sharp intake of breath from the crowd.

Perfect.

With a flick of his wrist, Mark flung the ball forward like it was a pebble. The motion was so fluid, so natural, it was like he was simply tossing it to a friend across the street—but the speed? The force?

The ball shot off with a bang that could’ve made the sky crack open. It vanished into the distance, disappearing in an instant, so fast and hard that it seemed impossible. The stadium went dead quiet for a split second. Then, as the shockwave from the throw hit, the crowd’s collective gasp filled the air.

Not a single person had time to process what had just happened.

They were too busy watching the empty sky.

Then, as the seconds ticked by and people started whispering among themselves, Mark stayed still, face blank, eyes focused on the horizon. And then, just like that, he moved again—his head tilting slightly to the side, as if hearing a distant sound.

The ball—the one that had just orbited the entire planet—suddenly reappeared, coming right at him at Mach force speeds.

The crowd collectively froze.

Mark barely even looked at it. He raised his hand up, palm open, and without breaking his stance, plucked the ball right out of the air, as though it had simply returned to him like it was nothing more than a boomerang.

The stadium fell into complete silence, like the universe had stopped.

Mark casually tossed the ball in his hand, twirling it around his fingers as he lowered himself down a bit so he was in direct eyeline of the audience. He looked at the crowd, his smirk wide. His eyes locked on you—wide-eyed, mouth open in disbelief—and he winked.

The crowd erupted. Screams. Applause. Whistles. The entire stadium shook with the raw, collective energy of people who had just witnessed something impossible.

Then, without waiting for another reaction, Mark raised his hand in a half-wave and shot back up into the sky.

The stadium didn’t know whether to cheer or faint.

Reader’s POV

Kyle was still wide-eyed, his voice breaking through the noise of the crowd. “Holy shit! I can’t believe Invincible was just here! That was insane!”

You could barely focus on him. The entire stadium still felt like it was vibrating from Mark’s impossibly fast throw, and you were left staring at the spot where he'd disappeared into the sky. Your heart was racing, caught somewhere between awe and confusion. What the hell had just happened? Why had he done that? Was that just a random act of—what, showboating?

You shook your head slightly, trying to shake off the daze. Focus, you’re with Kyle, you reminded yourself. Don’t be weird.

“Yeah, I know right?” You tried to sound excited, jumping in with the hype. “That was... that was totally insane! I mean, who does that?” You laughed, even though your mind kept replaying Mark’s performance, his cocky grin, the way he just owned the entire stadium in seconds. And maybe you were crazy but you could’ve swore that he winked directly at you.

Kyle didn’t notice you drifting off into your own thoughts, still hyped on the high of witnessing something unbelievable. He kept talking about how cool it was, how insane it was to be in the same stadium as a superhero, and you nodded along. But something in the back of your mind was pulling at you. Something felt... off. Why had Mark done that?

You glanced at Kyle, who was still distracted by the crowd’s reactions, and quickly pulled out your phone. You hesitated for just a second, but then typed out three question marks, simple, unassuming, but clearly conveying your sentiment.

You:

???

You hit send, barely holding your breath. A moment later, your phone buzzed with his reply.

Mark: What?

You stared at the message incredulously – what?

You:

What was that?!

Mark: Just a little something to keep the crowd entertained.

You couldn’t help but to grin at his response as you quickly typed back a response.

You: Definitely think you’re a crowd favorite now!

Mark:Always have been.

———————

Part Ten

———————

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson fanfic #mohawk mark x reader #variant mark x reader

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karmicgalaxies · 1 year ago

Text

18+ Content MDNI

Victor Creed (Sabretooth) X AFAB! Reader

Disclaimers: Unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it!) P In V sex, Rough sex, Snarling, Biting, Size difference, though it isn’t mentioned descriptively. Victor is just a motherfucking UNIT, Name-calling (Slut, Pretty), Cream-pie, Squirting. Possessiveness? if you squint

A/N: This is absolutely unhinged. Poorly proofread as I’m publishing this @ around 3 am, so do excuse errors!

Victor Creed, who’s got you on a pathetic attempt of all fours. Well; that would be the case if it weren’t for your upper body having gave out a round or two ago, slumped against the mattress as you fail to bury your moans in the sheets. Lewd cries leaving your lips at the pleasure. Snarls and grunts fill your ears as he fucks into you, his upper body pressing into your back, properly pinning you to the mattress as if you were even planning to go anywhere in the first place.

“Mmm, Mine.” Victor snarls, panting and breathing down your neck, finding a spot to nip at, eliciting a sharp yelp of you amongst your cries. The action getting a small, dry laugh out of him. His hips snapping against your ass at an inhumanely fast pace with brute force.

You’ve been at this for so long, your cock-drunk mind struggles to form a single coherent thought. You can’t even remember the number of orgasms Victor has fucked you through at this point. The wind nearly knocked out of your lungs with each forceful thrust. Compared to how large he is, you’re so helpless against him. Though, he wouldn’t have it any other way. Him being intimidating, dominating and domineering was the whole point.

The sound of skin against skin reverberates through the room, as well as the lewd squelching sounds of your pussy being abused by his cock. Your slick dripping down his shaft plentifully throughout the duration of your session thus far.

“So messy..” Victor finds himself grunting against your ear again at the feeling. “Leakin’ around my cock so much. Goddamn slut, have you no shame?” He rasps, nibbling at your earlobe. Your cunt clenched around him like a goddamn vice, making him groan as he reaches around, his large hand gripping onto your jaw in a rough grasp as he turns your head. “C’mere.” He utters, pressing his lips roughly against yours. A gesture seen as tender compared to how hard he’s fucking you.

You let out a few moans against his lips. Victor’s own snarls and growls vibrating in his chest as he does so, separating his lips from yours, he trails open mouthed kisses and bites down your jaw and the back of your neck. That’s before he roughly bites into your shoulder, making you inhale sharply as you let out a loud cry. The smirk left behind on Victor’s face is fucking huge, though same can be said about the bite mark left on your supple skin. “I gotta give it to ya. You take me real good. How ‘bout another orgasm, pretty?” He keeps the smirk, watching you unravel and struggle against his body. The sight and sounds of you daring to make him more primal with need than he already is. “Jus’ one more” His tongue licking at the bite mark left on your shoulder just a minute or so prior.

“Mm, Victor— Please.” You whine, at the cusp of the umpteenth mind shattering orgasm of the night.

“C’mon slut. Cum on this cock, ‘s all yours.” Victor snarls, finally letting off of your back, kneeling upright as he reaches his hands to your hips, holding them firmly in place as he fucks even harder into you. You could swear his tip briefly kissed your cervix a few times. A man motivated solely to rip another orgasm out of you.

It’s not long before he succeeds. Your orgasm ripping through you like a bullet. Pussy clenching around his cock, milking him for all its worth as your eyes roll back into your skull. Thighs trembling as you make a mess. Your juices obscenely more abundant than usual as you soak the sheets below. Holy shit, you squirted.

“Fuck, look at you making such a fucking mess.” Victor grunts as he gives you one last deep thrust. Taking the air out of you as your cunt is promptly flooded with his cum. He makes all sorts of animalistic noises through his own orgasm, delighted to stake his claim on you yet again. His palm meeting the side of your hip, a love tap of sorts.

“You’re mine. Best not forget that.”

#victor creed #sabretooth #marvel #x men smut #x men #x-men #x men Sabretooth #x reader #Sabretooth smut #Victor creed smut #Karms drabbles <3 #karms imagines <3 #marvel smut #x reader smut #x men 97 #x men 97 smut #I had some big feelings about him.#clearly

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revelboo · 2 months ago

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Hi Revel! Hope you’re having a good day and taking care of yourself, saw you were feeling a little bad the other day, are you feeling better?

Also, only if you have the time/want to, could we get some Vortex roleplay?

Sure! I’m okay. My immune system isn’t great, so I get sick easily.

🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️ CW- blood

Roleplay

Vortex

• Testing the weight of the blade he’d given you as a gift, you tip it watching the light catch on the ripples of folded metal in the same color as his plating. Wondering if he’d actually made the thing from bits of himself he’d cut off, because that’s about his speed. Staring down at the big, mass displaced mech, you hook a foot under one of the chains binding him down spread eagle before glancing at Blast Off and Brawl, the other two Combaticons having been sweet enough to help chain him down for you. ‘Your little human’s just going to stab you. Repeatedly,’ Brawl growls and you run your tongue against the flat of the blade to screw with them. “Get out,” Vortex snarls, hips lifting as he stares at you hungrily.

• “He’s right, you know,” you say, head tipping as you study your bonding gift and his fellow Combaticons leave. Knows he’s not done it quite right, that he should bond you before giving you your gift, but how could you play with him without a way to cut him? Watches you strip slowly, bending to slide the flat of the blade against his inner thigh, the tip brushing his inner thigh to make him release his spike for you. And you ignore it to sit on his chassis, leaning over him. That blade nestling against the soft mesh of his neck in threat. “If I wanted to, you’d bleed out before they could stop me.”

• “Do you want to?” He asks, staring up at you hungrily. Know how unhinged he can be, that he likes a little pain with sex, his or yours. Finding out you like inflicting it, had been a shock. Something you hadn’t known about yourself and feel like you should be ashamed of. The fact that he encourages it probably isn’t healthy. “Energon, blood. They’re both so pretty aren’t they? I’m your prisoner, you get to do whatever you want with me, remember?”

• Running the tip of the blade along the line of his jaw, you’re so serious as you decide what to do with him. The wait stringing him tight. You’ll cut him, you both know it, it’s just a matter of where. Maybe you’ll accidentally cut yourself getting him, your pretty red blood mingling with his energon. Hips jerking as his spike and biolights pulse for you, he retracts his battle mask and sinks his denta into his bottom lip until he tastes his own energon and you notice. The blade notching against a gap in his plating at his shoulder as you lean down and your weight pushes the blade in a bit, feels that bright pain as your mouth covers his. And he shudders, overloading against your back and hip. Making you bite his lip hard before pulling away, pretty mouth smudged with energon. “Brat,” you mutter, jerking the knife free to make him hiss. “It’s in my hair.”

• And he’s laughing, flashing those energon stained denta at you as you swipe energon off your bottom lip and lick it off. Knowing it’s poisonous to you and that his nanites can handle small amounts of it, keep it from killing you. That something’s very wrong with you for liking the taste as you shift against him, gripping and squeezing his spike to make him groan before impaling yourself on him. Riding him as he groans and swears. “Oh, Primus,” he snarls, hips lifting as much as he can with his limbs bound. “Going to fragging bite you, sink my denta in and devour you. Eat you alive.” Threats spilling past his lips as you rock yourself lazily against him. No longer afraid of his violent urges, knowing that no matter what he says, he never actually hurts you. A little blood, yours or his. But never real pain. His fucked up matching yours as you ride him and listen to his snarled words about what he’s going to do to you once he’s free.

• Primus, he loves you. Even if you’re so fragging cruel as you take your time, hips rolling lazily when you know he likes it rough, hard, and fast. Hips bucking up to make his chains rattle when you play with that blade, his blade, sliding the flat against your soft skin to smear his energon on yourself and he wants to lick it off. Eyes closing as your lips part, moving on him in no hurry. “Maybe I should keep you tied down,” you moan, voice hitching. “You want to be my little toy to use wherever I’m bored?” And he’s begging you, servos clawing at the berth as you finally start bouncing on him, being rough like he needs.

#transformers x reader #vortex x reader #idw vortex #valveplug

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greenxgloss · 2 months ago

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Part 2

Summary: When you jokingly mention that your mutual friend Marlee thinks you two should get together, Jiyong’s unexpected blush and your quiet, lingering thoughts reveal the possibility that your connection might be more than just friendship.

Themes: Friendship and romance blurred, Unspoken feelings / tension, Friends To Lovers, mentions of Jealousy Word count: 1.1k

Although you were never bitter listening to Marlee’s latest romantic escapades, something twisted in your stomach today—subtle but insistent. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly, but a tugging sensation, a soft ache you didn’t quite recognize. Perhaps it wasn’t a relationship you longed for so much as something. Something casual, maybe. Or something closer.

The longer you sat with the thought, the more it pressed against your ribs, blooming into a quiet anxiety you didn’t feel like naming. So, like most discomforts, you buried it under the glow of your phone screen, scrolling aimlessly to distract yourself from the slow churn in your chest.

You didn’t hear the front door open or the soft thud of sneakers hitting the hardwood floor. You were so immersed in your screen that Jiyong’s voice startled you into near cardiac arrest.

“Hey, I got us tacos.”

His voice cut through the silence like a splash of cold water, and before you could fully process it, a warm, grease-stained paper bag landed on your lap.

Your phone slipped from your hand in the chaos and smacked you directly in the face. The yelp you let out was somewhere between wounded and indignant, and you scrambled upright, clutching your forehead with one hand and theatrically pressing the other to your chest like you’d been shot.

“Kwon Jiyong,” you hissed through gritted teeth, grabbing the taco bag and chucking it onto the coffee table. “If you ever sneak up on me like that again, I swear I’ll destroy your vocal cords. Career: over.”

Your threat was deliberate, every syllable dripping in menace, but it only made him laugh harder. Jiyong collapsed into himself, laughter rolling from his chest in unrestrained waves. It had been weeks since you’d heard him laugh like that—but then again, it often came easily when he was with you.

He vaulted over the couch with practiced ease and sat beside you, his knee brushing yours as he reached into the bag. “I’d still be an incredible writer, with or without my voice,” he said smugly. “Wouldn’t you miss being spoiled by your best friend?”

He handed you a taco, and you rolled your eyes as you accepted it.

“Friends this long and you still pull this crap,” you muttered, jaw practically unhinging as you took a bite. “One of these days, I’m going to spoil you with a knuckle sandwich.”

“And yet,” he said between bites, “you never do.”

You scoffed, chewing deliberately. The banter was familiar, a rhythm you both had perfected over years of knowing each other. You didn’t need to fill the silences with empty words—being near him was often enough.

As you unwrapped your taco, a slow warmth crept up your neck, crawling over your cheeks with the insistent presence of a blush you couldn’t will away. It wasn’t just that he remembered your order. It was how he remembered it. No onions. Extra salsa. Tortillas toasted just the way you liked them.

Of course, he remembered.

Jiyong always remembered the little things—the details that most people overlooked. That attentiveness had always been part of him, but tonight it landed differently. Sharper. Heavier. You told yourself it was nothing, that he was simply being a good friend. Logical. Safe. But even as the excuses lined up in your brain, the flush on your face refused to fade.

“What did you do today?” he asked casually, mouth half-full.

“I invited Marlee over,” you replied, eyes on your taco. “Showed her the dress you bought me.”

Jiyong grinned. “Love Marlee.”

He leaned in closer, and for a moment, you froze—certain he was going to kiss you.

Instead, he licked your nose.

“Sour cream,” he said matter-of-factly, already taking another bite, mouth obnoxiously open as usual.

You groaned. “Marlee loves you too, idiot.”

Something about the moment made you bold—or reckless. You weren’t sure. Either way, you decided to test a theory.

“So much so,” you said, tone casual, “that she thinks you and I should get together.”

You snorted, eyes darting to his face.

And then you saw it.

His blush.

Oh.

Jiyong didn’t respond right away. He was chewing more slowly now, more deliberately, as if stalling for time. “Hmm,” he managed, eyes fixed on the coffee table.

You polished off the rest of your taco and wiped your hands clean, letting the silence stretch.

“Isn’t that insane?” you added, watching him carefully.

“Yeah. I mean... I get it, but... definitely interesting.” He shrugged, but it was performative. You could practically hear the gears grinding in his head.

To ease the tension—or maybe to escape it—you stood and made your way to the fridge, grabbing two of his favorite fancy pomegranate drinks. A flicker of doubt surfaced. Maybe you’d pushed too hard. Maybe you’d made him uncomfortable.

But that didn’t make sense. You’d had conversations far more intense, more personal. It wasn’t discomfort. It was something else.

When you returned, you passed him a bottle, letting your fingers brush his.

“You don’t sound as shocked as I did,” you said, raising a brow.

“I think it’s pretty common for friendships like ours to be misunderstood,” he said, gaze meeting yours. “Honestly, I was just waiting for someone to speculate. But... I’m not appalled, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Your chest tightened. “I guess you’re right.”

You didn’t realize how your expression had shifted until Jiyong took note of it—an almost imperceptible flicker of disappointment on your face.

He memorized it.

You fell into a quiet thoughtfulness, and he took the moment to look at you—really look. God, you were beautiful. Always had been. But it wasn’t just your face, or your smile, or even the way you carried yourself with understated charisma. It was everything. The way you reserved pieces of yourself, giving them only to people you trusted. The way your resting face looked like a painting. The way your dimpled lower back peeked out where tattoos traced soft lines.

He’d always admired you. Always wanted you. But the idea of making a move had felt too risky, too loud, too unlike him. So he let it become what it was—a sweet, comfortable friendship sparked by a shared love of fashion. You were wearing green sneakers the first day he met you, the same pair he owned in pink. He’d complimented them. You’d launched into an impromptu monologue about design and silhouettes, and just like that, he was hooked.

Sure, jealousy had reared its head more than once when he saw you with other guys. But he never let it interfere. Never let it sabotage what you had.

Later, the conversation shifted to his upcoming album—his most personal work to date. You talked for hours about songwriting and sound engineering, about fear and vulnerability and the pressure to create art from pain. You were proud of him, of course, and tried to stay focused. But beneath it all, the earlier conversation still echoed.

The idea that maybe, just maybe, the feelings weren’t one-sided after all.

a/n: sorry for taking literal years to get this part out! i hope you guys enjoy it! the next part is def not gonna be out for a while bc ngl I don't even know what direction I want this story to go lmao I have like 6 parts all written out but its wayyy too boring I don't like how they're written so idk how long itll be for the next part to be out. thank you for being patient!

Previous Part | Break Me Off Masterlist | Next Part

➽ G Dragon Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee

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heretical-cogitations · 4 months ago

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Gadriel x gn!reader

Word count: ~1200

Not really been a Gadriel girly, but it looks like my own thoughts are turning on me because omg I want to ruin this man.

This is so unhinged, I need to be locked up, I don’t know what is happening to me.

This entire thing is basically this:

You top him into Warhammer 50K

Warnings: You top him into Warhammer 50K, anal, cum play, dom sub dynamics, manhandling, mirror sex ( v brief), oral (f/m receiving)

Please let me know if I missed anything!!

He is a sloppy, bratty bottom who loves taking the strap or cock, the god emperor told me so it's true

Weeellll, that’s true like 70 or 80% of the time.

The other 20 – 30% of the time he is an unhinged feral dom who needs to be as close to you as possible.

You’ll be squashed under him as he moans in your ear about how perfect you are for him and how good you are to him.

He’ll never let you go, he is holding you so close, but that is for another day!

He is more than happy to top, loves seeing you crumble under him but there is something so cathartic for him, an astartes to be made into a quivering begging mess, he loves giving over the control.

Back to pile driving the pretty ultramarine into the 5th dimension.

He has no idea what he is doing, little Valorem here, is a bit of a himbo.

Smart where he needs to be but clueless everywhere else.

All that confidence he had before evaporating from his body the second you touch him. Hands roaming over his body glove.

His kisses are so stiff, but he’ll pick up what he needs to do pretty quickly, also pretty quick to start whimpering into kisses especially when you bite his lip and lightly pull his hair.

Pulls away when you do in shock, didn’t know he could make that noise.

Tease him and he blushes a deep red and gives you a very cute pout.

“Take this off.” You say tugging at the cuff of his skintight suit.

He stares blankly at you not moving, so you yank the clasp open. “Gadriel. Strip, now.”

A quick curt nod is all he gives you before he rips the thing off himself before sitting obediently on the edge of the bed.

Smiling, you strip as slowly as you can and you’re pretty sure you can see him vibrating.

Slack jawed at the sight of you without clothes.

Sitting on the floor between his muscular legs, hands running up the length of them delicately before stopping at his inner thighs pushing them further apart.

You sit up face so close to where he wants you more than anything, he can feel your breath on him

Without thinking he bucks his hips after for any form of friction.

“No, none of that.” You lightly squeeze his balls, Gadriel cries out at the feeling, muscles tensing to hold his hips in place.

“Good boy.” You say before peppering soft sweet kisses to his tip before suckling lightly. He lets out a series of pathetic whines in response, head lolling forward, pretty eyes fluttering shut.

You lean back, his eyes snapping to yours, “Keep being good and look at me.” You hum, squeezing his muscular thighs, he nods again, blush spread down to his neck.

You stare up at him through your lashes as you return your mouth to his length taking more of him this time, tongue lapping at the head and the vein running down the underside.

The second his eyes meet yours he chokes out a strangled moan, thighs tensing, hot cum splashing against your tongue an throat, you pull off in shock the rest of his load landing on your face and chest.

“I- I’m sorry” he pants out lying back on the bed arm slung over his face.

He is so ashamed, that was far too quick. Wants the bed to swallow him up but you don’t let him stay like that.

Climbing on top of him you pull at the arm covering his face. “You did a good job, don’t apologise.”

Using his fingers to scoop up the cum covering your skin before popping them into your mouth and sucking. He moans again, cock twitching.

He returns the favour with the most enthusiastic messy oral you had ever had, and once he catches onto what causes you breath to hitch and it’s not long until you are a shaking mess cumming in his mouth.

Once his initial shyness passes, he is a desperate slut.

At his happiest when he is bent over and stuffed full.

It doesn’t take much to get him begging to get his back blown the fuck out – sometimes the way you look at him is enough to have him pulling you to the side, grinding against you begging you to help him ‘train’.

Loves being folded into a mating press, don’t worry he’ll hold his legs, he’ll do anything for you, just getting to watch you fuck him is euphoric, hates that he cries because your image becomes unfocused and blurry but loves how you coo to him kissing and wiping his fucked-out tears away.

Your go to though is doggy, it’s just easier, and ever since Chairon told you about how great mirrors can be during sex (I WILL BE TALKING ABOUT THIS AND THEIR ‘BETS’) it’s even better, he can watch you again but can also see how debauched he looks, it gets him off even quicker.

There is just something about seeing a man so muscular face down with his pretty sculpted arse in the air.

His broad shoulders tapering into a tiny waist Aughhhhhhh perfection. He knows he looks good but to know you feel that way as well has his cock swelling in anticipation, holding himself open, waiting for you, head turned to the side teary eyes pleading with you and begging you to fuck him.

Once you do, he is a mess, he’s so loud it’s embarrassing, he knows his battle brothers can hear him squealing about how: “It feels so good! Oh, throne! It feels so good I’m so so close, please, I’ve been a good boy, please, let me cum!!” He sounds like an actor from those under the table holo-vids.

He loves being fucked hard, fast and rough – scratch him, bite him, rag his hair, put your fingers in his ports and he is fucking himself back onto you screaming your name, demanding more.

Throws a tantrum when you pull out. Holding himself up on his wobbly arms, turning to look at you, face blotchy and wet from spit and tears. He opens his mouth to complain but you cut him off. “Did you forget your manners, Valorem?” Mouth hanging open he weighs up how far being a brat with get him now, deciding to fold instantly and apologises to you.

Almost loves having his brains fucked out more than the imperium.

He cums so much, he almost thinks it’s a waste being spilt onto the surface below him, but the orgasms he has when you’re deep inside him are otherworldly, he’s addicted.

Loves when you hold him close when you finger him - starts babbling head tucked into your shoulder as you milk his prostate

ULTRAMARINE BUTTPLUG ULTRAMARINE BUTT PLUG ULTRAMARINE BUTTPLUG ULTRAMARINE BUTTPLUG ULTRAMARINE BUTTPLUG ULTRAMARINE BUTTPLUG (got it as a gift off the chapter master, and he is unsure if Calgar knows it is being used on him or not…)

I think I was possessed writing this dear lord I didn’t even get onto him slobbing on your strap / dick damn.

#the inquisition is rapidly approaching my location #warhammer40k x reader #space marine x reader #warhammer 40k #gadriel x reader #sergeant gadriel #cogi writes

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rush-the-stars · 1 year ago

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AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART III

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.8k || ao3 || <- part ii || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

✧ SPRING FEVER collab ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, fainting, fainting from lack of food, reader refuses to eat because she doesn't want getou to feed her, getou does not let reader eat unless he feeds them; forced feeding. forced bathing, smut; masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: happy mother's day to alpha suguru getou <3 this is the third and final part of this lil series for @lorelune 's spring fever collab! pls mind the warnings, i added some! i will be honest this part feels like a fever dream to myself lol...,.not beta read..,.i barely read it back bc im terrified of my own smut JFDKLSK enjoy LMAO but on a real note, thank you to everyone who has reached out and been so kind ab this fic! i hope you enjoy this last part! let me know your thoughts <33

━─━────༺༻────━─━

When Suguru first offers you food from his own hand, you push it away. He cooked it for you and you refuse it, turn your nose up at him and shut your mouth resolutely, feel your lips cage your teeth like a muzzle

“I’ll do it myself.” You tell him firmly.

But then he holds the food away from you.

You go nearly a day and a half, feverish and woozy, without eating.

You do not plan on conceding, but end up fainting not long after. Your body is under too much stress; you need sustenance. You need food and water.

So he begins to feed you as your lashes flutter and you are too weak to deny him this time.

It’s easier, when you can hardly keep your eyes open. His hands are impossibly gentle. You feel his fingers against your lips, careful, and loving.

When you’re feeling better, you glower at him.

He is rather pleased, though.

The next time he tries to feed you by hand, you turn and bite his hand, sink your teeth into the meat of it.

He laughs warmly, fondly.

“Feel better to get that out of your system?” He asks, when you finally pull away.

You don’t respond to him.

He grabs your face swiftly then, big hand fitting around your jaw and bearing down. This time, he holds you steady, and brings the slice of orange to your mouth.

You squirm, but he says, “I will not have you fainting again.”

“Let me feed myself then.” You manage to get out, but he holds you tighter, presses at your jaw to get it to unhinge.

The orange pops into your mouth.

“You’re insufferable.” You say around it, cheek puffed with the fruit.

Unfortunately, it’s good. Sweet. A little cool. Refreshing. You do want more.

“This doesn��t have to be so difficult.” He responds evenly, peeling away the next piece of the orange. It looks so small in his hands.

You swallow the piece in your mouth.

“You’re right,” you respond stubbornly, “it doesn’t.” You reach for the next piece but he holds it away from you.

Frustration overcomes you, chokes you like thorny vines strangling out the softer plants around them. Heat hits your face again and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get over it all. If he’ll ever stop making you feel this way.

Tears prick your eyes again.

You turn your face away from him. He sighs.

“It isn’t so bad,” he says softly, “if you’d just give in.”

You sniff. “I could say the same of you.”

“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says, “and at every turn, you are still trying to refuse it.”

“I don’t need—”

“But don’t you want it?” He asks gently, hand reaching out slowly, knuckles first, so they skim your cheek. “It’s okay to want.”

Stubbornly, you remain silent.

“You’ve been so alone, for so long, my little stray. It’s okay to be taken care of.” He consoles softly, voice just a rumble that warms to your ears.

“I’ll not think you any less strong, if you let me feed you now.” He promises, “if you let me care for you this week.”

You don’t know why, but a tear slips down your cheek. There’s a lump in your throat, hard and aching, and threatening your resolve.

He catches your tear with a thumb. “Poor thing, so torn up.”

You sniff hard, trying to hold everything in. It’s trembling and tender, though, your heart. The ache in your chest.

You don’t think you’ll win this one—

Your head is foggy and throbbing. You don’t even know what you’re winning or losing. Or what you’re fighting for, when he puts it that way.

You feel silly for denying him.

Perhaps worse for agreeing.

Finally, in a voice smaller than intended? you ask, “can I have another piece?”

Suguru studies you for a moment.

He lifts the curved bend of the orange up to your lips, testing. Waiting. It's a half moon curve, ripe and tempting.

You give in and part your lips, accept the crescent into your mouth like holding the moon on your tongue for him.

He presses it inside, on your tongue, and you accept the crescent like holding a soft, tangerine moon in your mouth for him. His fingers skim your teeth, placing a world there, on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he says, pleased and warm, when you close around the slice.

And then you obediently swallow it down—worldeater that you are, hungry dog that you are.

Another tear slips free as you chew it slowly. It’s tangy and sweet and lovely. You feel the well of emotions inside you open up, threatening to drag you down into its depths—you think if you start to cry now, you won’t ever stop.

Suguru dutifully peels off another piece of orange, making sure it’s free of rind or unwanted seeds.

When he lifts it to your mouth, you open readily for it now. Close your lips around his fingers gently, around the sweet orange.

With tears in your eyes, you look up at him, through wet lashes.

His scent has darkened, pungent and spicier. It lingers in the back of your mouth. It’s—it makes your head spin.

And there's a strange look in his eyes now.

Almost hungry himself, if you didn’t know better.

A cramp rolls through you, hips and lower back churning, and you whimper, reaching for him.

He takes hold of you easily.

“Hurts?” He muses softly.

You nod, tense and quick.

“Breathe,” he urges, shifting between your knees from where you’re sitting perched on his counter.

Instinctively, you cling to him.

You let yourself pull him closer, fit himself to you—

“Breathe,” he says again gently.

But you can feel him between your legs, you can feel his own desire, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Like crashing to earth.

He’s hard and heat sweeps through you in a whirlwind, so fast it makes you feel dizzy. Your head spins as you sink your nails deep into him, bear down with your strength like a bad dog, like you could get him to stay.

Distantly, you think he’s such a strange, awful man.

Is he so turned on from feeding you? Or from the fight?

“Suguru,” you mewl, clinging to him desperately. And he holds you, keeps you close, until your hips twitch.

You seek friction and he denies you.

Frustratingly, tears spring to your eyes again.

“You’re so—“ you try to get out, “why are you also denying yourself?”

“Because I made you a promise.” Suguru responds evenly. He pauses, eyes flickering over you, a lightning flash of violet, “and, perhaps,” he squeezes your waist, “to teach you a lesson.”

A noise of frustration works its way out of you, a little growl or whine, somewhere in the back of your throat.

“Won’t you do anything to help me?” You get out, pawing at his shoulders, his chest.

“I’m feeding you,” he says, “I’m caring for you.”

And then he draws away, back to the orange, and your fingers grip the edge of the counter until pain presses into them. You have to force air into your lungs, try and make your head stop spinning.

The wooziness and the aching is perhaps the worst part. You feel out of your mind, wish you could crawl out of your body.

When Suguru returns, he has another piece of orange between his fingers.

You glare up at him with glassy eyes.

“Open,” he says, warm and low.

Pleased.

Turned on.

Your lips part and you accept the fruit and his fingers into your mouth. You let yourself close around them, feel his knuckles on the inside of your warm, wet cheek.

You’re slow about it, or maybe he is.

You hold his gaze furiously.

Maybe it was time you taught him a lesson, too. You bite down hard into the orange. It bursts in your mouth.

***

The third day is perhaps the worst.

You’re so hot and somehow both overstimulated and undertouched. Your skin crawls until Suguru touches you. You ache in a way that makes you fear for your own health; several times you start to cry—not just cry, but bawl—from the pain. From the frustration.

At one point, you beg Suguru to take you to the hospital. To help you. To save you.

You babble that you’re going to split apart. You’re going to lose your mind.

Like a colicky baby, you can’t calm down.

And this time, he can’t quite seem to soothe you, either.

You twist and turn and pull at your clothes and your hair. You dig your nails into your own skin and drag them down in vicious, curving marks.

You press and scratch at inflamed, painful scent glands.

Your jaw hurts strangely in the joints.

(You realize you want something in your mouth. Maybe you want it between your teeth.)

Suguru tries to hold your hands away from yourself, tries to keep you from tearing into your own skin, but it only worsens you. It only makes you fight harder and cry harder. You lash out more, using more force with yourself, with him.

When he snaps finally, pinning you roughly and with a flash of his sharper, greater canines, something inside of you howls.

All you can do is beg and plead and cry. Press up against him desperately. Sink your face into his throat and inhale and—

Bite.

Your teeth close around the skin of his throat and bear down harshly.

He inhales sharply, spine going rigid with the pain for a moment.

You taste his blood on your tongue and feel your eyes roll blissfully to the back of your head. Darkness as your lashes flutter shut. You whimper into his throat—

“Is that what you needed?” He hisses, slipping his hand behind you to cradle your head to him, to keep you at his throat, “you just needed to get your teeth into me?”

As if in response, you twine yourself around him, hitching your legs around his waist. Your arms winding around his broad shoulders, as if you could absorb him into your very body, your very soul.

“Too bad it won’t take, hm?” Suguru muses, unmoving, allowing himself to melt into your vice grip on him.

You make a soft noise; one that would be embarrassing if you didn’t—if you weren’t so—

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To Mark me properly?” He continues, voice bedroom soft, “you want to scar me with your own teeth?”

As if in response, you try and fasten your mouth down harder, grinder your teeth into his flesh until he groans. The sound reverberates through you, rattles around inside your head until you’re mindless with it.

When you finally manage to unlatch your teeth, he hisses and pulls away to grab your jaw.

“What a little beast,” he sneers at you, “with my blood all over your mouth.”

Something inside of you snaps.

Unintentionally, you shudder into your cursed form—teeth elongating, nails sharpening. Strength rips through your otherwise feeble, heat-laddled body. In a sudden move of power, you shove him hard, and throw him off you.

In an instant, you are back atop him.

This time, when your teeth sink into the juncture of his other shoulder, they are far longer.

He actually cries out in pain.

The sound sparks beneath your skin, roars to life like a sudden fire and when he tries to grab your jaw and pry you off him, your claws sink into his wrist.

You struggle with each other, using your cursed energy, using all the strength you have.

Blood drips down his chest, dampening the collar of his shirt.

He barks out a pained laugh, “you really are a curse.”

And then he is forcing you off of him, wrenching your teeth out of his skin in a brutal drag, shoving you away from him.

You hiss, baring your dripping fangs at him and he growls back. The sound low and primal. Warning bells ping around your head, but you lunge for him again.

This time, he isn’t so ill-prepared.

He grapples with you on the bed, shoving you down into it with his forearm bearing down hard into your chest.

You make a noise of pain but he doesn’t let up.

He’s panting and bleeding, his long hair slipping from its usual half-up appearance.

Something inside of you is quite pleased at the image of him.

Not so pristine.

Perhaps unsure, for once in all the time you’ve known him.

“Calm down.” He says low and soft. Part growl, part purr. “Your aggression is misguided.”

Your teeth are bared in a snarl, “you are my tormentor.”

“I am only respecting your wishes.” Suguru says and there is a horrible, smug lift to the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s more a threat of his teeth, which gleam in the lowlight. “I made you a promise and I’m keeping it.”

“Let me up,” you snap.

“Will you be good?” Suguru asks.

Your fever spikes, tears pricking again at your eyes, and you finally lose your transformation. It melts from you, until you are fangless and drained once more.

So drained, in fact, that your eyes gutter.

Suguru is off you in an instant. Air rushes into your lungs, the pressure from your chest lifting and he lets you heave for breath rough and hard.

You don’t catch him move, but suddenly a glass of water is brought to your lips. When you can breathe, you drink. You let him guide it to your lips. And this time, when you try to pull away, he stops you.

His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping your mouth to the glass.

“More,” he presses, “you’re weaker than you know.”

And for once, you don’t fight him.

You gulp down the rest of it, some of it slipping from your mouth, down your chin, rolling down your working throat. It’s cool but barely a balm to the oppressive heat inside of you.

When you finish, Suguru pulls the glass away. He sets it down and studies you.

He tsks softly, “you’re a mess.”

You take him in, though your eyes are growing heavy, all of that fighting took a lot out of you. It’s catching up with you quickly now.

But your eyes land on the bite marks you’ve littered him with. The one, specifically, that is still ringed and bleeding, dripping down his chest.

“So are you.” You reply, words slurring.

You don’t catch what he says next, muffled, as you fade from consciousness. Darkness sweeps in to cradle you, much the way Suguru is now, and you fall into a restless sleep.

***

Suguru wakes you at some point.

It’s pitch black outside the window; there is very little light in the room at all, which adds to your confusion. Your head is throbbing.

You whimper.

“Sit up for me,” his voice is a hush, “can you do that?”

“Let me sleep,” you reply, pushing weakly at him as he forces you up. Everything swims. Your head lolls like a doll and he catches it so you don’t give yourself whiplash.

“You’re burning up,” he replies, “I need to get the fever down.”

You don’t have the wherewithal to understand this.

For a moment, you hope that he means—

“I’m going to give you a bath.”

You make another noise, this one in disagreement. Fussy.

He tuts softly at you, the way mothers do at bad children, and then he disappears, allowing you to fall back against the bed once more.

You’re not sure for how long, but you doze off again, unable to keep your eyes open. You only awake when Suguru lifts you clear from the bed and into his arms. Again, you make a noise of protest, pushing weakly at him, but he pays you no mind.

You open your eyes and wince against the bathroom light.

The bath is running, filling with water. You frown and squirm in his hold, just as he gently sets you on the floor beside the tub.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs and you push his hands away.

“No,” you snap, “leave.”

He sighs, “you can hardly sit up right now. I don’t trust you in the bath alone.”

“I’m not a child,” you protest.

“No, but you’re experiencing a compounded Heat, after years of not having one and you don’t have a knot to soothe you.” Suguru’s voice is cool. His eyes are, too.

You level him with the best glare you can manage, “and whose fault is that?”

“I’m only keeping my promise.” He almost sings.

You swat at him but he catches your wrist easily and pulls you up further as you begin to slouch further and further down against the edge of the tub. “Come,” he says, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

This time, when he reaches to remove your shirt, you only grumble in protest. He peels it from you carefully, revealing bare skin. Despite how hot you are, you shiver hard.

You ache.

This is the worst fever you’ve ever had. Perhaps, this is one of the worst you’ve felt ever.

You can hardly move enough to allow Suguru to slip your bottoms off and you feel so miserable that you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed or frustrated or angry.

Tears bead at your eyes again but it’s purely because you are in so much pain.

Suguru lifts you into the bath.

It’s lukewarm. Tufts of bubbles smell like lavender. The water is milky and gentle.

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started to cry again, reaching out for Suguru. You realize he’s cleaned and bandaged his bite mark. He also coos to you, rolling up his sleeves to reach you in the water, stroking at your throat, your cheek.

And then he takes a wash cloth in hand and begins to do the same. He bathes you with a strange gentleness. A gentleness you have not given him. Your tears continue, tracking down your face, which he dutifully washes, too. He wipes away your tears, any sweat and grime, until you feel shining and new.

Eventually, you rest your arms on the lip of the bathtub, folded, and lay your cheek against them. You’re exhausted and still hurting, but at least quiet for now. At least you are cleaned and—

Suguru strokes at your cheek, traces the curve and folds of your ear, gently strokes through your hair.

“Poor thing,” Suguru murmurs, knuckles drawing across your jaw, down your throat. When he passes along your scent gland, you shiver, you wince a little.

“Hurts,” you get out and he coos more to you.

Babying you.

And you don’t have the strength to deny him any longer, so you let yourself be babied. You whimper at him and let him try to soothe you, you let him quiet and pet you.

You’re looking at each other rather frankly, through the haze of your Heat, through all the lust or aggression or fear. In a rare moment of peace, you gaze up at his face and he looks down into yours.

“Do you hate me?” You ask and your voice is rather raw from all the crying, “is that why you’ve led me here?”

A strangely fond smile touches his lips, “on the contrary,” Suguru replies, fingers careful along your cheek, “I adore you.”

“You have such a strange way of showing it.” You tell him.

“I’m only keeping my promise,” he says again and all you have in you is a deep, dejected sigh.

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Suguru.” And though your tone is docile, even sleepy, it is a promise.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” He agrees, touch growing stronger, bolder, as he pets down your throat, your shoulder. You lean into the touch like a cat, too exhausted to deny it. “And I’ll still be here after—your ire or punishment will not scare me away.”

You look at him for a moment, long and hard, and only find the truth there. Something strangely raw.

After a moment, you say, “I know.”

He hums softly, leaning forward to give your burning forehead a rare and gentle kiss, “do your worst, then.”

You pick your head up barely, tilt your face to his and catch him in a sudden, burning kiss.

You pull away as quickly as you’d done it.

You can tell you’ve surprised him only momentarily, it passes over his features like a bird flickering through the sky, there and gone.

And you say, “no,” soft, and against his lips, “I’ll do my best this time.”

He pulls away, creating carefully controlled distance. “Come,” he says, urging you up and out of the bath, “let’s get you to bed.”

“Carry me?” You ask as he bundles you into a soft towel. “Let me wear your shirt?”

His eyes glint violet, dark and quick, but he says, “of course.” And indulges you.

He even holds you all night and lets you sleep in late.

The fever only worsens.

And you can’t tell if your resolve crumbles or strengthens; but either way, you’re born anew with the sun the next day.

***

Suguru woke up before you. He let you sleep in. But now you're awake and waiting for him. When Suguru returns to wake you in the early afternoon, instead of sleeping, you are half-lidded and sun-warmed, laying in his sheets still. The fever has reached a pitch inside you. You’re sure it’s done irreparable damage to your mind and psyche because of how you find yourself.

Because of how Suguru finds you.

The shirt of his you’d worn to bed is pushed up to your chin, revealing your bare chest, your stomach, flexing and twitching, with your legs spread. Your fingers between them, working messily against yourself, against where you’ve needed since your Heat began.

For once, you have shocked Suguru.

Enough that his lips part.

Just a flash, a ripple of his features, before he smooths them out quickly. Effortlessly. But it is enough to spur you on regardless, to feel just slightly triumphant.

You keen softly, arching your back, pushing your fingers gently through silken folds.

“Suguru,” you mewl his name, all soft and broken, arching your hips into your own touch desperately. Beyond your desire for revenge, is simply your desire, the need to feel full, to feel pleasure like this. And you reasoned with yourself, all night, and all morning, that you’d win regardless; either you’d wrestle his tightly held control from his grasp, and get what you so desperately want from him, or you’d still get to touch yourself and find some brief moment of reprieve.

Beyond either of those two things, you could not think. They ran around your mind like wild, starved dogs hunting down the possibility of a rabbit.

(Or are you the rabbit? Running around and around your mind, trying to escape the bite? Or are you looking for it?)

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and for a moment, he doesn’t dare step closer to you or the bed.

You push a finger inside yourself, it goes in easy—so slick and easy—that the next pass, you add a second and gasp.

What are you doing? You feel half out of your mind.

“Can’t help it—” you get out, “it hurts so bad. It’s—I’m so—”

You watch a muscle in his jaw feather and tick. His scent is—

It hits you like a blow to the chest, the way he smells. It’s dark and spiced with warmth; tobacco and the oud in his scent has become heavier. You can almost taste it in the air.

“Suguru—“ you mewl again, pleading and cloying. You tilt your hips up towards your hand, towards him. You’re trying to entice him.

You can nearly hear the way his teeth grind together.

“You’re a brat,” he hisses but you can sense the way his control has slipped and thinned. You can nearly feel it fraying in his voice alone.

You practically purr, fingers pushing desperately inside yourself.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you simper, “I’ve been so good letting you feed me and bathe me—I’m wearing the shirt you put me in, too.”

For a moment, you watch as his eyes slowly dip down the length of your body, to where your fingers are. You watch his expression flicker, the tilt of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips. You whimper, knowing he’s watching, and try to curl your fingers.

But they don’t reach as deep as his might—not thick enough, either, and the ache inside you grows monstrously.

Perhaps only soothed by the way, for once, you’ve rendered Suguru Getou rather speechless. You toss your head back and moan at the thought.

“Suguru—won’t you help me? Even a little?” You arch off the bed and catch his gaze when his eyes fly back up to your face.

“No,” he snaps quickly, “I promised you—“

“Then tell me what to do—talk to me.” You beg, “it hurts so bad, Suguru—“

The muscle in his jaw feathers again. But this time, he wades carefully into the room, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.

The moment he’s there, you adjust so he can see you better, move so your foot is just nearly touching his thigh at the end of the bed. And even that small potential for touch has you crying out again.

“I’m not sure I should, after the way you’ve been acting.” He says and though he’s trying for casualness, you can sense the tension lurking underneath.

“Touch yourself then,” you breathe, your own eyes drifting down to his sweatpants—to the noticeable bulge—

In a bold move, you place your foot on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes as your fingers gently push in and out, walls fluttering desperately around them.

He catches your ankle before you can move another inch. The way he squeezes you makes a thrill run through you, race up your spine, pool somewhere low and hot in the depths of you.

“Is this your way of trying to make me suffer?” He asks and despite everything, a hint of a smile flickers across your heated, panting face.

“Is it working?” You ask.

All he does is hum, thumb stroking along the bone of your ankle.

Even that is enough for pleasure to skitter and flare beneath your skin.

“Wanna see you,” you get out, breathy and soft, “wanna see what I’m missing.”

Suguru curses and you laugh, delirious and soft.

Pleasure blushes and surges beneath your skin.

“No,” he says again but he has to grind the word out, pull it and wrestle it from his own mouth. “You won’t get the better of me here.”

“Don’t you get tired of your tightly wound control?” You get out, twisting a little so that you might free your ankle from his grasp, but he holds firm.

“I should be asking the same of you—but clearly,” his eyes flicker again, “you do.”

“Need you so bad—“ you get out, almost pouting.

You can nearly hear his teeth grind together. He inhales sharply, as if to try and steady himself, but you can tell it only worsens him. Your scent must be thick in the air, sweetened and cloying.

Your fingers slip messily, desperately, over your clit, down inside of yourself and back out. You whine, a little frustrated, trying again and again to satiate the ache inside of you. But anything you do, isn’t enough.

It almost feels as if it’s made it worse.

“Poor thing,” Suguru finally says and you realize, he’s regained some of his composure, “look what you’ve done to yourself.”

You curse this time.

But you press on, unwilling to give up your win yet, “you’ve also done this—because you wanted the upper hand so bad.” You press inside yourself, hips lifting towards your fingers, “you didn’t have to take the suppressants.”

His brow flickers up, “I did it for you.”

“Did you?” You gasp, adding a second finger.

He swallows, eyes falling to the apex of your thighs, watching, as you fitfully try to pleasure yourself.

“You didn’t have to—you could’ve let me trigger your Rut. Then we both would’ve been like this—” your voice hitches, “then you would’ve gotten what you wanted sooner and you could’ve feigned innocence.”

“You didn’t want that,” he says, watching you carefully, “who's to say you won’t come out of this Heat and resist me again?”

“I won’t,” you breathe, “I did—” you mewl, hips arching and falling, trying so hard, working yourself up so horribly.

You bite off a groan.

Suguru clicks his tongue, makes a soft, disapproving noise. “And now look at you,” his hand slides along your calf, so large, and—

“Don’t even know how to properly touch yourself.”

“Suguru—”

Suddenly, he tugs you gently, so you’re down at the edge of the bed, your legs on either side of his thighs as he stands above you.

He leans down slightly and you sit up, towards him, hoping, desperate—

“Such a terrible, little Omega. Do you need me to teach you this, too? Do you need me to help you?”

You cry out, kitten soft, as needy and tender as a child.

“Please,” you beg, “please, I need you—”

His hand traces up the outside of your calf, up to your thigh and you squirm, hope fluttering, heart racing—

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, “or I won’t help you.”

“Suguru,” you growl in frustration.

“Ah, ah, I thought you were being good?”

Your head spins—you have no idea how he managed to flip it on you so sharply, but suddenly he has, and suddenly you're nearly underneath him, and he’s leaning over you and watching so intensely—so—

You try to go still for him. Your chest is heaving.

“That’s it,” he murmurs and his hand slowly arcs over the bend of your hip, and towards your stomach. Your hips twitch and he stills, “careful—” he warns.

You force yourself to freeze, still panting.

And then he lays the broadness of his hand on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely brushing your mound.

“This is as far as I’ll go,” he says and with the way you almost fall into a frustrated groan, he seizes your chin with his other hand, “I’ll not touch you sexually. This is all I’ll give you—be grateful for even this.”

You sneer at him and he takes his hand away.

Instantly, you miss the warmth, the pressure, the—

“Be good, or I’ll leave the room now and let you suffer even worse than before—see what you’ve done to yourself? Worked yourself up so horribly, and all for what?” Suguru’s voice is soft and smooth and so, horribly in control again. When did he get it back? When did he take it from you?

“My attention? The hopes that I’d give in?” He asks.

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your face, prompting you, “answer me, pet.”

“Yes—I want your attention. I want—” the words break over you like a wave, the realization like a blow. You want.

You desire.

You want him. You want an Alpha and not just any Alpha but Suguru, despite everything, maybe because of everything. Maybe because you made him chase, and he did. Maybe because you have run your whole life from this—this attention and this desire and this intimacy—and you have finally found someone willing to hunt you down like a fox, and in the face of your gnashing teeth and growling and yipping, to treat you gently. Like you’re a beloved house pet and not a snarling, wild beast.

“I want you,” you say honestly and his hold slackens on your cheeks to let you speak, “I hate you and I want you and—there’s no one but you—it’s only you and you’re awful but I am, too, and I need—”

It cracks out of you, voice raw, a half-sob.

Your tears make him smile.

He hushes you gently, “oh, sweet girl,” he soothes, and his other hand slowly returns to its place on your trembling, lower stomach, “you’re so torn up about this. How much grief have you given yourself? Hm? Just for wanting?”

You heave, unable to respond, suddenly reaching with your free hand for him, pulling on his shirt, closer to you.

He gives in and goes, lets you claw at his back and bury your face in his shoulder. He finally lets go of your face, in favor of letting you fall to pieces beneath him. His knee dips on the mattress. But he holds himself above you still.

“I’ll guide you now,” he murmurs and his voice is by your ear. He turns his nose to nudge against your temple, inhaling slowly.

You can feel the rumble of a groan through him that he holds back, a soft growl.

And then, “look at me.”

You sniffle and with a great deal of reluctance, you pull your face away from the safety of his shoulder to find his gaze. Midnight violet. Depthless.

“Hate me all you want,” he says, “but I adore you—no matter how you are. Willing and pliant, or vicious and biting. I’ll always adore you. And I’ll always do what’s best for you.”

Something inside of you cleaves open. Fractures in a way that is irreparable.

You want to say something but you don’t know what, you have something so tremendous and terrifying inside of you, because of him—all you can get out is a soft cry.

“Now,” he continues, eyes flickering over your body, and his thumb gently strokes over your lower stomach. “You feel empty, don’t you?”

A whimper eeks out of you. You nod slowly. Empty and torn apart and open and aching.

“Use three fingers, not two.” He commands gently, “you want something bigger, hm? I’m sure it hurts so badly—you’re so wet.”

Without thinking, you obey him.

You press three fingers carefully inside of you and it’s the first stretch you’ve gotten, the first spark of relief.

You cry out, clinging to him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, “in and out for me.”

You tilt your hips up into his hand, towards your fingers, and he doesn’t scold you. The pressure on your lower stomach makes pleasure bloom and strengthen there. For a moment, it’s just the soft, slick noises of yourself, and it’s so—

Embarrassing. So horrible.

You must look out of your depth, you must look lost or terrified, because he finally speaks again, “curl your fingers for me, darling.”

You do just that and moan the moment you press deeper inside yourself.

“Good girl,” he praises, “does that feel better? Answer me.”

“Yes—yeah.” You get out, crooking your fingers inside yourself. “I still want—”

“More?” He murmurs, pressing his hand gently against your lower stomach, “this time, you have to make do with just this.”

You bite back your whine or complaint, head hazy—fingers moving desperately. But you don’t complain, you don’t fuss.

He smiles when he realizes how you’ve caught yourself, “oh, look at that,” he purrs, “you can be tamed after all.”

And before you can ruin it for yourself, Suguru sweeps his thumb just barely over your mound again, and says, “rock your hips now, gentle.”

The moment you do, the friction against your palm makes you moan, head falling back, baring your throat.

Perhaps without thinking, he dips forward, nose tracing over the cure of your neck, following instinct. You make another soft noise, and in your haze, wish desperately that he would just bite down—

All you get is the brief skim of his warm, soft lips. No teeth and you miss them, achingly.

He presses his hand down just a little more and—

Pleasure bursts beneath your skin with enough force that your back bows off the bed, mouth parted.

You sob.

You feel your walls flutter uselessly around your fingers, feel your body desperate for something you can’t have this time, and fall apart.

Suguru is there to catch you.

He coos to you, soft and easy, and even kisses at your damp, tear-struck cheeks. He lets you arch and twist and chase your pleasure, lets you be wanton and shameless and desperate. He lets you claw him and bite him and cry into his shoulder.

And when you begin to quiet, he suddenly hitches your legs around his waist and lifts you clear from the bed. You lope your arms weakly around his neck and bury your face into his throat.

You don’t protest or fight him, you are grateful and eager for all the places you touch, feeling incredibly fragile in his broad arms.

You don’t bother to look where he’s taking you—can’t find it in yourself to care, if you can feel him against your center, feel where he’s hard and aching himself, even with the suppressants—

But between one breath and the next, you’re in the bathtub again, and the water from the shower blasts on from above.

Ice cold water pours on you.

You shriek and Suguru has the nerve to laugh, which makes you lunge for him, yanking him towards the spray of water.

It soaks his shirt, his hair, as he holds himself over you, before stepping carefully into the tub to join you.

He sits with you, beneath the cold water, and pushes his hair out of his face as you clamber into his lap.

You pull at his wet shirt and he lets you take it off of him, throw it over the side of the tub in a heap.

He reaches to do the same to you, ridding you of the only article of clothing you’d had on.

You grit your teeth, “does it have to be so cold?” You ask, feeling the spray now rain against your back, your shoulders. You lean away from it, into his arms.

“You needed this.” He says fondly. And then, as he strokes your wet hair, “I did, too.”

“You’re an awful man,” you curse him, shivering.

“I know,” he agrees with a soft, fond smile.

You look at him, hair inky and dark, lashes damp against his cheek, and the pleased way he smiles. Like an insufferable, giant cat. You’re aching and furious and freezing and so—so tender.

“I hate you,” you tell him but it sounds more like a confession, soft around the edges.

He kisses your temple, lingers there, and you can feel the curve of his smile. You can hear it color his voice;

“I know.”

***

Something shifts between the two of you after that. And the following day, your Heat finally begins to wane slightly.

You try to touch yourself again and Suguru forbids it this time. You fight and snarl with him, but you let him hold you and lull you to sleep. You let him feed you. And bathe you. You sleep bare against his naked chest and are soothed by it the way a fussy baby is calmed by the bare skin of their mother.

You feel infinitely closer to him.

You lounge with him in bed, in his living room, hanging off him all that you can.

He indulges this behavior, encourages it, even.

And on the eighth day, your Heat finally breaks.

When you wake, still curled on his chest, with his hands stroking tenderly over your bare back, he asks, “how do you feel?”

“Sane, I think.” You murmur it into his chest.

“Your Heat broke in the night.” He says and touches your head, your forehead, like he’s taking your temperature. “You’re still a little warmer, but it’s over now, I think.”

Slowly, you pick yourself up to look at him. To hover over him.

He looks up at you, too, uncertain. Waiting. You’re sure he’s waiting to see if you’ll return to your usual self, if you’ll snap or snarl or chew him out—will you storm out? Or seethe? Will you fight him still, after everything, even as he holds you in his arms now?

“Thank you for respecting my wishes,” you say instead and lean down to suddenly press your lips to his.

You feel his surprise, the way his lips part, the way he freezes and you sink down into it. For a moment, you worry he won’t reciprocate again.

But then, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and he nudges into the kiss. Hungry. Deep.

You give into him, you encourage him, coaxing him with soft tongue and eager mouth.

When you pull away, you grab his face this time, the way he always grabs yours, squeezing his lips into a little pout, “but if you ever make me suffer like that again through a Heat,” your nails dig into his cheek, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

He laughs, canines flashing, and surges forward to kiss you again. Harder. Meaner.

It’s all teeth and heat, a little vicious, the way you are. He wrestles you beneath him, kisses you into the mattress. And when he pulls away, he says;

“If you ever make me suffer like that again, you’ll wish you’d killed me first.”

You feel your own smile against his neck, against one of the ridges of your own bite mark, and with all the satisfaction in the world, you sink your teeth down into it again.

It’s like a key coming up against a lock, fitting snugly to their own indents, and finding their own, well-worn place.

It’s like finally coming home.

#suguru getou x reader #getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru getou x you #getou x you #getou suguru x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #cw: omegaverse #cielo's writing!#cielo writes!

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danikamariewrites · 2 years ago

Note

could i request one with rhys x reader where he is so incredibly in love with her it’s ridiculous. He is such a simp for her, she literally only has to ask and he gets her anything she wants. one day she jokes about him being very generous and says

” i’m sure if i ask for a golden pony, you’ll find a way”

next day he’s visiting Helion and asks for a golden pony.

The ic even makes fun of how much he simps for reader. One day they’re all walking in velaris to go to ritas and readers strap on her heel slips. Rhys gets on his knees to fix it with no hesitation. The inner circle looks at him with incredible shock and their jaws are dropped. Bc in acomaf it says that he has sacred tattoos on his knees and will never bow for no one and nothing but his crown. it’s the first time they ever see rhys on his knees for someone. Reader doesn’t know ab it and just says thank you and they continue walking. After a while he confesses to her and she feels the same and live happy forever 😁😁

Only For You

Rhys x reader

A/n: this is so freakin cute and writing this had me kicking my feet giggling

Warnings: none

You and Rhys had grown up together, so his kindness and generosity was nothing new to you. Whenever you needed or even just wanted something Rhys would get it for you. New shoes? Done, he knows what style you like. Need new clothes? He has your size and his tailor knows exactly what to make you.

You had always insisted on paying you back but he never let you. Rhys would always say, “Nonsense y/n. I like biting you things so please let me get this for you.” You’d breathe out a sigh of defeat and cup his cheek. “Thank you Rhys. I swear if I asked for a golden Pegasus you’d find me one.”

Rhys cherished your warm touch. He loved your soft skin and how gentle you are with him. The High Lord was so clearly in love with you but he was too afraid to admit it. If Rhys lost you as a friend because of his feelings he doesn’t know how he’d go on.

And he didn’t forget about that golden Pegasus. It was your 450th birthday present and you named her Sunny.

Tonight you were all headed to Rita’s to unwind after a busy work week. Mor had teased you about Rhys while you got ready together. “He’s completely and utterly in love with you! How can you not see he is wrapped around your finger.”

You had just rolled your eyes and laughed at your friend. “We’ve been friends for centuries Mor. Rhys would’ve said something by now. I just have to deal with that.” Deep down you were mad,y in love with Rhys. You just kept telling yourself he didn’t feel the same way. It made everything easier. You two were just friends after all.

Walking to Rita’s you and Cassian were hanging on each other crying laughing at something Mor said about Amren. Your heel caught in a crack of the cobblestone, causing the strap of your shoe to come undone. “Oops, hold on a second, my shoe.”

The group stopped as you lifted your dress a little to asses the damage. Before you could fix it, Rhys was on his knees looking up at you with a small smile. “I got it for you darling.”

His fingers gently grazed your ankle, sending a shiver up your body. You watched as Rhys carefully buckled the strap around your ankle again. Without thinking he caressed your calf and looked up at you. You swear you saw hearts in his eyes.

You run your fingers through his soft raven locks, bringing your hand down to caress his face, holding his chin. Giving it a small squeeze you say, “Thanks Rhys.” Mor giggles and takes your arm, pulling you ahead of the boys.

Cassian and Azriel stare at their brother with their jaws on the ground. Rhys stands, brushing off his pants. “I thought you said-“ Cassian started. Rhys cut him off, “Only for my equal.” Cassian didn’t think it was possible but he felt his jaw unhinge more at Rhys’s confession.

Rhys started to follow you and Mor while Cassian stood frozen. Azriel came up next to him closing his mouth and patting him on the back. “I can’t believe I knew before you.” He said with a smug look on his face.

When you woke up the next morning something felt different. You felt a light in your chest, pulling you out of your room.

Getting ready you follow that pull down the hall all the way to Rhys’s office. You find him sitting in his armchair, seemingly contemplating something. You felt nervousness radiating off him. Not only could you hear his heartbeat, but you swore you felt it in your own chest.

Pausing, you place your hand over your heart. You slowly approach him. Resting a hand on his shoulder Rhys leans back into the cushioned seat, placing his hand over yours. Rhys looked up at you with a hope on his beautiful face. The light of the fire in the hearth before him highlighting his high cheekbones and perfect jawline.

Closing your eyes you took a chance and reached out down that new glowing bond. Towards Rhys. Towards unconditional love. Rhys gripped your hand tighter as he let out a shaky breath.

Opening your eyes you found Rhys’s line with silver. You blinked your own tears away as you looked at him with adoration. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he whispered. “I said I’d never bow before anyone or anything but my crown. That changed when I found you, my equal in every sense of the word.”

Rhys pulled you onto his lap. “I love you too Rhys,” you whispered back, “I’ll share that crown with you for the rest of our lives.”

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #rhysand fluff #rhysand x reader #rhysand imagine #rhysand acotar #rhysand #rhysand x you #rhysand x reader fluff

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circledwithaheart · 3 months ago

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A few weeks ago I bribed promised @diazsdimples one sentence of mer!buck for every 100 words he wrote for an essay. I'm finally making good on that (with a few extra). bone apple tea 🫶

He doesn’t actually know what merpeople are supposed to avoid when it comes to food; if they’re like geese and shouldn’t have bread or some shit like that.

“You remembered,” Evan murmurs, his eyes finally lifting to look at Eddie again. Something shifts in his chest and makes his cheeks flush hot even though he can’t fathom why.

“Of course I did. Not like I’m going to forget my best friend’s favorite.”

“Best friend, eh?” Evan’s expression shifts to a smirk that doesn’t manage to appear as mischievous as he probably intends.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your gills.”

Evan snatches his treat, gleefully tearing open the wrapper. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He crosses an ‘x’ over his heart (at least where Eddie assumes it is) before taking a large bite.

“I still don’t know how you eat those with your teeth. They aren’t exactly meant for grinding like molars.”

“Who said anything about chewing?” Evan retorts with a shrug.

“So, what, do you unhinge your jaw and devour small, unsuspecting children, too?”

“Edmundo Diaz!” Evan holds a hand to his chest in mock offense.

That’s new.

“Wait, I never told you my full name.”

“I, um,” Evan blushes, ducking his head. “I overheard your mom say it. The first time she came looking for you here.”

“Evan. That was-” The burning, prickling sensation returns full force as Eddie considers this new piece of information. He’s sure he’s blushing down to his toes. “I guess I wasn’t the only one paying attention, huh?”

“Guess not. Anyway, didn’t you have to find food for yourself? Don’t want you getting sick or anything.” For some reason Evan still won’t look directly at him.

Like an agreement, Eddie’s stomach rumbles again, only louder this time.

“Yeah, you’re right. Uh, see you tomorrow?”

Evan lifts his head and their eyes finally meet again. It must be as much of a relief for him as it is for Eddie, because he smiles softly, matching his tone when he says, “See you tomorrow, Eddie.”

He stands and gathers his things. When he glances at the water to say goodnight Evan’s already silently gone. That’s never happened before. Evan always waits, waving like a dork until Eddie’s too far away.

It stings deeper than he thinks it should, even worse because he can’t figure out why it does at all.

tagged earlier by @tizniz

np tagging @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @bidisasterevankinard @bi-buckrights @spotsandsocks @stereopticons @wildfluorescent @wildlife4life @diazheartsbuckley @thewolvesof1998 @midsummersmorn @theotherbuckley @kitteneddiediaz @your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @aoubooming @wikiangela @rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @eddiebabygirldiaz @dr-shortsighted-owl @imtheiliad @elvensorceress @giddyupbuck @beyourownanchor6 @bekkachaos @ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @thelikesofus @eowon @rewritetheending @spaceprincessem @bucksbignaturals @lovetommyactually @lavenderleahy @whatwouldeddiedo @hyperfocusthusly @loucifersbitch and anyone else who wants to 😘

also @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming

#oh eddie beloved... what is it that you're feeling?#i couldn’t possibly guess 🙃#reminder they’re 18 and 17 here #and Eddie is with Shannon #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie wip #fic: run to the water (and find me there)#wip wednesday

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yeonboy · 1 year ago

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𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 ♡ choi yeonjun. ⇝ teaser

For the past two years, you have been an ordinary—if a bit more stressed than others—college student with a life so normal, it almost falls on the wrong side of boring. And then in the middle of one uneventful night, your college’s darling ace student, ace sportsman, the ace cutie that every girl has a crush on, Choi Yeonjun decides to slip into your dorm room – and your life turns upside down.

❧ choi yeonjun x f. reader | 16+ | college!au ♡ strangers to lovers!au ♡ humor ♡ fluff

❧ words! 1 k for the teaser [~8 k for the entire fic]

❧ warnings! profanity, suggestive language, exams related anxiety, incorrect econ major related discord + and more in the actual fic (:

❧ note! hey, everyone! tho i'm not a fan of teasers without a concrete posting date, i needed to put sth out there for the sake of my brain :// mental health's been on a rollercoaster and writer's block been heavy this spring! i hope y'all enjoy this lil cracked up (and a lil concerning) bite of fluff and anticipate the actual fic!

❧ masterlist | inbox ⁘

Sighing again, you blindly move your hand towards the light switch in the room – only for a hand to wrap around your wrist.

Wha—

Heart stopping and brain freezing in bone-chilling fear, you unhinge your jaw to let out a scream. But not even a whole second later, a palm is placed over your parted lips and a body pushes you to the wall next to the light switch with an urgent hush whispered in your ear.

“Please don’t scream, I’m not gonna harm you, I just need your help!”

The stranger sounds and feels like a male.

What the hell is a strange man doing in your very all-girls dorm?

You wanna scream louder, something that this stranger senses because he suddenly presses his body tighter against you, this time dipping his face into the crook of your neck, lips against the shell of your ear when he shushes you.

Okay, now why did that cover your entire body with goosebumps? Of the good kind?

“I’m not a creep I swear, I was just escaping an embarrassing situation and this room was unlocked so I slipped in, please let me explain!”

You try to calm yourself down, taking a deep breath which immediately lets you know that this not a creep actually smells really heavenly. You kinda wanna sniff him again, but catch yourself at the last moment.

Leaning your head farther away to press it against the wall, you narrow your eyes at the short-haired silhouette of the guy that is lit up at the edges due to the light entering the room from the window directly behind him. The hand which held your wrist moves, then, and flicks the light switch.

You immediately squeeze your eyes shut due to the blast of photons across the room, and the stranger slowly steps away from you, very tenderly letting go of your mouth – which had honestly started to hurt a little – at the end. Massaging the side of your jaw, you slowly open one of your lids, and then the other.

Then you blink. And blink again. And nearly have an aneurysm because damn does the campus It-Boy look even hotter up close.

Choi Yeonjun stands before you in his pale orange hair glory, wearing a fitted off-sleeves, off-white sweater. And, shit, are those pearls around his neck? Yes. Yes, they are.

While you’re still hovering in the limbo between shock and awe, the guy launches into a rushed and stuttered explanation.

“Th–thanks for not screaming. I’m… Ugh, I don’t even know where to begin, but like – I – I was trying to surprise my girlfriend who lives in this very dorm, a floor above—you know, where all popular seniors live—and, um, just as I reacher her door I heard sounds of the…sexual nature…echoing inside, so – so I investigated and guess what? My girlfriend is fucking my best friend behind my back!”

Your jaw drops open. “I… what the hell, man?” you whisper, stunned and disgusted. “That’s so awful…”

“Right? And embarrassing.” He shakes his head. Then his eyebrows suddenly fly up. “Oh! I am Choi—”

“Yeonjun, the uni’s ace Senior. I know. Everyone does.”

A faint blush rises up his cheeks, lips pursing as he shrugs one bare shoulder. Okay, damn, his biceps have got some good definition. “Yeah… well. So you know how I was—or still am, I guess—in a relationship with—”

“Kim Yerim? Know that too, unfortunately, all my friends in all the srats are obsessed with y’all.” You give a small sigh. “Her cheating is such a pity.”

“God, I know right? This is gonna be so horrible,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and bites down on his lip.

You snap your fingers in front of his face. “Um, excuse me? Is that all? I’m sorry for you, man, truly, but um, can you leave now? You’re really wasting my very precious time.”

He really is. The only reason why you didn’t flip out yet was because—as embarrassing as it—you were distracted by the guy’s astonishingly good looks. But his beauty isn’t gonna help you pass tomorrow’s exam.

Suddenly regretting wasting the ten minutes that you had saved by ditching Chaeryeong at the convenience store, you clap your hands together and reach for your door. “Great talk! Or not? I guess? See you around, Choi Yeonjun!”

His eyes grow very wide at that and both hands come up to stop you from unlocking your door, before you have even made the move to fully turn around, and—

Oh.

Now you’re caged between the door and both his arms. The same arms with all that muscular definition you just saw up close.

“Please don’t kick me out. Let me stay here. Please.”

This time it is your eyes that bulge out. “The hell? Why?”

He retracts his hands to brace one of them on his waist and pinch the bridge of his nose with the forefinger and thumb of the other. “I can’t leave…”

You lean away from him. “Dude, if you’re looking for a shoulder to cry on? You’ve come to the absolutely worst person. And if you’re looking for a rebound hook-up… well, could you wait till I’m done with tomorrow’s exam?”

Yeonjun’s face goes from confused to intrigued to humorous. “None of those, actually, but – I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

His wink shoots sparks through you and you immediately purse your lips. “It wasn’t an—okay, then what do you want? My econ exam is tomorrow and I stand to lose all my credits if I flunk this, so please—”

“Wait, econ?” He spins on his heels to peek at your textbook and the slides you had pulled up on your laptop, leaving you gaping behind him. “Ooh, Consumer Behavior? This is a good one. D’you have flash cards? Don’t skip decision roles, Professor Jeon is obsessed with ’em.”

You look at the guy with wide eyes. “Uh—what?”

Looking at you over his shoulder, Yeonjun flashes you a grin. “You’re talking to a 99 scorer in Consumer Behavior.”

— COMING SOON!

#txt #txt x you #txt x reader #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun x you #yeonjun x reader #txt imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt fluff #yeonjun fluff #txt fanfic #txt scenarios #yeonjun scenarios #tomorrow x together

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lanitalay · 1 year ago

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One day : Chapter 1

Azriel x Reader

a/n: I saw the netflix series, bawled my eyes out then thought it would make a great Az x reader story.

warnings: anxiety, drinking

word count: 1555k

Masterlist

Summer Solstice was your favorite holiday. Each year you look forward to celebrating the longest day of the year in the most beautiful city in the world. This year would be slightly different, as you were no longer a student, having recently graduated to proper healer. So, for the first time in years, you were able to stay up until the sun set and came back out because there were no readings to do, no papers to write and no seminars to attend the next day. You had informed Madja that you would not be coming in tomorrow and she had understood. “I was young and capricious as well, long, long ago.”

The day was spent at the Sidra, lounging and playing in the sand and the water. It was packed, thousands of fae clamoring to the shore to watch the High Lord’s ship pass by. Cheering for it. When the sun set your friends dragged you back to their apartment to get ready for the night ahead. The Rainbow would be filled with street vendors, music and art.

“I can’t possibly drink more” you gagged as more sparkling wine was shoved in your hand. “Suck it up!” Nomi laughed and poured a glass for herself. Bec did your hair, curling it in loose waves. Fran did your makeup, smoking out dark shadows in your eye lid. Nomi gave you a short, short dress. The four of you admired the collective beauty in the mirror, even if not one of you could see straight.

“Onwards!” Fran called and opened the door to let everyone stumble out.

A few hours after drinking, eating and dancing in the street, Bec insisted she needed to sit down. You were looking around to see where you could take her when you spotted a familiar sign. “Let’s go to Rita’s, she’ll let us sober up in there” you guided your friends through the crowd, weaving in between all kinds of fae until arriving at the sanctuary.

Rita recognized you and waved you in, sitting you down in one of the booths. The place was not quiet by any means, but the seats were cushioned and Bec sighed in relief as she took off her heels under the table. “These shoes rubbed my feet raw,” she hissed. You waved your hand over her feet and channeled some of your healing powers to her blisters. “Oh my gods, thank you, y/n.” You laughed and announced to the table “I’m going to get more drinks.”

It had been ten minutes of standing by the bar, trying to get someone’s attention. “Hey! I need liquor!” You heard a low laugh behind you and turned around to see a looming figure, wings tight against his back, biting back a smile. “What’s so funny?” Always confrontational when drunk. He shook his head “nothing, can I order something for you?”

You considered his offer. He was much, much taller than you. If he wanted, he could reach through the bar and grab a bottle of wine. There was a cloudiness to him, or maybe you were far too drunk. You nodded and told him what the table wanted. He waved the barkeep down and placed the order. “Are you the spymaster?” He nodded once. “I’m y/n,” you stretched a hand, as much as you could within the multitude of party goers. He shook it gently with a calloused hand “nice to meet you, y/n.”

In a few minutes the four drinks were on the bar, Azriel helped you carry them back to the table. When your friends saw who was behind you their jaws practically unhinged. “Thank you, Spymaster.” “Azriel is fine” he said with a smile, and gods… that smile. “Thank you, Azriel.”

You wanted to drown yourself in the Sidra when Nomi, ever fearless, shouted over the music “does the Spymaster dance?”

“I could, with the right partner” he turned his head to look at you. “Are you inviting me to dance?"

“Yes,” now it was him who had a hand stretched your way. You did not have to convince yourself to dance with him. Putting the glasses on the table, you turned and took his hand, letting him lead you right to the dance floor.

It must have been hours that you spent dancing that night. At one point your friends came over to let you know they were going to call it. Azriel asked if you wanted to leave as well but his hips were grinding against your behind and his arms were firmly holding your waist. So you shook your head “no.” When the song changed he spun you, slotting your legs together, keeping you impossibly close. So close his nose nudged yours. By then, last calls were being made and you asked Azriel if he could walk you back to your apartment.

He led you out of Rita’s and you pointed in the direction of your place. Azriel did not let go of your hand until you stopped in front of a building and said “this is me.” He looked at the stone building, decorated with flower boxes on the windows “it's nice.”

“Can I get you some water? Something to eat?” The night could not end like this. You didn’t want this night to end at all. So when he nodded you beamed and opened the door, walking up the three flights of stairs to get to your apartment. “I have bread and…” you looked through the cabinets and were embarrassed that you had not stocked up on any groceries in weeks “chocolate chip cookies, but they are probably stale.”

“I’ll try a cookie” he bit into it and grimaced “it’s very stale, throw that away.” You giggled and threw the cookies in the trash. When you turned back to face him he was right in front of you. A hair's breadth away. “You know you’re quite beautiful,” you gulp, “you’re very handsome too.”

His hands come up to graze your cheek, “I really want to kiss you.”

“So kiss me” it doesn’t take him more than a second to bring your lips together. You hold onto his shoulders and he pushes you pack until he helps you jump on the counter. Your legs spread, wanting him to get closer, closer. He pulls back to ask “where’s your room?” You point to the door behind him and he grabs your thighs, carrying you towards a proper place to bed you.

Ever so gently, he lays you down on your bed but you stand, turning so your back faces him. “I can’t reach the zipper,” with a feather-light touch he grabs the tiny piece of metal and slides it all the way down. You pull off the straps and let the fabric pool at your feet. Turn again to face this, this time completely bare.

“Your turn,” you start to undo his buttons but he quickly takes over, throwing his clothes on the floor next to yours. Now you lay on the mattress and he settles on top of you, latching his mouth to yours once again. “Are you alright?” You notice his heart is beating erratically and place a palm on his chest to assess. “Yes, I’m-” “You’re having heart palpitations, lie down, let me do something” you push him on his back, hand still on his chest as you try to soothe the distressed organ.

“I’m a healer, I’m going to send some magic to your heart to calm it down. It won't hurt but it might feel tingly.” You bring all your concentration to his heart. “It’s really fine-” “Shh, be quiet.”

A few minutes go by and you are satisfied with his pulse. “Does that happen often? How much did you drink tonight?”

“Sometimes and a lot.”

“Well try to limit your drinking to water for the next few weeks, I’ll tell Madja to check up on you soon.”

“Perfect, now can we get back to-”

“Absolutely not, you are going to sleep right now, stay here.” You hop off the bed again and throw on a night gown, and throw him pajama pants an ex had left behind. Azriel looks defeated on the bed. “Sorry to kill the mood, but I vowed to put my patients' health first. It's not something I can turn off.”

“Now I’m your patient?”

“Everyone is a potential patient,” you say and fluff a pillow for him to lay on. “You don’t need to do that,” he grumbles.

“Just relax.” You fluff your own pillow and lay down next to him. “It happens to me too. Madja calls them panic attacks, they can happen for no reason or a million reasons. It sucks.”

“We didn’t need to stop, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah. We can try again some other time.”

“So you want to see me again?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

“The Spymaster of the Night Court doesn’t scare you?”

“Ha, good one. I can’t be scared of a patient and don't flatter yourself. You're too pretty to be scary” you teased.

“Come here,” he said and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards his chest. His heart steady.

“Tomorrow I’ll regret not drinking any water,” you mumble, words spilling into each other as the weight of the day crashes into you, sleep taking over.

#acotar #acowar #acofas #acotar fanfiction #acosf #azriel shadowsinger #acomaf #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x you #azriel x oc #a court of fey and flowers #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of wings and ruin

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