#at least he can make something to calm it
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robo-writing · 2 days ago
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I imagine flashing Logan is the best solution to literally any kind of domestic dispute you might have, it’s a very known fact that the man will bend over backwards at the suggestion of seeing your body. Just picture it, a minor dispute over what dinners gonna be—you want some soup for the winter months, but Logan’s the kind of man who always craves meat—neither of you can convince the other one so there you are, stood around the stove still going back and forth.
“Logan, it’s freezing outside, I want something warm,” you insist, and Logan’s quick to reply that “Steak’s just as warm as soup!”
No matter what you can’t seem to agree, but then it happens. A lightbulb goes off, seeing this dumb trend on TikTok and you figure what the hell, why not try to convince Logan with other means.
So in a fit of frustration, you take a few steps back and fist the end of your shirt in your hands. Whatever he was going to say next comes out as silence when you let your girls do the talking for you.
When you’re certain you have his attention you repeat yourself, gratification in your tone knowing you’ve got him hook, line, and sinker. “Logan, I think we should have soup tonight.”
Your smile widens when you hear the groan he lets out, biting at his fist while his eyes are laser-focused on your chest. “Fuck me—that’s not fair.”
“Logan…” you whine, laughing at just how badly whipped your husband is. “I really think soup is the better option tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say darling,” he dismisses, making his way toward you with a purpose. “You can tell me what kind we’re making after I’m done.”
You know better than anyone what he means by that, pulling your shirt down with a giggle before running to the opposite side of the kitchen. “Logan, calm down—“
“I’m very calm,” he interrupts, smirking at your sudden bout of nerves. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Logan!” You squeal as you’re suddenly lifted over his shoulder. “Hold on, I’ve gotta do meal prep—hey!”
His hand across your ass has your words dying in your throat, giggling the whole way to the bedroom. “Logan, we’ve gotta at least eat first!”
“Trust me, I’m gonna be eating something.”
“Logan!”
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multipleoccupancy · 6 hours ago
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He sensed their topic was helping her too and so Theo was comfortable in staying with it for the time being. Not realising the path he was sending Samantha down as she started to express her thoughts. She started talking about how she had been recruited and Theo paused to watch her, silent and still, worried that a single movement or too loud a breath might startle her from speaking. She never mentioned it and he later learned that it was not something that should be asked or really revealed to others.
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Her story sounded harrowing though! She was almost sacrificed to hybrids? He might have never known her, she could had died and he'd have been none the wiser. He caught that disguised sob, he knew her too well now and stopped what he was doing with the net to cross the space between them and pull Samantha into a tight and protective hug.
"I'm sorry that happened to you, but I am so glad you made it out of there." He was sure to say very clearly but there was a short and quiet rasp to his voice as he was sure to hold back his tears and his horror. "We can help this guy, we'll do all we can. It's going to be ok and we'll make sure this never happens to anyone else again." He promised, or at least thought he could without the sense to remember that there was a big wide world out there with cultists lurking and waiting.
Unaware he was doing very little to settle Violet's nerves around his counterpart, Sloane kept up the act comfortably, smiling politely to the man as Violet thanked him too and then to her, still so tired and polite as she gave her own response. Oh she was very good! He'd have to tell her when they got out of ear shot!
The man returned with the key to the dorm and Sloane's ID card. "Here you go Professor Parry, Miss Parry," he said as kindly as he could, clearly trying to do his best to seem professional in the moment. In truth, Sloane thought they now had the perfect set up for him to leave unannounced in a few days, of course he would have to look after dear cold and tired little Astrid.
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"Ah! Thank you," Sloane was quick to say but he took the key and card calm and polite, "You hold onto the key for me?" He offered to Violet, holding out the little door key for her to take. "Don't lose it now, be sure to hold on tight to it," he encouraged as perhaps a tired father might, not quite able to see his daughter as fifteen yet, still young and in need of encouragement. "I'll just put this back in here," he explained as he pretended to fumble around with his wallet again to put the card back in, seemingly getting frustrated and jamming it in half way before closing the wallet again.
"You've been our saviour tonight," Sloane praised the man, putting his hand back on Violet's shoulder. "I'll be sure to tell Stacey how helpful you've been, I can't thank you enough." He even let a little bit of tears flood his eyelashes without actually letting them fall. "What a nice man," he told Violet with a small smile, "let's get you set up in the room and settled in, we can take the sleeping bag from my car, it'll be like when we used to go camping, just without the mosquitoes," He gave a tired laugh and started to head back towards the door to leave. Thrilled with their performance.
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𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy
Focusing on a possible solution helped Samantha, too. It kept her mind away from the plan, from her being bait. "Yes, you're right. It was probably a ritual or something of the sort. Maybe we can force him to do the reverse ritual if there's one." Oh, right. Violet had seen a woman turned into a monster. "Maybe he's hiding a monster somewhere, yes. Or maybe he's using some monster poison? Injecting it in the student's veins?"
She paused, her fingers resting on the rope. "I don't know if it works the same way, but... I saw things. Similar things. It's how I got recruited. I don't talk about it because..." Samantha looked down at the net. "It was horrible. Someone died." Her lip quivered. "It was a fertility clinic. They were making... hybrids? I don't really know. Half-monsters, half-babies. I worked there as an intern, and I had no idea this was happening. I thought it was a normal clinic. But one day, they tried to sacrifice me and another intern. They wanted to feed us to the monsters. I managed to escape, but..." The other intern was not so lucky. "I couldn't save him."
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Samantha disguised a sob behind an awkward cough. "There was no turning them back, these creatures. They had never been fully human in the first place, anyway."
Violet was really very impressed by Sloane, how easily he played his part. But it was a little bit scary, too. Like with the flick of a switch, he had turned into a single dad, worried about his daughter. No wonder she always got tricked by the Sloane she knew. He didn't just disguise himself, he transformed himself.
"Thanks, Dad," she whispered just as low when he offered her his lunchbox. He was expertly making their situation seem even more heartbreaking to the man behind the desk. And it worked, too, because here he was, offering them a room -the room Sloane told her would be ideal.
This little charade reminded her of how much she missed her dad and her home in New York. When her eyes got just a little bit shinier, she wasn't playing. She did feel like crying.
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"Thank you so much, sir," she was sure to say with a grateful smile. And when he disappeared into the office and Sloane suggested they get McDonald's the next day, she followed his example and continued with her own part -the tired daughter. "Really? I'd like that a lot," she replied, careful not to sound too excited -this was supposed to be a consolation prize after all.
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marsdql · 2 days ago
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Finders, keepers ! — part.2
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⌖ p. 𝘮𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘢!𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨 ⤫ 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳﹒wc: 2.3k﹒g . 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, t𝘩��𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳, smut, angst﹒cw. 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦/𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦, 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨/𝘢𝘣𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦/𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴, 𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, degrading, smut, (p in v), possession, masturbation﹒tgl: @rii7eis7 @lavxndxrsworld @babygirlskz98 @profoundruinsunknown @lilmarsh-t @shadowyperfectionllama
marea talks; part 2 of finder’s keepers! I’m shadowbanned guys it’s been so bad… so reblogs r very appreciated atm.. okay enjoy | not proofread..
ᡣ𐭩 synopsis ﹒ After this mysterious mafia boss captured you and tied you up, the last thing you expected was to belong to him completely…
— 18+ . AHEAD ────୨ৎ──── MINORS . DNI —
You flinched at the deep groan, your body tensing up as the man’s hand trailed lazily down your back. “Darling, I asked you a question,” Mr. Lee said, his tone calm but laced with authority. His fingers curled into your hair, tugging slightly to force your gaze upward. “I don’t like repeating myself.”
“I-I don’t know,” you stammered, your voice trembling. The tight restraints around your limbs made it impossible to shift away from him.
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “That’s not an answer, sweetheart. Try again.”
“Yes,” you whispered. “I slept… okay.”
Mr. Lee hummed, his fingers trailing from your hair to the back of your neck. The touch sent shivers down your spine, a mix of fear and something you couldn’t quite name. “Good. At least you’re honest. Unlike your little ex-boyfriend.”
You flinched at the mention of Damien. The reality of the situation hit you like a brick—he had betrayed you. Sold you off to pay his debts. And now, here you were, tied up and at the mercy of this man.
“Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Lee chuckled, low and deep. “Doing what, doll? Keeping you safe? Treating you better than that pathetic excuse of a man ever did?”
“Safe?” you repeated, incredulous. “You call this safe?”
He tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “You think Damien would’ve kept you safe? Do you even realize how far up his neck he was in trouble? If I hadn’t stepped in, you’d be in a much worse situation right now. Trust me, sweetheart, I’m the best option you’ve got.”
You bit your lip, refusing to respond. Part of you wanted to argue, to fight back, but his presence was overwhelming. He radiated power, and you knew better than to push him too far.
“Let’s get something straight,” Mr. Lee continued, his tone shifting to something darker. “I don’t tolerate defiance. You play nice, and I’ll make this as comfortable as possible for you. But if you try anything stupid…” He trailed off, his hand gripping your chin with enough force to make you wince. “Well, I don’t think I need to spell it out for you.”
You nodded quickly, your heart pounding in your chest.
“Good girl,” he murmured, releasing your chin. He stood up, towering over you as he adjusted his suit jacket. “Now, let’s get those ropes off. Can’t have you bruised up, can we? That wouldn’t do.”
Despite his words, his actions were anything but gentle. He untied the ropes with swift, practiced movements, his grip on your arms firm as he pulled you to your feet. Your legs wobbled, and he caught you effortlessly, his hands gripping your waist to steady you.
“Careful,” he said, his voice softening for a moment. “Don’t want you hurting yourself.”
The juxtaposition of his harsh demeanor and the way he held you so carefully left you confused. Was he being kind, or was this just another way to assert control?
“You’ll stay here for now,” he said, guiding you toward a plush chair in the corner of the room. “And don’t even think about trying to leave. You won’t get far.”
“What do you want from me?” you asked, your voice breaking.
Mr. Lee crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on the arms of the chair, caging you in. “What do I want?” he repeated, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I want what’s owed to me. And until Damien figures out how to pay up, you’re mine.”
“But you said—”
“I said I’d let you go when Damien pays me back,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “But let’s be real, sweetheart. Do you really think he’s coming back for you? He sold you off without a second thought.”
Tears welled up in your eyes, and you looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
“Hey,” he said, his hand cupping your cheek and forcing you to look at him. “Don’t waste your tears on him. He’s not worth it. You deserve better than that spineless bastard.”
The sincerity in his words took you by surprise. But before you could process it, his thumb brushed away a stray tear, his touch lingering.
“You’re mine now, doll,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I take care of what’s mine.”
The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest. Whether you liked it or not, you were at his mercy. And something told you he wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.
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You woke up groggily, the dull ache in your head reminding you of the explosion. The room was dim, the soft light of a bedside lamp casting long shadows. You blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the haze, only to realize you were lying on an unfamiliar bed, your hand bandaged and resting on a pillow.
A figure loomed nearby, seated in a chair with one leg crossed over the other. Heeseung. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his tie discarded, and the top buttons of his shirt undone. His dark gaze met yours as he swirled a glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid catching the light.
“Awake, finally,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with a tinge of sarcasm. He leaned back, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, watching your every move.
“What… what happened?” you croaked, your throat dry.
He smirked, tilting his head slightly as he set the glass down on the side table. “You decided to take a nap in the middle of chaos, doll. Lucky for you, I don’t leave my things behind.”
You frowned at his words. “I’m not your—”
“Careful,” he cut you off, his voice dropping an octave. He stood and approached the bed, his tall frame towering over you. “You’re in no position to argue right now.”
Your breath hitched as he leaned down, one hand pressing into the mattress beside your head while the other gently brushed a stray hair from your face. His touch was surprisingly tender, but the proximity made your heart race for reasons you didn’t want to admit.
“You’ve got quite the habit of getting yourself into trouble,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk. His fingers trailed down your cheek, lingering for a moment before pulling away. “It’s almost like you’re begging for someone to take care of you.”
Your cheeks flushed at his insinuation, and you turned your head away. “I didn’t ask for your help,” you muttered, your voice barely audible.
He chuckled softly, a dark, velvety sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “No, you didn’t. But that’s the thing about me, sweetheart. I don’t need permission to protect what’s mine.”
His words hung in the air, heavy and suggestive, as he straightened up and began rolling down his sleeves.
“Get some rest,” he ordered, his tone shifting back to its usual coldness. But as he turned to leave, he paused in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway.
“And don’t think about running,” he added, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. “Not unless you want me to chase you.”
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the oppressive silence. You sank back into the pillows, your heart pounding as you replayed his words in your mind. As much as you hated to admit it, there was something about Heeseung—his presence, his intensity—that you couldn’t ignore.
And that terrified you.
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You lay there in the dim light, the weight of Heeseung’s words still hanging in the air like smoke. His presence lingered in your thoughts, even though the door had closed behind him. You wanted to shake off the feeling, but the tension he left behind was palpable. He wasn’t like anyone you had ever encountered. He was dark, commanding, and there was something in his eyes that made you feel like you had no choice but to listen to him.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours before you heard footsteps approaching again. The door creaked open, and Heeseung stepped back into the room, his presence like a storm rolling in. His expression was more severe this time, and the usual cocky smirk was replaced with a look that was almost unreadable.
You instinctively tensed, but Heeseung’s eyes scanned you coldly, taking in every detail of your posture, your hands still resting on the bed. His eyes narrowed as they settled on the bandages wrapped around your hand.
“Still acting like a victim, huh?” he remarked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “You’re not a child. Stop playing helpless.”
The words hit you harder than you expected. You knew you weren’t helpless, but the way he said it made something inside you churn. Heeseung didn’t give you a chance to respond. He moved toward you quickly, his footsteps heavy on the floor, and before you could even blink, he was standing at your bedside.
His gaze was colder than before, his presence suffocating as he loomed over you. “I’ve told you before, don’t make me repeat myself,” he said, his voice low and harsh. “You’re under my care now. And I don’t take kindly to defiance.”
You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His words hung in the air like a chain around your neck. Heeseung’s hand shot out and gripped your wrist, his fingers tight enough to make you wince. The pain from your hand felt amplified under his touch, but you couldn’t pull away.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he demanded, his voice like gravel scraping against your skin.
You lifted your eyes, meeting his gaze, but something in you recoiled at the intensity. There was no softness in his expression now, only a dark resolve.
“I don’t like being ignored,” he continued, his grip tightening even more, making you gasp in discomfort. “And I don’t like being questioned. If you think you can get away from me, think again. There’s nowhere you can hide.”
The words stung. You had no room to breathe, no space to think. Everything he said made it feel like you were cornered, trapped. But there was something else too—a strange, terrifying pull toward him that you couldn’t deny. Despite everything, part of you couldn’t stop yourself from being drawn in by him.
Heeseung’s face was mere inches from yours now, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re mine now, and I don’t tolerate disobedience. You’ll learn that quickly enough.”
The words sent a chill down your spine, but before you could respond, he let go of your wrist with a harsh push, causing you to stumble back slightly. His eyes were still locked on you, colder than before, as if daring you to defy him again.
“Hey, sit up.” He demanded. You did as you were told. “Strip for me.” And to both you and his surprise—that is exactly what you did.
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With a gentle smile and a rising and falling chest to hold back a sigh, he says, "Fuck... Thats it, baby.“ Every time he finds himself with a fist around his cock, you play his name over and over again like a broken record, letting out each syllable in a syrupy sweet whiny manner. even going so far as to press his face against one of his pillowcases, which still had your shampoo residue.
Heeseung uses his weight on the pits of your knees to keep your ass angled up as he pulls himself out to just the tip. He throbs against your opening while his red-swollen cock tip adorns your abused hole. "You desire it."
‘mhh..L-. Heesseung...’
He grunts as he pushes back, taking his time to feel you suck around every inch of his thick size. "So cute," he coos. allowing you to feel every inch of him as he shapes your hole. He jumps inside you, pushing balls deep, and you let out a loud, moaning gasp. “I own you. I have you all to myself.“
In spite of how dry and scratchy it feels, thrusting picks up speed again, gripping groans out of your throat. Heeseung tries to force you to watch by pushing your body in half with her hands on your legs. spread wide enough for you to see exactly where your pussy tugs on his shaft. You pulsate and clench around him while milking him to cum.
“you want me to stuff this lovely pussy? hmm?” He presses his hips against your ass to emphasize. You can only nod your head stupidly while your cock dips in and out of you angrily.
"H-hee…Heeseung—Heeseung.”
You throw your head back and let out a final cry as the broken prayer of his name falls from your lips. His pussy squeezed so tightly that he had to pause for a moment to catch his breath. The fresh smell of body wash fills your head with everything Heeseung, and the sweat between your bodies is secreting quickly.
He says roughly, almost to the point of exhaustion, "that’s my good girl." As he gets closer, you are further confined to the bed and have no option but to accept it. "There you go fuck yourself on my cock pretty girl, forget about your stupid boyfriend—you have—fuck, you have me”
His thrusts become unpredictable, causing your hypersensitivity to go into overdrive and turn into a meandering mess. He is pushed over the edge by the sight of your pussy taking it despite the pain and you mouthing his name. Shooting hot white strings to the final drop, lips twitching, coming to a still point. shallowly fucking the final few spurts until you writhe and scream as you toss your head back and forth.
He keeps you held open by letting your legs drop. The gush of cum that will not leave you is captivating. Holding on to the base of his length, your tiny cunt is unable to handle it and tries to push it back in.
You nod off a few seconds later; perhaps this mafia is not so horrible after all.
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sakumz · 2 days ago
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[ a. harumasa x fem reader ]
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" come on the situation isn't that bad, " harumasa says as yanagi shakes her head.
" you're right, it isn't that bad. " you mocked, " it's terrible! " you slam open the door of section six office, as all heads turn to you. what was the section one slave doing here? sure you were in charge of checking their files here and there, same with them to yours. harumasa drop the file yanagi handed him earlier upon your arrival. sweat dripping down his forehead. was it really that terrible?
" ms l/n, you reek of alcohol. " miyabi starts as she gets down from her stool, hand on the hilt of her sword as you shake your head.
" wasn't section one having a party to celebrate your newly promoted chief? " soukaku questions.
" I only drank one can, I'm not drunk! " you scold.
" anyways you're all allowed to go home, except you, mr asaba harumasa! " they didn't press further but obliged, yanagi can only pray you go easy on him.
" come on was it that terrible? " you can't help but glare dangers. his work these days are incomprehensible. he was supposed to write a report about the recent hollow case. was it that hard to recall everything from start to finish without missing any details? he didn't even describe what ethereals was in it.
" yes it was, " you jab a finger to his chest, making him fall back on his chair. he swiddle around before pushing himself to his table.
" please rewrite the report or I'll make you write more. " he sighs, playfully putting his head down. you lean down to meet his face as he close his eyes. was he going to sleep?
" hey, don't sleep, " you poke his forehead as he shot up straight.
" if you're gonna stay with me, why don't you write it? I'll tell you the details, " you can't help but let out a frustrated sigh. was he really not going to do his work? it's just one report!
" you'll be free to go if you complete this earlier, you know. "
" I don't feel like doing it... " he sighs as he place his head down again.
few minutes past as awkward silence engulfs the room, you pull the chair next to his. he's eating up your time. how can he fall asleep after a scolding? or a bickering... either way how can he sleep during a situation like this!
" hey, if you do this report I'll do whatever you want. " you ruffle his hair, as he sat straight, stretching as he look at you, eyes beaming at your words.
" anything you say? " he teased as you regret your words.
" yes anything, but you better write the report correctly and properly within one hour! " you watch as he quickly turns on the computer smashing keys after keys as he ponders in between. it's pretty comical how he suddenly wants to vanquish his report.
you glance at the clock from time to time, he's focused on the task at hand. with one final key smash, his paper was printed as he went to grab it for you. handing it over as he stood in front of you. you flip and skim through the pages, pleased that whatever he wrote at least made sense and is connected.
" well, goodjob and thanks for the report. I'll submit it for you, " you stood up as his hands quickly fly over to your shoulder, pressing you back down on the chair. he's got you trap between him.
" are you forgetting something, miss? " he leans forwards, staring into your soul as a blush finds its way over to your face. this is the first he's ever been close to you. you push the paper over to your face, trying to cover your face and calm your raging heart.
" what did I-I forget? " how you wish you didn't tell him, you'll do whatever he wants, so he'll finish his report and let you go home at least before midnight.
he pulls the paper down, smirking at your shyness or fake ignorance. you didn't forget the promise.
" I was gonna ask for a date for my hardwork but maybe a date isn't enough. " you stare at him as your blush just keeps growing. your hands starts to feel sweaty, is this guy serious?
" be my girlfriend. " he smiles as you push him off but he doesn't budge.
" I say I'll do whatever you want- "
" do be my girlfriend, " he beams even brighter if that was even possible.
" and as my girlfriend, you should give your very hardworking boyfriend a kiss for doing a goodjob on his report, " he purse his lips, making a ' muah ' sound.
maybe it's time to face the music, you do like him and you hope this isn't a prank or anything. you did say you'll do whatever and if what he says it's true he did save a lot of time from beating around the bush and confessing.
" are you being serious right now? " he stop as he looks at you offended.
" I'm always serious when it's you, girlfriend. " he winks as you cringe.
" come on, give me that kiss and we can go home! "
you close your eyes and lean in, aiming to give a kiss to his cheek but he was quick to lean in and steal your lips with his. your eyes shot open, he place a hand behind your head. when he pulls away to catch his breath, you were starstruck. he leans again as you slap your hands over his lips.
" you said a kiss. " you can't help the silly smile threatening to crawl when he pouts, shoulder dropping at the rejection. he pulls away as he stood up, taking your hand in his.
" fine fine, more kisses will come anyways. let's take you home, " he drags you away and walks you to your apartment.
when he bids you farewell at your doorstep, he did kiss you once again. wishing you a very goodnight as you said the same.
to say the least this bro won't do shit when he's feeling extra tired or lazy so you'll have to step in and reward him with kisses or hugs and mostly both. it has been an occurrence in section six almost everyday, that yanagi has to physically pry you away when harumasa can't let go of you when he hugs you. you pat his head as you say goodbye as he weeps on his desk jokingly...
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gay-dorito-dust · 2 days ago
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Based off of an interview where Fred said that Geta and Caracalla just have a need to be held/ be shown affection
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Geta likes to think he’s above such tender touches but the moment you caress his cheeks with your fingers before cupping them between your palms, warm and comforting.
He melts and he clings onto this touch for the rest of his life. He’s chasing after it even when your pulling away, his hands tightly grip your wrists but not tight enough to hurt, as he brought your hands back to his cheeks, and lets out a sigh of relief as he closes his eyes to memorise the feel of your skin against his.
This man might as well be rubbing his cheeks against your hands, so much that you’d think he would soon purr like a cat after a while.
Seriously this man will try to fight against the feeling of laying his head on your chest just to listen to your heartbeat, gripping onto the fabric of your bed wear as though you would fade between his fingertips. Geta hates and despises being weak but you’re both alone in your chambers, there was no need to put on for an audience that is now long asleep in their beds.
An emperor is not meant to look weak, to look as though he had an Achilles heel, he was meant to come across as a man closer to the gods then the people he ruled over; a man who’s entire clothing was to make him look like he was on the ascent to godhood. And an emperor certainly shouldn’t be seen laying within the arms of his beloved, silent tears streaming down his face as he realises just how deprived of touch he really was that he’s crumbling the second he’s given it.
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Due to his illness the reaction he has towards being held can change within the span of a second.
He could be melting in your hand, then the next he’s biting it with the intention of making you bleed. Caracalla could even be the one to initiate the touch first before suddenly your back is littered is bloodied scratches, before he’s back to cuddling up to you, metaphorically licking your wounds with he looked at you with eyes full of happiness yet uttermost chaos simultaneously.
His illness confuses your tender touches for something much more sinister, so it’s best not to hold and or touch him while he was going through one of those moments where his illness got the better of him, not unless it’s to stop him from causing harm to you or unto himself in the process.
Touch was something Caracalla wanted more then anything, so when he got it he was far more obsessive over it, wanting no one else to experience your touch but himself and if anyone did they would be dealt with bloody and swiftly.
Yet once he is calm and his face is buried deep again your chest, poetically moulding himself into you so that you’d be pretty much cradling his body against yours. His breathing was even and he was a peace for the first time that night as you ran your hand through his hair and down his back, watching over him so that his rest would remain undisturbed by any means necessary. It was the least he deservedx
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t-horn-n · 2 days ago
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— the nights the wind grows teeth
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pairing: silco x hard of hearing!reader (female) 
genre: a little of everything 
summary: a simple introduction, briefly. 
word count: 1 311
note: I have an unserious headcanon that Silco doesn’t drink anything from the Last Drop since Vander’s not the one pouring them.
anyway, prolly gonna be a series ???
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You possess a capacity for calmness that so often escapes fissure folk.  It’s a quality that Silco appreciates even if that sort of level-headedness is off-putting to most, to the extent that many believe you’re either a stone cold bitch or just stupid enough to live in a constant state of ignorant bliss.  
Silco supposes that, temperamentally, you remind him of himself.  Sevika has his passion, but she also has a tendency to think with her fists.  Jinx has his intellect and intuition but she’s inclined to act out on her own.  You actually can exhibit an amount of forethought.  And, well, past the three of you, he can’t claim to be interested in anyone else. 
“Go home, kid,” Sevika says into your good ear.  “You’ve done enough for the day.”
It’s barely eleven at night and you know that she’s going to be running around for the next three hours, at least.  That, and you’re actually Sevika’s senior by a year, give or take.  She just likes to play big sister once in a while.  You like to let her.  
And you can’t say that you mind getting off a little early to sit in one of the Last Drop’s booths until you’re tired enough that you’ll be asleep on your feet by the time you trudge back to your bed.  Well actually, if you’re more inclined to be honest, which you aren’t, you would admit that you’re hoping it’ll be one of those occasions where your generous benefactor will slide into the seat across from you and lean forward so that you can light his cigar.  You’ve never quite understood why he likes the things considering that the fissures already have their fair share of smoke.  
Sometimes he’ll talk about the week’s plans, monologuing into your good ear, or he’ll talk about Jinx.  On other nights, when he knows that the ringing in your bad ear is particularly bad, he’ll let you sit in silence, watching his smoke writhe beneath the Last Drop’s grimy green light.  
Everyone knows that Silco is clever, but he is also observant, and he knows that it’s the biting, frosty nights that your hearing is the worst.  The uncomfortable whine is the loudest and even the sounds that you can hear become smothered and unfocused.  
It’s also when that unrequited ache, bone-deep, is the most needy.  
You’ve only had shimmer once.  It’s been too long for you to remember how it actually tasted, whether it was bitter or sweet; whether it burned your throat or whether they injected it straight into your veins.  But you can remember the way that it made you feel.  You’ve never been in love, but you figure that shimmer makes one as manic as love does.  
When it’s cold fog stalking the Lanes, rather than just the typical Gray, your severed ear calls out for the weightless sensation shimmer provided, but you’re sure that if you indulge, even when you feel like you won’t survive the phantom pains, you won’t be able to resist the drug the next time.  Or the next.  You can’t say that your life is bliss, but you know that you're much better off fighting the cold with the Last Drop’s liquor than you are addicted to shimmer.
“It’s bothering you tonight,” Silco states plainly.  
Before you is a glass of some mystery, clouded liquid.  All you’d asked for was something strong, hoping that it’d dull the persistent thrumming in your skull.  Silco, lounging across from you, has an unlit cigar dancing between his fingers.  You swear you’ve never seen him drink from his own bar.
“Yes,” you admit because you know anything else will lead to a pointless argument.  “But it’s not bad tonight.” 
“Hm,” he hums.
You’d only been to the Last Drop once before meeting Silco, officially that is.  And, you hadn’t really been there, all things considered.  You had been fifteen and had your ear pressed against one of its windows in order to hear the murmurs of whomever was inside.  Before you ran with Silco, you were an information runner.  It was simple and clean and tidy.  You’d play the part of the fly on the wall and whisper plans for hit-and-runs and smuggling jobs into the ears of your handlers and you’d get a cut.  It was simple, well, until you got caught.  
Now, it’s certainly true that your old job would be more difficult considering the circumstances.  The reason why Silco keeps you around, you suspect, is because you can be quiet and charming, when you want to be.  Your feet are coated in enough silver for you to make your way silently around the Lanes into places where people don’t want you to be.  And your center is soft and gooey enough to charm Piltees into trying shimmer.  Just this once, they’ll tell you.  That’s how you get them.
“A shipment is going out tomorrow and I expect that it will go better than the last one,” Silco says.  
He sounds submerged.  He repeats himself, slowly so that you can make out the movements of his lips in the low light, then continues, “We don’t need the Fireflies disrupting our schedule any more than they already have.” 
You nod and notice how odd he looks down among the general trouble of the Lanes.  
“You’ll be there tomorrow,” he says and it’s a fact.
He slides out of the booth, his cigar still unlit.  “It’s cold tonight.”
“I’m warm enough,” you tell him as you down the rest of your drink.  
The cobblestones beneath seep cold into the soles of your feet and the alleyways shuck their frosty breath onto your back on your way to your hole-in-the-wall apartment.  It’s cold there too.  And dark. 
There’s not really a kitchen, just a gas cooktop beside a muddy window.  A single stool sits at a counter and beyond that is a bed boxed in by three walls and an old dresser. 
“Hi, Jinx.” 
“Aw, how’d you know I was here?” she croons.
“I heard the sound of your breathing.” 
“No you didn’t,” she laughs.  
“No,” you agree.  “But you left my door unlocked.” 
“Oops.” 
You toss your jacket at her as you flip the light on, and Jinx is there, perched on your windowsill.  She swats away your oncoming jacket.  
“Close the window.” 
“You’re bossy.  Has anyone ever told you that?” she asks, twirling her hair around her fingers.  
She follows you into your bedroom and falls backward onto your bed.  She’s appeared in your apartment enough times that this is all routine, practically.  At least you’ve trained her to keep her boots off your bed.  
“Mhm,” you reply.
Your fingers are cold and slow moving as you unlace your shoes, tug them off, and throw them on top of your dresser.  You press your palm against the spot where you ear should be trying to warm it up.
“He sent you to make sure I didn’t trip up the stairs?” you ask, a little sarcastically but really, you’re somewhat flattered.
She groans and doesn’t answer you.  “He’s bossy too,” she whines.  
“He is.” 
You fall onto the bed next to her head.
“Did you know that you’re the only one he comes down to that shitty bar for?” 
“Mm?”  You only caught half of her sentence.
“He just sits in that chair and frowns.”
Jinx always makes enough conversation for both of you.  You wonder how often she fills in your parts herself.
It’s likely stupid of the thought to even cross your mind, but on these particularly cold nights when you are feeling particularly unlike yourself—when you are in pain and you crave what you shouldn’t have and your regrets feel the most potent—Silco feels particularly like a friend.  You almost scoff.  That’s a dangerous thought.
“If you’re sleeping here, you’re getting the light,” you tell Jinx.
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— m. list
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acowardinmordor · 1 day ago
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I think when Steve gets Vecna'd, Eddie adds together what he knows about the situation and comes to a logical conclusion. To him at least. He knows that Steve came here asking for heavy drugs and high quantities. He knows that Steve was sounding a hell of a lot like 'sleep' meant something worse.
He knows that Steve is X, and that means all of the horrible things that Eddie knows X thinks about himself, the guy in front of him thinks that too. He knows that Steve, ever since the letters stopped, has been upsetting the freshmen by being distant and cold.
The only assumption he can come up with is that Steve already took something, and it's hit. Or it's causing a reaction. Or its a bad trip.
He has no hesitation about touching him, immediately checks his breathing and his heart rate. It sorta, kinda seems like an overdose, a little bit could be an allergic reaction, but Steve is trembling like he's scared, and his body is stiff. Those explanations don't make perfect sense, so he watches for something that would mean it IS medical, and heads towards his better guess.
Bad Trip.
Steve is high, and is in a bad brain place, and that means he needs to be grounded. Music helps, right? When he was on that bad trip with Rick after his first senior year, Rick put on one of Eddie's tapes, and talked to him. Calm shit. Encouraging shit.
Eddie fully ignores the flickering lights - electrical gets weird in the trailer sometimes - and grabs the mixtape he made for X, and shoves it into his sorta fucky boombox. It's a mix of X's favorite songs, and the ones he mentioned in his own letters. He doesn't know if Steve ever listened to them, but that tape is the only thought he has.
Gets it playing, and grabs hold of Steve's arms. He knows that Steve stopped talking to him. Since Steve knew who he was, and Eddie didn't know who X was, it means Steve probably doesn't care if Eddie wants him to be okay.
Eddie talks about how everyone else feels.
He tells him about how protective Dustin is. How angry Lucas gets anytime anyone says a bad word about Steve. How Eddie has never seen Robin smile so much. How no one judges him for needing to repeat a year. Everyone knows about how hurt he got, and everyone gets it. No one thinks worse of him for it.
He knows his voice isn't exactly calm and soothing, but the longer this insane eye-flutter, non responsive thing goes, the more terrified Eddie is.
"Steve, please, please, it's okay. Just find your way back. try to breathe, try to feel your body, and you'll be okay. I know - I know I've been an asshole to you. I know, okay. But the boys, Robin, shit, fuck, Steve, I need to apologize for shit, so you gotta slow down your breathing. Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real. I promise it's not real, okay? Come back to the real world and I can get you feeling better, I promise. Steve? Steve?"
He doesn't notice at first that Steve is starting to float. He's too focused on his face, the way his eyes are still rolled back. He lets go before he can notice his own hands rising with him. Shits too real, this isn't just a bad trip, he needs help, he needs an ambulance, a cop, anyone that can actually help Steve.
He has the phone in hand, and is about to dial when he turns back, needing to keep looking at him while he begs someone to come fast. He sees Steve in the air.
One step closer, then another. He keeps trying, another whispered sentence or three. But the lights are going crazy, and the music is staticky, the dialtone is screaming, and suddenly Steve is flattened to the ceiling, arms pulling slowly to the sides.
Eddie runs.
Leaves the door swung open as he throws himself into his van. His hands are shaking and he's hyperventilating too hard to notice Max Mayfield sprinting across the road, up the stairs and into the trailer. He's pulling away, when Max screams as Steve falls.
He hears the scream, he hears and feels the heavy thump of a weight hitting the ground. He knows what that sound must mean.
Eddie runs.
Behind him with the tape still playing, Max holds onto a terrified Steve, who has trickles of blood on his cheeks, and bruises blooming on his arms.
Steve, alive, cursed, who immediately asks if Eddie is safe.
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howi99 · 2 days ago
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A Knight second chance 8
Jaune: *trying to leave*
Glynda: And where do you think you are going, young man?
Jaune: *sigh* Professor Goodwitch, We are still technically the weekend and i highly doubt my co-dependency is enjoying... Whatever we are doing.
Penny: *Smiling* Oh do not mind me friend Jaune, i'm fine going wherever you want to go!
Glynda: *sigh* Jaune, this is very important if you want to stay in Beacon. We can't risk you having a panic attack, or something similar, in the middle of a mission.
Jaune: Glyn- *cough* I mean, professor Goodwitch, i understand the importance of mental stability, but meditation isn't something i can easily do when... Well... *Point at Penny* i need to concentrate on repairing her mind.
Glynda: ... Quite. *Sigh* You may go, but i want you in my office the second you are available.
Jaune: *Nod* Will do, ma'am.
___________________________________________
Penny: *walking in the streets of Vale with Jaune* Why did you lie to her? She could have helped us against Roman!
Jaune: *looking at a map* Your communications are out?
Penny: Since yesterday, yes-
Jaune: I already have a deal with Roman.
Penny: *frowning* You made a deal with him? Why?!
Jaune: *taking little alleys and backstreets* Well, who's better than him to give me information on Cinder? Not only that, but i also asked him to use his contacts to dig up dirt on Lionheart.
Penny: That's also something i don't really get, why aren't you telling Osc-, *shaking her head* i mean Ozpin, about everything?
Jaune: *sigh* You don't have all the information, Penny. You only got my memory of when you were there... Beside, you saw how competent he was with choosing his allies.
Penny: *computing* That's... Fair. But what about Glynda?
Jaune: *shaking his head* Too loyal... In fact- *pick up a rock on the ground* the only one i could trust- *turn around and aim for the suspicious looking Crow* Is a dusty old alcoholic! *Throw the stone directly at Qrow's bird form head, making him fall on the ground*
Qrow: *transforming back into his human form* Oof! *Looking up at the teen* Don't you know you shouldn't harass wild life?
Jaune: *smiling* Don't you know it's impolite to listen to private conversation?
___________________________________________
Qrow: *blinking* Wait... You come from the future?
Jaune: *shaking his head* I'm Jaune from the present. Or at least, the body is. My memories, on the other hand, are from the future*Think about his time in the ever after* ... mostly.
Qrow: ... *Goes to take a sip of alcohol*
Jaune: *frown* You should stop that, Summer would be pissed.
Qrow: *looking at Jaune* Now listen here punk, using my dead friend's name is not-
Jaune: She's alive.
Qrow: ... What?
Jaune: She's in hiding, since she got the summer maiden power and-
Qrow: *angry* WHAT!?
Jaune: *surprised by the reaction* Qrow, calm down! It's not as if she had a choice!
Qrow: DID OZPIN KNOW!?
Jaune: No! No, he doesn't. Heck, you should know since you've been searching for the Maidens a majority of your huntsman life.
Qrow: I... BUT... *Sigh* Fucking hell.
Jaune: *sweating* Your sister, on the other hand-
Qrow: That bitch!
___________________________________________
Ozpin: -and you are certain about this?
Qrow: *a glass of water in hand* About 97% sure. The kid isn't a spy from Salem.
Glynda: *still looking at the glass of water as if the world stopped spinning* ... Did... Did something else happen? Like a divine intervention or a miracle?
Qrow: *stifled a laugh* Nothing like that, i just thought i should cut back a bit. *Thinking back at the stone* My reflexes aren't as sharp as i thought.
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i7nn8a · 12 hours ago
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When the older neighbor Sukuna is disturbing your newborn baby's sleep Warnings: Questionable use of a popsicle. You are 20 and Sukuna is almost 30 (not specified in the story)
No minors here
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You, a 20-year-old chemistry student, had just moved into a bigger house now that you had a baby. Life wasn’t easy as a single mother and a student, but you were lucky enough to have inherited something from your beloved grandfather.
The neighborhood was quiet and filled with discreet people. Well, except for him. Sukuna. He was some rich guy who worked twice a week at his father's company and spent the rest of his time throwing parties that lasted until morning. And when there wasn’t a party, he’d blast music late into the night.
Tonight was one of those nights. You knew there wasn’t a party happening—his car was the only one parked outside—but the deafening noise coming from his house was keeping your newborn from sleeping. Meanwhile, you still needed to study for your exams. Fed up, you picked up your baby and marched over to the house next door.
It was the biggest house in the neighborhood. A massive white door big enough for a truck to drive through and three stories covered in oversized windows. The window to the hateful man’s room was directly across from yours—not that you were watching, of course.
Taking a deep breath, you rang the doorbell, praying it could be heard over the loud music. Luckily—or unluckily—it was. The door opened, revealing him: shirtless, tattooed chest on full display, wearing gray sweatpants and with damp hair. Sukuna looked directly into your soul as he answered the door. Curiously, he tilted his head, his gaze drifting from you to the two-month-old baby in your arms who was yawning but unable to sleep due to the noise—thankfully turned off before he opened the door. Then his disinterested eyes returned to yours.
"Can I help you?" he asked, his tone making it clear he had no intention of actually helping.
“I live next door, and I can’t get my son to sleep because of the noise. Could you turn it down a bit?” you asked politely.
“Sure, I can.” With that, the door slammed in your face, leaving you stunned.
Sighing, you turned back toward your house. At least the noise had stopped. For five minutes. Five minutes was all it took for you to settle your baby and almost get him to sleep. Just as his eyes finally closed, the noise started again—louder this time. Your baby woke with a cry, and it seemed like he was trying to outdo the blaring music. You were caught in the crossfire, with no chance of studying.
Once your baby calmed down, you stormed back to Sukuna’s house and rang the doorbell harder than before. When he opened the door, you tried to summon what little patience you had left.
“Can you turn it down?” Your voice carried a tinge of desperation.
“I already turned it off” he replied, sounding annoyed.
“For five minutes. I need you to turn it down to the point where only you can hear this bad music , not the entire country.”
“Bad music?” He seemed offended. “Look, if you can’t get your kid to sleep, that’s not my problem.”
“I could get him to sleep if the noise didn’t keep waking him up.”
“That’s why I turned it off—for a while. You can’t even put your own kid to sleep?” His mocking tone was the last straw.
Without a word, you turned and marched back to your house. Gathering your study materials, you returned to his door, rang the bell again, and when he opened it, you walked in without waiting for an invitation. Sukuna stared at you, shocked, as you headed straight for the speaker and turned it off. Then you placed your backpack on the couch and handed your baby to him, leaving him dumbfounded.
“Since putting a baby to sleep is so easy for you, go ahead. I need to study.” You settled on his couch, pulling out your book, as Sukuna held your baby like he was handling a live grenade.
“Are you crazy?” he asked angrily, trying not to move too much with the baby staring at him like he was the idiot here.
“I’ll go crazy if I fail my exams because of some guy who doesn’t know how to keep it down” you replied, flipping through your book. “And it could be worse—I could’ve called the police.”
“I’d prefer that over a lunatic who barged into my house and dumped a baby on me” he shot back, seething.
“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d just turned the music down” you said, not even looking up. “And by the way, you can stop holding Dante once he falls asleep. He likes to be rocked a bit.”
Sukuna stared at you, furious, but he begrudgingly started rocking the baby. Dante, of course, refused to fall asleep, staring at everything in Sukuna’s house as if he were on an adventure.
After almost an hour of pacing and entertaining the baby, Sukuna finally managed to get him to sleep. He looked proud, though he’d never admit it. Showing you the sleeping baby, he expected some kind of reaction, but you were unimpressed. You simply asked if there was a comfortable spot where Dante could rest until you were done. After settling the baby in his room, you returned to your studies. Sukuna grabbed a drink, leaning against the wall, watching you.
“I’ll leave soon, don’t worry. I just need to finish this chapter in case you decide to crank the music back up” you said without looking up.
“I didn’t say you had to leave.” he replied, stepping closer. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“What are you doing?” you asked, leaning back as he moved even closer.
“Oh, come on. Did you really think you could show up in those tiny shorts with some lame excuse and nothing would happen?”
The kiss he gave you was anything but loving or gentle. He parted your lips with his tongue, exploring every corner of your mouth. His mouth moved down to your neck, where he grazed his sharp teeth and bit a specific spot, making you scream.
"Quiet. We don’t want the boy to wake up."
With that, he stood up and headed toward the freezer, leaving you breathless on the couch. When he returned, he was holding a popsicle. Your mind started screaming. Why did he bring a popsicle?
Staring at you, he tore the wrapper off with his teeth and walked toward you. Grabbing you, he moved you to a spot where your study materials wouldn’t get in the way. Sukuna’s eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as he slid the melting treat along the side of your neck, soothing the spot where he’d bitten you, leaving a sticky trail of coconut on your flushed skin.
"Such a good slut. You're going to take this right to me, aren't you?"
He presses the popsicle against his lower lip, his eyes searching her face with intense hunger and dark anticipation. His hand tightens around the melted popsicle, the cold, sticky treat dripping onto his collarbone.
"Do you want me to fuck you with this, do you want to feel it stretching your tight pussy before I replace it with my cock?" Sukuna's voice is a low, seductive whisper, dripping with dark promise.
His other hand slides down to grip the back of your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as he grinds his hardening arousal against your clothed pussy. He captures your lips in a burning, domineering kiss, swallowing your moan as he grinds the popsicle against your clothed sex with deliberate, cruel slowness.
Without further ado, he pulls down your shorts and rips off your skimpy underwear, exposing your most intimate flesh to his voracious gaze. You gasp, but Sukuna swallows the sound, your mouth crashing against his in a brutal, dominant kiss as he grinds the icy popsicle against your dripping bare slit.Sukuna's fingers grasp the treat, pushing it slowly, teasingly, into your tight channel as he moans into your mouth.
"Fuck, you're already all wet, you slut. Your greedy pussy is practically sucking the popsicle inside, isn't it?" He pumps in and out, establishing a maddeningly slow and shallow rhythm that makes you squirm and whimper against him.
Sukuna watches your face intently, his eyes dark and heavy with lust as he works the popsicle deeper, stretching it open.
He withdraws the sweet abruptly, leaving your clinging walls trembling and aching. Then, with a wicked grin, he pushes the popsicle past your entrance, fucking your with it in earnest while his other hand grips your hip hard. He slams into your pussy harder, faster, setting a relentless pace as he leans down to capture a hard nipple between his teeth, biting and sucking the sensitive bud with shameless hunger.
Sukuna grins mischievously at the helpless, drunken moans of pleasure you're letting out, the sound stimulating your relentless assault on your senses.
"Mmm, listen to yourself, brat. Singing so sweetly to me while I rape your tight little pussy with that pathetic excuse for a dick." He punctuates his words with a particularly hard jerk of the popsicle, grinding it against that spongy spot deep inside your pussy that makes stars explode behind your eyes.
"You're screaming so loudly for me. Do you want the brat to wake up? Do you want him to see what a slut his mother is?"
His other hand slides from your hip to wrap around your throat, squeezing hard enough to make your moans catch in your throat, making you gasp and shudder helplessly in his grip.
"I can feel you squeezing him, trying to suck him deeper. Your hungry little shit hole is begging to be created, isn't it?"
He pulls out the popsicle abruptly, leaving its sticky walls trembling and hungry. You whimper at the loss, your hips thrusting forward desperately, seeking more. Sukuna just laughs darkly, dragging the sticky, dripping treat across your quivering belly to circle a hard nipple.
Sukuna smiles fiercely at the desperate, lustful cry you let out, his eyes shining with dark triumph.
"Such a greedy whore, so eager to be filled and bred."
He laughs mischievously, tossing the remains of the popsicle aside before grabbing your thighs and hoisting you up. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he pins your against the sofa, the hard bulge of your arousal grinding insistently against his dripping core.
With that, Sukuna pulls down his sweatpants, releasing his huge, throbbing cock. He notches the enlarged head at your entrance, teasing you with the promise of being stretched and filled so completely. You moan desperately, your nails digging into Sukuna's shoulders as you squirm against him, trying to impale yourself on his thick shaft.
Sukuna only smiles at your want, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he holds you in place.
"Beg for it, my little slut. Beg me to ruin your tight pussy with my cock. Beg me to fill you with my seed, to create that greedy hole that's aching for it."
His voice is a low, sinful growl, dripping with cruel anticipation.
"Please, Kuna."
Sukuna's eyes shine with a wild, triumphant light at your gasping plea.
"That's it, beg for my cock like a good slut."
He grins mischievously, gripping your hips tighter, his fingers sinking inhis fingers sinking into the soft flesh until she bore the marks of his possession.
Without warning, Sukuna snaps his hips forward, burying his huge balls deep into your tight, dripping pussy in one brutal thrust. He groans, throwing his head back as your scorching heat envelops him like a vice.
"Fuck, you're so tight. Squeezing my cock like your hungry little hole is trying to milk my seed."
He starts to move, establishing a strong, fast rhythm as he fucks you with savage intensity. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, mingling with your restrained screams trying not to wake your son and Sukuna's harsh, guttural grunts.
"Take it, you insatiable slut. Take every inch of my cock, let it reshape that greedy pussy to fit only me."
Sukuna's voice is low, rough and sinful, dripping with dark lust and cruel possession. His hips move relentlessly, each powerful thrust hitting that secret spot deep inside you that makes you see stars.
Leaning in, Sukuna captures your lips in a brutal, overpowering kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy. His tongue plunders your mouth, conquering every inch of it, claiming it as his own. Breaking away, he growls against your lips.
"That's what you wanted, isn't it? To be used as a sex toy, to be bred like a bitch in heat?"
Sukuna bends down, findingher clitoris with relentless precision. He rubs the sensitive nub in tight, rough circles, pushing your towards a devastating climax.
"Come on my cock. Squeeze the cum out of my balls."
Your eyes bore into his, dark and heavy with lust. Sukuna throws your head back with a roar of dark triumph as you squeeze his throbbing cock, your pussy rippling and vibrating as she comes apart.
"That's it, scream for me, you little slut!"
He penetrates your, rubbing his pelvis against your throbbing clit as he fills your to the brim, stretching your walls to the limit around his thick girth.
Sukuna fucks your through your orgasm with relentless intensity, each powerful thrust pushing your higher, the pleasure bordering on pain. He leans down to capture a bouncing nipple in his mouth, biting and sucking the soft bud with shameless hunger as he penetrates your mercilessly.
"Fuck, your greedy pussy is milking my cock so hard. Do you want my seed that badly?" Sukuna growls against his chest, his balls contracting as his climax approaches.
"Beg for it, beg for me to fill you up, to create that hungry hole and make you mine!"
He thrusts his hips harder, faster, the wet sound of her dripping pussy obscenely loud in the room. You can only cling to him, your nails scratching his sweaty back as you surrender to the numbing ecstasy that shakes your body.
Your pussy clenches rhythmically, eager for the thick cum that only Sukuna can provide.
With one final, brutal thrust, Sukuna penetrates yo pussy, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he finds his release.
"Fuck, take it, take my seed, you insatiable slut!"
He roars, his hot, thick seed gushing out in strong jets, painting your walls white as he pumps your full of his essence.Sukuna penetrates your, making sure that every drop of his cum is sealed inside your hungry womb.
"You're mine now, mine to ruin and use as I please."
He captures your lips in a burning, domineering kiss, swallowing your weak cry of surrender. Finally, he pulls away, his eyes shining with cruel satisfaction as he examines your handiwork. You, soft and trembling, your thighs sticky with the mixed evidence of your lust, his cock still buried inside you, plugging your seed. Sukuna smiles, the sight was a gateway to paradise.
Pulling out of you, he stood up, putting his pants back on and going to get a towel to wipe you down. As he leaned down to kiss you, you heard a baby cry that woke you both up from the trance you'd been in.
With a groan you got up and tried to walk to the bedroom, already feeling your breasts producing milk for your baby.
"Next time I'll prove it." Sukuna said, walking past you and into the bedroom, leaving you stunned behind.
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forestshadow-wolf · 17 hours ago
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Ghost gets hurt in an explosion that soap set off because it was either that or dying. Soap feels responsible. So when Ghost wakes in the hospital and immediately thinks he's dreaming, and that soap had died in real life, soap lies. Tells him that, "yeah, Si, you're dreaming. Close your eyes, you'll be awake next time you open them." In his most casual voice. Casual despite the panic and guilt and shame in his chest. Despite the fact that Ghost could barely remember him. And despite the fact that just before that mission they'd gotten in a huge fight over something he couldn't remember anymore. And he tells the team that he settled Ghost, but he needs to leave to get his head on straight. And he tells them not to mention him or what he's done. At least not until he's back.
And when Ghost opens his eyes again it's just Price snd Gaz. And they don't say anything. And Ghost goes crazy and rampaging thinking that he got Soap killed.
And so they call soap into base again to calm Ghost.
And when he gets there Ghost can't quite comprehend it, "wh- how... you're dead." But the sedatives are finally taking hold and he goes down.
And when Ghost wakes again soap has to pry himself out of his grip. And say to hom "you don't want me." Because he got him hurt. And this time he's alive. This time he's going to make a full recovery. But next time it will be paralysis or a lost arm or a snapped leg. Next time could be death. So Soap has to leave. Because it's happening again. And somehow his cursed MacTavish luck is back to haunt him after too many good years. And he won't risk Simon like that. And before Ghost can even respond, he's gone again.
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mclacedes · 18 hours ago
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A Fading Echo (LH44)
CHAPTER II: Going Home
a/n: this is NOT PROOF READ
warnings: breakup, abu dhabi ‘21, rude!lewis, depression, gaslighting, fighting
★ previous chapter
★ next chapter
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“For a moment, he wanted to break down and beg Willem not to leave. Don't go, he wanted to tell him. Stay here with me. I'm scared to be alone.”
- Hanya Yanagihara, "A Little Life"
He remembers your final battle—the fight that ended it all; the decision-maker, the deal-breaker.
Four years. You had been together for four beautiful, though turbulent, years. The kind of love story that felt unshakable, weathering the storms life hurled your way. You had your own career, pursuing the dreams you’d cherished since you were a kid. You were finally at a stage in life where everything felt like it fit perfectly. And with him by your side, it seemed like nothing could go wrong.
By 2020—your third year together—things had grown serious, the kind of serious that made people whisper about rings and forever.
You still remember the phone call in March 2020, just as the world began to crumble under the weight of a pandemic, when asked you the question, his voice calm but carrying a thread of anticipation.
“Quarantine with me. In the UK,” he said, his words slicing through the static.
You froze, caught completely off guard. The emotions hit you all at once—joy, anxiety, disbelief—so quickly that you couldn’t string a coherent thought together.
“Y/n?” His voice softened. “You still there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” you stammered, your mind still reeling. “I’m just… a little unprepared for that question.”
The pandemic was spiraling into chaos. Quarantine was the new normal, with no end in sight. Weeks? Months? Years? No one knew. There was no vaccine, no cure, just endless uncertainty. The thought of being confined in one place for so long felt suffocating.
“It's just… That's not my house, I don't know if I’ll…” he had this unbearable habit of cutting you off in the middle of a sentence.
“I know, but we can make it home,” you could tell he was beaming with pride for coming up with that sentence. “Home is wherever you are.”
It sounded like a promise. Like he was for real.
“Besides, there won’t be any races for a while. Things will be peaceful, quiet… just us. I think we can make it fun at home, huh?”
His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Despite the fear and uncertainty, the thought of being with him—just him—was comforting.
You took a deep breath, letting the idea sink in. “Okay, it sounds nice,” and you smiled.
And it was nice. More than nice, really. Those weeks together were filled with laughter and quiet moments, a bubble of peace in a chaotic world.
Eventually, though, he had to leave again. Racing had resumed, and his life called him back to the track. You went to as many races as you could, though he always worried.
“I don’t want you catching that thing,” he’d say, his protective nature shining through.
You’d laugh it off, but you knew he meant it. Those months felt like a rhythm you could get used to—brief separations and joyous reunions. You thought you had found your balance.
But cracks have a way of forming when you least expect them—because people talk. They speculate. They conspire. Perched on the edges of lives they don’t know, they wait for their chance to unravel something beautiful.
Your relationship became a sweet treat for an internet starved for the meanest way to make somebody seem interesting, a spectacle to devour and distort—somebody had to feed those vultures.
By mid-2021, Twitter was buzzing with talk of rings, cradles and bibs. People dissected your (and his) every move, searching for signs of the next big step. But while the world fantasized about your future, Lewis was consumed by a fight of his own—that year's championship; the toughest battle since 2016, since Nico.
You knew his career had always been his first love, the thing that made his heart pump and his eyes shine long before they settled on you. Just as you had your own dreams to chase, he had his. And in 2021, those dreams demanded everything from him—his time, his attention, his softness, and, it seemed, his love for you.
By late 2021, the cracks in your once unshakable foundation had grown too wide to ignore. The championship consumed him, pulling him further away, and you—desperately holding on—began to feel more like an obligation than a partner.
It started with the little things: unanswered texts, “I was catching up on data”, missed calls, conversations cut short with a distracted “Sorry, I’ll call you later”. Later never came thought. Even when you were physically together, his mind was elsewhere, a thousand miles ahead, already focused on the next race, the next strategy meeting, the next battle on track.
You tried to understand. You reminded yourself of his passion, his drive, the fire that had drawn you to him in the first place. But understanding didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear.
Then it crumbled. December, after Abu Dhabi. It was like everything started to shut down, like multiple organ failure—there’s no surgery to save your relationship. The worst part is that you knew it—you both. The even worse part was that you let it go so easily.
The fallout from that race was cataclysmic, not just for him but for you too. He came home shattered—a man stripped of everything he’d worked for, everything he believed in. You wanted to be there for him, to help him rebuild, but he wouldn’t let you in. He was silent, withdrawn, a ghost of the man who had once made you feel like the center of his universe.
“I’m here if you wanna talk,” you had reassured him once, your voice soft, during a quietly bitter dinner.
“I don’t want to,” he replied sharply, his tone cold and clipped, not even looking up from his plate.
“I know, but what I mean is that—”
“I know what you mean, Y/N,” he interrupted, his voice laced with impatience. “Please, can we just eat?”
The finality in his words stung, sharp and unforgiving. Recessive and heartbroken, you nodded, lowering your gaze to the plate of food you had poured your heart into making—a meal that now tasted like ash in your mouth.
The days dragged on after that, each one heavier than the last. Conversations became sparse, filled only with superficial pleasantries or curt exchanges. The man who used to pull you into his arms and make you laugh until your sides ached now felt like a stranger in your own home.
And then came the day he told you he was leaving.
“I’m going over to my parents,” he said one evening, his voice flat, drained of its usual warmth, as the chill of December crept into the Monaco air.
You blinked, still sitting on the couch surrounded by a scattering of holiday cards you’d been addressing. The weight of his words took a moment to settle.
“Didn’t know they’d spend Christmas with us,” you said, absent-minded, not understanding what he meant yet.
“No,” he clarified, his tone cool and detached. “I’m going home.”
The room seemed to close in around you, the once-welcoming space now feeling alien and far too empty. “Okay… I’ll pack my bags,” you said quickly, standing up abruptly, as if to act like nothing had changed. “How long are we staying there? I hope you’re aware that I’m going home for New Year’s—”
“No, Y/N.” He cut you off, his words sharp enough to slice through the air. “I need to go by myself. Just me and my parents for once.”
Your breath hitched as you processed his words. “Oh. Umm… Okay,” you managed to say, your throat tightening, tears threatening to spill. “It’s just that we… we had planned this. We were supposed to—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “Plans changed.”
The dismissal stung, sharp and biting, like a slap to the face. And then, the silence.
“What happened, Lewis?” you asked, the crack in your voice betraying the storm brewing inside.
“How is that even a question?” he snapped, his brow furrowed, disbelief coloring his words. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration leaking from his every pore. “It’s right in front of you, Y/N. It’s been right in front of you.”
“No, it hasn’t!” you shot back, the words tumbling out in a mix of anger and desperation. “You’ve been shutting me out for months. I don’t know what’s going on with you anymore because you won’t talk to me! You won’t let me in!”
“Oh, so now this is my fault?” he retorted, his voice rising, defensive. “I’m the bad guy for not wanting to drown you in my shit? For needing space to deal with the fact that my career—my legacy—was torn apart in front of the entire world?” He turned his back on you, heading toward the hallway that led to your shared bedroom.
“That’s not what I’m saying, Lewis!” you shouted, following him, the frustration boiling over. “The thing is, you made me believe we were a team. We’d face things together. And now, when it matters most, you’re shutting me out!”
But he didn’t listen. His steps were heavy, his mind already elsewhere.
“You said you’re going home!” You screamed, and this time, he finally stopped, his body tensing.
He turned around, his face a storm of frustration. “I am going home, Y/N. What’s so hard to understand about that?”
“What happened to ‘home is wherever you are, Y/N’?” you repeated, your voice shaking with raw emotion. “This isn’t your home anymore? After everything we’ve built together, I’m not your home?”
He scoffed, a cruel sound that sliced through the air. “You’re twisting my words.”
“No, I’m not!” you retorted, your heart pounding, desperate to be heard. “I’m just trying to understand why you think running back to the UK and shutting me out is the answer to anything. You barely even look at me anymore, Lewis. Do you even want me here?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” His eyes narrowed, his tone sharp, though still defensive.
“It means you’ve kept me on the edge for so long. You’re here, but not really. And when you’re gone, we don’t talk. You disappear. I’m not even a part of your life anymore!” You could feel the tears in your throat, but you fought them back. “You dismiss everything we talked about—marriage, kids, a future. Like none of it matters to you anymore. Like you don’t want me in your life at all. It feels like you hate me!”
“Argh, here you go again,” he snarled, his fists clenching. “Shit, you always do this,” he snapped, his voice rising. “Always making it about you,” his index pointed straight at you.
“Because it is about us!” you cried, your voice breaking. “It’s about me too, isn’t it? I’m not some option you can just turn off when you don’t feel like dealing with me!”
“Well, I’m the one dealing with shit right now,” he shot back, his eyes flashing with anger. “And instead of supporting me, you’re interrogating me, saying I don’t care about you. You think that talking about babies and rings is going to fix anything? You don’t get it, Y/N! You’re so focused on your timeline, on what you think I should be giving you, that you can’t see that I’m falling apart!”
You stood frozen, the sting of his words slicing through you like ice. “That’s not fair, Lewis. I’ve been supporting you—”
“Have you?” he interrupted coldly, his voice full of bitterness. “Because all I hear is how you feel. I’m the one who’s lost everything, but somehow, I’m the one to blame. You’ve made this all about you.”
“You keep saying you’ve lost everything, but no,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears now spilling. “You haven’t lost everything. Your legacy is still there. You’re a legend. It’s always going to be remembered. But you’re so lost in your own darkness that you can’t see what’s still in front of you. You’ve lost a championship, so what?”
Lewis’s face twisted with rage, his eyes seething as he glared at you. “So what?” he echoed bitterly. “You think it’s just about a damn race? It’s not just the championship, Y/N. It’s everything. They took it from me. They stole it from me, right in front of everyone’s eyes. And all you can do is lecture me like I’m being unreasonable? You’re standing here talking about legacy and what I’ve achieved, but none of that matters if it’s all been ripped away. What’s left of me when they’ve taken everything?” he said, forcing himself to maintain his composure.
“Yeah, and what's left of us, Lewis?”
The words hit him harder than you expected, and for a moment, he was silent, his jaw tightening. His chest heaved, and his eyes locked onto yours, a mix of pain and frustration swirling in them.
“What do you mean, what's left of us?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly, as though he was trying to understand.
“We,” you repeated, your voice quieter now, barely above a whisper. “What’s left of us when you shut me out like this? When you push me away every time I try to help you, every time I try to understand? What happens when you keep giving them, the media, more than you give to this relationship?”
“I don’t think I have the mindspace to dwell on that anymore, Y/N,” He stood there, seemingly distant, his eyes avoiding yours now. The air between you both felt colder, thicker, like an impenetrable wall had risen between the two of you.
“See? That's what I’m talking about! You’ll just run away, packing it up and not talking to me. You can’t just not think about it, Lewis,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice. “You can’t just shut everything out because it’s easier than facing it. This relationship—us—it’s not a convenience, it’s not something you can just leave behind when it doesn’t fit your narrative anymore.”
His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as if he were searching for a retort but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he said, “I can’t give you what you need right now, Y/N. I can’t be the person you want me to be.”
“I don’t need you to be perfect, Lewis,” you said, stepping closer to him. “I just need you to let me in. I need you to trust me enough to share the weight.”
He shook his head, looking away as if he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is!” you insisted, the tears you’d been holding back spilling over now. “You’re choosing to leave me out. You’re actively choosing to push me away. That’s not about the championship or your career—that’s about us. And it’s killing me, Lewis.”
For a moment, he just stood there, his eyes locked on yours, his face a blank mask. And then, in a voice so quiet, so small, it shattered your heart, he said, “Maybe we were never as strong as we thought we were.”
The words slammed into you like a punch to the gut, leaving you gasping for air. “You don’t mean that,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, cracking under the weight of the truth you didn’t want to face.
Time seemed to slow as he reached for his house keys, his car keys, and the packed handbag—each movement like a dagger slowly twisting deeper into your chest.
“Lewis, no,” you begged, your voice raw, desperation flooding your veins. “No, please, don’t do this. Please stay…”
But he didn’t look back. He didn’t even flinch at your broken cries.
“I’ll see you around,” he muttered, his words empty, hollow. His tone was void of everything that once mattered. Without another word, he walked out, the door slamming shut behind him with a deafening finality.
The silence that followed was suffocating, the sound of the door’s closure ringing in your ears like a death knell. You were left standing there, frozen, in a sea of devastation. Alone. Lost. And questioning everything that had once been so sure.
Nothing was ever the same after that.
For him, that wasn’t just the loss of a championship—it was the loss of himself. Of everything he thought he could hold onto.
You watched helplessly as he sought solace in everything else—the noise, the distractions, the empty comforts—anything but you. Everyone else seemed to understand the depths of his pain, the weight of his loss, except for you. And that fact stung worse than anything he’d said.
That night, you let yourself slip into a crying spiral, tears falling uncontrollably, each one a reflection of the pain that had consumed you. You didn't know how long it lasted, but it felt like hours, your chest tight and raw. Eventually, exhaustion dragged you into a restless sleep, the emptiness settling around you.
A few weeks later, after trying to collect yourself and make sense of the pain, you sent one text.
you: i’ve taken my thing out of your house in Monaco. i’m breaking up with you.
You stared at the message for a long moment, your thumb hovering over the send button, as though giving yourself a moment to breathe before the finality of it.
With a shaky exhale, you pressed send. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that had built up, everything that had been left unsaid. The knot in your chest didn’t loosen. It didn’t change anything. But it was done. And as you stared at the screen, the absence of a reply was just another confirmation that it was over.
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hollyhomburg · 11 hours ago
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Before I Leave you (Pt. 79)
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(Sneak peek)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)
Summary: It's Hoseok's turn to breed you through your heat, but Namjoon won't let him have it easily.
Tags: Heat sex, knotting, group sex, Sub! m/c, Dom! Namjoon, Sub! Hobi, d/s, threesome, comparing knots, Cumplay, size kink, big dick Namjoon, womb fucking, belly bulge, slight inflation kink, breeding kink, clit torture if you squint, overstimulation, voyeurism, squirting, messiness kink, inspection kink, humiliation kink, implied cuckolding, very brief human furniture, implied puppy play, puppy space Hobi, collars, dominance displays, porn without plot,
W/c: 10.7k
A/n: ahhhhh here it is <3 the second part of last chapter that i split last minute <3 more filth but at least it's hobi filth <3 keep your eyes wide open on the ending! this one is a bit of a cliffhanger <3
Previous part - Masterlist - First part
Namjoon leans down, pressing a kiss to your nape. Meanly pressing in further, harder. You are so hot inside, the heat fever tearing through you now that you have a little food in your stomach and more energy to burn. Warm and wet and tight. Your eyes roll back and Hobi can do nothing but watch.
But Namjoon's pace stutters. It's understandable. This is the 5th knot he’s given you in as many hours. It's sometime after mid-morning and it's been probably around 30 hours since he's slept at all. Namjoon's only human. Even the pack alpha can't last forever.
Hoseok's honestly a little surprised that Namjoon hasn't tapped out yet, that his knot isn't ready to fall off.
But Hoseok watches his pace falter and Hoseok's lip lifts. It's an instinct to growl. Namjoon spies it, hackles raising.
Alpha instincts are a peculiar thing.
“You think you could do better?” Namjoon taunts, a little playfully. Arms bulging as he holds himself up, trusting harder into you. Almost in retaliation. Hobi blushes and looks away, successfully chastised.
Hoseok shouldn't be intimidated, Namjoon might be the pack alpha, but Hobi has still seen him put his shoes on the wrong feet before and leave the house- too many times to count.
The growl comes out of his mouth before he thinks better about it.
Namjoon stops moving.
Hobi clamps a hand over his mouth in surprise and the snarl becomes a whine. “Yes! No! Maybe- I think I-.” Hobi hovers unsure, bashful at being caught snarling at the pack alpha. Across the nest Jin lifts his head, woken up by it, hair all fluffy.
Namjoon is not one to let this kind of thing slide especially not during a heat.
Namjoon slides out of you, long and hard and hot. You whimper. You don't like feeling empty. You try to push back on him but are stopped by a hand pressed blank your pussy, Namjoon's fingers brushing your hole, fucked open and messy. Gaping just a little and dripping a pretty spiderweb like strand of cum down onto the nest.
You whine. Loud and grating. Hoseok's instincts make him want to gnash his teeth. It sets him on edge. Across the nest, Yoongi turns, distracted from his task of trying to convince Jungkook to suck on a straw instead of trying to suck on his dick. Alarmed at the sound of your whine and the desperation in it.
“Alright alright, calm down,” Namjoon says, kind of laughing through it, kind of high. Namjoon is the picture of restraint- he's not a knothead. He's not like Hobi. He doesn't snarl and push and fight at another alpha challenging him- No.
Namjoon looks at Hobi, a mean glint in his eye. Namjoon can get a little scary when he's got something to prove, even scarier when he's got a job to do.
Your collar is there by the edge of the nest, taken out when Jimin put on his, black with a golden puppy tag, the twin to Hobi's red one. Your pink one is showing its wear. It's worn at the hole in the buckle, the one that fits you nice and loose. Perfect as a handhold.
Namjoon points and Hobi gets it before he's even registered that he's following a nonverbal order. Flushing as he takes off the bell and then tries to hand it over.
But Namjoon just eyes your throat expectantly.
Making one sub-collar another is- well-
Hobi's hands stutter, shaky with anticipation as he tries to fit it around your throat. It takes him several tries to get it latched properly. Namjoon’s cock twitches as Hobi looks up for his approval. You push into his hands, purring loudly. No longer displeased at not being filled if you can teeth at the scent gland on his wrist.
Namjoon pulls back and away from you. Heavy cock throbbing and pulsing dully. There is a bit of whiteness, leftover cum, that covers Namjoon’s cock. Milky at the tip and pink. your pussy lips are also red and a bit inflamed from the ceaseless friction of his balls flopping forward and hitting where you’re sensitive. namjoon pries you open with two fingers, showing hoseok that you’re already so wet on the inside, full of Yoongi and Jimin's and Tae’s cum not just Namjoon's.
But not Hobi's, not yet. Namjoon should fix that.
Namjoon lets you go and reaches for Hobi's collar and puts it on him with out a word. so deep down in alpha space that even his teasing goes quiet. He tests the give of the collar, pulling hoseok this way and that until he’s satisfied with it. Hoseok whines at being pushed around, tugged almost until he falls over, but he lets Namjoon do it. Obedient.
Namjoon pulls him over to where he sits behind you, almost between your legs.
Namjoon palms blatantly between your legs checking with a dimply smile to make sure Hobi's watching. You mewl. But Namjoon just grins at Hobi. His fingers still hooked in his collar.
You mewl loudly and Namjoon puts his fingers back where you want them. His words summoned at last. "Oh don't be a brat, alpha's right here pup."
Hoseok's cock twitches at being manhandled, especially when Namjoon slides that hand down Hobi's midline, feeling him up and Hoseok lets him. Hoseok would let Namjoon do anything. he doesn't even flinch or growl when Namjoon pushes his thigh apart and pushes down his boxers. Palming his cock, examining him. Wrapping his big hands around it and testing where his knot will form. where it's already half popped. Rubbing at the sensitive skin and slight bulge with talented fingers that have Hobi panting in seconds.
It gives Hobi no small amount of pride that his hand does not cover all of Hobi's cock. He's still sizable. Hoseok's scent fluffs out a little stronger at that.
Namjoon has one hand in you, hooked into your hole to soothe you, and the other wrapped around Hobi's cock. he has both of his pups, right where he wants them. He tugs at Hobi's cock once, twice.
“Show me then, show the pack alpha that you know to breed.”
Coming Saturday December 28th @ 5pm EST (time Zone Adjustments Below)
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thelonelyshore-if · 17 hours ago
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Ravi Winter Drabble
Happy Holidays again, here's a present for you all <3
When is a funeral not a funeral?
When nobody died? When he isn't home but instead crowded in the foyer of a friend of a friend? When he's wearing a wool jacket and a plush scarf and thin leather gloves instead of his usual suit?
When it's a party?
Ravi stands hunched in the nook beside Yasmin Bakir-King's front door. His arms are folded across his chest. One hand is tucked in his armpit; the other clutches the thin stem of a chapagne flute like it's his lifeline. Impatience makes him antsy. He keeps raising the glass to his lips and trying to take a sip, even though he drained it dry ten minutes ago.
He doesn't know what to do with the damned thing, is the problem. It's empty, and he has no desire for a refill, but walking it to the kitchen would require pushing through a crowd of faces that swim and spin in his vision, strangers in all but name.
He can't put up with the staring.
Better to lean with his back against the door, hoping upon hope that the cold green metal does something for the scorching heat of the room. The wool of his jacket is too thick; a rivulet of sweat has started carving a path down his spine, and the skin around his neck itches, but removing either the coat or the scarf is a surrender.
So instead of surrendering, Ravi prays. He waits, holding one of Yasmin's glasses hostage and silently begging god and the Fog and literally anything that will listen that you'll just hurry up and get back to him.
How did he end up here?
Most years he spends the night before the Squall huddled in his office, listening to music and knitting, or doing a puzzle, or tucking into a book. It has never bothered him that everyone else in town is having some sort of get together. He isn't everyone else.
Yasmin throws one of these things annually. It's his first time in attendance. He wasn't invited. You were invited.
Jay tries to drag him along to this every year, and he declines. He should have said no when you asked, too. Even when you turned your pleading eyes to his and explained that you wanted to see what the whole 'Squall Party' thing was about.
It makes sense, that you're unfamiliar with the Squall. It's so very Easthaven. Ravi knows the power of it better than anyone, so it comes as no surprise that things are different in the outside world. He could have told you anything you wanted to know bundled up together on his couch, in truth, but…
You were curious. And he can't resist you when you're curious.
It's something about the way your eyes light up when you have a new mystery to solve. Like you see the world as a puzzle—so long as you get all the pieces you might finally be content. Your thirst for knowledge infuriates and fascinates him in turn.
Plus. Well. Ravi struggles to deny you anything.
So he’s at the party.
At the very least, he’s near the party. Waiting by the door, with this damn glass in his hand, eyes frantically searching for a sign of you.
The heat in the house is becoming unbearable. Ravi loosens the scarf around his throat, seeking out any ounce of relief he can find. Should he go out for a smoke? The night air would provide the respite that he craves, and a cigarette would calm his nerves.
Ravi reaches behind his back with his free hand and grabs at the door handle. The shiny brass knob is cool under his fingers, and that’s enough to convince him. He’s about to open it when–
“Leaving without me?”
He drops the doorknob like it burned him, whirls around to face you. His heart jumps into his throat and instant relief unburdens him, sending a looseness throughout his body that summons a warm smile. He can't help it. The mere sight of you calms him.
The relief fades somewhat when he notices Yasmin following you, eyeing him suspiciously. You shoot him an apologetic look before turning to finish your conversation.
"Thanks again, Yasmin," you enthuse, expression shifting into a smile, "This was great."
“It’s no problem–it’s best you get home before the storm starts up,” Yasmin gives you a friendly nudge. She pauses and looks at Ravi, some of the warmth draining from her face. Her brow furrows, and she says, “Are you stealing that?”
Ravi grimaces and looks down at the stupid glass in his hand. He can’t exactly tell her that he was scared of walking it back to the kitchen. Because that would be ridiculous. Instead he offers Yasmin a pained smile and explains, “I was just finishing it.”
She rolls her eyes and holds out her hand. He hands it over, relief and chagrin making him all the more eager to flee right fucking now. Yasmin takes the glass, bids you a safe journey home, and vanishes back into her house.
“Sorry it took me so long. Got caught up with some of Jay's friends,” you explain, pushing past Ravi to get to the door. He trails gratefully out after you. The moment you pull the door open a brisk winter wind tumbles inside, brushing against his face and soothing some of the warmth.
“It’s fine,” Ravi says, and then realizes how short he sounds. He clumsily rushes on, stumbling, not wanting to hurt you–especially because it is fine, he agreed to this, he just wants to go home, “I’m…not very good at these things.”
You lean in and press a kiss to his lips. His eyes flicker shut and he immediately melts into it. Your lips are gentle against his. Warm—but nothing like the sweltering heat inside the house. This heat is pleasant, liquid, and it takes all he has not to swoon like a teenager with their first crush.
Your touch is grounding. For the first time in half an hour he feels solid; like a human being rather than a ghost hovering at the fringes of reality. He reluctantly pulls away, because the two of you can't make out in Yasmin's front yard, but he's left smiling.
Ravi steps around you, off of the porch and toward the sidewalk. You start to follow, but before you get far you stop short. He glances back. What…?
Ah.
The night sky stretches overhead, precisely the color of ash. You stare upward, head tilted as you take it in. Snow twirls on the breeze. Ravi makes note of the wind, the amount of snow falling. Not bad enough yet that he should worry–you should still be able to get home safely.
“Is this it, then?” You turn and ask.
“The Squall? Not yet. This is just…winter."
"Hm."
You reach a gloved hand out. Snowflakes land and start beading on the thick yarn, the cold bolstering them, saving them from melting into oblivion. Ravi watches you, fondness wiping away all of his panic and discomfort until all that remains is affection welling in his throat. He wants to kiss you. He wants to wrap his arms around you, pull you down into the snow, feel your face pressed against his neck. He wants to—
The wind picks up. It turns the snowflakes sharp. Minuscule shards of glass that slice and cut. They sting at his eyes, at his cheeks, and he knows that the longer you both stay out here, the more risks you’re taking.
He wants to take you home.
Your safety is paramount. Typically Ravi could keep you safe from anything the Fog might throw at you. He knows it and it knows him. It wouldn't take you from him, and is curious about you on top of it all. It would only hurt you to keep you.
He hopes.
But the Squall is different. It's something wild and untamed, something that goes beyond his connection to the Fog. Better not to mess with it, to get you somewhere secure to ride out the storm.
Ravi turns to tell you that it’s time you both get to the hearse, but before he gets the chance he finds you crouching at the edge of the sidewalk. You’re bent over, faced enough away from him that he’s unsure what your hands are doing. He hesitates for just a moment before slowly approaching. Did you drop something?
You turn a mischievous smile up at him and whip something in his direction. A bundle of snow, wet and cold and altogether unpleasant, smacks him in between the eyes. He takes a stumbling step back. His hand darts up to his glasses, foggy and beading with sudden moisture. 
“Oh, shit, Ravi, I didn’t mean to hit you in the face!” you gasp.
You rush up to him. He ensures his glasses are in one piece and wipes away some of the snow. He meets your eye and finds you holding back amusement. Ravi smiles at you–the smile that is just for you, nobody else gets to see him so soft–and it gives you permission to laugh. The sound tumbles out of you like music.
Maybe he can be reckless, just for tonight. The Squall won’t come until morning, not truly, and he wants this moment to last forever.
Ravi takes one calculating look at the snow piled up on the yard before wrapping his arms around you and throwing you both to the ground. It takes you by surprise and you let out another breathless peal of laughter, this one a little scared and a little excited, as you both tumble into the snow bank. The snow cushions the fall and he lands, his face pressed against the icy wetness, his arms still holding you tight.
“Call this my revenge,” he announces, satisfied by the surprised look on your face.
“Bastard,” you grin, but it holds no bite.
The world comes to a pause. Snow falls all around you both. He feels the coolness of it on his cheeks. Watches it bead in your hair and on your collar like droplets of water, except the flakes are crystalline and lovely. The night air is fresh and clean-smelling. Quiet.
It’s his turn to kiss you.
Ravi doesn’t have to go far to catch your lips in his. You’re bundled together in the snow, clutched close to his chest, like the precious thing you are. He wishes he could keep you there. 
He kisses you, and it’s warmth and joy and peace and relief. The party doesn’t matter. The Squall doesn’t matter. All that matters is the way you press your face close when he cups your cheek with a gloved hand. The feeling of your lips, hot and sweet as they brush against his. You pull back for just a moment, your lips still ghosting over his, and he can taste your breath.
“We should stay here forever,” Ravi whispers.
“In Yasmin’s yard?” you tease, giving him another quick kiss, snaking your hand behind his head until your fingers are tangled in his hair. His breath catches in his throat. He watches you, enraptured, as you add, “Not the best place to ride out a blizzard.”
“They wouldn’t find us until spring,” he joins in on the fun, playfully tapping his forehead against yours, “It’s romantic.”
“On that terrifying note,” you smile, rolling onto your back and sitting up. You brush some of the snow off of your shoulders. He doesn’t want you to leave, doesn’t want to be responsible. Just a little while longer. Wind howls through the trees, though, and you’re right. The longer you stay out here, the worse the storm is going to get.
Ravi detaches himself from the snowbank, clamoring to his feet. He holds out his hand and, when you take it, pulls you upward. You smile and hook his arm into yours. Press yourself tight against his side. Maybe it isn’t staying curled up together in the snow, but it’s incredible. You’re here. You’re together. 
Now you just have to ride out the storm.
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the temptation to write the fic that's been floating in my mind for a while...I think as early as before the war.
"You're overwhelmed."
and it's either Al-Haitham or Jing Yuan there to gently guide you through the whole mess.
Jing Yuan would probably take a quick scan of everything, predict your to do list based off of it, then determine the best course of action for your health. In like the span of 1 or 2 minutes at most.
Jing Yuan's the guy that would sit on the floor with you, take your hands in his, and when that causes the dam to finally burst (which is a problem because you're too busy to cry right now) would in a soothing tone, walk you through the order of what needs to happen. He'll help you figure out your priorities all while rubbing soothing circles into your skin, and will take on the parts of your load that he can.
You need food? He'll take care of it. Things are a mess? He'll get things picked up enough that its not stressful anymore. You don't have any more clean clothes? He's got that covered too.
When it comes to delegation the man knows what's up. He's got a solid war plan, and with Yanqing's assistance he's managed to complete at least half of the tasks that he can take off your hands, and the rest are to be completed likely within the next hour or few hours.
Expect a warm meal and soothing tea after you get showered, because that was the first thing he had you do. See you'd been busy enough to neglect your hygiene enough to stress you out too. So when you're feeling notably refreshed after your shower, and your meal, and seeing as the domestic tasks have been taken care of while you took care of your hygiene, your stress levels, are much lower.
He absolutely will let you bend his ear over all that's stressing you out, especially if you're working on something with a deadline and you're stuck. Will be someone you can bounce ideas off of.
When things finally calm down enough that you have the time to cry, he will hold you as you sob it all out. As awful as the situation is, he's relieved that you're getting it out of your system via tears. Of course if you start apologizing for needing help, he'll hug you tighter and set you straight. He is honored to be someone that you can be vulnerable with and is genuinely delighted to be able to support you...he is your husband.
____________________
Al-Haitham, similarly, takes you and your surroundings in:
the research papers strewn around you
the multitude of half-drunk cups: tea, water, juice, herbal tea
the crumbs of food that likely wasn't enough to sustain you
the piles of papers and books with all sorts of random objects in them to mark the pages for your research
the sink
your laundry basket
your dull hair, and disheveled pyjamas/housewear
your exhausted expression
It doesn't take him more than 2 minutes as well to figure out the ideal course of action. He also decides that you starting with a shower would be for the best.
He has to debate you to get you up, choosing not to touch you in your overwhelmed state. Because you don't have time to shower, you have a deadline. You don't have time for all these things. However using logic and reason, he somehow managed to get your to comply despite your very compromised state.
Al-Haitham as well, despite not liking to take on too much work, will, for your sake, delegate all tasks that don't require your specific attention to himself and get through them efficiently. He's systematic about it: first he ensures you have food to eat, after which he ensures that your living space is relaxing and comfortable by cleaning and organizing things according to your own preferences (yes he remembers). Your laundry is also taken care of alongside his. The cups, the dishes in the sink and those distributed throughout the house as well will be collected and washed.
Depending on how long your shower is he'll have everything done or at the very least the food and initial sweep of the area. He makes sure to have food with you, so you feel less alone. He will do those dishes too.
You're not having any coffee. Any tea he gives you is herbal. Bibi* used to say chamomile was good for sleep, maybe it'll help you relax. (Bibi is what Iraqis call their grandmothers, and given he's named after an Iraqi physicist).
With Al-Haitham he can also assist with your research and your paper, so he does help with providing sources and information for your paper. In fact you can rant to him and like the scribe he is, he'll take notes, and provide advice.
Will hug you if you ask. Will be your body double to help you get through things. He might even sacrifice some sleep to be by your side for a little longer if you're working late, but not too long, he'll eventually turn in, and encourage you to turn in too.
Tumblr MasterList Here | Ao3 here
Please feel free to leave me a comment or feedback. I may actually turn this into a fic if I get the time!
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jollyhunter · 2 days ago
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24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 24.
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YOU VOTED FOR A WHOLESOME FAMILY CHRISTMAS DINNER ! Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader
Warnings: SFW - None! Enjoy your first Christmas together ♡ (English is not my native language)
Summary: Imagine Dean at your family Christmas dinner. (Spoiler: It's chaos and lots of adorable fluff)
Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! And let me know whether you enjoy it so far! <3 A/N: Not me skipping prompts to post in time for Christmas. (I'll post the remaining ones over time). Also, I decided to go for a family dinner at reader's place because I've already seen so many absolutely wholesome bunker-family christmas!
24th Dec. - "Our Baby"
Dean’s genuinely nervous about this entire family dinner business. He’s not used to it and he’s secretly terrified that he’ll screw up (He plays it cool though, masking it with his usual bravado “Honey, I hunt vamps for breakfast, I think I can deal with some rug rats and a bunch of aunties and grannies.”)
You get dragged under the mistletoe at least ten times, just so he can pull you into a deep, passionate kiss
Dean and you make up a fake story about how you met, and try to sell it to your family (he’s playing the mechanic as always)
Every time your hair finally has been combed to a presentable look, Dean swoops in and ruffles it again (‘cuz annoying you is just his way of saying I love you ♡)
Dean, your dad and your uncle try to chop up the massive frozen turkey which won’t fit into the oven, while everyone else watches them swear and work through every knife and meat cleaver the kitchen has to offer (it ends up with Dean using a chainsaw - cutting through the frozen body with uncannily well practise as your dad remarks impressed (and to be honest a bit freaked))
Dean rolls back his sleeves and shoots you a discreet, knowing wink before he starts to hack the poor frozen bird into pieces
Whenever he can, he holds your hand, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb (to secretly calm his nerves)
He gives you a light, teasing push whenever you say something cheeky, meanwhile he likes to poke fun at your annoying cousin and enjoys how he can get them all riled up
Dean sneaks his arm under the tablecloth to place a hand on your thigh during dinner (and you almost choke on the meat one time when he teasingly cups you right between the legs)
He pulls you away from the family and into a quiet corner in the house, where he can press you up against the wall and kiss you senseless
You laugh at Dean as your little niece tries to climb onto his lap and he looks at you helpless (Once she's perched on his knee, he gives you a mock-annoyed side glance and quips, “Damn rug rats. We're never gettin' one of those.” But his proud smile betrays him)
The amount of times your stuck-up aunt yells “language!” across the table at Dean (And Dean savouring every time he manages to drive her up the wall)
You swat Dean’s hand away every time he attempts to steal food off your plate (He snaps at you offended, "C'mon! That meat's gonna grow legs by the time you touch it!" "It's been 5 minutes, Dean.")
You frantically try to keep Dean from starting a drunken fight by stuffing more turkey in his mouth (which just leads to an eating contest - which Dean wins, of course)
Dean and your grandpa suddenly disappear from the dinner table (Dean was getting roped into helping your grandpa with fixing his old car in the garage)
Dean tugs you by the hand to sneak away after dinner, dragging you into the bathroom to make out with you against the sink
He accidentally calls out your mom’s name while you’re in the middle of some frisky business (Dean goes crimson red, but thankfully you burst out laughing)
You try and succeed to get Dean to wear one of those awful Christmas sweaters your grandmother knit (You bribe him with pie. “I want an entire pie. Not a meager slice. Not cake. Pie. Nuthin’ less.” )
At the family photo session Dean feels a bit lost and awkward. He swiftly pulls you in front of him so he can rest his chin on your head and you can discreetly stroke his arms wrapped around your waist
You notice how Dean silently mouths the lyrics of Zep's 'Ramble On' next to you (Because he's not used to singing carols)
Dean and you steal wine in the middle of the night and get drunk on the terrace (You end up in an intense snowball fight and Dean tackling you off the terrace into a heap of snow)
You tipsily try to teach Dean how to dance when you're alone but he trips over his own two feet, which makes you trip over his feet, which leads to you both crashing into the Christmas tree your aunt had spent so much money on (You two spend the next 2 hours desperately trying to fix the damn tree before your family returns from church)
Once everyone opens their presents, Dean gently pulls you onto his lap and tells you to close your eyes. His hand disappears in his jackets pocket and moments later pushes a small object into your hands on your lap. “’Kay you can look now, honey.” he says, unusually nervous, his chin resting on your shoulder. You hold a small, palm-sized, wooden box in your hand, handmade by Dean. You push it open and your eyes widen, “Wait- are those?” You look from the gift up to Dean, mouth hanging open, “Baby’s keys?” “Yep.” He grins, “I figured it was time for you to take her for a spin. Y’know… ” His arms wrap tightly around your stomach as he pulls you further back against his chest to nuzzle his nose against the side of your face, his voice dropping to a half-whisper, “She’s our Baby now.”
Dean and you sneak out to take a drive, Dean taking shotgun while he watches you carefully run your hands along the steering wheel like he entrusted you with his most valuable possession. His face softens and even if he can’t put it in words, he’s come to realize that his most valuable possession will always be you.
Extras:
Your 5 year old nephew beams across the room, "Mummy, uncle Dean gave me a balloon!" You blink at Dean in surprise and confusion, "You gave Tim a balloon?" Dean leans back in his chair and frowns, "What? No? The hell would I-" his eyes widen and his hands move back to frantically pat down his jeans back-pockets, "Shit - Damn rug rat-" He's cut short by your cousin's appalled screams in the background, seconds later you both scramble for cover while a giggling Timmy runs around the living room with an inflated XL condom in his hands.
For some reason your cousin keeps shoving her baby into Dean’s arms, gushing all over him, “Isn’t he the cutest? Hold him, it’s your turn,” she chirps cheerfully. “I-” Dean is taken off guard and awkwardly accepts the kid. He takes on a look of panic as he stares down at it before he shoots you a death glance that says: “help me”
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Masterlist of opened windows:
1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke 10th Dec. - Barbie World 11th Dec. - Temptation ... (check the masterlist for more!)
Tags:
@ariasong11 @deansjacket @literallylexa @lmpala1967 @foxyjwls007 @impala67rollingthroughtown
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nilfgaardianleviosa · 2 days ago
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I wrote a short one-shot to commemorate Catviman, because he's amazing and I love him. Thank you, @rivaerys, for letting me do something for your art! Just in time for Levi's b-day, too.
More than Just a Hobby 1.3k words, 5 min read, mostly fluff Tw: Cat-calling, short instance of being followed
“Come on, pretty lady. Where you going?”
You hugged your purse tighter across your body, walking briskly down the dark street. This creep had been following you for the past five blocks now. There was no one else around. You had deliberately avoided going straight to your house, trying to think of a way to shake the guy or at least call the cops before he caught up to you. 
Damnit, where the hell was your phone?
His voice came closer than before. “I promise to show you a good time.”
You ignored him, digging through your purse. When your fingers finally brushed the glass screen, you internally rejoiced. But then, not a second later, the creep was practically on top of you. He caught your wrist and sneered in your face, smelling strongly of alcohol and cigarettes. “Whatcha got in there, huh?”
“L-Let go!”
He tightened his grip, and the thought of screaming finally came to mind, but something beat you to the punch. 
Meow!!
There was a flash of black, and your stalker lurched away, screaming as a small cat latched onto his face. It yeowled and hissed, paws flying as it viciously clawed at his eyes. You stumbled back in shock, watching the man grasp and struggle, trying unsuccessfully to rip the feral cat off of him. 
Then, right as you thought you might have understood what was going on, a man clad in black appeared next to you. He stepped forward and delivered a swift roundhouse kick to the stalker’s torso. 
“Gwaahhh!” The stalker fell to the ground in a heap, and the cat jumped away, gracefully landing on the pavement. The man wallowed in pain on the sidewalk, clutching his bleeding face.
The events were jarring enough to make you cry out in confusion. “Oh my goodness!”
“Calm down, please,” said the man in black, adjusting his gloves. Directing your attention to him revealed a sight that you couldn’t quite believe.
There, standing with his arms crossed, was Catviman. 
The mysterious hero of the city. An infamous crime fighter known far and wide. Although he worked outside the law, the police sometimes relied on him to catch the city’s toughest criminals. A few times you had been lucky enough to see the giant cat-shaped spotlight they beamed into the sky during times of need. You had pictures of it on your cell phone to show off to your friends. They would never believe this. 
Catviman was…shorter than you had imagined. He was wearing his signature cat-eared helmet and red goggles over his eyes. The shine of his leather suit bulged with lean muscles, and to top off the classic Catviman look you had seen in the papers, there was a deep scowl set into his face. 
It was really him. 
As you searched for words to say, his cat trotted over. He leaned down to let it jump onto his shoulder, and you noticed for the first time that it was wearing a tiny white cravat. 
“Are you alright?” he asked, standing up straight and reaching up to scratch the cat’s cheek. It purred and happily craned its neck to get more scritches under the chin. 
This was surreal. “Uh—yeah. Thanks, for saving me.”
“Don’t mention it.” He pulled out a phone and dialed a number before putting it to his ear. “Hey, it’s me. Got another one, corner of fiftieth and Rainey.” As he went to hang up, someone shouted at him from the other line. 
“Damnit Catviman! Can we have five minutes to—“ 
Click. 
“Cops’ll be here soon,” he said, pocketing the phone. “You’ll need to give them a witness report. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Oh, okay.” You stood there in silence for a moment, still in a bit of shock. The stalker groaned, writhing in pain on the ground. Then you remembered your manners. “Is there anything I can do to thank you? I do have some cash…” You began to dig for your wallet, but he held a hand out to stop you. 
“Please don’t worry about it. I’m not here for your money.”
You looked at him, a bit wide-eyed. “Then what should I give you?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded once, completely straight faced. “Positive.”
Wow, Catviman wasn’t just a crime fighter, he had a heart of gold. But even if this was just a hobby for him, you didn’t want to walk away without showing some appreciation. “Well, at least let me thank your cat for saving me.”
Catviman raised his shoulder, bouncing his sidekick slightly as he gave it a dirty look. “Psh, this guy? He gets spoiled enough with treats.”
You walked closer anyway, reaching your hand out and giving him a questioning look. “Maybe just some pets then?”
“Uh, sure.”
You let the cat sniff your fingers before going up to scratch his head. He happily closed his eyes in response, purring loudly and tilting his head when you rubbed his ears. “Aw, you’re so sweet. Thank you for saving me, Mister.”
“His name is Nightwing.”
“How cute!” You leaned in to let the cat touch his nose to yours, leaving you smiling when you turned to meet Catviman’s eyes. His gaze was intense from underneath the red goggles. You took in a breath, realizing how close you had gotten just by petting his sidekick. Catviman was really quite handsome. “Um, he’s really sweet.”
“Yeah.” His voice was deep and smooth. It gave you a sense of comfort and familiarity. 
You blushed. “Can I, uh, can I give you something, too?”
“Like what?”
“A small token of my appreciation?”
Catviman stared at you for another moment, unsure of what to say. You touched his arm and leaned forward, and he tensed. “What are you—“
Before he could react, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek. One fit for a hero. 
Catviman huffed as you pulled away, rubbing his cheek as the other one turned a shocking shade of pink. “That’s…you didn’t have to do that.”
“But I wanted to. It’s the least I could do.”
“Tch, alright.”
He regained his poise and met your gaze, and you felt a tug at your heart. Something about this mysterious masked man enticed you beyond words. Maybe you could ask for his number, just in case you needed to call him, with an emergency of course. 
A police siren chirped, and red and blue lights flashed brightly throughout the street. You turned to watch a cop car pull up next to the curb. Two disgruntled officers climbed out and began to walk over.
“You alright, ma’am?” one asked. 
“Yes, I’m fine.” You turned to give Catviman the credit for your well-being, but the street was empty save for your stalker. 
Catviman was gone. 
That night, you dreamed of a cat-eared helmet and a tiny cravat, and of getting to thank Catviman with a proper kiss. His strong arms would have wrapped around you, holding you in a safe embrace as his lips met yours over and over again. Just like the romantic scenes in the superhero movies. 
But maybe he was destined to be the one that got away.
Nonetheless, in the morning you felt incredibly happy. Thankful to just be safe, and to know that someone amazing had saved you, even if he didn’t share the same interest you had for him. 
When you walked into the break room at work, itching to tell someone your story, you were ecstatic to see your favorite cat-loving coworker making his morning tea. 
“Levi! You’ll never guess what happened to me last night.”
He turned, leaning on the counter with a mug in his hands, and he gave you that signature bored look. “Please make it interesting this time.”
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…catviman
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