#but all of the translations are otherwise done

[ashkabbom]

Temporary stresses - Mouthwashing

A/n: I disappeared but I'm back. I finished school and I'm officially on vacation 😋. I had another idea initially, but then I gave up writing to Curly with that one.🎀 Tell me if I wrote something wrong, English is not my first language and I use a translator a lot.

I wanted a story with a happy ending, although it wasn't supposed to end 100% like that 😭

Versão em português no wattpad: Livro de One Shots - Mouthwashing (Conta: ashkabbom)

•Captain Curly x Fem!Reader

Summary/Synopsis: You hate being emotionally raw and your husband has been acting strange lately.

Notes: I wrote this with a happy ending, but in situations like this stress can actually be very dangerous, so be careful if you are going to do this to someone or if you are the person to receive this one day.

You were uncomfortable, to say the least.

It had been seconds, minutes, HOURS, since he had answered you, he avoided you whenever he could! The worst part is that you don't know the reason for all this, even though you told him to tell you when something was bothering him.

He's been acting kind of strange since yesterday. It seemed like you were the only one who was out of touch with all that nervousness and discomfort.

You had been a bit paranoid for some time now, because of these attitudes you didn't know if you had done something and it was eating you alive.

Searching through all your memories and finding nothing you realize you did wrong. Maybe he just got tired?

"I did everything like I always did..." You were rambling on to yourself. Maybe you said something wrong? You know very well that words, no matter how simple they are sometimes, can hurt.

This was all giving you a huge headache and leaving you a mess of emotions. You were just too exhausted.

You were out of the house now, on your lunch break from work, messing around on your phone for a few minutes, more specifically texting your husband, hoping he would answer you like he always did.

He didn't answer you properly, the messages were short and seemed more direct than ever, your husband didn't write and talk to you like that. God, you just wanted to go home.

"You've got that look on your face again." You hear your co-worker, Linda, say and let out a sigh. "What happened now?"

"This is the fourth time we've seen you with that sad, sullen puppy face in the space of 15 minutes," her other friend, Charlotte, says..

"Do you think I'm old?" You ask suddenly.

"What happened to 'Hi friend, I missed you too'? It doesn't exist anymore?" The first woman says.

"Exactly, calm down. You're not old, you're perfect for your age. And old age comes to everyone! It's inevitable." The second friend explains with a raised eyebrow.

"But now it's so different... When we met I was different, my hair, my body... My age..."

"Girl, seriously, what happened? You haven't had these low self-esteem spikes in months, you were so happy" Charlotte says with a sad tone, sitting down next to you.

"That's the problem, I don't know what happened... Since yesterday Curly has been acting a bit strange, avoiding me and being vague at times, but at the same time he's been very short and direct." You think about what your morning had been like that day.

"Oh my, don't be like that, men are a mess all by themselves. I'm not going to put ideas in your head, but let us know if you need help with that." Linda says, running her hand over your back.

"You're still as beautiful as the day you met, so don't worry. If he's going blind and can't see it, take the trash out of your house before it starts stinking up the whole house" Charlotte says, making it clear what she originally meant.

"I just don't know if something happened and he didn't tell me, if I did something and he was uncomfortable..." You love your husband with all your heart, otherwise you wouldn't have married him.

"Girl, put your cards on the table and that man against the wall, if something is going on he will tell you, he is not a lying man" Charlotte advises you in a lighter way now.

"She's right, you have to talk to him, but really talk to him. Just starting a conversation with him won't make him tell you anything... Ask what's going on and if everything is okay." Linda hugs you affectionately. Honestly, maybe this stress is just in your head? You don't know.

"Okay okay, but I'll do it after work, there's still a few more hours until it's time to leave." Grumbling you and your friends get up, heading towards the door while talking about anything now.

You don't know what you would do without them.

Hours had passed since that conversation, it was already getting dark and you were driving home almost completely peacefully.

Being with your friends relieved you a lot, but you still had a little bit of a nagging feeling, not to mention that you also knew that life is not a strawberry and anything can happen.

You were together for 11 years, dating for 4 years and married for 7 years. There was no reason for it all to go down the drain. At least you told yourself that.

You had texted him earlier, saying you were going home now... He hadn't even seen the message, but that's okay! Sometimes he's just busy with... Anything, you think.

Parking the car, you sigh, You hated feeling as tired as you had been feeling lately, you wish you could enjoy some of your time at home instead of just passing out in bed. On the bright side, you were on vacation from your job in 2 days. Just two more days.

Today you would confront him! You would know what was going on with him lately and everything would be okay! Everything has to be okay.

You open the door to the living room and notice the loud silence, seeping through your entire house. You didn't have a good feeling about this..

"Curly? Love?" You call out as you walk through the door and into the room, feeling a little anxious.

You turn to the kitchen and then–

"SURPRISE!" Some voices say/scream at the same time, scaring you at first, but then you notice the cake on the table, balloons, birthday hats, coxinha and other things on the table.

A wave of relief washes over you.

It was your birthday today.

"Happy birthday my love, you don't know how much- Wow, hey, hey! What happened? Why are you crying?" Your husband's cheerful tone soon fades, quickly replaced by a tone of concern.

You hadn't even realized that the wave of relief had brought you to tears, you were crying.

Did something happen? Is she okay?" Anya, Curly's work friend and maid of honor at your wedding a few years ago, asks worriedly, approaching.

"Honey, is something hurting?! Do you need anything? Anything at all? Do you need to go to the hospital?" He was quick to come closer, putting his arms around you as he checked your body with his tender and concerned gaze. God, this was all you wanted.

You try to explain, through your tears, that you're okay, that everything is okay now.

"I thought-" You stop to sniff a few times "I thought you were mad at me. Acting different and distant."

"I told you you sounded thick, but it's amazing how your head doesn't work sometimes." You hear Swansea's voice and let out a laugh through your tears.

"I'm so happy that everything is okay and that you're not mad at me." You explain as you wipe away your tears, soon feeling Curly's hand on your cheek while the other rests on your waist.

"I'm sorry my love, I would never be mad or upset with you, a thousand apologies darling" He says as he peppers your face with kisses, apologizing several times. "Please, I'm so sorry"

"We told him to hide it and not tell you or give you any hints about your surprise party and such, since last time he ended up telling you... But I think asking him to disguise himself wasn't... the best idea" Daisuke says as he analyzes the situation with a disappointed face.

You laugh a little and soon they join you, then a small silence arises, but it is quickly broken.

"So?" Swansea begins

""Is everything okay in there?" Anya asks, looking at you calmly and with a little concern. "Are you feeling any pain?"

"How are you and she?" Daisuke asks in the most direct way.

You sniff one last time and look down, running your hand over your belly.

"I will never make you cry like that again." He finishes with a peck on the lips and runs his hand over your belly. "I will never worry the two girls in my life again. I promise"

You look at him fondly. "We're fine, we just went through a hurricane today and yesterday." You laugh lightly. "Now let's eat this cake, I'm hungry for two."

The others laugh at your answer and soon everyone gathers around the table to celebrate your birthday.

You really hope you never have to go through that worry again, not even Curly would do it again.

You have the most caring husband and your daughter would have the best dad.

[jenndubya]

Avex, did you really need to pad out the blu-ray this much?

[084392]

the gang turns into pokemon. idk

[raiiny-bay]

ei bebe mostra teu sim ruivinho no cas por favor

hi! i don't know Portuguese, so please forgive me if i've misunderstood what you're asking & feel free to send another ask if that's the case!

anyway! this is what kel looks like in cas (& a bonus blender screenshot for comparison bc... why not)

honestly, i haven't touched my game in a while so the cas screenshot is a couple years old, but it's the only one i could find so it'll have to do lol i never really mess with the boys' in-game models anymore, so he should still look more or less the same

but. yea! thanks for the ask! :-)

[dnangelic]

doing my fuckignn PART for the dnangel community ( total of extremely dedicated 5 ppl)

[kittyhazelnut]

.

[kaidatheghostdragon]

Found this while going through my fanfic files, and i absolutely had to share.

Danny: i want in

Red robin: …what?

Danny: your bat family. I want in.

Red robin, blinking in surprise: i dont know what you think you know about my associates, but we're not-

Danny: dont be obtuse. I know youre the smart one. And i also know that your all one big relatively happy family. I want in.

Red robin: …why?

Danny: because you guys are the first people ive found that are wealthy, intelligent and powerful enough to take on my fruitloop godfather and win AND are decent enough human beings that i can be assured that when all is said and done, my well-being will remain a top priority.

Orphan, appearing out of nowhere: new brother!

Danny: *stares in shock*

Danny: *sudden uncanny grin* well that's one convinced. How do i win over the rest?

Orphan: no need. New brother!

Red robin: *pointed glance of betrayal* fine. Who is your godfather?

Danny: vlad masters. He's a fruitloop.

Red robin: for real? B's been investigating him for years! Tell me everything! *genuinely excited for a new lead*

Danny: well, he's tried to murder my dad and marry my mom, gained his wealth illegally, committed voting fraud to become the mayor of my hometown, has a secret underground lab where he does unethical experiments, and he's abducted me more than a dozen times even before my parents disowned me to make me his evil apprentice or whatever. Now that im homeless, he's literally out to get me. Oh! And he's cloned me too! She's cool though, we're buddies now.

Batman, who just arrived but heard everything over comms: hn. (Translation: who are you?)

Danny: my name is Danny. No last name anymore, but im hoping itll soon be Wayne! *winking suggestively*

Batman: hn? (how much do you know?)

Danny: enough to know that youre a much better alternative to vlad.

Batman: …hn (i dont know anything about you. What if youre a spy for vlad?)

Danny, giving his salesman pitch: i was a teen vigilante in amity park before i had to run away from home for my own safety. Vlad is one of my rogues. I know how to fight and defend myself, how to minimize collateral damage in a fight, and ive gotten really good and escaping kidnapping attempts. Ive also managed to reform and/or make allies out of approximately half of my rogues and can talk down about 30% of all rogue confrontations before they turn into a messy fight. The other things i can bring to the table are: one, i can teach all of you guys proper liminality self care; two, i can probably minimize and possibly cure red hood's anger issues; three, i can get along with stabby robin because i consider fighting a friendly social interaction - he can even stab me and i wont be injured by it; four, i can be your go-to guy for supernatural cases so you no longer have to deal with that sad trenchcoat man; five-

Red robin: *blurting* youre hired.

Batman: hn (i am deeply concerned)

Danny: if youre concerned now, wait until i tell you about the anti ecto control act

Nightwing, who showed up in the middle of the sales pitch: ive never seen anyone crack B's grunt language so quickly

Danny: grunt language? He's just using ghost speak - which will be covered by the liminality self care lessons

Robin, who arrived with batman: what is a liminal?

Danny: all of you, of course! Otherwise you wouldnt need to learn about it, obviously

Robin: and why would we trust you?

Danny: did i mention i have a pet ghost dog?

Robin: …you drive a hard bargain

Danny, fist pumping: yes! That's three!

Nightwing: four, you got me when you could understand B's grunting

Red Hood, arrived with nightwing: five, assuming you arent lying about the pit rage

Danny, hand to his chest: i would never!

Orphan: honesty. Earnest. New brother.

Oracle, over comms: six. The anti ecto acts are legit and im terrified for his safety, assuming he's phantom, who is the vigilante of amity park

Spoiler, arrived with orphan: seven, as long as youre down for a few pranks

Batman: hn (ive been outvoted)

Batman: hnn (i dont wanna hear any jokes about adoption habits when you all forced my hand)

Batman: hn (that said)

Batman: welcome to the family

Duke, the next day: man, i miss out on everything exciting.

Duke, blinded by danny: and who the fuck told bruce he could adopt the fucking sun?!

[kisses4reid]

understand? pt. 1 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you’re a polyglot translator assigned to work for the bau in a cross-national case, and there’s a doctor who wants to impress you.

genre - fem!reader, SHE/HER r, fluff, meet cute, you know more than spencer and he’s attracted to that

warnings - you're both awkward, mentions of gross case file photos, little research about polyglots actually done so there are inaccuracies, cliffhanger for part 2.

w/c - 1.4k

a/n - thank you for the req anon!! there was multiple parts to this but i really like the first idea so that’s what this fic is about, might keep the other idea for later hehe. i did change some aspects. love you, thank you for the support <33 there will be multiple parts!!! stay tuned!!!

req - hi pia 💞💝🩷💓 how r u? i hope you’re feeling wonderful! this is my first time requesting smthg i apologize if i get something wrong! i’ve been having 2 thoughts about spencer x fem!reader, where reader is a russian translator and idk they meet cute or she has to work with the bau helping them on a case. just wanted to give these ideas to you, obviously feel free to do anything with them! i really enjoy your work and your writing is incredible! i have your notifications on so i am always reading whatever you post! have a great day pia 💝 lots n lots of kisses for u!

This was not what you expected. 

You, a woman in your late twenties that spent most of her time in a room listening to voices and decoding foreign messages, didn’t know what you expected. But this: a scary boss, an italian old man, and a skinny college kid, was not it. 

“Y/n L/n? I’m Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief, and this is Agent Rossi and Doctor Agent Reid.” 

You nodded your head, thick hair covering your top eyelashes as you glanced at the men. Agent Rossi shook your hand, and Dr Reid simply stood and gawked at you. To be honest, it made you worried. You had been warned this was a close knit team, that they trusted each other more than anything and that you shouldn’t get attached to any of them as you’d only be assisting them for one case.

Maybe they just didn’t warm up to new people. 

“I’ll do your formal introduction to the rest of the team now, if you’re settled down.” He asks cooly. You like the way his voice rasps, it’s assertive yet comforting. 

“Yes, of course. I can’t wait.” You smiled reassuringly at the unit chief, not ignoring the raised eyebrow you received from the silent young man now behind you.

Aaron Hotchner, your new boss for the next week or so, lead you to a large room with a circular table sat in the middle. There were two other women, one blonde and one raven haired, and another bald man that glanced at you immediately after you entered. They smiled at you and trailed your steps to where you stood beside the unit chief in front of a large TV screen.

“Everyone, this is Agent Y/n L/n. She’ll be assisting us with the Becker case you’ve all been informed of. She’ll mainly be our translator and interpreter, but she’ll also be useful for cultural identifiers and anything that we wouldn’t notice otherwise.” 

You nodded along, never being a fan of introductions since you moved to America as a small child. 

“This is JJ, our liaison, Agent Emily Prentiss and Agent Derek Morgan.” 

The ladies smiled at you, in fact all of them did. They were surprisingly open to the fact you would be joining them, the fact made your shoulders loosen and a breath to be let out discreetly. 

Next, you were on a long plane flight to Maine with Agents you had known for little under two hours, conversing about victim profiles and motives. The table in front of the ladies and your boss was strewn with victim files and gruesome photos. And while you weren’t a stranger to the dangers and violence the job brought, you had gotten comfortable with only hearing about it and not seeing it. So you opted to hover around the table and stay silent, you weren’t a trained profiler after all, just a translator.  

There was a wave of cologne that disrupted your senses, causing you to angle your head back, only to be greeted by the tall doctor. 

You smiled softly, assuming the closeness was due to the aeroplane's arrangement. Also because you got the vibe that Spencer didn’t like you. 

“Are you okay? You seem uneasy,” he asked. It was the first time you heard his voice. And it was as adolescent as you imagined for someone so young, but it had a sophisticated edge to it, with a honey-like undertone. Finding things in voices as if they were perfumes was something you unconsciously started to do since working as a translator.

“I’m fine.” You grinned reassuringly, turning back to focus on the team’s findings. 

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows slightly and stepped away, sitting down beside Morgan who had taken a seat at the back. Morgan squinted at his friend, noticing the rare confusion splayed on his face as he stared in your direction. 

“What’s up? Pretty girl got your tongue?” Morgan removed his headphones with a cheeky smile displayed on his handsome face.

“For someone who specialises in languages she doesn’t talk much.” 

Morgan smirked, “Maybe not to you.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong though.” Spencer ripped his gaze off the back of your head.

“You’ve been staring at her since she walked through those doors. You were so distracted you didn’t even greet her this morning.” Morgan pointed out. Spencer tilted his head confused, a small blush creeping up his neck. “I watched the whole thing from the conference room, so did JJ and Emily.” 

The tall boy slumped in his chair and forced himself to look out of the plane’s window, avoiding a reply to Morgan as he knew it would only result in more teasing. You were physically attractive, everyone could see that, but the thing that caught Spencer’s attention was your intelligence. He was no stranger to being a polyglot, he learnt languages for fun, but you were simply next level. Morgan studied Spencer’s face for a second before raising his attention to your hovering state. “Agent Y/n L/n.” Morgan called, causing Spencer to widen his eyes and immediately adjust his slumped position in his plane seat. You turned your head in surprise, slightly confused why you would be needed anywhere else than the files you had been translating for the past two minutes. Your heels were silent against the carpeted floors, but Spencer could sense your presence anyways. 

“How many languages do you speak?” The stoic man asked, his eyes darting between you and the doctor below you. You were not short, your genes didn’t allow for it, but you had noticed you were only taller than JJ and Rossi in the team and it felt foreign to not tower over everyone. “Um, I speak 8 languages fluently, and 4 languages semi-fluently.” You stated, readying to turn back to assist the team before Morgan spoke up once again

“Did you know that pretty boy can speak Spanish and German?” 

Before Spencer could help himself, he corrected the man, “And Latin and Russian,” Spencer turned his head up to you, “But I can understand more.” 

You smiled, genuinely impressed and confused on how a man that young could learn that much. But to be fair, you were in the same boat. The nickname got your attention, locking it in the back of your mind to remind yourself that the people you were working with did in fact have senses of humour, and weren’t just heartless officers. There wasn’t any reason to think that though, as you had been cared for with respect and even Prentiss made a funny remark beforehand. It sort of felt like a family dinner you were intruding on. “That’s impressive, Doctor Reid.” You reply genuinely. 

“I mean it’s nothing compared to you though,” his voice was pitched slightly higher and his hands started motioning to nothing in particular, “your brain is constantly changing from high activity to low activity when you're translating from one language to another. Your language network, the lateral frontal lobe, is constantly lighting up and dimming down depending on what language you hear, ordinary people’s language networks only turn on and off.” 

Morgan smirked and glanced up at your intrigued and surprised expression. You nodded, a small blush coating the tips of your ears as you responded, “Thank you.” You didn’t really know what else to say, which is funny for someone who understands so many languages, so you simply smiled and turned back to the table. Spencer slumped again, watching you walk away and asking himself why he would inform a pretty girl about her own brain, when she most definitely already knows about it. 

“Don’t worry too much, Reid.” Morgan called, grabbing Spencer’s attention. The boy raised a brow, not understanding. “She digs it, I can tell. But she’s just like you, knows how to speak in a million ways and still doesn’t know how to small talk.” 

You landed without any more awkward interactions, and got introduced to some sheriffs in Maine, one of them giving you a tighter handshake than the rest and a stare that could only mean unpleasant things. It wasn't something sexist or creepy that lingered in his eyes, it was more like hatred. Spencer took the sheriff's attention away from you after noticing what the whole team did, and asked him to show him the records they kept at the precinct.

Emily Prentiss came up behind you and placed a hand on your upper arm, squeezing it like she understood what you had thought you'd seen. Out of everyone else in the team, she would understand the most.

taglist (open!!): @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld

[nascentwaves]

Looks like Let's Go! Rush's code goes up to DUNE, surprisingly enough.

[fiercynn]

poetry outlets that support a free palestine

after finding out that the poetry foundation/POETRY magazine pulled a piece that discussed anti-zionism because they "don't want to pick a side" during the current genocide, i decided to put together a list of online outlets who are explicitly in solidarity with palestine where you can read (english-language) poetry, including, except where otherwise stated, by palestinian poets!

my criteria for this is not simply that they have published palestinian poets or pro-palestine statements in the past; i only chose outlets that, since october 7, 2023, have done one of the following:

published a solidarity statement against israeli occupation & genocide

signed onto the open letter for writers against the war on gaza and/or the open letter boycotting the poetry foundation

published content that is explicitly pro-palestine or anti-zionist, including poetry that explicitly deals with israeli occupation & genocide

shared posts that are pro-palestine on their social media accounts

fyi this is undoubtedly a very small sample. also some of these sites primarily feature nonfiction or short stories, but they do all publish poetry.

outlets that focus entirely on palestinian or SWANA (southwest asia and north africa) literature

we are not numbers, a palestinian youth-led project to write about palestinian lives

arab lit, a magazine for arabic literature in translation that is run by a crowd-funded collective

sumuo, an arab magazine, platform, and community (they appear to have a forthcoming palestine special print issue edited by leena aboutaleb and zaina alsous)

mizna, a platform for contemporary SWANA (southwest asian & north africa) lit, film, and art

the markaz review, a literary arts publication and cultural institution that curates content and programs on the greater middle east and communities in diaspora

online magazines who have published special issues of all palestinian writers (and all of them publish palestinian poets in their regular issues too)

fiyah literary magazine in december 2021, edited by nadia shammas and summer farah (if you have $6 usd to spare, proceeds from the e-book go to medical aid for palestinians)

strange horizons in march 2021, edited by rasha abdulhadi

the baffler in june 2021, curated by poet/translators fady joudah & lena khalaf tuffaha

the markaz review has two palestine-specific issues, on gaza and on palestinians in israel, currently free to download

literary hub featured palestinian poets in 2018 for the anniversary of the 1948 nakba

adi magazine, who have shifted their current (october 2023) issue to be all palestinian writers

outlets that generally seem to be pro-palestine/publish pro-palestine pieces and palestinian poetry

protean magazine (here's their solidarity statement)

poetry online (offering no-fee submissions to palestinian writers)

sundog lit (offering no-fee submissions to palestinian writers through december 1, 2023)

guernica magazine (here's a twitter thread of palestinian poetry they've published) guernica ended up publishing a zionist piece so fuck them too

split this rock (here's their solidarity statement)

the margins by the asian-american writers' workshop

the offing magazine

rusted radishes

voicemail poems

jewish currents

the drift magazine

asymptote

the poetry project

ctrl + v journal

the funambulist magazine

n+1 magazine (signed onto the open letter and they have many pro-palestine articles, but i'm not sure if they have published palestinian poets specifically)

hammer & hope (signed onto the letter but they are a new magazine only on their second issue and don't appear to have published any palestinian poets yet)

if you know others, please add them on!

[magicbystarlight]

Tú Sabes

Summary: After inhaling a mysterious powder on a mission, your life is put on the line.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: 18+, sex pollen, multiple partners, rough sex, cream pie, Plan B, tad bit of cockwarming, oral sex (fem receiving), cum eating, overstimulation (brief), they’re all head-over-heels in love with you. Minors DNI.

Dividers can found here.

A/N: Translations will be at the end. Please be aware they’re not always word-for-word translations, but meaning/vibes based. I’m like decently confident in my very basic Spanish here, but I’m not fluent. So if you see anything wrong, let me know.

“I told you not to come.”

Maybe you should have listened to Marc. If you had, you wouldn’t have been in that stupid warehouse looking for some stolen relic they had been hired to find. They didn’t need your help, not really, but you just had to go. And Steven couldn’t say no to you.

If you had listened to Marc, you wouldn’t have got caught in a gunfight. You wouldn’t have been next to some stupid ancient sealed jar set on a shelf. You wouldn’t have breathed in the strange yellow powder when it was hit by a stray bullet.

Getting out of that warehouse and back to Steven’s flat was a blur. It didn’t take long to start feeling the effects. The heat. Gods, the fucking heat.

“Could you not do the ‘I told you so’ speech right now?” you groaned, fanning yourself as you sat in front of the fan. “Wait until I’m dead at least.”

“Oye, that’s not very funny, is it?” Steven glared disapprovingly, a look you didn’t quite catch through your half lidded eyes. “We don’t even know what you inhaled! You very well could die!”

Sweat was beginning to drench your clothes. “It’d be a relief at this point.”

There was a huff you recognized as Marc’s.

You peeled yourself off the floor. “While you boys are busy being offended, I’m going to go stand under some cold water.”

They watched you walk towards the bathroom, averting their gaze as you began to pull off your shirt before you’d even made it. Neither of them could understand how you were so nonchalant. They were terrified. You had only been in their lives for a short period of time and they weren’t ready for that time to come to such an abrupt end.

A deep rumble of a laugh pulled the men from their shared worry. Their glares focused on the giant humanoid skeletal bird sitting on the bed who had finally decided to show up after they’d called to him a dozen times.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Marc growled.

“Mortals are so weak. A bit of copulation powder a few millennia past its expiration and they’re on the verge of death.”

“Expired what?”

Khonshu sighed. “Maybe Steven isn’t the idiot.” The god appeared next to the window, seemingly staring into the distance. “That powder was pollen from special lotus flowers Hathor bloomed for some fertility festival after a harsh plague. One whiff caused a rather long orgy in the palace.”

“So she inhaled some old horny dust? That’s it?” Steven relaxed. Better than anthrax.

“Yes, she should be perfectly fine after she gets it out of her system.”

Marc could have hugged the god. You would be fine. “Great, that’s great! How long should it take to run its course?”

“Oh, Marc you are the idiot, aren’t you? She needs to fuck someone for it to get out of her system. Otherwise she’ll die.”

Marc’s gaze locked on the bathroom door as Steven’s voice cried out, “No! There has to be something else. Can’t you, can’t you speak to Hathor? Get a remedy?”

“There is a remedy,” Khonshu stated. “Fucking.”

Steven met Marc’s gaze in the mirror. They had done this to you. If they’d just made you stay behind you wouldn’t be on the verge of death. Marc turned to glare at Khonshu. “You need to go speak with Hathor and find a cure. Now.”

“I’m not going to waste my—“

“Saving her life is not a waste,” Marc growled.

Khonshu bellowed, “It is a waste of my time.”

Marc’s hand curled into fists before Steven folded his arms across his chest. “Alright, you stupid pigeon, what do you want?”

There was a long silence that stretched as the god seemed to contemplate before his shoulders sagged. “I am sorry, Steven. But it would be a waste of time. There is no other cure. She needs to fornicate with another human or she will die.”

Steven continued to argue before his obscenities turned to pleas. He had to save you. He had to.

“He’s telling the truth,” Marc interrupted, stone faced. “He would have made a deal with us even if he thought there was the slightest chance he could save her."

"So that's it, then? We either let her die or we go in there," his finger jabbed towards the bathroom, "and force ourselves on her?"

Marc couldn't meet Steven's eyes in the mirror. "We'll give her that choice."

"It's not a choice! She can't make a choice under the influence of some millenia old sex pollen!"

Marc snapped his attention to the mirror, stepping closer. "So we just let her die?" He hated it as much as Steven did. More. If had put his foot down, kept you out of this life like he wanted, kept you at a distance, kept you safe...but he hadn't. This was his fault. He couldn't let you die. Not you.

“You should make a decision soon. If you won’t save her, a bullet would be kinder than letting her suffer.”

Steven spun on his heel, but the god was gone. Their gaze fell to the bathroom door. The water was still running.

"Pinches pendejos."

—

The water did little to help. The freezing water splattered over you as you slumped to the bottom of the tub. Your eyes squeezed shut. Everything hurt. You'd expected a bit of a fever, maybe an ache, but no. Body wracked with pain, every cell aflame, and a throbbing between your legs that had only been heightened when you'd let your fingers wander. Your head fell back against the edge of the bath.

A touch on your shoulder made your eyes flutter open. You barely suppressed a whimper. They kneeled beside the tub, face uncharacteristically impassive. Through the pain it was difficult to tell which of them it was. "I-it's not helping," you croaked, head lolling to the side. "I feel like I'm burning alive."

Fingers trailed up your neck, your thighs pressing tighter together to relieve the ache. "The dust you inhaled was an ancient aphrodisiac.”

Your mind struggled to process the words, too caught up in trying to place the accent. "Dust...aphrodisiac?"

"Khonshu confirmed it. Hathor made it from some flower," their voice dropped, eyes falling away from your face. "The only way to get the pollen out of your system is to fuck. Either that or die."

The world you’d found yourself sounded ludicrous. A year ago you’d never have believed some sort of sex pollen could exist. You’d just been on vacation in London when you’d turned down several wrong streets one night and accidently stumbled into a fight between a man dressed in a white suit and a few comically accurate bad guys in black masks. They’d thought they’d use your mishap to their benefit, trying to leverage your life for their swift escape. But unfortunately for them—and fortunately for you—they were men who didn’t see the benefit in wearing cups to protect their tender bits. Steven’s excited babbling about it after had Marc’s concerned outbursts in between feel like whiplash. But a magical suit change made Steven and Marc’s situation a tad less outlandish. If a whole pantheon of ancient gods existed and had avatars running around, sex pollen wasn’t out of the question.

Your body felt too weak to move, but your lips still twisted into a lopsided grin. "Are you asking me to sleep with you?"

"I'm giving you the option," they clarified.

You could have laughed if you weren't in pain. “What are my options, exactly? Sex or death?"

"Yes."

The bluntness wasn’t Marc's usual sort and the accent didn’t belong to Steven. Maybe it was just the pollen confusing you. Your head lulled to the other side, eyes closing again. The fingers climbed higher, palm cupping your cheek. Sex or death. What a terribly difficult question. "And you’ll do it?“

“Yes.”

Your hand covered his. "Okay."

The world shifted. Lifted from the tub with water still beating against the porcelain, he held you with ease. Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you let out a relieved groan. The contact alone lessened the pain. “Yo sé. Cuidaré de ti, amor,” he whispered with a kiss to your hair. His clothes grew damp as he carried you to the bed. Gently, he laid you down on the mattress.

Your hand fisted in the front of his shirt. "Who are you?"

His lips spread into a taut line. "You know who I am."

"You're not Marc and you're not Steven. They don’t speak Spanish." If sex pollen could exist, so could a third. Your hold relaxed. "So who are you?"

He was quiet for a moment before he responded. "Jake."

"Jake," you repeated, letting your hand press against his chest. "Are you here because they didn't want to?"

"They were stuck on the morality of it and taking too long to decide.” He took your wrist and pulled it to his lips. It’s the faintest of brushes across your skin, but it had you near breathless. “I’m not patient enough to wait for them to come to the same conclusion I already have.” His fingers trailed up your forearm. They continued to your shoulder and traced along your collarbone. When they brushed across the base of your neck you let out a choked whimper. He shushed you. "Yo sé, amor.” His hand curved around your neck and pulled you to him. His kiss fanned the flames, pain consumed by need. Lips rough, impatient, he drank in your desperate breaths like a man deprived of water. When he broke away, you chased after him. Fingers gripped his hair, tugging him back.

You wanted more.

Needed more.

Your nails scraped across his scalp, over his shoulders, down his back, and pulled at his shirt. It was discarded quickly. His lips moved to the side and traieled kisses along your jaw, nipping at the curve of your ear. You let out a soft cry when his teeth sunk into your neck. Hands wandered. Bites and scratches had you squirming beneath him, moaning for more. There was a moment where he pulled away and you nearly cried in frustration. But he was back quickly, pulling your legs apart and pushing the head of his cock into your soaked cunt.

He didn't start slow. Didn't take his time. You didn't want him to. His pace was punishing, fucking into you like it was his life on the line. Fingers dug into his shoulders, back arching off the mattress, cries and pleas pouring from your lips.

"That's it," he rasped.

Your hips rolled, meeting his thrusts, wanting more. He was relentless, biting and sucking along your neck and shoulders. Digging his fingers into your hips, he pulled them closer.

"Jake," you sobbed. It was almost too much. His pace quickened, the sound of his hips slapping against yours nearly drowned out your whines. It was too much. Your nails dug into his back as you came. He slowed but didn't stop, fucking you through the waves. Jake, Jake, Jake. His name became a prayer on your lips. As your body calmed he began to pull out.

But with the high fading the pain returned.

"Fuck," you hissed, eyes screwing shut.

The weight above you disappeared. "Amor?"

"Hurts," you ground out. Your hands fisted in the sheets, tears pooling at the edges of your eyes. It was unbearable. Worse than before. "Gods, it fucking hurts."

He cursed. Your eyes opened as the weight returned. His hands cradled your face. "Look at me," he ordered. You met his gaze, panting. "It was for some fertility festival so I think the only way for it to stop is if I finish in you."

"Finish." The word was foreign. The world spun. "Cum. You've got to come in me."

"Yes."

You swallowed. "Do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Please, please, please. Please. Fuck."

When he pushed inside, you sobbed with relief. The pain was ebbing again. But this time his pace was gentle, slower. One of his hands slid down to your waist. He guided your hips, pulling them higher. Your legs wrapped around his waist. It was too much and not enough. Your eyes shut, head turning to the side, and he growled, "Mírame."

Your eyes snapped open. His dark gaze burned, his thrusts becoming harder. The coil was beginning to tighten again, the heat building. You pled, cried, begged. More. Fuck me. Cum in me. Please. Please. Please please please.

He leaned down and bit the junction between your neck and shoulder, making you arch off the bed. Pain mixed with pleasure as he sucked the skin into his mouth, marking you. A strangled moan left his lips as he pulled away, watching you writhe. A pressure on your clit had stars sparking in your eyes. The coil snapped, a silent scream caught in your throat. He groaned your name, a deep, guttural sound that could have fueled a thousand climaxes. His hips stuttered and slowed. His cock pulsed.

When his arms began to tremble and his forehead fell against your shoulder, you let out a heavy breath. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly as he collapsed.

"Fuck."

He let out a breathy laugh, rolling onto his side and taking you with him. Arms curled around you. You buried your face in his chest, the warmth and the scent of him calming you.

"Fuck," he repeated, softer. "Are you okay?"

Your body was beginning to ache, but it was nothing like the agony of before. "Better."

"Bien. Muy bien." His hand began to rub soothing circles along your back.

You hummed, nuzzling against him. It was only a moment later that the exhaustion caught up. Your body began to grow heavy, mind shutting down. He said something, but you didn't hear. You were already drifting.

—

When you woke, it was slow. Eyes blinking, adjusting to the light, mind groggy.

"How are you feeling?"

Steven.

You let out a low hum. Sore maybe, but no real pain. "Better, I guess."

"Good."

"Where's—" You had to think for a moment. The name was fuzzy, but the accent came rushing back. "Jake?"

It's Marc's angry expression that crossed their face. "That's his name?"

"It's what he told me."

"Told you," Marc repeated.

"Before..."

Steven's brows knitted together, eyes flitting across your blanket covered body. "Did he hurt you?"

"What? No. Gods, no. He was..." You cleared your throat. Less was more. "He thought you were taking too long to decide and did what he thought he needed to."

Marc's jaw set. “We weren’t going to let you die.”

"We didn't want to force ourselves on you, but we'd have done it. To keep you alive. Only needed a minute to come to terms with it, ya know?" Steven's familiar doe eyes pleaded for understanding.

“I know,” you told him quickly, reaching to take his hand. "It's alright. I know."

"We would never, we'd rather die than—"

"I know." You squeezed his hand.

There was a long pause. You were content to watch their face shift. Marc and Steven were one and the same, but you could tell the difference. It was in the details. The way their brows furrowed, how they held their shoulders, the tilt of their chin. It was the little things that changed. Marc's thumb brushed along the back of your hand. "What was he like?"

For a moment you thought he was asking about what the sex had been like. The word amazing had been on the tip of your tongue before his real meaning came through. "Impatient. He spoke Spanish. And he knew me." Your head tilted. “Did you know he was there?”

“Figured there was another of us. Had a few blackouts neither of us could explain. The prick’s probably watching us now,” Marc huffed. “But he’s never tried to contact us before.” He holds up a piece of paper with very neat cursive curling across it. “Said to make sure to get you some Levonelle.”

“England's version of Plan B,” Steven answered your scrunched brows.

"Right, yeah. Cause he had to finish in me." You regretted letting that part slip out.

Marc's eyes darkened. "He...finished? Inside?"

"That fucker."

They got off the bed with a string of obscenities leaving their lips, letting your hand go.

"Wait, wait," you called as they began to make their way to the door. You followed them. "What are doing?"

"We're gonna go find the tallest building we can and jump off it."

"Marc!" It wouldn't kill them, but it'd hurt like hell.

"Oy, the bloke bloody deserves it! Taking advantage of you like that to get his rocks off!"

"He had to!" You took hold of their arm and they turned to you. "It didn't work otherwise. You know, fertitlty festival and whatnot."

It's Steven's wide, doe eyes making their way down your body that had you realizing you were still undressed. "And he had to do all that then?"

Marc reached for your shoulder, brushing over the skin. You flinched as he pushed against a particularly sore spot. "You said he didn't hurt you."

"He didn't."

"You're covered in bites and bruises.”

"He was trying to help."

"You've got fingerprints on your waist."

"He didn't hurt me," you assured, though your words were beginning to falter. The image of Jake, face contorted, lips parted, came rushing back. Your body warmed. "The opposite."

"I don't understand why he couldn't be a little gentler," Steven grumbled.

Marc's fingers brushed across another mark, a bite at the junction of your shoulder. "He wanted to mark his territory."

You pulled their hand away from the sore spot. "Why do you both keep focusing on this? He did what was needed. That's it."

"He took advantage of the situation."

"And he's been taking advantage for who knows how long!" Steven threw his arms in the air. "Who knows how many times he's taken over when we weren't even aware?"

Marc's lips pressed into a thin line.

"I'm sure he was just doing what he thought was best," you tried.

"He's a bloody coward. Hiding away after he got what he wanted, leaving us to clean up his mess."

Your hands folded over your chest and you took a few steps back. Is that how they saw this? How they saw you? "I'm just a mess to clean up then?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Steven stammered, but you had already turned away.

You made a beeline for the bathroom, tears welling. A mess to clean up. A mess. A fucking mess. They didn't want you. They didn't. If they did, Jake wouldn't have had to take over. Your fingers curled around the knob, ready to shut it behind you.

The door didn't budge when you tugged.

"Estas siendo injusta."

You rounded on Jake. "I'm being unfair? They just called you a coward!"

The accusation didn't faze him. Arms folded across his chest, he leaned against the door. "He was right. I was a coward. I should have introduced myself to you a long time ago." He looked past you. "Lockley. Jake Lockley." You followed his gaze over your shoulder to the three paned mirror. All you saw was a reflection of yourself and him. But Steven and Marc would talk to each other like this sometimes. "You were wasting too much time debating the ethics." His eyes trailed back to you and you were once again reminded of how bare you were. "She didn't complain," Jake scoffed, shaking his head. There's a long moment of silence for you, but his face hinted there was a lot being said. When he finally spoke again, it was to growl at his reflection. "I was willing for her to hate me, hate all of us, if it meant she was alive. If either of you had the cojones to let her know about your feelings before, I wouldn't have had to step up."

You were missing a huge part of this conversation. An important part. "What—what feelings?"

His eyes flicked back to you. "Tú sabes, amor. Tambien tienes.” A single step forward was all it took to close the small distance between you. He held your neck with dark eyes boring into yours. "Maybe one day you can have them for me too.”

Your lips parted. Breathless, all you can say is, “Jake…”

“Un día.” His thumb brushed across the bite mark he’d left behind. "I’ll see you soon, amor. Be nice to them.”

There’s a shift in his face. A softening of features. “Steven?”

“Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean you were a—“

You pressed your lips against his. He stammered and stopped, body tensing. Your hands slid up his chest. He relaxed against you, trembling hands finding your bare hips and resting there. When the kiss broke, you smiled up at him. Doe eyes wide and cheeks flushed, a dopey grin broke across his face. Gods, he was so sweet. "I know."

His forehead pressed against yours. "Maybe this Jake bloke isn't that bad." His head turned to the side, back to the mirror. "You'll have to take that up with her yourself, mate. l've learned my lesson to shut up." A beat later he heaved a sigh.

You knew the change before Marc spoke by the way his hands steady. "We nearly got you killed today. Do you really want to entangle your life in ours even more?"

Your hand came to rest against his face, his eyes closing at the gentle affection. "I'd argue that entangling our lives more saved my life today."

"Baby, I'm serious."

"So am I."

He leaned into your touch. "You deserve better than us. Someone not fucked up."

"I want you. All of you." Your thumb traced his cheekbone. His eyes opened and studied your face. For the briefest of moments, a flicker of a smile ghosted his lips.

"Okay,” he whispered. Anything louder would have shattered the moment.

His kiss was so different from the others. Jake's had been starved. Steven's was awed. Marc's was worship. His arms cradled around you like you're the most precious thing they'd ever held. Your fingers found the curls at the nape of his neck, tangling there, tugging, drawing him closer. You swallowed his groan, tongue brushing along his bottom lip.He lifted you and encouraged your legs to wrap around him. With a few steps, he dropped to the couch. When his hips rolled, his clothed bulge rubbing against your bare cunt, you pulled back, breathless. He watched, enraptured, as your eyes fell closed.

His mouth found the curve of your breast. You whined when his lips wrapped around your nipple. His tongue grazed the sensitive peak.

"Marc."

He hummed in response, the vibrations curling curling your toes. His hips moved again and he groaned against your skin. His hand found your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. Your head fell back with a low moan.

”You are so beautiful." He kissed across your chest, up your neck. Praises murmured into your skin, punctuated by kisses. Your hands tugged at his shirt and he lifted his arms to allow you to pull it off.

Nails raked down his back causing his breath to stutter, mouth falling open. You grinned, grinding down against him. "Baby," he breathed. His head fell to your shoulder. Hands on your waist, he let you move as you pleased.

"Marc." Your voice was soft.

"Hmm."

Your fingers trailed down his chest and over his stomach and grasped the button of his jeans. "Can I?" You could feel him beneath you, hard and straining against his jeans. He wanted this. You. But Marc denied himself his wants constantly.

After a few long moments, he nodded.

The button came undone and the zipper went down. He lifted his hips and pulled his jeans and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out. You stared down at his thick cock, mouth watering. Technically you'd had it in you already, but it wasn't the same as seeing it.

Your fingers curled around him, giving him a few gentle strokes.

He moaned, hips stuttering. "Baby."

Your hand continued its slow pace, thumb swiping across the tip and smearing the precum gathered there. The pads of his fingers dug into your waist, jaw clenched, lips parted, and eyes screwed shut.

"Please, baby. I need you."

"Need me?"

"Yes."

"How do you need me?"

"I-I," he stammered.

You raised yourself just enough to line his cock at your entrance before slowly sinking back down. "Is this what you needed?" The stretch is agonizing bliss. Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing, adjusting.

"Yes, yes."

You gave yourself a moment to adjust to the feeling before you started moving. But his arms wrapped around your waist and stilled you.

"Hold on, baby. Want to feel you for a minute."

A fond smile pulled at your mouth. Your hands found his hair, running your fingers through it. His lips met yours again and you melted against him. Gentle and tender, like he was savoring the taste.

"I love you," he breathed against your lips.

Breath caught in your throat, your heart skipped a beat.

"I love you," he repeated.

"Marc..."

"I don't expect you to say it back. I just needed you to know." His face dropped to your shoulder, hiding it from you. It's an awkward position, but he didn't seem to mind.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and held him. There was a long, quiet moment. His shoulders tense beneath your arms. "Marc?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Look at me."

With a sigh, his head lifted and turned. Watery eyes flitted between yours.

"I love you too," you whispered.

His mouth parted, brows knitting. "You don’t have to say that.”

You pressed a soft kiss against his lips. "But I want to."

"Really?"

Another kiss. "Really."

"I..."

"Shhh." Another kiss.

You began to rock your hips. He let out a low moan. "I love you," you said, pulling his bottom lip between yours. He swallowed the sound. His arms tightened around your waist, lifting you up and down his length. Your lips found his neck, sucking the skin into your mouth. His thrusts became more erratic, moans and groans turning to pants and gasps.

"Baby," he gasped. "I'm close."

His hand slipped between you, thumb brushing over your clit. Your walls tightened, the coil wound, and stars sparkled in your vision. With a cry, your walls clenched around him, drawing him deeper. Marc cursed. A few more erratic thrusts and he was spilling inside of you, crying your name.

He slumped back into the couch. You laid on top of him, both trying to catch your breath. "Are you alright?"

"Perfect," he sighed, kissing the top of your head. "You?"

"Better than perfect."

"Good. That's good." His thumb brushed along the curve of your waist, but halted. “No, no, don’t you dare—“

A shiver rolled through their body. “Oy, that’s sensitive,” Steven trilled, lifting you enough to slip out his spent cock. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, “Well no, actually, I’m not because he cut in line.”

You let out a huff of laughter. The two squabbled like brothers. Marc was probably equally as peeved.

"That is,” his arms loosened around you, “if you’re interested in my company?"

You pecked his lips. "I'd love it."

“Fantastic.” He stood, lifting you easily. ”Because I’m starved.”

Giggling, you said, “We can grab some takeout from the Chinese place by the pharmacy.”

He kissed your cheek. “Takeout? Sweetheart, I’ve got a whole feast right here.”

For the second time in—gods how many hours had it been? Was it even the same day? Didn’t matter. For the second time in however long it had been, you’re dropped on the bed. Less gently this time. He bounced on the mattress after you, eagerly throwing your legs over his shoulders and diving happily into the mess his predecessors had made. The groan he let out against your core was downright sinful. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging, as his tongue explored.

It’s…surprising how good he is. You’d expected him to be inexperienced. He had been in your fantasies. But Steven seemed particularly skilled at this part at least. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh. The tip of his tongue ran along your slit, dipping into your entrance and gathering the cum that had begun to leak. He hummed. "You taste delicious, sweetheart." His tongue swiped over the bud, sending a jolt through you.

"Steven."

His eyes flicked up, meeting yours.

"More."

A grin spread across his face. He lowered his head again, tongue tracing patterns. Your head fell back.

"I want to hear you," he murmured.

You didn't need the encouragement.

He began sucking on your clit, pulling the sensitive bud into his mouth and humming. His fingers pried your lips apart and sunk into you. One, then two, pumping, curling.

"Fuck, fuck, Steven," you cried.

His tongue flicked your clit.

It's all too much. Your walls tightened, clamping around his fingers. You moaned his name, tugging at his hair. He kept moving, coaxing out an orgasm far too quickly for your overworked body. You shook beneath him, gasping for air. The high ebbed, but his ministrations did not. His fingers continued to pump, tongue continued its work.

"Steven, please," you plead, trying to push his head away

He lifted it, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. "I'm not done."

Your hand fell to his face, cupping his cheek. "Please, I can't. Not yet."

"Just a bit more, yeah?" His free hand slid up your waist, fingers caressing your chest. "I want to feel you fall apart one more time. Please?"

The pad of his thumb brushed over your nipple, causing you to suck in a sharp breath.

"Just keep making your pretty little noises for me, alright? Won’t take long." He didn’t wait for you to deny him, letting his tongue return to its previous endeavor.

He’d reversed your roles. Usually, he’d be the one who couldn’t deny you. Now you’re sure he could ask you for anything and you’d agree with your own dopey grin. The hand on his face moved to the sheets, clutching at the fabric. Fingers curled inside you, pressing against the spot that had you seeing stars. His mouth wrapped around your clit, sucking and licking and humming. Your back arched off the mattress, a silent scream stuck in your throat.

Stars.

Everything was stars.

His movements slowed, fingers and tongue working you through the waves. When the high faded, you could only manage a stuttered breath. He lifted his head. A proud smile had his eyes dancing. He seemed ridiculously proud of himself. He kissed his way up your body, pausing at every bruise or bite mark Jake had left behind. His fingers traced patterns over your stomach and up to your breasts. Whispered how good you were for him, how amazing, how perfect.

You expected to feel his cock prodding at your entrance, but all he did was curl against you with a content hum.

"You don't want...?"

He kissed your shoulder. "Later."

"Steven..."

"Later," he repeated.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

You sighed. His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him. He buried his face in your hair, mumbling something about how good it smelled. You could hear his breathing growing heavy through the endless praises.

"Mind if I take a kip before we head out to the pharmacy?”

You kissed his hair. “Not at all, love. Sleep.”

Translations

Pinches pendejos. : Fucking idiots.

Yo sé. Cuidaré de ti, amor : I know. I’ll take care of you, love.

Mírame : Look at me.

Bien. Muy bien. : Good. Very good.

Estas siendo injusta. : You’re being unfair.

Tú sabes, amor. Tambien tienes. : You know, love. You have them too.

Un día. : One day

[honestsycrets]

Stung | [Miguel O'Hara x Reader]

❛ pairing | miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | after a discus malfunction, you're bitten by an anomaly and refuse medical attention. you're in a state that you refuse to show to miguel-- at all costs.

❛ tags | NSFW, sex pollen, mention of a wound, slight chase, miguel o'hara doesn't like to be ignored, cum eating, creampies, abnormal amount of fluid, venom bite, slapping, some insecurity, spanish is not translated, sexual memories.

❛ sy’s notes | my obligatory ABO-sex pollen fic for ATSV. i usually make a ABO/Sex Pollen piece per fandom I write in, so here's one for Miggy 🐝

“All done!”

You slipped out of HQ’s packed infirmary with a jaunty bounce in your step. Crispy, coppery blood was matted onto your forearm concealed behind a hastily tied bandage. You weren't concerned about it. It would resolve within the hour. Likely less. As would your elevated body temperature. Despite the doctor's prattle about the benefit of further testing, you found their concern to be a non-issue. These things were virtual non-issues, even if the doctor and your man thought otherwise. 

The hallways at HQ were like any other day in your city. Congested with the coming and going of spiders in their daily lives. A glimpse at any group might reveal decadent flirting and haughty laughter. Some were in a rush to their own worlds, but most were completing work assigned by the Spider Society. The one you were looking for reclined against a wall with his arms interlocked one over the other. His displeased rumble prompted you to his presence above all other voices in the crowd. 

“You should have let them run the tests.” His voice was teased with concern but became mild, little more than a drab sigh at your refusal. You blew off his concern with a shake of your hand, gone yellow and bubbly behind a bit of ineffectual gauze. His eye glazed over the wound. You couldn't tell what he was thinking behind his mask, but you didn't need to. You only needed to convince him you were right.

“It’s stopped bleeding, Miggy. It’s just a scratch,” You held up your arm, flicking it with emphasis. His eyebrows raised for a moment, then flattened, staring at you with a dull rictus. “It was just a brief malfunction of the discus.” 

Technically it was more of an impalement, but if Miguel wasn’t going to ask, you weren’t going to invite him to delve deeper. Otherwise, you might spend the next few hours of your life fixing a wound that surely would have closed up by the time results were back. The injury site mildly itched. That was all. Never mind, the slight, honey-colored rash migrating from the puncture site to your elbow. Or the referred pain. Minor things. 

“You’re being stubborn.” 

“You’re the one to talk.” You snapped the discus free from your sash and chucked it toward Miguel.  He caught it with an unsurprising amount of ease, claws clicking in unison against the ineffectual metal.

“¡Qué problema!” he mocked, his voice dry and absent of discernible emotion. 

You closed the distance between your bodies to slide your arms around his broad neck. His other hand came to your lower back. It was warm, the way he touched you, from the bundles of affection that fluttered in your belly to the heat dappling across your chest. You missed this every day. It made fleeing the infirmary all the more worth it.

“I put the anomaly in another discus. One that actually works, no thanks to your programming.”

“That’s what happens when you take things without asking.” He flicked the discus between his thumb and index finger, waggling it for emphasis. It was true that there had been nights that went with banging, clacks, clatters, and the occasional outburst when things weren’t quite going his way. There were a few discuses on his desk. You just so happened to take the one that malfunctioned. “I was working on it. ¿Qué era?” 

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Just some stingy bees. What harm could they do?” 

His eyes roamed your wound. You couldn't help but look down too, both horrified and fascinated by the way the rash had moved in just a brief few minutes. The colour had begun to fade. You glanced up, flattening your mouth into a slight, forced smile.

“Fine. If you're sure.”

To be fair, you secured many anomalies with and without the help of others. They all went into their cozy, temporary forcefield homes until they could be fairly redirected to their appropriate dimensions. In the downtime, you could help or hinder Miguel's progress. Then, your watch would alert you to another disturbance and the cycle would continue. 

Until that morning. 

Your watch blared, and blared, and blared some more. The early morning sun began to rise and cast offensive beams of light into your room. Usually, it didn’t bother you. But this morning, everything offended you from the scratch of silky sheets on your naked body to Lyla illuminating what darkness was left, all golden and cute. You wondered if that was how Miguel felt when you forgot to pull the curtains, strung out on the bed after he finished with you.

“Woah! Oops!” she turned, covering her eyes with her spindly fingers. A growing ache throbbed between your legs. It wasn’t quite the same dull soreness from Miguel’s late-night visit last night, either. “Sorry, sorry. Miguel--”

“He can handle it,” you bit out, snappier than you intended. It wasn't like you. “Or-- Jess. No, Gwen. Gwen can do it, she loves--” 

“He asked for you.” 

Of course, he did. You scrunched a pillow over your head. Your Miguel couldn’t see you this. Absolutely not. You debated getting up, ignoring what you called a negligible ache that was quickly morphing into a terrible pounding. You can't believe how quickly the thought fell apart, pushing yourself to sit up in bed. The ghost of his scent floods your nose, flashing memories of the night before.

Something at work set him off. Something that commanded no intimacy, but the mechanical release of his rage that wouldn't destroy precious resources. He sat on the edge of the bed, driving your mouth onto his cock with the aid of your hair bundled around his fist. You recalled the shakiness of his thighs under your fingers, his firm legs spread wide fucking your mouth with cold abandon. He chased his own orgasm selfishly, needing the release, needing to see your body painted by whips of his cum sprayed across your exposed breasts. He pulled you off in silence, inspecting the drool and cum that spilled down your chin and throat in rivulets. "What--"

Your face tightened, glancing down at the growing tension in your belly. Everything began to annoy you, especially the scratch of the sheets against your skin, your bed empty of his presence. How could you tolerate that uniform plastered to your ass? You buried into the offensive bed. This was fine. This was normal, recalling what you'd done last night. Surely, the burn had to do with the whole being launched through not one, but two crumbling buildings the day before. The dust and rubble. Were you close to your cycle?

“Tell him I’m dead,” and without another word, you resolved the call. Within seconds she popped up again, bent at the waist because this was your life now. Never could you just… take a day off. There was always something. You muffled your screams of protest into the mattress and dug your feet in, kicking off the sheets, the blankets, the pillows, all of it.

“Is this a fit? You’ve never had a fit before,” Lyla noticed. A fit? She thought the burning of your body was a fit? Damn AI. Resolve. 

Resolve. Resolve. Resolve.

It became cathartic after a good while. Or it would have been if not for your senses hyper-fixating on every minor change in your body.  Despite your apprehension, you knew. What was once a dull pain radiating from your forearm morphed into something much worse. Something you couldn’t blame on the rather average experience of being pelted through the average event of windows and concrete. It was more than a tingle. It burned as it coursed through your body. 

You stumbled over the bundle of bedding into the bathroom. It was there that you realized that to your horror, you weren’t just lubricated, now you were soaked. Your fluids coursed down your thighs as you dabbed the region clean with a bundle of tissues. It did little good. Touching the area exasperated the issue. Maybe you needed an orgasm, maybe ten. An hour or so later, you slammed the heel of your palm into the mirror, fracturing it into shards of terrible glass that crumbled onto the countertop. Beads of blood dabbled onto your reflection. 

“If you d--” resolve.

So not a reaction to your average bee sting. Correction. A great, big, fat colony of hissing, buzzing bees. The act of recalling information was like jamming your hand into fluid water to snatch a tiny hair tie. No matter how many times you tried to recall the information, you couldn’t quite grasp it. It was there, floating around your head, but inaccessible. Your mind traveled back to Miguel. How gentle his lips could be, trailing soft kisses along your neck and shoulder when you rode him in reverse. How deep he'd go. 

"Fuck off!" Your watch blared again. Its beeping filled your bathroom, echoing over and over. You reached behind the door to pluck a silky white slip from its hook and dragged it over your head. You were about to resolve the call again when the hot timbre in his warm voice saying your name gave you pause. Your Miguel, popping up in a golden haze. You found yourself gazing at his full lips, full and plump. If only he was here. He could have his lips on your--

“What are you doing?” 

Lost in thought, you failed to realize that Miguel had been calling you by name again. You shook your hazy mind free of the thoughts that formed a swirling cloud over your head. You slumped down the wall and onto the floor.

Help was what you failed to say. As your mouth opened, nothing came out. The words were not wording. The vulnerability of asking for help was palpable. You soothed yourself by shifting your hands underneath your skirt. What would he think if he saw you here-- ripped asunder by your own biology? Whore. Miguel lowered his gaze, his eyes squinting at the sweat dabbling down your neckline as he looked you over. He wouldn't want you anymore.

“Are you listening? ¡Coño! What is wrong with you!?” 

Resolve.

You resolved him. Your Miggy-- resolved. Oh, you swallowed dryly. He wasn’t going to be happy about that. It wasn’t a matter of if Miguel would come for you. It was a matter of when. When he had time to separate himself from trashing-- whatever was the closest object to him in the lab-- to take out his rage on you. You reached for your medicine cabinet. You had more important things to worry about. First on the list? The searing heat.

Your watch was better off tucked away in a chest in the closet.

Night came with no solutions. You crouched on your window sill, chest rising and falling. You sought to stare at anything but the mindless buzz of the tv screen inside. Even with light pollution, some stars winked in the distance. Your body was a bundle of warm heat, buzzing with irritation after a fruitless day of soothing your body. You grew accustomed to your pert nipples against your silky slip, the lubricant coursing down your leg. At first, denial. Now, acceptance. You thought tomorrow might be better.

You felt his presence before you heard, smelled, or saw him. Through the sea of scorched sensations battering your senses, there was one that stood apart. A tickle that niggled at the back of your head. It could have been anyone, but you didn’t have to guess to know who it was. “Lyla." 

“You haven’t called him all day,” Lyla squeaked. 

“Called all-- I answered his call!” Your dress was matted to your body, cloaked in an abhorrent amount of sweat. It was only minutes ago that you retrieved your watch confident that you could bullshit something, anything, for a few days of reprieve. You jammed your shaking finger to resolve the call. 

“Not all of them. Miguel was worried.” 

“Worried! Lyla, that is not worried,” you spat. That was your Miguel, scaling the side of your apartment. His talons cracking the siding of your apartment. The reverberations spiraled up your legs, sending waves of anticipation lapping at your core. After your long day, you weren't sure how you were still somehow upright. With every crack of his talon into the brick siding, you were running out of time to come up with an excuse.

In a bid to escape, you fell into your room. The hard floor knocked the breath out of your dry lips. You stumbled onto your feet and supported yourself with a bookcase of less than half-read books. “Lyla, he can’t see me like this!” 

“Then tell me what’s going on,” she popped back up. “C’mon, you can tell me, it can’t be that bad.”

If her tone was playful in some half-baked attempt to neutralize your fight, the threat was imminent. Your hand connected with the top of the window, applying pressure to close the window. A hair too late. At the same time, Miguel’s clawed hand curled around the bottom of the window sash. You were too slow for the man who excelled with power, speed, and efficiency. You weren't going to win this fight. Not with your body threatening to crack at the very sight of your man's strength.

Though you saw him nearly daily, he always took your breath away. His sinewy body was always a sight, his suit accentuated his thick and fine cut. You moistened your lips, longing to run your fingers through his thick dark brown hair as you did every night. You caught his sharp gaze a second longer than you should have.

 “Open up,” he whispered coolly.

He was a distraction. The wind was not on your side either, blowing wisps of his scent into your overwrought senses. His natural musk mixed with the sweat of a hard day's work. Somewhere in there, bitter blood. You could smell the caramelized scent of the flaky, buttery empanadas and hot coffee you shared the day before. It gave you pause, his intoxicating smell and the sultry trill of his voice. But you couldn’t let him see you, not like this.

“Oop, there he is. Just checking on you,” Lyla chittered. Resolve.

“Miggy, please go away,” you sobbed in frustration, shifting to shoulder the window. “Why are you so stubborn!?” 

“It’s who I am.” 

The window cracked all at once. With mere milliseconds to respond to the sash careening into the upper rail, you whirled past the bedroom door. Miguel broke into a run behind you with long strokes of his legs. He made contact, sending you barreling into your lazy sapphire couch from the impact. You saw stars for a fraction of a second before you lurched on your palms and elbows, scrambling off of the couch and across the floor. His hand caught your ankle and dragged you underneath his body.

“¡Ay!” you bit out. “No, no no no. Miggy!” 

“¡Callate!” 

His hand wrapped tightly around your throat to force complacency, pinning you back to the hardwood floor. Your palms slammed onto his chest, drawing lines down his chest. Bits of pathetic electricity fizzled on his broad, muscular chest, a consequence of your fading focus. That focus was eviscerated when Miguel threw his hips flat against your core. Your frantic fidgeting against Miguel soothed some of the terrible, buzzing pressure rattling between your legs like warm honey on a sore wound. The ache for his relief became more important than the impulse for substantial breaths.

“Don’t move. Why are you--”

“I can’t help it,” you cut him off, straining against his large palm to stare at his crotch. His gaze fell on yours, following the path to his soft cock. His eyes widened with the sudden attention. Tears threatened to spill over from your eyes, pricked with spikes of pain. "It's too much!"

You ate your shame with his body crouched between your legs and his large palm choking the air out of your throat. The influx of air not only brought your scent, but your day-long desperation to fix what you believed was wrong. He could smell it now. He could see it now. He could hear it in your voice. He knew why you failed to answer his calls. The violent jabbing of the resolve button. Throwing your watch into your cramped closet to ignore the calls. The pheromones that soaked your apartment. It was unavoidable.

“You can’t help it,” he repeated. Miguel considered you with razor-sharp eyes, nearly as sharp as the talons that rescinded into his arms. 

"I'll see about that." His hand left your neck to reveal bundles of bumpy shivers that soared across your skin. He raised his finger to wipe away the wet tears that fell from your flushed cheeks. Then dropping lower, Miguel chased the thin straps of your gown with his claw and slid the offending fabric off of your breast. The nub was as hard as it had been hours ago when you twerked the nipple between your fingertips and dreamed of Miguel.

“You’re...” he cupped your breast in your palm and massaged your nipple with one sharp twist of his thumb. The gasp that left your lips wasn’t one you were proud of. Your undulating hips that ground down on his cock weren’t entirely unwarranted. You needed it. "Hot. As if you're in heat."

This couldn’t be happening. From a ball of rage to one of arousal, he released a tiny amused chuckle. You spent much of the day in different parts of the apartment with your hand, toy, ice, and water into your body to soothe this terrible ache. So Miguel wouldn't see you like this. It was this moment you sought to avoid after your long day: The moment of Miguel's disapproval. Now he laughed at you.

“Happy?” you sobbed into the forearm that kept Miguel stable. “Go away, someone else could use your stupid help.”

“Don’t you need me?” Miguel dipped his head down. Strands of his dark hair tickled your hypersensitive skin. With the lightweight fabric of his suit, pressing your cunt back against his clothed bulge felt wonderful. You bit your lower lip and watched his cock jut against its fabric. You lifted your puffy eyes to his gaze and found a wicked gleam there. He knew it wasn’t enough contact for the pressure and painful spasms to abate. Deep down, you knew that Miguel was your only hope for relief. Who else could, or would, you call in this condition? Mostly because Miguel always fixed everything.

"Miggy," you murmured. After this pitiful display, he wasn't rejecting you? Your mind flowed weightless and light. The terror of your day faded under his careful caress. In its place, comfort that he would take care of you.

“Don’t you?” His hand snaked between your folds and found it soaked wet, the low throbbing of your pussy palpable. He retracted his fingers and spread the sticky fluid between his thumb and middle finger. At some point, silence became better than an answer. Miguel brought his hand down on your cunt for a sharp slap. Bundles of nerves cried out under the abuse. It shook free a squeal from your lips, bitten raw by the pressure of the day. Your head bobbed into a mechanical nod as to save yourself from another slap.

“You know how to ask. It’s si Miguel, por favor Miguel.”

You needed the warm sensation of his cum. But making those words proved too difficult. Your canines pierced bloody holes in your lower lip. You clawed up his forearms, trying to leverage and force him closer. Miguel grabbed your shoulders and thrashed them back down onto the floor. You felt bad for the downstairs neighbors. 

“Say it.” 

“Miggy,” you looked into his eyes. They were blown wide, nearly fully black with a thin outline of scarlet, chasing the outline of your exposed breast. For all his talk, you realized he wasn't immune. Even with his face tight, his eyes focused on the same thing you needed. Maybe, all this time, you were baiting Miguel with half-assed answers. They were invitations. Invitations to come to fill this need you had. You would be lying if you said that wasn’t what you wanted this whole time. Finally, you had him where you wanted him. 

Miguel broke eye contact first. He cupped his plush lips around your nipple, suckling the breast taut and wet. You cried out in surprise and arched into Miguel’s mouth, enticed by the fangs that grazed your nipple. As quickly as he came, he was gone.

You lurched up, palming Miguel's dick through his pants. His hips bucked into your palm. He refused to make any sound as he considered your next movements, releasing Miguel’s cock from his suit. Impatience and need coalesced into your brave movements, sliding your palm against him. He was impossibly thick and hard, dribbling at the tip. Miguel huffed a small noise as your palm ran over him. You dared to call it a moan.

Miguel sneered and shoved you back onto the floorboards. “I’ll only tell you one more time. Ask me properly.” 

"You do too, don't you?" You giggled. A noise that grated his ear. With the belief you wouldn’t bolt, Miguel shifted back onto his knees. You wouldn’t. There was nowhere left to run. Not that you even wanted to, fat and hungry off Miguel's growing desperation.

"Come here." He snaked his hands underneath your knees, dragged you close, and pushed them to your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut. Moments later, the sensation of his thick dick sliding against your engorged folds forced them back open. It gave you just enough relief through the pulsing pain to look at him with your hazy eyes. From this angle, you appreciated how large Miguel had gotten. His round cock-head bobbed and crested over your mound as it rubbed against your aching clit. His face was trained, focused. He wasn't going to relent first.

The nagging pressure never abated. You sought something more, something better, the sensation of being filled. With every glide, you squeezed your walls in protest to his absence. Your hips protested the restriction of your movement, shimmying against the firm hold he had that kept you in place. You wanted more than that. You wanted true relief from his teasing. Miguel drew back to inspect the fluid over his fat shaft as held you down. You gave in, whining at him like a brat.

“Por,” you scratched his forearms. “Por favor, Miggy. You don’t know what it's like.” 

“All fours-- face down.” 

The cacophony of desire battered and overcame any other human emotion you could have. You complied, crawling onto your fuzzy indigo rug for what came next. Miguel’s gloved hand skimmed across your ass, middle finger skimming toward the center. He followed up his gentle touch by reeling back his hand and cracking it across your ass, searing the nerves alive. Once, twice, and then a third. Tears pricked your cheeks again, a consequence of your nerves being overwrought and now assailed.

“Miggy!” 

He shushed you with fervor, another thwack beating the jiggling flesh hot and red. Your legs trembled under the weight of his slaps. “Ignore my calls again and you’ll get much worse.”

“I didn’t-- you wouldn't want me,” your lips parted in defense of what you’d done. Miguel dipped down to spread your folds, rolling his index finger along your pulsing walls. Your body drew him in, squeezing and urging him forward. Your swollen walls were impossibly tight, straining to bring him in more and more.

"You know I do."

The need for more devoured any other thought, any threats of what he’d do next time. You rolled your hips to ride his hand. In place of a slap, Miguel slid another finger slid in beside the first to stretch your walls open. He faltered at your next words and slid his fingers free.

“Not like… not like I need you.” 

“Who decides that?” he pressed on your upper back to force it down. You complied. Miguel stumbled forward, finally pressing his thick head to your pulsing entrance. His round head pressed, just barely, into your wet hole. You clenched down, inviting him into your warmth. You weren’t sure he’d actually give it to you. It was so damn close.

“You do, Miggy,” you murmured, pushing back. He watched as his shaft slowly disappeared into your body, your apprehension of retaliation rendered you too slow to finish.

Miguel snatched your waist and forced you to take the rest, a soppy squelch lubricating his shaft. The sound that slipped from your lips was entirely uncouth, punctuated by his unforgiving thrusts. Your walls strained around his cock. No matter how many times you took him, the drag of his cock and slap of balls against your body always felt somehow like the first. It filled that ache-- the consistent burning need to have him here, inside of your greedy body, scratching something that you could not itch all day. It’s what you wanted. 

“That’s right, I do.” Miguel rumbled, short, punctuated thrusts beating your clenching cunt into complacency. The pleasure ruptured through your cunt-- battering his dick in response. He let loose a sharp grunt followed by a string of curses. Your sweet release spilled over his dick and balls, dripping down your thighs. Your legs threatened to shook, but Miguel was unwilling to allow your trembling legs to give out.

"Ah! Miggy!" His fangs punctured your shoulder to force you to stay in position, his pelvis stuttering against yours. His growl punctuated the warm, soothing cum that soothed your walls like warm honey over a wound. Your walls milked him free of his cum, spasming in response to his orgasm. He pieced himself together against your back, pulling his fangs free and settling a soft kiss over the burning wound on your shoulder. As if he hadn't been the one to tear his fangs into the crook of your neck.

“You’re not letting go,” he hummed in annoyance. He turned his attention down to your ass, ghosting his fingers over the healing bruises over your backside. You squealed, jerking forward. He followed you forward, punching a hole in the floor by your side. “Fuck, don’t move!” 

You cast your attention back toward Miguel. He huffed forcefully out of his nostrils. He motioned toward your ass as if it were obvious-- your walls were clamped over his cock, unwilling or otherwise unable to let him go, as if he had any more cum to give in that current moment. You took it all.

“I. I didn't-- I can’t--” 

“Yeah, I know. That Bee venom does that. Mine should neutralize it.”

At some point, you murmured. It sure as hell wasn’t doing it now, keeping him seated into your cunt that bubbled with the mixture of his and your release. “You knew about it? I could have died!” 

Miguel chuckled. 

“You wouldn’t. You’re too stubborn to die,” he sighed, fiddling with his watch. The tests-- that you never had ran. Ones that he suggested. Ones that you refused quite openly. “Why would I deny myself the fun?” 

His cock slipped free. Your hips dropped and fell slack against the floor. You weren’t proud of the cum that oozed out of your ass over your decimated room, nor the fact that your useless neighbors hadn’t called for help once. Not that you needed it-- but still. You palpated your stomach, slightly distended. Miguel bent down and gathered the mixture of your bodily fluids on his fingers, suckling his own fingers dry. You watched his wet tongue swirl around his fingertips. It wasn't fair.

“Fun? What fun!? Do you know how long I-- You’re a mean man, Miguel O’Hara.” 

He lurched over, his breath tickling your lips. He kissed you, salty and sweet. Your nose scrunched up, pouting against his lips. He left the room for the kitchen, fetching a wet cloth to clean his body with. He zipped himself back into his suit shortly after and dropped the sodden cloth by the cum puddling under your ass.

“Never said I wasn’t.” 

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖠 𝖶𝖾𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖨𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇' ༄࿔ H.J.

⤷ Role Reversal | Bondage [Restraint] | Deepthroating

♱ word count: 1.8k

♱ warnings: gn!reader, role reversal (usually dom!han is more subby & usually sub!reader is now more dom), daddy kink, messy oral (m receiving), deepthroating, lowkey is both exhibitionism and voyeurism, minho helps you ‘dom’ han but doesn’t participate much otherwise, bondage/restraining, idk if i consider this a three some but... maybe?, slight mxm cause there are a few neck kisses from minho to han, minho also calls Han “Jagi(ya)” (like honey/baby)

♱ notes: han jisung hmu. the kids miss u.

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

Han had been stressed out of his mind for the last few weeks. Between the constant filming and the filled schedule for the comeback, he was exhausted out of his mind. To the point where he had even forgotten that he invited you over one night, opting to nap on the couch “for a few minutes” and deciding to call you after that nap.

You walked in, using your spare keys that both men insisted you should have, and spotted your lover on the couch, sitting upright with his head lying on the top of the sofa. He looked so peaceful yet also a mess at the same time.

The sight initially made you giggle and snap a quick photo or two or five, but after the initial reaction, you remember how much of a rough time your boyfriend was having. So much so that he had fallen asleep on the couch and was still wearing his stage outfit, despite the fact that it was already dinner time.

Part of your heart ached at this, but the other half realized what you could do to help your worn-out lover. All you had to do was mix his high libido with the lack of sex you two had over the last few weeks and boom! A genius plan, if you do say so yourself.

So you quickly found yourself spreading his lifeless legs apart and settling yourself between his knees. Your fingers traced the metal of his sliding buckle and eased it open, your eyes constantly on his face and watching his expression for any signs of him waking up.

You managed to pull his pants and his boxers down to the midway of his thighs before he even flinched, but it wasn’t enough to wake him up all the way. Still, to be safe, you waited until his body relaxed again to get to work. 

Your hands ghosted up the bare skin of his thighs, your fingernails lightly scratching as you traced over them and left goosebumps in their wake. His dick twitched, already coming to life despite how little you had done and the fact that he was still asleep.

He even managed a whine out the back of his throat, making you smile to yourself as you slowly pumped him until he was full mast with precum dribbling out of his tip. He was always so messy…

Your thumb rubbed over the hole of his tip, spreading his precum all over it as you leaned forward. Your tongue poked out and licked from his base up to his mushroom tip, making sure to lick roughly around the sensitive area on the underside of his cock.

It twitched again as you wrapped your lips around him and took him into the back of your throat. Your eyes forced themselves closed as you gagged once, then twice, and pulled off. You didn’t need much time to recuperate and his legs shook around you as you took him into your mouth again.

Your eyes found themselves on his face again, immediately noticing the furrow in his brows as well as the slight part in his lips. You purposefully moaned around him, the humming vibration causing his face to contort for a moment.

“Mmm… Baby..” Your lips twitched in a smile as best as they could while you bobbed your head and you rewarded him by humming around him again. With this, he finally showed some signs of waking up: his hips bucking up into your mouth and his hands moving on their own to rest on his thighs.

You looked up just in time to see his eyes cracking open, staying narrowed and filled with sleep as he looked down at you. His hands quickly found their way to your hair, tangling between the strands and just slightly pushing down. Your cheeks hollowed and you held eye contact as you sucked harder, one of your hands even sneaking down to play with his balls. He sucked in a breath and his jaw slacked with a sigh.

“Baby… What are you doing- Ah!” Your other hand snuck up under his shirt and laid flat on his chest, just above his tattoo, and rubbed his nipple with your thumb. His thighs twitch around your shoulders trying to close as all of the combined sensations build up his orgasm quicker than either of you imagined.

His thighs tensed and he screwed his eyes shut as he came without warning, his moans filling the living room as he lightly fucked your mouth. Both of your hands moved to his hips where you pushed him down, making him stay still as you continued to bob your head through his high and even still after.

“S-Shit, wait! Baby, no-” His fingers tightened their hold on your hair and his body shivered as the overstimulation ran through his body. But a sudden visitor cut him off before he could say anything more.

“Am I interrupting something?” Han gasped and whipped his neck to the side, his eyes falling on his best friend who stood in the hallway with a few empty dishes in his hand.

“H-Hyung! I- shit! Baby wait-” His eyes rolled into the back of his head as you continued sucking despite the new presence in the room. Minho chuckled to himself, setting the dishes he had just eaten off onto the kitchen counter and making his way over to the couch. 

“I think he wants you to stop, honey.” Minho’s feet planted by your ankles and he replaced Han’s hands with his own, pulling you off of the younger boy who was all but vibrating in sensitivity. Han’s chest heaves as he attempts to catch his breath.

“Nuh-uh.” You frowned up at Minho as he craned your neck all the way back, forcing you to look up at him from an uncomfortable angle. “He likes this- We.. We spoke about it. He just can’t handle it ‘cause he’s so sensitive and can’t dom me if he’s overstimulated.” You smile to yourself at the reminder of this exact conversation you had with him just a few weeks ago.

Minho’s eyebrow cocked up curiously and his eyes fell back onto the boy before you, face red as a tomato and palm covering his mouth. Then they fell down to his cock- still rock hard and dribbling the proof of his orgasm. He let out a breathy laugh in disbelief before releasing your head.

“Get to it then. I’ll help you out.” Han’s cock twitched and he whined loudly from behind his palm. Minho made his way to the back of the couch where his veiny hands wrapped around the younger man’s wrists, pulling them away from his mouth to instead pin them to the back couch cushions.

“This ok, Jagiya?” Minho leaned down to Han’s height, whispering into his ear and blowing teasingly against it.

“God, fuck- Please!” His hips bucked causing his cock to poke you in the nose. It made you laugh a bit before you wrapped one hand around his base, pumping him as your other hand rested on his upper thigh.

“Suck him off again- I’ll keep him in place for you.” You smile and nod, looking up at your boyfriend under your eyelashes and leaving him with a command, your one last act of dominance before your throat becomes occupied.

“Be a good boy for me and Min, okay Daddy?”  The younger man immediately groans, rolling his head back and frowning. “F-Fuck you.” 

You tsk and shake your head at him. “That’s not very nice.” You wrap your lips around him once more and suck harshly. Han squeals in response and squeezes his legs around your shoulders again. Minho laughs and puts both of Han’s wrists into one of his own hands, now using that free hand to push down on his pelvis, holding him down for you and teasingly rubbing his thumb around Han’s stomach.

You continue to run your tongue up and down Han’s cock and you occasionally take him into your throat, making a scene to gag around him repeatedly until thick saliva pooled in your mouth.

You pull off to catch your breath, coughing a few times as you continue to pump your boyfriend. A string of saliva connects you to his dick and you smirk with a new idea. He has always liked it messy and loud, so why not give him messy and loud?

You take the spit that has been pooling in your mouth and sit up on your knees, using one hand to hold his dick upright as you hovered right over his dick. Both he and Minho watched with heavy breaths as a glob of spit fell from your swollen lips, falling right onto Han’s tip and immediately dripping down the rest of his length.

Han keens at the sight and finds his legs shaking as you start pumping him and running your tongue over his tip, causing a loud and almost obnoxious squelching noise to fill the room. The older man has to use more force to hold Han’s hips down and he laughs as he does so.

“You gonna cum, Jagi? Gonna cum down their throat, yeah?” Minho runs his nose down the younger’s neck, his hot breath ghosting over and causing Han’s stomach to clench. His moans heighten a few pitches and his breaths grow uneven and frantic.

You hum around him and hollow your cheeks, your hands resting on his thighs and holding them apart as you take him to the hilt. Your throat constricts around him a few times and you hear what sounds like lips smacking. Then, he fills your throat again.

Han’s legs and hips shake as he cums, his nails digging into his palms and his voice cracking as he teethers the line of screaming. Your nails lightly scratch up and down his thighs as he cums nonstop down your throat, stomach caving in and leveling out as he continues to breathe frantically.

You pull off once he's finished, being cautious not to rub against him too strongly in case it is too much. As you do, you’re met with the sight of Minho placing kisses along your boyfriend's neck. Instead of jealousy, you can’t help but only feel desire.

“You two look so hot right now.” Your whine makes Minho laugh into his neck and he pulls away, hands also loosening their holds on his wrists. The older man stands upright and massages Han’s shoulders, easing the man down from his intense orgasm.

He doesn’t stay there long though, quickly making his way to the bathroom where he grabs a handful of tissues for cleaning. By the time he gets back, you’re sitting beside Han. Your hands caress his cheek as the two of you make out and he can feel his hard-on aching at the sight.

“That was fun!” He blinks and your lips are caught between your teeth as you call him over, pulling him to take your spot on the couch as you take the napkins from his hand. “Mmhmm. Good job you two. Especially you, DaDdY~” Han groans and rolls his neck.

“S-Shut the fuck up!”

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[helluvapoison]

heyy i was wondering if you could do like Lucifer x reader getting married if ,you want to ofc🫶

btw i love your work so muchh, thank you!!🫶(also english is not my first language so i hope i didn't write anything wrong)

Absolutely I Do

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

a little insight to your wedding with the king

[part ii (18+ only)]

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• What would be a tamer version of a bridezilla? Not quite lashing out at everyone and their mother over the tiniest details but blowing a fuse when white roses arrive and he specifically asked for white gardenias?

• That would be Lucifer

• Asmodeus is his best man and the other Sins are his groomsmen, they’ll handle the flower debacle and any other matter that needs saving

• Good natured Charlie was given, arguably, the easiest task of holding onto the rings! She’s more than capable of planning the entire event on her own (and she asked to… twice) but Lucifer wanted her to enjoy this wedding as he wouldn’t be having another

• It’s part of why he wants this to go perfectly!

• He never thought he’d find another love after Lilith. He didn’t even realize that while you were delicately filling in the crater she’d left, he was falling more and more in love with you

• The other part, his pride and perfectionism aside, is that while it may be his second wedding, it’s your first. In his eyes you deserve only the best and he’ll be damned all over again if he doesn’t deliver

• You told your fiancé (FUCK he loved that word coming out of your mouth, almost as much as he was going to like husband!) to at least try to not go overboard. To which you received a “Me? Overboard? Darling, I would never! Simple and elegant, that’s what the headlines will say!”

• The many, many, many vision boards said otherwise. However you already knew damn well “simple and elegant” translated to grandeur and extravagant– and that’s exactly what it was. To Lucifer’s credit, it wasn’t gaudy or blinding. It really was a gorgeous spectacle

• Per his request it’s an all white event, a stark contrast to the overall location. The guest list is massive. After all, Lucifer’s still a king and certain people would be offended if they missed an occasion like this. Everyone goes all out. Bodies pour into chairs, everyone dripping head to toe in white garments and glamorous jewels

• Lucifer preened and primped, checking the mirror a couple hundred times and asking whoever was in the room if he looked ok. Anything less than “outstanding” had him groaning as he turned back to the mirror

• The wedding suddenly seems like a terrible idea. Not because he has cold feet (he’s rather sweaty, actually) but because the moment he sees you he just wants to steal you away

• You are positively and wholly breathtaking. The stars are jealous over how you outshine them! He can’t do anything but stare in amazement as you walk down the aisle

• Does he, Lucifer Morningstar, vow to protect, love, cherish and serve you for all eternity? Undoubtedly. He adds a few his own too like spoil you rotten, compliment you hourly, never ever never let you feel like you’re alone— all things he’s already done but wanted to make it “official”

• “It’s been an honor to be your confidant and friend… but I’m dying to do that and more as your husband.”

• Then do you take him to have and to hold, for better or worse, richer or poorer?

• “I do.” You answer proudly, squeezing his hands ever so slightly

• Forgetting present company, forgetting he’s a king and supposed to act dignified, Lucifer doesn’t wait to get permission to kiss you. He jumps slightly, knowing you’ll catch him instantly. Hugging your neck he crashes his lips onto yours

• You giggle against him, returning the kiss briefly before setting him down. (Hell knows he’d get carried away and forget much more if you didn’t)

• “I do believe you’re my husband now, Luci.”

• The entire wedding may as well have been a surprise party the way his eyes widened, as if it only just set in what the ordeal was for

• “Oh my golly, I’m your husband. I’m your husband! Hey everybody, I'm their husband!”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ don’t apologize, you did great friend! thank you so mochi and i hope you enjoy

[meowzfordayz]

when you grab their chest — akaza, douma, muzan, kyojuro, giyuu, tengen

Author’s Note: pardon the ridiculously long title. 🥴😂 “Fem!Reader” applies to Tengen only.

when you grab their chest — akaza, douma, muzan, kyojuro, giyuu, tengen

Akaza x Reader, Douma x Reader, Muzan x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader, Uzui Tengen x Reader

Word Count: ~900

CW: dark humor, Fem!Reader, mild sexual content

Suggestion Fulfilled: I have a request😤 I recently read a certain ass slapping fic which I adored could you do a similar fic with the same characters +giyu and Douma with the reader coming up from behind the and squeezing their man tiddies

~faqs~

I 100% would’ve used MAN TIDDIES in my title, but figured Tumblr would hide this post from tags if I did, so I went w/ “chest” instead 😆

Also, some of these are canon compliant — Muzan, Kyojuro, Giyuu

While others are set in modern au (alternate universe; modern setting) — Akaza, Douma, Tengen

AKAZA

Immediately tenses

#noice 😌😎 after all, the man is ripped

The more Akaza tenses, the more you wanna squish

Except, it’s kinda hard to squish pure, flexed muscle ?? 😔

“Akaza, my love, could you relax?” 🥺

He’s still confused, but my love automatically has him at your beck and call, so-

He relaxes

*gleeful squeal* 😍 *squish squish* 😍

Aaand he’s tensed again

If you actually take the time to explain yourself, then he’ll be absolutely embarrassed flattered

Lowkey decides to do an extra 100 push ups daily, just bc he’s so darn in love w/ you 😭

DOUMA

Douma’s been waiting all his life for you to grab his moobs

So like

He’s one happy camper !!!!! 😌🥳

“all his life” = since he met you

As for “moobs”? I had to, just once 😃

Slowly flexes them so he can hear your amazed gasp 😍

“Are you drooling?” he smirks

“Fuck off,” you scowl

You try to withdraw your hands to wipe away your incriminating drool 😒🤤

But he doesn’t let you 🤪

He squeezes your wrists, grinning widely to himself, “Don’t leave me.” 😇

“But I’m done,” you grumble, resting your forehead between his shoulder blades (you’ve already accepted your fate 🤠)

“I’m not,” he retorts, “Not even close.” 🤗

Translation? Douma wants you to massage his pectorals

#pretty pls and ty

MUZAN

Once again, I’m presuming you’re a demon, and Muzan’s immediate reaction is to slice off your hands 💀

Thank gosh for regeneration! 😮‍💨

You’ve gotta quit surprising him 🤪

I mean

Yeah

He enjoys when you touch him 😅

BUT, he has a reputation to uphold, and being startled by your random displays of physical attention doesn’t exactly help 🙃

The implication that he lets his guard down w/ you (bc how else could you ever hope to genuinely startle him?) is making me feel things 😭

“Do that again, and I won’t be so forgiving.”

The faint dip between his brows has you thinking otherwise 🤭

“What if I ask first?” 😉

You’re treading on thin ice 😬

His eyes flash, “Pardon?”

Good thing he’s close to cracking too 😌

“If I ask to touch you?”

I’ll kill you “You wouldn’t.”

WeLp

He didn’t say No 🤗

(obvi consent’s a must, but in this specific context mutual flirtation’s strongly implied and also it’s literally Muzan)

“Oh!” <— Kyojuro exclaims, cheerful as ever ☺️

“Hello there,” he chuckles, smiling at the feeling of your body pressed against his back, “Are you checking something?”

“Mhm,” you grin, “They’re still here!” 😇

“My pectorals?” his head tilts, “Of course they are?!”

He’s ~a little oblivious, okay? 😃

“How about you hug me from the front?” he suggests gently, “That way I get to hug you too!”

😭😭😭

He’s so precious

How could you refuse?????

Spoiler alert: you can’t

GIVE THE MAN HIS HUG 🥺❤️‍🔥

Spoiler alert: you give Kyojuro his hug, and it is very cozy 🥰

A tad sweaty + suffocating, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world 🥺

Shocked 😵‍💫

Giyuu’s inner monologue: ????? What? Is? This?

Giyuu’s outer dialogue: *still as stone*

“Giyuu?” you immediately remove your hands, scurrying to his front side, head tilted w/ concern, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfort-” 😕

“You didn’t,” he interrupts quietly, finally grasping his bearings, “It was…” aaand now he’s blushing, “... nice.” 🥺☺️

Your nose scrunches, relief relaxing your shoulders as you nod sheepishly, “I’m glad I didn’t freak you out too much.”

“Mhm,” he smiles reassuringly, “You freaked me out,” gently guiding your palms back to his chest, “But not too much,” winking shyly at you, “The perfect amount, in fact.”

HELP !!!!! CAN YOU JUST CAN I  FWIBEIUVLNSOUEJGBWO;GNS

Suave, sexy, knows-what-he-wants, isn’t-afraid-to-tell-you, will-even-go-after-it-himself Giyuu has entered the chat

AnD I AM HERE FOR IT 😭😭😭💘

LOUD LAUGHTER

You can feel it through his tiddies 😆

“Envious, my dear?” 😉

Okay

Presumptuous much? 😒

But alllso 🙄

“If you could share…” you pout, “Gimme just a lil?” 🤗

“You’re welcome to work out with me,” he chuckles fondly, flexing for you, “These could totally be yours!”

You sigh, “Tengen, pectorals and breasts aren’t the same thing.”

“I know that,” he shrugs, patting your knuckles reassuringly, “Your breasts are perfect, and I’m happy to coach you and your pectorals if you so desire.”

You decide to test the waters 🌊

“What if my pectorals get bigger than yours?” 😏

Tengen immediately drowns you 🌊💀

“Not a chance.” 😐

And then he tacks on, a tad nicer, “But you could certainly get very big pectorals.” ☺️

“Just not bigger than yours,” you grin 😏

He nods grimly, “My ego would pop.” 😔

“And that would be tragic.” ☹️

“Indeed,” he squeezes your hands (which remain splayed across his chest), still basking in your touch, “I appreciate your understanding.” 😖🥰

(fyi, if your pectorals did get bigger than Tengen’s, then he’d: survive, be super proud of you, and beg to know your workout regimen)

[byoldervine]

Writing Tips - Beating Perfectionism

1. Recognising writing perfectionism. It’s not usually as literal as “This isn’t 100% perfect and so it is the worst thing ever”, in my experience it usually sneaks up more subtly. Things like where you should probably be continuing on but if you don’t figure out how to word this paragraph better it’s just going to bug you the whole time, or where you’re growing demotivated because you don’t know how to describe the scene 100% exactly as you can imagine it in your head, or things along those lines where your desire to be exact can get in the way of progression. In isolated scenarios this is natural, but if it’s regularly and notably impacting your progress then there’s a more pressing issue

2. Write now, edit later. Easier said than done, which always infuriated me until I worked out how it translates into practice; you need to recognise what the purpose of this stage of the writing process is and when editing will hinder you more than help you. Anything up to and including your first draft is purely done for structural and creative purposes, and trying to impose perfection on a creative process will naturally stifle said creativity. Creativity demands the freedom of imperfection

3. Perfection is stagnant. We all know that we have to give our characters flaws and challenges to overcome since, otherwise, there’s no room for growth or conflict or plot, and it ends up being boring and predictable at best - and it’s just the same as your writing. Say you wrote the absolute perfect book; the perfect plot, the perfect characters, the perfect arcs, the perfect ending, etc etc. It’s an overnight bestseller and you’re discussed as a literary great for all time. Everyone, even those outside of your target demographic, call it the perfect book. Not only would that first require you to turn the perfect book into something objective, which is impossible, but it would also mean that you would either never write again, because you can never do better than your perfect book, or you’ll always write the exact same thing in the exact same way to ensure constant perfection. It’s repetitive, it’s boring, and all in all it’s just fearful behaviour meant to protect you from criticism that you aren’t used to, rather than allowing yourself to get acclimated to less than purely positive feedback

4. Faulty comparisons. Comparing your writing to that of a published author’s is great from an analytical perspective, but it can easily just become a case of “Their work is so much better, mine sucks, I’ll never be as good as them or as good as any ‘real’ writer”. You need to remember that you’re comparing a completely finished draft, which likely underwent at least three major edits and could have even had upwards of ten, to wherever it is you’re at. A surprising number of people compare their *first* draft to a finished product, which is insanity when you think of it that way; it seems so obvious from this perspective why your first attempt isn’t as good as their tenth. You also end up comparing your ability to describe the images in your head to their ability to craft a new image in your head; I guarantee you that the image the author came up with isn’t the one their readers have, and they’re kicking themselves for not being able to get it exactly as they themselves imagine it. Only the author knows what image they’re working off of; the readers don’t, and they can imagine their own variation which is just as amazing

5. Up close and too personal. Expanding on the last point, just in general it’s harder to describe something in coherent words than it is to process it when someone else prompts you to do so. You end up frustrated and going over it a gazillion times, even to the point where words don’t even look like words anymore. You’ve got this perfect vision of how the whole story is supposed to go, and when you very understandably can’t flawlessly translate every single minute detail to your satisfaction, it’s demotivating. You’re emotionally attached to this perfect version that can’t ever be fully articulated through any other medium. But on the other hand, when consuming other media that you didn’t have a hand in creating, you’re viewing it with perfectly fresh eyes; you have no ‘perfect ideal’ of how everything is supposed to look and feel and be, so the images the final product conjures up become that idealised version - its no wonder why it always feels like every writer except you can pull off their visions when your writing is the only one you have such rigorous preconceived notions of

6. That’s entertainment. Of course writing can be stressful and draining and frustrating and all other sorts of nasty things, but if overall you can’t say that you ultimately enjoy it, you’re not writing for the right reasons. You’ll never take true pride in your work if it only brings you misery. Take a step back, figure out what you can do to make things more fun for you - or at least less like a chore - and work from there

7. Write for yourself. One of the things that most gets to me when writing is “If this was found and read by someone I know, how would that feel?”, which has lead me on multiple occasions to backtrack and try to be less cringe or less weird or less preachy or whatever else. It’s harder to share your work with people you know whose opinions you care about and whose impressions of you have the potential of shifting based on this - sharing it to strangers whose opinions ultimately don’t matter and who you’ll never have to interact with again is somehow a lot less scary because their judgements won’t stick. But allowing the imaginary opinions of others to dictate not even your finished project, but your unmoderated creative process in general? Nobody is going to see this without your say so; this is not the time to be fussing over how others may perceive your writing. The only opinion that matters at this stage is your own

8. Redirection. Instead of focusing on quality, focusing on quantity has helped me to improve my perfectionism issues; it doesn’t matter if I write twenty paragraphs of complete BS so long as I’ve written twenty paragraphs or something that may or may not be useful later. I can still let myself feel accomplished regardless of quality, and if I later have to throw out whole chapters, so be it

9. That’s a problem for future me. A lot of people have no idea how to edit, or what to look for when they do so, so having a clear idea of what you want to edit by the time the editing session comes around is gonna be a game-changer once you’re supposed to be editing. Save the clear work for when you’re allocating time for it and you’ll have a much easier and more focused start to the editing process. It’ll be more motivating than staring blankly at the intimidating word count, at least

10. The application of applications. If all else fails and you’re still going back to edit what you’ve just wrote in some struggle for the perfect writing, there are apps and websites that you can use that physically prevent you from editing your work until you’re done with it. If nothing else, maybe it can help train you away from major edits as you go