#but im having fun writing it :)
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inkskinned Ā· 1 month ago
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we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.
"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."
i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.
you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"
i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.
what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.
i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.
"don't make a big deal about this," you said.
this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.
"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.
you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."
the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.
afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."
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zan0tix Ā· 3 months ago
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ALPHA KIDS: Draw your best friends!
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DIRK: I'd say I'm better at one on one character interaction work of the more intimate variety, but I think this piece came together nicely. DIRK: Fun for the whole family style wholesomeness, any motherfucker in the radius of a screen displaying this image will instantly get hit with a sore case of heartburn and their tear ducts will clock in overtime at the weeping factory.
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ROXY: im so proud of these i think these are my best designs yet :3 but omg dirk callie and jake were SOOO peculiar about their damn designs over my shoulder. jake wanted me to clarify that even in pink pen form his little guy is BLUE. so there. sigh this is the one occasion they could take notes from janey.. JUST LET LE ARTIST WORK!
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JANE: Boy! I don't draw often but I always was fond of calligraphy growing up. I was kind of inspired by all of the other's works, but especially Calliope's swirls she puts in her art. It's very fun to add!
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JAKE: Im not quite the best with posing, but i find the head very fun to study! Especially skulls.. so good ole calliope makes for the perfect muse! (hehe)
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CALLIOPE: i realized i hadn't ever made a piece with Us in the same place at once. u_u CALLIOPE: bUt since it's reality now here's all of Us together, United at last! ^u^
==->
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choccy-milky Ā· 9 days ago
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how seb and clora get together in my fic šŸ’•bc what better time and place to confess and share your first kiss than around a bunch of inferi + the dead body of a man you just killed?? šŸ„°šŸ’–
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spiritsong Ā· 7 months ago
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wyll.y.am ravengard, I love you so
everyone loves to put him in gold (rightly so) but my personal style is lots of silver jewelry + heavy eyeliner so that's what I gave him. also roses because he's so damn venusian
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rendevok Ā· 1 year ago
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ā€œTake my handā€ a comic for NaruMitsu Week 2023
day 1 - lies & secrets - 2 - 3 - 4
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crimson-constellations Ā· 7 months ago
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atla modern au where suki & zuko are life guards for the summer and sokka just keeps drowning
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deerspherestudios Ā· 2 months ago
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If anyone's wondering how the new VN for the Monstrous Desires jam is going,,
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mysicklove Ā· 1 year ago
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boys who love overstimulation live in my head rent-free. because who can really like something like that? it hurts so badly, and it makes their mind go terrifyingly blank, so why do they not use their safeword? why do they let you torture them so?
closing their eyes and letting out the most broken and pathetic sobs with every second to pass by. they cant do anything, just have to sit there and take it while their tip throbs and tears flood their eyes. sobbing out, "too much! its-stop it! im sensitive!!" while you kiss their cheek and force their thighs open.
the boys who like the way they feel powerless under you. they cant fight back against the overstimulation, their mercy belongs to you completely. there mind goes blank during this time, only focused on your movements and the pain. in the back of their heads they can hear the lewd squelching noise of the cum dripping down their shafts mixed with your cruel movements. the way their body jerks when you reach the head repeatedly and their wrists tighten against the sheets to bare the pain.
but the whole time they are looking at you with most lovesick eyes. some smiling at you while tears running down their face, while others plead for you to give them a break. either way, the next time you touch them, they are begging you for more after they orgasmed.
izuku, kyojuro, denki, keigo, reo, armin, douma, eren, tengen, bachira, isagi, zenitsu
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curlytsunamiart Ā· 3 days ago
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preview for a comic i'm working on, of a confrontation between miquella and messmer in the shadow keep throne room. please look foward to it
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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat Ā· 10 months ago
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YOUā€™RE AN ANGEL, Iā€™M A DOG ; SATORU GOJO
synopsis; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoruā€™s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. he takes matters into his own hands.
word count; 4.3k
contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, yan!gojo, as far as yanderes go heā€™s very mild i think (im sensitive u can trust me!!), mentions of blood, implied murder (not depicted!!), he threatens your professor w a knife lol, surprisingly fluffy??, gojo is soooo lovesick & smitten, he just wants his baby to live a happy life :( is that so wrong :((, also your parents love him <33 and he calls you honey <333 ideal man.
a/n; i blacked out & when i woke up this was in my draftsā€¦ mysterious. @kissxcore here u go alexis <33 one very smitten morally gray yan!gojo just for u!! i completely lost the plot halfway through but i had a lot of fun writing this!! :33 i donā€™t dabble in yan content at all so it was a fun lil challenge hehe, i hope it ended up . Somewhat .. decentā€¦
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satoru thinks you deserve everything good.
ā€haahā€¦ā€
ā€” the sigh spills into the air, like a dot of ink on paper, dripping with exhaustion; a palpable fatigue that has his heart clenching beneath his ribs.
just as he feared, youā€™re here. again. seated on the couch, in the living room, legs crossed and framed by flimsy strings of moonlight; illuminated only by the dim light of the laptop in front of you. carding through your hair, blinking sluggishly.
another sigh. deep, exasperated, from satoru this time. he keeps a single hand on his hip, brows furrowed in soft disappointment.Ā 
ā€honeyā€¦ what do you think youā€™re doing?ā€
you jolt, the sudden sound breaking you out of whatever trance you were previously in. when your gaze flits to his, craning your head to see him rest against the wall leading up to your bedroom, he thinks you look a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
it makes him smile. despite his disapproval.
ā€ah ā€” satoru! itā€™sā€¦ um.ā€ a moment passes. he can practically see the gears of your mind turning, searching for a good excuse. ā€ā€¦ not what it looks like?ā€
he clicks his tongue. ā€nice try.ā€
then heā€™s walking towards you, in long strides, gliding across the room like a butterfly in search of nectar. from the sweetest flower there ever was.
even when said flower is still awake, past midnight, pulling an all-nighter despite his frequent advice not to. his very frequent, very thoughtful advice not to strain yourself until you just about pass out.
but you just wonā€™t listen.
ā€ā€™m disappointed in you, baby,ā€ he huffs, just playful enough to ward off any genuine feelings of distress. he could never truly be disappointed in his baby. ā€what did we say about studying this late, hm?ā€
a sheepish chuckle slips past your lips. satoru is standing in front of you, hands on his hips, raising a questioning eyebrow as you squirm. lighthearted, yes, but genuine. it makes you feel a little guilty.
ā€ā€¦ sorry,ā€ you breathe, closing the lid of your laptop. knowing he wonā€™t let you stay up any longer. with the loss of light, your face becomes shrouded in darkness. ā€just canā€™t sleep when iā€™m so stressed.ā€
at that, satoru makes a tiny noise ā€” something worried, a little sad, from the base of his throat. a soft frown finds its way onto his lips, and he blinks the sleep away from his senses. plopping down beside you.
ā€i know. iā€™m not trying to lecture you,ā€ he croons, reaching out to cradle the apple of your cheek. you melt into him like molten honey, easy and sweet. ā€just worried. know youā€™re stressed.ā€
and he does. he does know ā€” itā€™s all heā€™s been able to think about, these past few weeks. to his dismay, heā€™s even begun to grow used to this sight, used to finding you in the midst of working yourself to exhaustion. fighting the urge to sleep, slumped over your desk, or cooped up on the couch. staring into your laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.
time and time again, heā€™s told you to take care of yourself. tried to coax you into relaxing, rubbing your sore shoulders and kissing the puffy skin beneath your eyes. but this exam is important ā€” youā€™ve told him as much, more times than he can count. he doesnā€™t doubt that youā€™re right.Ā 
of course youā€™d be stressed. he gets it.
still, though.
ā€but you know itā€™s not good, yeah? that itā€™ll just burn you out?ā€ his thumb goes to smooth over the dark crescents beneath your eyes, gentle as a feather. ā€we donā€™t want that, do we?ā€
you bite your lip. trapping it between your teeth. he knows you know. ā€ā€¦ yeah,ā€ you admit, a flimsy little sigh on your tongue. ā€it just feels easier to do this at night. donā€™t know why.ā€
ā€my little night owl.ā€
that makes you smile, a little, but itā€™s not enough to satisfy him. he curls an arm around your waist, and drags you into his lap; gentle, always gentle, like all that exists under your skin is made of porcelain. like the lines of your face form a string of words, a label of fragile: handle with care. he always does.
with his heartbeat by your ear, his warmth melting into yours, itā€™s easier to speak. a pressure on your chest that fades away. ā€iā€™ll try not to do it again,ā€ you murmur, biting back a soft yawn. nuzzling into his neck. ā€promise. donā€™t wanna worry youā€¦ā€
satoru softens.Ā 
(always so good to him.)
ā€itā€™s fine, honey. i understand.ā€ he smiles, smoothing down your spine, counting the bumps of vertebra that slide along his palm. ā€donā€™t worry that pretty little head of yours over me, alright?ā€
in return for his comfort, you wriggle away, lifting your head to give him a smile. one of your many smiles, each one fervently cherished by him; the one youā€™re wearing now is tired, a soft curl of your lips, the kind that makes him want to lull you to sleep. just the sight alone makes the anxiety in his veins feel like a worthy investment.
he doesnā€™t tell you anything that could cause that joy to diminish. doesnā€™t tell you that he canā€™t sleep without you, that he can barely breathe knowing youā€™re this stressed all time. doesnā€™t tell you that he jolted awake with a sinking feeling of dread, a gaping pit in his stomach when he didnā€™t immediately feel the warmth of your skin against his. doesnā€™t tell you that he always, always assumes the worst.
satoru doesnā€™t tell you these things. itā€™s a safety measure, an act of love. a bundle of unvoiced syllables, woven into white lies, silky and sweet. tailor-made to put your aching mind at ease.Ā 
satoru thinks you deserve everything good.
itā€™s a theory, of sorts, a train of thought. a hypothesis made manifest. after many years of pondering, heā€™s arrived at the following conclusion; you are all thatā€™s good. therefore, it only follows that you deserve everything thatā€™s good, all of it and more. satoru believes you deserve every single thing your little heart desires ā€” and heā€™s determined to give it to you.
so heā€™s been worried.
itā€™s not that he doesnā€™t trust you. he knows youā€™ll ace the exam, knows youā€™ll do your very best, knows youā€™ll make him proud. you always do. you arenā€™t the problem, no, never.
he just doesnā€™t trust your professor.Ā 
that unfair, stuck-up, incompetent professor whoā€™d fail his students just for being a couple minutes late, who curates his exams to be as convoluted as humanly possible. you and your friends are starting to suspect he just likes berating people for a living. satoru knows it all, heā€™s heard it all, of course he has. satoru pays attention to everything, when it comes to you. he knows all about your professor, the man whoā€™s been making your studies pure hell for the past semester.
it makes his blood boil. steady, ruminating, hot and heavy in his veins. a rivulet of lava.
(it was only a matter of time.)
satoru is a teacher too; he knows that type. one that has no business being a teacher, in the first place, one no student deserves to be subjected to. heā€™s met more of them in his career than he could even begin to count. the thought of one of his own students being at the mercy of someone so incompetent makes his skin itch.
and the thought of you, seated on the couch, crying and sniffling when he comes home because none of the exam questions made enough sense for you to even try ā€”
it makes satoru want to claw his skin off.
it makes that tiny, tiny cavern in his heart extend, widen, like a maw, swallowing up his liver and lungs and sense of morality. an emptiness begging to be filled.Ā 
thereā€™s only one way to satiate it.
so he plants a wet kiss on your forehead, ruffles your hair, tucks you into bed and waits until you fall asleep. deep and heavy, a slumber you wonā€™t wake up from anytime soon. he presses his lips to your forehead one more time ā€” for good measure.
then he grabs his coat and slips outside.
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the moon is visible through the window.
a thin crescent, nailed next to the dim stars, leaking a dream-like fluorescent shine; illuminating the office, so quiet he can hear those erratic breaths spill out, one by one. a heavy, heavy silence, thick enough to spread like butter over toast.Ā 
(ah, thatā€™s right ā€” he forgot to buy the butter you asked for this morning. no wonder he feels so out of sorts. heā€™ll have to grab it on his way back.)
ā€whoā€¦ w ā€” what are ā€” ?ā€
satoru stays silent. lips pursed, eyes keen, burning into the back of the man in front of him. close, almost chest to back, enough to have him scowling in displeasure.Ā 
just being in his presence makes satoru feel a little sick.Ā 
he keeps the blade pressed right beneath his adamā€™s apple, a silver glimmer in an office painted blue and gray. not enough to sink into his skin, but enough to have his heartbeat hammering, enough that satoru can practically feel those rapid flutters of life. brushing against his gloved hand.
he gets straight to the point. voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, low enough that itā€™s barely even audible. heā€™s careful, about this kind of thing. thereā€™s a delicacy to the ill intent, something heā€™d be a little enamored with if it werenā€™t for the compass stuffed into his ribs ā€” the compass that tells him this is wrong.
he just canā€™t bring himself to care.
ā€the upcoming exam.ā€ his voice sends a shiver down the manā€™s spine. satoru can feel it. ā€donā€™t fail a single student.ā€
silence. pure silence, suffocating them, tangling itself into the air. satoru can practically taste it ā€” fear, familiar, that pang of panic. a ticking time-bomb. the knife stays pressed against warm skin, pushing, sinking, just a little, a drop of red against his pale throat.Ā 
itā€™s enough to get your professor to make a little noise, one that vaguely resembles a whine. like that of a small animal, rolling over on its belly, eager to play dead. no word is spoken in reply, but he nods, just barely, a nervous tremble of his head.
satoru hums, approving. ā€good.ā€ he doesnā€™t loosen his grip. ā€thereā€™s a particular student iā€™m worried about. marked them down in the catalogue... iā€™m counting on you.ā€
another noise. a grunt of affirmation, a silent plea ā€” satoru allows that fear to seep into his own bones, just a little, just to get a taste of it. cold on his tongue. he wonders if this is what helplessness feels like.
then he takes a step back. slow, tentative, dragging the knife with him. not before parting his lips once more. ā€donā€™t turn around,ā€ he warns. ā€iā€™ll be back if there are any complications. thisā€™ll be our little secret, hm?ā€
the man in front of him doesnā€™t say a thing. frozen in fear, paralyzed, not moving an inch. a fly trapped in his web. itā€™s a relief.
before he exits the room, satoru puts the final nail in the coffin. just in case. ā€i happen to know what school your daughter goes to.ā€ he waits for a flinch, and it comes almost instantly. like clockwork. ā€œremember that.ā€
itā€™s an empty threat. your professor doesnā€™t know that, though. he doesnā€™t know that satoru knows his daughter, that he walks past her preschool almost every morning on his way to work. that she waves to him whenever he passes by, and that he makes it a point to always wave back. a little troublemaker; the rowdiest of utahimeā€™s preschoolers. she has a bubbly laugh, and just lost one of her milk teeth. she was giddy when she showed him, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips as he cooed and ruffled her hair.Ā 
he wouldnā€™t lay a finger on her.Ā 
but your professor doesnā€™t know that, hasnā€™t got a single clue, and satoru delights in the fear that must be running through his veins. down his spine, crawling into every narrow of his skeleton, making a home for itself that heā€™ll never quite be able to root out.
a gulp. satoru hears it, in the quiet of nightfall, just before he shuts the door behind him. good.
the rest of the evening is a blur. satoru gets home, relieved to find you still asleep, and tucks you into his chest. makes a mental reminder to order your favorite take out tomorrow; a little reward for your hard work.
finally, he can sleep easy. knowing youā€™ll get what you deserve.Ā 
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three weeks later, satoru places his hand on the familiar doorknob in front of him, dragging his weight behind him. blinking sluggishly.Ā 
thereā€™s a sinking feeling in his chest, weighing him down ā€” like an anchor tied to his liver. a compass, tucked between his fourth and fifth rib, one thatā€™ll always stay lodged right there. heā€™s learned to grow used to it, a natural consequence, a sign that his humanity is still intact.Ā 
that doesnā€™t make it any less bothersome, though.
(ridding the world of a pest shouldnā€™t make him feel dirty. especially when he felt nothing but contempt for the pest in question, for the way he whistled as you walked by, the words he spewed before satoru met his eye. vile. putrid. why should he feel guilty for wiping a stain off the pavement?
it does make him feel dirty, though. a sinking feeling in his chest.)
thereā€™s nothing to be done about it. satoru swallows the unpleasant taste on his tongue, and drags the door open, closing it behind him with a softness he reserves for you alone.
and there you are.
on the couch, farther away, already looking his way ā€” lips instantly curling up into what he knows will be a smile. this time, itā€™s laced with excitement. one of his personal favorites. his gaze devours the joy in your features, the glimpse he gets of your teeth, that familiar crinkle of your eyes.Ā 
youā€™re smiling. at him. you smile and his world wakes up, itā€™s dyed in different shades of blue, itā€™s brimming with life and love and something too good not to kill for. you smile and everything is right, good, worth it. you smile and it's as if the blood has been washed off his hands.
suddenly, all is well again. satoru exhales a blissful little breath.
ā€œā€˜m home, honey,ā€ he grins, a light pink dusting his cheeks, hanging his coat up before turning to face you. arms wide open. ā€œdid you miss me?ā€
his heartbeat stutters when you practically engulf him, all giddy giggles and that perfect smile, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. ā€œmhm,ā€ is what you chirp, pressing kisses down his collarbone, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop the shivers trailing down his spine. he tastes iron, but laps it up with a coo. sickly-sweet.
ā€œmissed you too, precious,ā€ he purrs. ā€œsorry i was gone for so long ā€” had to take care of something.ā€Ā 
he cups the back of your skull with his palm, large and crafted just to hold you, and marvels at how much you trust him. how youā€™re melting into his chest, fitting into every crevice of his heart. he wants to keep you there forever. forever and ever, always within reach, always close enough to touch.Ā 
but he also wants you to be happy. he wants to see you run away, wherever the wind takes you, if only so heā€™ll get to feel you jump into his arms again, when youā€™ve had your fill of the world. when you come home to him, where you both belong.
satoru would never cage you. never, never, never. he wants you to enjoy your life ā€” confining you wouldnā€™t do any good, would only stifle that pretty smile he loves so dearly. he wants your world to be large, brimming with life, blooming with fervor, wants the air to be clear enough for your beautiful lungs. he couldnā€™t build a world for you, here, in this apartment. no matter how big or luxurious.Ā 
so his only option is to bend the world into a kinder shape ā€” twist and mold until it forms a path good enough for you to follow.
(itā€™s worth it, he knows, heā€™ll always know. itā€™s worth it to see that smile.)
ā€œis that a new coat?ā€ you ask, naive and innocent, and it breaks him out of his thoughts, attention wired to the lilt of your voice.
ā€œyeah.ā€ itā€™s stylish, expensive, a nice shade of black. he had to throw the last one away. ā€œlooks nice, right? iā€™ll get you the same one, pretty.ā€
ā€œyou donā€™t have to, toru!ā€ you hurriedly exclaim, knowing heā€™ll jump at the opportunity to spoil you. ā€œi like the one i have now!ā€
satoru pouts. a soft huff, right by your ear. ā€œyou donā€™t wanna wear matching coats?ā€ he feigns sadness, scratching softly at your scalp, drinking up the little purrs that bubble up in your throat.Ā 
and you giggle. you giggle and all he can think is worth it, worth it, worth it. a stained coat or two means nothing. the blood on his hands is just insurance.Ā 
ā€œwell, when you put it like thatā€¦ā€ you shift a little, curling your arms around his neck, breathing him in. he wonders if you can smell the cleaning detergent. ā€œi guess i wouldnā€™t mind a new coat.ā€
and he grins. ā€œright? want me to buy you new shoes while iā€™m at it? some jewelry?ā€ he peppers kisses down your neck, amusement laced in his voice. ā€œthe whole store?ā€
again, those giggles. again and again. he laps them up like fine wine. ā€œokay, thatā€™s too much.ā€
ā€œbut you deserve it!ā€ he whines, sickeningly sweet. sick to his stomach with love. ā€œbeen working so hard, my angel.ā€
and, suddenly ā€” you light up. his little firefly. brightening, inhaling a giddy breath. pulling away, a little, and he does his best to bite back the frown on his face. youā€™re practically beaming, sunshine personified, eyes glittering with giddy joy.
ā€œright! i almost forgot!ā€Ā 
then youā€™re skipping away, happily, to retrieve your phone. and he knows what youā€™re going to show him, but still feigns surprise when he sees the score on your exam, that perfect 100 on the screen. still makes an expression of shock that he knows will get you to laugh, still picks you up and spins you around and tells you how proud he is.
he almost, almost feels bad, seeing you smile so wide; at what you assume to be the fruits of your own labour. almost feels ashamed, knowing that perfect 100 wouldnā€™t exist without the knife at your professorā€™s throat.
but, then again, this is how it should be. those numbers are the fruits of your own labour, because satoru is a part of you. and you deserve it, deserve it more than anyone ā€” he knows you would have gotten it, even without his help, if your professor was competent enough to see your brilliance.Ā 
satoru smiles. he is proud of you. and this is exactly how it should be. heā€™s just bending the world into its rightful shape, cutting strings from a wrongly woven web, righting the wrongs of the people around you.
you, you, you. the only thing that exists.
all of him is for you.
ā€i knew you could do it. never doubted you for a second, baby,ā€ he smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and you return it with a kiss to his jaw.Ā 
ā€thank you. iā€™m just so relieved,ā€ you exhale a breath, heavy, and itā€™s like he can practically see the stress melting from your shoulders and eyes. worth it, worth it, worth it. ā€gosh. iā€™m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.ā€
ā€as you should,ā€ satoru chirps, pinching your side. softly, brimming with fondness. ā€but before that, weā€™re gonna celebrate. all day. and tomorrow too!ā€
another smile coaxed from your lips; this time, itā€™s a little bit shy. bashful, at the praise, his endless excitement. so precious he wants to kiss you breathless. give you all the air in his lungs.
so precious that he forgets about everything else.Ā 
this is what you always do to him; wrap him up in a blanket of your love, cloud his veins with a nectar so sweet he takes the leap into your arms without a second thought. a foolish, lovesick butterfly, sticking to a single rose; dripping with honey, overflowing. the butterfly is too drunk on love to care.Ā 
youā€™re his flower, his joy, the most useful form of anesthesia. with you in his veins, on his mind, your lips on his jaw ā€” satoru can pretend that his hands are clean. that they always have been.
it all slips from his mind. your professor, the creep who catcalled you yesterday, that one classmate youā€™ve been complaining about recently. he forgets that they even exists, and satoru thinks that must be what love is: something that narrows your world down until you can make a home out of it.Ā 
(something worth holding onto, no matter the cost.)
as always, itā€™s your voice that snaps him out of the trance heā€™s in. turning around at the sound of your call, the orpheus to your eurydice, too in love to save you from himself. youā€™re both getting ready to head out, dressing up for a well-deserved date.Ā 
satoru feels himself smile. he does the dirty work, and you get to reap the rewards. heaven on earth.
ā€œoh, by the way! would you want to have dinner with my parents tomorrow?ā€ you meet his absent gaze with a tilt of your head. ā€œtheyā€™ve been asking about you again. itā€™s such a headache, seriously.ā€
satoru giggles, barely containing how delighted he is. raising a playful brow. ā€œoh? grumpy that you arenā€™t the favorite child anymore, hm?ā€
ā€œokay, first of all ā€”ā€œ you stifle a giggle, pulling a drawer open, rummaging through it. freshly washed clothes. he washes most of your things. ā€œyou arenā€™t their child. and second of all ā€”ā€œ
ā€œā€” yet.ā€
a pause.Ā 
satoru watches your gaze flick over to him, then back to the drawer, collecting yourself. a cute flush to your cheeks. ā€œā€¦ whatever.ā€ you clear your throat. ā€œsecond of all ā€” i donā€™t like how much they like you. what kinda spell did you put them under? itā€™s always satoru this, satoru that!ā€
a huff fills the air, and you mutter something that sounds a little like mocking, an obnoxiously imitated whereā€™s satoru? that makes him chuckle into his fist.Ā 
he shrugs. ā€œiā€™m just a natural charmer, yā€™know? and, for the record; i would love to have dinner with them.ā€ he sends you a wink, playful, and you roll your eyes. ā€œare you joining us?ā€
a bout of laughter pushes past your lips, and satoru thinks he could die happy ā€” just soaking up the joy that spills from out your throat. he wishes he could live in it, paint your house in it, wear it. he wants your joy to be all he ever feels. he feels sick at the idea of ever being out of earshot for it.
ā€œyes, iā€™m joining you.ā€ your scoff is dripping with humour. ā€iā€™d hate to be the fourth wheel, but it is what it is.ā€
satoru stifles a grin. ā€lucky me. three beauties all to myself,ā€ he drawls, a seductive lilt to his voice, just to hear that little noise you always make with the back of your throat. vaguely disgusted.
ā€youā€™re so gross.ā€
a coo. like the buzzing of a bee. ā€donā€™t be jealous, honey. know youā€™re my favorite, donā€™t you?ā€ satoru smiles ā€” more sincere than youā€™ll ever know. ā€could never love anyone else.ā€
ā€so my parents are in second place?ā€ you quirk a brow, amusement lacing your words, and he clicks his tongue.Ā 
ā€well, they made you. iā€™d have to be a fool not to worship artists of such caliber.ā€Ā 
ā€charmer.ā€
ā€yours.ā€ the word is a knife at his throat, a stain on his coat, a love so heavy itā€™ll burn him alive. ā€only yours.ā€
and again, you smile. all he can think is that you deserve everything, everything he could ever give you. itā€™s all he can think as you go about your day, as he leads you outside, as he watches that flicker of joy dance inside your iris. as he watches you walk wherever your heart takes you.
the thought remains when you return home, when you wrap yourselves up in blankets and he throws a leg over your waist and you curl an arm around his ribcage. itā€™s all he can think.Ā 
satoru was born to be of service ā€” to someone, to the world, to something or another. he was born to carry a weight on his back, so why not bear the weight of your burdens?
all he wants is to protect you. all heā€™ll ever need is that smile on your face. he was always bound to be just this: a dog at your heels, a halo around your head, the watchful eye keeping you safe from everything rotten in this world.Ā heā€™s the butterfly, the spider, the web itself. and heā€™ll never let you be tangled up in it.
he was born to be of service to you. so service you he will, until it all comes back to bite him.
ā€œsatoruuu ā€” stop stealing the blanket!ā€
he prays it never will.
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vacantgodling Ā· 11 months ago
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ngl i get that people hype up hating writing for the bit but like. idk. yall i Do actually really like writing. it is so satisfying and fun and rewarding and i get to look back what i made over and over again and get joy every single time.
yes writing is hard but if you hate it more than you love it im kinda like. idk. find another hobby?
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finsterwalds Ā· 8 months ago
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Thinking about better call saul if the action took place in france just because I wanted to see them in cunty robes lmao. More thoughts under the cut!
Obviously the action and the whole premise of bcs/brba wouldn't work in france (legal system aside, the whole cartel and walter white storyline would have to suffer major changes due to social security and the mexican cartel well. not existing here stricto sensu). But let's talk about the real Important Stuff : their names
I think Howard Hamlin would work well as Edouard Hamelin. He looses the cool HH initials yes, but it works really well as a genuine french name imo, and Howard/Edouard are pretty close phonetically
Chuck could still be called Charles without any realism issue, but he'd be nicknamed Charlie rather than Chuck because that's what a french person would go for... nicknames don't work the same, yeah
Kimberly Wexler and James McGill, I have no idea lmao. James when translated becomes Jacques, but it's such a boomerish uncool name that I cannot resolve myself to call my boy like that. It's also one generation too old. Jimmy being born in '60 could technically be called Jacques, but it'd be old-fashioned, as it's a name mostly given to the kids of the decade that came before him. McGill is an irish name, so something funny could be making Jimmy a breton with a funky last name like Gall/LeGall ? That's hilarious to me. But who knows.
Saul Goodman is a pun, so this is even harder for me to conceptualize. Saul's marketing would definitely not work in france at all, as no one would realistically hire a lawyer with a puny name and such chaotic displays (+ I think ads for legal dƩmarchage are illegal mind you). However, let's have a crack at it. It would have to be a pun based off an expression similar to "it's all good man", or implying something positive and familiar... I need to think on that one.
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bamsara Ā· 19 days ago
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I think one of the only ways to stay motivated on doing the boring part of writing (the editing grammer and spelling errors and such) is to have someone watch me do it since I zone out and miss things but I also don't want a beta reader because I don't want to constantly explain 'yes this is a run-on sentence but i dont care because i like the flow' and 'yes this isn't proper wording but it's the dialect of the character and narration and i want to keep it'
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blueberrybeomgyu Ā· 25 days ago
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ą­ØāŽÆ "attention" āŽÆą­§ (kdh)
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+*:šŸŒŸ:*ļ¹¤descrip. : leehan just wants ur eyes on him!! :(
+*:šŸ©·:*ļ¹¤content : sub!leehan, dom!reader, edging, riding (who's surprised), surely this is exhibitionism and voyeurism???
+*:šŸ§ƒ:*ļ¹¤warnings : 18+ mdni! :T (i'm watching you šŸ«µ), female anat 4 reader, piv sex, both characters are quite flawed imo but everything is consensual šŸ«¶, leehan confesses to reader like ten times but it's mostly in his head, leehanā€™s kinda weird in the mall sorry idk how men flirt idk how anyone flirts, leehan has a scent kink in my book idk how that happened but it did
+*:ā¤ļø:*ļ¹¤word count : 4.7k phew it's a long one buckle up
+*:šŸ:*ļ¹¤a/n : i tried my best to write the first paragraph as plot but it was so hard so I wrote it in drabble format but the rest is in story format!! sawry bout that </3 selfedging!leehan anon if you read this i hope u like it <33
+*:šŸŒŸ:*ļ¹¤masterlist
āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ: *
BF!Leehan who wants your eyes on him, but you've been so focused on work, leaving early and coming home late. He knows it's important, that you have to finish your project by the deadline, but he can't help but feel a little selfish about your time when you've rarely spoken to him in the past two weeks. He's barely even seen you, always falling asleep despite trying to stay up when you come home, and he's getting antsy missing your company.
You're sliding out of bed after only being home for five hours. Heā€™d startled awake when you came in, but you were too tired to talk, too tired to change before collapsing on the bed.
Heā€™d changed you himself, gently wiping your makeup off and massaging lotion into your skin, then held you close to him as you caught up on much-needed rest. He wakes up when he feels your body heat leave his side, and groans as he watches with foggy eyes as you disappear into the bathroom.Ā 
ā€œDonā€™t go to work. Stay here with me,ā€ he begs sweetly when you come back out. You consider it, he can see it on your face, but you ultimately shake your head.
ā€œI canā€™t, baby. Gotta get this project done, then Iā€™ll be all yours, mā€™kay?ā€Ā  He pouts, but it doesnā€™t last long because you kiss it away and ruffle his already messed up hair. Within minutes, youā€™re out the door.
Leehan sulks in bed for a little longer, wishing he could make you pay attention to him. It feels like the only time youā€™re actually looking at him, thinking about him, is when the two of you are intimate with each other. Itā€™s hard to find time in two busy schedules, but during those rare moments, itā€™s just you and him; the world around the two of you doesnā€™t exist anymore.
Heā€™s so warm and safe in bed and the only thing that would make it better is if you were here with him, tangled up in the sheets and wasting the day away. He thinks about your soft skin and how sweet it smells, how warm your touch is when heā€™s lucky enough to be blessed with it, blessed by your gentle eyes and kind words when theyā€™re focused only on him and spoken just for him to hear.
His hand is traveling under his waistband without hesitation, and thoughts of you clutter his mind as he wraps his palm around his length. He tries to mimic the way you squeeze his base and flick your thumb over his slit, tries to imagine itā€™s your pretty hands touching him this way. It's not long before stars are dancing behind his eyelids and heā€™s grunting out into the silent room.Ā 
You never want him to cum the first time around, and almost always pull away when heā€™s on the edge. Heā€™s so used to the denial, to the feeling of his orgasm slipping out of his grasp that it just feels natural when he pulls his hand away from his cock. He sucks in a breath at the way it twitches and sees you, hears you in his imagination, saying, ā€œGood boy, arenā€™t you so well-trained?ā€
He chews on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning hot need coursing through his veins, and an idea forms in his head. He knows he shouldnā€™t, but it should be fine, right? Just a voice message showing you how much he misses you. You wouldnā€™t get upset with him for that, surely.
He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens you guysā€™ text messages. He spends another four seconds convincing himself this is a good idea. Then heā€™s grabbing his cock again, pulling all the tricks to put him on the verge of tipping over. When he feels close, he presses the ā€œRecord a Messageā€ button beside the text bar.
At first, itā€™s just shy little moans as he complains about how much he misses you, how much better it would feel if you were here. Then, they turn into desperate, raspy gasps as he pushes himself over the edge. The audio recording sends the second he releases the button, and he canā€™t unsend it, so he accepts his choices and waits to hear what you have to say.
āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ: *āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ
The answer is absolutely nothing. You donā€™t respond to or address the audio recording at all, aside from a smirk and a ā€œDid you have fun today?ā€ that you throw his way when you walk through the front door.Ā 
He continues doing it, messages ranging from more audio recordings to photos of his stomach painted white, and usually youā€™ll kiss him, ruffle up his hand, call his ā€œlittle treatsā€ cute, make more promises to help him out when youā€™ve met your deadline.
He knows your work is important, but although guilt claws at him for it, Leehan still feels a bit hurt that you didnā€™t take his complaints to heart, just assumed it was another one of his trivial games.Ā 
Leehan can play games, and when you hole yourself up in the bedroom to type away at your laptop, he realizes that he will. Heā€™ll do whatever it takes to get your attention.
āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ: *āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ
You finally have a day off, and have decided youā€™d like to spend part of it at the mall looking through new arrivals. Leehanā€™s not big on shopping, so he just follows you around and occasionally gets distracted by fish merch.Ā 
Youā€™ve stepped away at least four times to take phone calls from your coworkers, and you guys have only been at the mall for an hour and a half. When lunchtime rolls around, you excuse yourself again to answer a call from your boss, leaving Leehan alone to pick at his food in disinterest.Ā 
ā€œUm, hi. Are you busy?ā€ A feminine voice says. The girl has to stand directly in Leehanā€™s line of sight for him to realize sheā€™s talking to him. When he looks up at her, she smiles shyly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.Ā 
ā€œCan I help you?ā€Ā 
ā€œNo! Well, yes. Iā€¦was just wondering if I could have your phone number. I saw you standing alone earlierā€¦ā€ The girlā€™s voice fades out as Leehan peeps your approaching figure in the distance, and the gears in his head turn with another (probably bad) idea.
ā€œ...alone again here in the food court, so I thought I should take the chance.ā€
Leehan didnā€™t hear most of what she said, but he can tell when someoneā€™s interested in him, and he can play along.
He flashes the girl a charming smile, dimples and all, and nods along to whatever sheā€™s rambling about. Sheā€™s cute enough, and seems like a nice girl, but Leehanā€™s real focus is entirely on you as you watch the scene. He watches you as best as he can from his peripheral, but never takes his eyes off the girl in front of him.Ā 
ā€œIs thatā€¦alright?ā€ She says, looking at Leehan with wide, hopeful eyes. He pretends to consider whatever she asked, and holds a palm out for her to rest her hand in. Her face gets even redder, and he kind of feels bad that heā€™s using her to get to you.
Heā€™s about to tell her that heā€™s sorry to disappoint, and that he appreciates it, he really does, but he has a girlfriend. He doesnā€™t get a chance to say any of that when you come up behind him seemingly out of nowhere and tap him on the shoulder. The girl pulls her hand away from Leehanā€™s and stands around awkwardly.
ā€œWhat do you think youā€™re doing?ā€ You ask. Your arms are crossed and your eyes are locked on his, but not with the love and admiration heā€™s been longing for. His composure falters when he sees your expression, one that says heā€™s fucked up more than he knows.
ā€œThis girl came up to me andā€¦ā€ He trails off and gestures in the girlā€™s general direction.
ā€œAnd?ā€ You ask impatiently, but Leehan doesnā€™t know how he was going to conclude that sentence. This girl came up to me and I pretended to be interested to get a rise out of you? He has a feeling thatā€™s not going to support his case well. You turn away from him and to the girl behind him, causing him to turn around as well.
ā€œYouā€™ll have to excuse my idiot boyfriend. Iā€™m sorry he wasted your time instead of just telling you he was taken.ā€ The girl nods in understanding and tries to hide her disappointed pout. She accepts your handshake when you offer it and hurries off.Ā 
You shoot Leehan another pissed glare, then dump your remaining food in the trash and walk out of the mall. He considers apologizing to the girl as well, but sheā€™s already out of sight, so he trashes his own food and trails after you with a ball of shame sitting in his throat.Ā 
āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ: *āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ
To be honest, you scare Leehan just a little, especially when he knows youā€™re angry with him but youā€™re not talking about it. Heā€™d rather you just chew his head off and get it over with, just tell him how much of an inconsiderate dumbass he is. You donā€™t, so the guilt manifests and manifests until he feels like he might puke it up.
You lock the front door and hang up your coat, and the first thing you say to him in the last twenty minutes is ā€œSit.ā€
Leehan parks his ass on the couch immediately, and waits to hear whatever other command you might give him. He expects you to sit next to him, or on the armchair by the couch or even on his lap. He doesnā€™t expect you to sit right across from him on the coffee table. At least a minute passes full of you just staring at him, and the silence is killing him.Ā 
ā€œBabyā€“ā€
ā€œShut up,ā€ you say, and his mouth clamps shut. You stare at him for a few more seconds, poking your inner cheek with your tongue in thought. Then, you shake your head and laugh in disbelief. Leehan watches as you cross your arms over your chest, and tries not to flick his eyes down to the way your boobs are being pushed up. He may be sick with horniness and loneliness, but itā€™s really not the time.
ā€œWhy are you acting like this, Leehan?ā€ It takes Leehan a few seconds and a quirk of your eyebrow to realize youā€™re actually waiting for an answer, that you want him to speak now.
ā€œWhat do you mean?ā€ Thatā€™s his intelligent response. You scoff and roll your eyes.
ā€œDonā€™t act dense with me. You were flirting with that girl just so Iā€™d see. I know when youā€™re acting out for attention, and thatā€™s exactly what youā€™ve been doing this entire week.ā€ Leehanā€™s embarrassed at being caught so he shakes his head in denial, but itā€™s nowhere near convincing even to himself.
ā€œNo? You didnā€™t touch yourself and record it for me? Didnā€™t send me photos of you covered in your own cum? Didnā€™t flirt with a girl right in my face in a desperate attempt to get my attention?ā€ Leehanā€™s cheeks burn at the direct confrontation. Hearing his actions out loud brings a fresh wave of shame over him, and heā€™s so ready to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness.
ā€œShow me.ā€
Leehanā€™s eyes fly wide open and he lets out a nervous chuckle. ā€œW-what?ā€
ā€œYou wanted my attention so bad. Now you have it,ā€ you say with a bored expression. Your eyes leave a trail of fire wherever they land on his skin. He has your attention, and has to think of a way to keep it.Ā 
ā€œGo ahead,ā€ you command with a jerk of your head. Your lips are turned down into a frown, and itā€™s so condescending, like you donā€™t even want to be here. Leehan needs you to want to be here, and heā€™s nothing if not a performer. He lifts his hips and tugs his pants down to his thighs.Ā 
You make a noise, something between a hum and a coo, when he pulls his boxers down and his dick springs against his stomach.
ā€œYour little cock is hard, Hannie.ā€ He knows heā€™s not small, but your words are still humiliating, and still burn the need to impress you across his skin. ā€œGonna show me how you fucked yourself when you were moaning into your phone?ā€
Leehanā€™s hips buck against nothing, causing his member to slap against his stomach again, and his mouth falls open with a groan.
He does as you tell him, wrapping his hand around his cock like heā€™s been doing every morning for the past week, squeezing his base, flicking his tip, imagining itā€™s you, wishing it was you, but he doesnā€™t dare ask. Instead he watches your facial expressions, how your lips curl up into a smirk when heā€™s close.
ā€œStop,ā€ you tell him, and he pulls his hand away without question. He wouldā€™ve been foolish to not expect the sensation of his orgasm floating farther and farther away from him. He tries to slow his breathing, tries not to lose his mind so early into this session.
ā€œKeep going.ā€Ā 
He continues his previous pace immediately, and his hips tremble when he tries to stop them from bucking up. His tip is a bit more sensitive when he brushes his thumb across it, and it takes less time for him to get close.Ā 
He strokes a bit faster, moans a bit louder. He has no idea how long you plan to keep him here, but he still anticipates the relief of falling off the edge.
ā€œLet go.ā€
Leehan pulls his hand away from his cock and clutches the couch instead while willing his legs to stop shaking. Heā€™s helpless to disobey you, but he groans as his orgasm escapes him a second time.
ā€œHmā€¦I dunno. Somethingā€™s not right.ā€ You tap a manicured nail against your chin in thought. He can never understand how youā€™re so composed in moments like this, like itā€™s a normal evening. If youā€™re turned on, you donā€™t show it, and it makes Leehan flush with shame. ā€œWhat do you think, baby boy?ā€Ā 
He huffs out a laugh at the question. How is he supposed to know? But youā€™re looking at him expectantly, so he scrambles to come up with something. ā€œI meanā€“ Usually Iā€™m, like, in bed, I guess. Thinking about you, imagining you, smelling youā€¦ā€ God, donā€™t get him started on smelling you.Ā 
You hum thoughtfully and lift off of the table. In seconds, youā€™re hovering over him, flashing him a devious grin. Your hips are so close to straddling his, and you slap his hand away when it reaches up to touch your waist. You hold yourself up by the back cushions with your arms on either side of his head. Heā€™s trapped, and suddenly, everything else in the room is overshadowed by you.
Ā ā€œIs that right? You think about all the dirty things you wanna do to me while getting off to the smell of my perfume?ā€
Of course youā€™d know his weak spot. Youā€™re so close to him and he thinks heā€™s going to lose his mind if he doesnā€™t get to touch you. Your perfume is invading his senses, and flaming hot desire coils in his abdomen. He squeezes his eyes shut to prevent them from rolling into his skull as his hips twitch into the air.
ā€œTouch yourself, Hannie,ā€ you say sweetly.
He takes a deep breath and grabs his cock again. Heā€™s known to leak like a faucet, especially after meeting you, and his hand is covered in sticky white within the first few seconds of stroking himself.
He knows thereā€™s raspy noises falling from his open mouth, but he can barely hear them over his heart pounding. The way you take over his brain is overwhelming and he can hardly think. Your lips graze his neck, and the skin litters with goosebumps despite the hot air between the two of you.Ā 
If he opens his eyes, heā€™s got a face full of titties, and he doesnā€™t know if he can handle that despite every cell in his body telling him to look. He wants to be good for you and hold out until you give him permission to stop, but it feels so good that heā€™s speeding his hand up.
ā€œHaā€“ Ah, fuckā€“ā€ Slick, sloppy sounds fill the room as he works himself to the edge for you.
ā€œLet go,ā€ you whisper in his ear. His hand rips away from his cock and grips onto his thigh instead, getting it wet and gross with precum. It takes what feels like an eternity for him to back away from the precipice this time. Fear runs his blood cold when he realizes he almost didnā€™t last.Ā 
Heā€™s always good for you, can edge himself for as long as you'd like. He doesnā€™t know why heā€™s sensitive today, especially after spending a week beating it.
You pull your face out of his neck, and he slumps against the couch. You smile at the sight and caress his cheek. He melts into the touch, but you pull away to card through his tangled hair instead. You used the grip on his strands to tilt his head back so that heā€™s looking up at you.Ā 
ā€œI do think you were louder that time. Moaned just like you did in those recordings.ā€ He opens his mouth to say something, but loses his train of thought when you plop down on his lap.Ā 
ā€œFffuckā€“ā€ he moans, voice all pathetic and high-pitched.Ā 
ā€œStay still,ā€ you warn when his hips buck into yours, and he tries so hard, but even the soft fabric of your skirt is too rough on his sensitive dick. He struggles to keep his eyes open, but heā€™d rather die than take them off of you, so he blinks through the tears pooling in his waterline. The action causes the tears to trickle down, and the air is cold against his wet cheeks.
You stay like that until his breaths are more even and heā€™s somewhat calmed down. He lets out a displeased noise when you lift off of him and sit back on the coffee table.
ā€œCā€™mon, Hannie. Iā€™m not done with you yet. Let me see.ā€ You push his legs apart with your knee. He looks down with you, and the sight makes him burn with embarrassment. Heā€™s leaking so much itā€™s soaking into the couch, and itā€™s another sight he has to squeeze his eyes shut to get away from.
ā€œW-what, are you j-just gonnaā€“ā€ he swallows thickly, clears his throat, and tries again. ā€œHow long are you gonna make me do this?ā€
You tilt your head and smile at him like you arenā€™t melting his brain into goo. ā€œHowever long it takes for you to learn your lesson.ā€ Leehan whines a little in protest.
ā€œJust wanted you to look at me, missed you so much.ā€
The look in your eyes softens and you lean forward to place a heartfelt kiss on his lips. ā€œI missed you too, Hannie. So. Much,ā€ you say, cupping his cheeks and pressing more gentle kissing around his face. ā€œIt was so hard to focus at work when you kept sending me those treats. But bad boys still have to take their punishments, yeah?ā€ Leehan sighs longingly and nods, resting his head against the back cushions, and reaching for his cock when you instruct him to start over.
āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ: *āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ
By the fifth denial, heā€™s a shaking mess, falling apart at the seams and only holding himself together by your command. Heā€™s done for the second you flip your skirt up, slide your panties off, circle your clit right in front of him. Youā€™re so close but so far, and heā€™s definitely losing his mind.Ā 
ā€œPleaseā€“ N/N, let meā€¦could fuck you so good,ā€ he begs helplessly, deep voice strained and words stringing together. Itā€™s the first time tonight you actually look interested in whatā€™s happening, and he canā€™t figure out where to lookā€“at your pretty face as you make yourself feel good, at the wetness leaking out of your pulsing heat, at the way your tits shake when you tug at your nipples. Youā€™re biting your lip to keep quiet, keeping your pretty noises to yourself. Leehan thinks thatā€™s the cruelest part of this punishment.Ā 
His hips are fucking up into his hand in a sloppily, a stark contrast to his usually controlled thrusts. Heā€™s not easy to turn into a mess, but you know him better than he knows himself. You know his limits, know that he wonā€™t cum unless you tell him to, know how badly he needs your forgiveness.Ā 
ā€œIā€™m sorry, Iā€™m sorry, just fuck me, please?ā€ But youā€™re not looking at him. Your eyes are focused on his cock drooling all over his legs, at the way it twitches when heā€™s close. Your hips twitch, and your cunt drools on the table, and his mouth runs dry. Heā€™s too delirious to figure out if your reactions are because of him, if heā€™s doing good for you.Ā 
ā€œStop, pretty boy.ā€
His hand trembles as he pulls it away from his dick and flops it against the couch. He gasps harshly, heaves loudly, and more tears stream down his face as his hips chase friction thatā€™s already gone.
His head is leaning against the back cushions and lolled to the side, but heā€™s still watching you touch yourself. His mouth hangs open from all of his pathetic begging, and thereā€™s a thin trail of saliva pooling in his mouth and dribbling onto his t-shirt.Ā 
His eyelids are so heavy, but he watches brainlessly as you tease your opening, dip a finger into the heat. It comes back out drenched in creamy white, and he has to dig his nails into the cushion to stop himself from grabbing his dick without permission.
You pull your hands away from your body and straddle him again. He nearly goes cross-eyed when your bare cores touch. Itā€™s so wet, and his entire body shivers with need.
ā€œAw, Hannie. Look at me. Tell me what you want.ā€
ā€œMm, wantā€“ wanna taste you, wanna fuck you so bad.ā€ You giggle, and he loses himself somewhere between your sparkly eyes and shiny lips.
ā€œWanna taste me?ā€ You reaffirm, and he nods dumbly. You straighten his head up and cup his cheeks between your fingers and thumb. You make him watch as you use your free hand to repeat the motions, gathering your wetness on your finger, pushing it through your opening and pulling it out.Ā 
You whimper out freely this time, and the sound is so pretty and sinful Leehan wishes he could tattoo it on his brain, wishes he had recorded it so he can hear it again later. Your hand forces his lips to pucker and his mouth to open, and you press your wet fingers onto his tongue.Ā 
Leehanā€™s eyes roll again, and his eyebrows crease as the taste of you, the smell of you invades his senses. You always taste so good, so sweet to him.
His eyes focus on you again, but his vision clouds and his hips buck up against you. You slide against him so deliciously, but itā€™s over too soon when you slide your fingers out of his mouth and pry your hips away from his.
You wipe your wet fingers on his shirt and remind him to look at you, but he is already looking at you, has barely torn his eyes away from you in the last thirty minutes.
Heā€™s completely awestruck, and maybe a little delirious when he swears he can see the faint halo hovering above your head. He tries to tell you how perfect, how much of an angel you are, but his words come out jumbled and unintelligible.Ā 
ā€œDo you have a color for me, baby?ā€
ā€œMhm, fuckā€“ green, n-need you so bad. ā€™m so sorry, p-please, you look so beautiful, tā€“ā€
You interrupt him by pressing your lips against his, and Leehanā€™s convinced he wouldā€™ve been talking for the rest of his life if you hadnā€™t. Heā€™s pretty sure he melts into a puddle of goo when your lips collide, yours so perfect and plush against his. Any function his brain is still performing shuts down immediately, and you have to handle the kiss by yourself, because his lips are slack and useless against yours. Thereā€™s a string of saliva connecting the two of you when you pull away from him.
ā€œI think my pretty boyā€™s at his limit, hm?ā€ You ask, and he doesnā€™t really know what youā€™re saying, but anything sounds good coming from you, so he nods and watches with his jaw on the floor as you stand up and pull your skirt off. You pull his shirt off as well, and youā€™re both bare and vulnerable but safe in your own world, just as Leehan longed for.
You cup his cheeks again and hold his face so he can look up at you as you sink down on his cock, and the noise he makes when you bottom out is broken and pitiful even to his own ears. He knows he must look so fucked out and stupid, but youā€™re looking at him with so much love in your eyes that heā€™s sure he looks beautiful anyway.Ā 
You wrap around him so well, your cunt is so tight. It feels like heā€™d forgotten how it feels to be buried inside you, and to be experiencing it for the first time again has to be parallel to some sort of spiritual ascension. Leehan doesnā€™t know what he did to deserve it, but he does know heā€™d spend an eternity here if you allowed it.
Your hands move to grip his shoulders, and you make the most heavenly face of ecstasy Leehan has ever seen. You lift your hips to slide him out, and bottom out again. Your cuntā€™s sucking him in so greedily, and he doesnā€™t know how much longer he can keep this up.Ā 
ā€œIā€™ll let you cum if you fuck me, pretty boy,ā€ you say like you read his mind. You grab his lifeless hands and place them on your waist, then grip the back of the couch again. He gets the message clearly, holding you in place as he jerks into you. His thrusts arenā€™t coordinated at all, and itā€™s out of pure habit when he angles his hips to fuck right into your sweet spot.Ā 
ā€œFuck yeah, Hannie. Thatā€™s so good, youā€™re so good,ā€ you moan out, and he uses strength he barely has to aim for that spot, to hear those words from you again. On a particularly hard thrust, your eyes flutter closed.
ā€œLook at me, N/N. Pleaseā€“ look at me,ā€ he begs, voice cracking, and when you do, your eyes are glossy, tears pulling in your waterline. Itā€™s so hot, and finally, your attention is his, and heā€™s making you feel good, but heā€™s not gonna last like this.
ā€œYou fill me up so good, Hannie. Make me feel so good,ā€ you say breathlessly, eyes locked on his. ā€œGonna cum for me? Gonna fill me up nicely?ā€ And heā€™s nodding, pitiful whimpers falling from his lips, whatever you say.Ā 
You trail a hand up his abdomen, to his chest, and tug at his nipple. The rush of pleasure he feels is so intense that the knot in his stomach is fraying and snapping so quickly he canā€™t even warn you, but he tries through strangled gasps: ā€œCumming, ā€˜m, fuā€“ā€
āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ: *āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ
It takes Leehan a while to come back to Earth. Heā€™s so tired he can barely move, but you kiss him until his mind returns home. After asking if heā€™s okay five times and getting five verbal ā€œyesā€™s,ā€ you clean the two of you up and lead him to bed.
Itā€™s still when he speaks again, eyes searching for yours in the dark room, ā€œI really am sorry, Y/N. I shouldā€™ve been more considerate. I respect your work so much, I just got so lonelyā€¦ā€ You smile at him softly and reach a hand up to rub circles into his back.
ā€œIā€™m sorry you were so lonely, Hannie. I shouldā€™ve managed my time better, shouldā€™ve taken your feelings more seriously. From now on, Iā€™ll keep work at work, and after my project, we can both take time off and go on a vacation. Howā€™s that?ā€
ā€œThatā€™s perfect,ā€ he says, and means it wholeheartedly, falling asleep with a smile of his own.
āœ§ļ½„ļ¾Ÿ: *
a/n : FUCK THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE LOL i reread it three times pls lmk if there r still typos <3
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onionninjasstuff Ā· 10 months ago
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this is part one! | next
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mitathemita Ā· 9 months ago
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the shining sun!! ā˜€ļø
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