#drawing him like this was not a want but a fucking need

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - v

selkie!soap x reader. depression. strangers to "lovers." shower sex. cunnilingus. smut. manipulative soap. oysters as an aphrodisiac. unstable narrator. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

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You watch him over an open book.

It’s an old romance, something from the eighties. Classic bodice ripper, billowing sleeves, tight corsets, mullets and heaving bosoms and all. Naturally, it’s set on a pirate ship, the heroine as the unlucky spoils of a merchant ship raid and the hero a lusty captain able to pierce her virgin’s desire for sexual depravity.

It could only have been more pointed at you if it had been set in the North Atlantic—it isn’t—but you glare at Soap’s back anyway.

He must be able to feel it, because he stands straight at the wheel, shoulders thrown back, occasionally flexing.

The freak.

You’d realized the joke he’d been making, once your heartbeat had slowed. Hiding the pelt somewhere obvious enough for you to see it. You live in the age of the internet—you know what it’s supposed to mean.

And you kind of hate him for it. Now, post-coitus, you can’t shove it away into a box—he is the most attractive man you’ve ever encountered. Rugged and handsome, competent at everything you’ve seen him do, seemingly at home wherever he finds himself. Everything makes him smile. Nothing seems to disconcert him.

And a nice big cock he actually knows how to use. Certainly the best lay you’ve ever had.

What every woman traveling solo, you think, longs to encounter on a solo trip across the world, but will never acknowledge looking for. An answer to an unaddressed desire; proof that satisfaction is out there to find, if it’s searched for.

A lover with no conditions. Someone willing to strip your inhibitions away, knowing your protests are only token.

You had not been searching. You’d given up searching.

And now he mocks you—with every satisfied glance he throws over his shoulder.

“Good book?” he asks, all casual and pleased. “S’ one a’my favorites. Tell me when you get to the naval battle.”

You frown. “You haven’t read this.”

He gives a little huff of amusement. “Read all of ‘em, bonnie.”

No, this is where you draw the line. A good cook, a good fuck, and a romance reader? No. No, you absolutely will not take this.

“Sure you have, Johnny,” you grouse, “you read every single stupid book on that shelf. Sure. Hell, you’ve read books that aren’t on that shelf. You’ve read every new release from the last six months, even. Why not.”

He looks at you again over his shoulder, mouth curled. “Aye. Needed ideas, once a’knew you were comin.’”

He says it matter-of-factly, with only a little bit of pride. As if it was a natural step in the process of getting ready for your arrival—renovate the croft. Stock the fridge and pantry. Plan some island excursions.

Study the erotic mind of the average woman to divine how best to seduce her.

Your frown deepens, and you lift the book higher, making it a barrier between you and him. Loser. Couldn’t he just go to the mainland for a few days if he wanted pussy? Not like it would be hard to find, for him.

You resolve to ignore him for the rest of the trip. A petty endeavor, maybe, but it’s the only one you can make.

But six hours is six hours, and you can’t read the whole time. Periodically you have to get up to stretch your legs, and the windows wrapping around the bridge draw your attention to the sea outside.

Johnny drives the trawler at a remove along the coastline, keeping close enough to the islands for easy viewing. The denizens of the Hebrides are out en masse, enjoying the clear weather, joyfully populating the land- and seascape in the absence of human interlopers.

Porpoises, so much smaller than you might have expected, periodically catch the wake of the boat, swimming alongside, playful and curious. Gulls loop in the air above the dunes, fronds of grass fluttering in the breeze. Gannets, stark white, arrow down into the waves, wings folded back pin-straight as they spear their quarry—silvery fish that boil the surface of the water in their frenzy.

Some removed part of you enjoys their pleasure secondhand. The normally-grey ocean is vibrant in the sunlight, crystalline and sparkling and as blue as Johnny’s eyes.

He seems to be in a good mood, too, although that could just be because you let him fuck you. You feel his eyes on you even as you refuse to look at him, dancing along the curves of your body the same way his fingertips might.

At one point—“Bonnie, I know you’re sulking an’ all, but c’mere.”

He gestures you over to the cockpit, and—embarrassed at being called out—you join him. He brings a hand to the small of your back, stepping behind you and pointing over your shoulder.

A gray wall of passing cliffs, and crags of rock jutting up from the churn at their base. You see ten or twelve grey-and-white seals lounging across every available flat surface, some cuddled in groups of three or four, apparently unbothered by the periodic spray of breaking waves.

“No’ where I’d choose to have a kip, personally,” Johnny says, sounding amused.

You turn your head to look at him, hard. His eyes soften when they meet yours, and he tilts his head to kiss you, undeterred even when you flinch away from it.

His hand tightens across your back, fingers digging in. He sucks your bottom lip between his and caresses it with his tongue, as he edges beneath the hem of your shirt to spread his hand across the warming skin of your back.

“I’m mad for ya,” he murmurs when he pulls away, blush high on his cheeks.

“It’s been two days,” you deadpan.

He presses up behind you, open hand sliding around to press into the low part of your belly, right at the sensitive crest of your mons; you can’t help your gasp when, at the same time, his erection nestles into the cleft of your ass.

“No’ to this,” he purrs in your ear. “Feels like it’s been forever, for this.”

When his fingers start making their way beneath the waistband of your pants, you grab his hand and wrench it away, scoffing.

“You’re just a fucking horndog,” you sneer, betrayed by the heat spilling through your core.

“Aw, you break my heart, bonnie,” Johnny simpers, but there’s a mocking edge to it. As if he knows exactly what you’re hiding.

You step away from him, folding your arms across your chest and staring out at the basking seals instead. Then—

“There’s one in the water,” you say.

A few meters away from the rocks, a round head pokes up from the surface, bobbing with the rise and fall of the waves. Its eyes are slitted closed, nostrils dilating.

“Aw, he’s bottling,” Johnny says affectionately, when he comes over to look. “Look at his wee face.”

You remember suddenly your encounter of the previous day—another lone seal, resting apart from its fellows.

“I saw one on the beach,” you say, “yesterday, after you dropped me off. A big one. You didn’t say they might show up.”

“Male?” he asks, and you nod. “Peripheral male, then. I’m no’ surprised.”

You sigh. “And that is…”

As if magnetized, his hands find you again, this time settling on your waist. It seems that Johnny’s touch is something impossible to escape, in his vicinity. He drags them down over your hips and back up almost idly, as if he’s not even thinking about doing it.

“There’s dominant males, and then there’s the rest of ‘em. Only the dominant ones get to breed at the rookeries, see? And the rest of ‘em have to wait around for the females to leave to have their chance.”

He leans into you from behind, nose in your hair, and you hear him inhale as his hands tighten.

“Once a peripheral male finds a female alone, separated from the colony, ready to go back out to sea—well, that’s his chance to pounce.”

You frown, mostly to yourself. “No matter how the female feels about it.”

“We’ve been over this,” he chides.

He brings his lips to the curve of one ear, then the soft spot behind it. His nose finds the juncture of your neck and shoulder, where the capillaries that he broke with his teeth still throb whenever you press your fingers to them. He inhales again, deeply.

“Why do you do that?” you grouse, unwilling to give him the win.

“Like how you smell,” he says, doing it again.

His tongue caresses the bruise before he closes his mouth over it—but he goes no further than to kiss your neck twice more before returning to the wheel. It leaves you reeling, half-dizzy with arousal, and when you stomp back to your seat with a frustrated growl, he only glances over at you, smirking, and laughs.

He finds a berth in the early evening to park the trawler, and at that point you’re thankful for any kind of solid ground to set your feet on, as well as enough open air to disperse whatever pheromones have saturated the enclosed space of the bridge.

You’ve been half-tempted the whole time to make him drop anchor and drag him belowdeck toward the nearest flat surface big enough for the two of you to share; as it is, you’ve simply stewed in your own juices instead, hot with angry arousal and ignoring the slick pooling in the gusset of your underwear.

Johnny steps out into the cooling air in his usual kilt and sweater, and you once again huddle in his jacket, aromatic with his musk, as he leads you onward. This time, unlike the last excursion, he insists upon holding your hand the whole way, callused fingers worming their way between yours, the captured air hot and humid between your palms.

Callanish turns out to be a henge of standing stones.

Meters-tall megaliths, squarish and narrow like broken teeth, surrounding a burial site and extending in two directions as if lining a road. Inevitably evocative of its cousin Stonehenge, with the notable exception that you are allowed to go up and touch the stones with your bare hands.

“They used ‘em for that TV show,” Johnny informs you as the two of you circuit the main ring. “Well, no’ these, they probably had styrofoam for that, but they got the idea from these.”

You lay your free hand on the nearest stone; it’s cold, and rough to the touch, a day’s worth of sunlight evidently not sufficient to warm it. Tiny spots of moss and lichen cling to the old stone, green and eggshell white.

“Why are we allowed to touch them?” you say. You think of bronze statues, rubbed to a golden gleam by millions of tourist hands.

“That’s Lewisian gneiss, bonnie,” says Johnny, laying his hand, much larger, next to yours. His thumb teases the side of your pinky. “Doubt you could make much of a mark on it. This rock here? Three billion years old.”

You look at him, seeing his profile. The expression on his face is soft—not unlike the way he looked at you earlier, on the way here. He spreads his fingers over the stone, tendons furrowing down the back of his sun-weathered hand.

“No’ just older than us,” he continues. “Older than what we used to be, a’fore we were us. Was there when we first made fire. Was there when we came down th’ trees. Was there all the way back when we left the ocean for the first time—”

He looks at you, then. The setting sun catches in the dips of his irises, setting jewel blue aflame.

“An’ it’ll be there, bonnie, when we go back.”

The wind curls around the stones with the chill of the oncoming night. Even despite the jacket, despite the walk up to the site—you feel it penetrate beneath your skin, deep into your bones.

You choose derision, to reject the shiver.

“And you have this all memorized,” you say.

Johnny doesn’t respond. He continues to stare at you, mouth in a relaxed, but inscrutable line.

You suddenly remember that you do not know this man; though he’s told you enough about himself to fill out his background—you don’t know him. You don’t know how he feels about most things, what’s important to him, why he may find one thing or another meaningful. Not the way you’d have to, in order to understand why the gaze he fixes on you feels so significant.

Whatever you’re supposed to understand in the way he looks at you now, you don’t have the ability to discern. The only thing that occurs to you is that, perhaps, you’ve finally managed to offend him.

It does not satisfy you as much as you might have imagined—

In fact, the thought drops through your belly like a rock.

Again. You did it again.

In the one place you thought you’d never have to face this—you did it again. Here is someone who seems to like even the worst of you, and you somehow found an even uglier side of yourself to show him, a squirming thing that cannot help but sling itself around with no heed for the damage it can cause.

But when you open your mouth to say something reparatory, something that certainly won’t fix what you’ve broken no matter what he might say, his expression softens into something thoughtful.

“Visited when I first came here,” he says. Completely unbothered. “After the discharge an’ all.”

You blink. Sharp heat and the numbness of cold, warring across your face.

“Why?” you ask.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, and lifts his hand from the stone, smiling ruefully. “I was a bastard back then. Didnae wan’ anything’ to do with anyone anymore. Mad at the world, a’was.”

Shucked like an oyster; scaled like a fish. Heat wins out, even in the growing chill. Tender skin scalding itself.

“And what,” you say, reflexively nasty, panic whirring up behind your breastbone, “you thought—you’d get some sort of, magical insight here?”

Johnny laughs. “Naw, a’was just pissing my money away, bonnie. Thought I’d come up here an’ try t’ knock one over.”

Tight chest. Can’t breathe. You step away from him, far away, hide it like you’re looking at another of the standing stones, but a stabbing pain spears upward through your diaphragm.

In—count—hold—out—

“Could you?” you ask, wringing something like a normal tone out of your voice.

“Nope. Paid for it later, though.”

He says it casually. He hasn’t noticed. You reach out to the new stone, drag your fingers overtop of the rough surface, imagine every little bump flipping the friction ridges of each print like pages of a book. Cold—the rock is cold. The wind is cold, and sharp with the smell of rain. The jacket is heavy on your shoulders.

The jacket smells like Johnny.

“I’m sure the park wardens weren’t happy,” you say, feeling your heart slow in your chest.

“No,” he says, and—with the silence of a lightning strike—“I drowned, afterwords, first time I went to sea.”

You look back at him. The wind picks up, ruffling the ends of his mohawk; on the horizon, a rind of darkness splits the clouds from the earth.

“You drowned?” you repeat.

The hem of his kilt flutters and dances. His gaze is intense—the angle of his brow unreadable.

“Aye, bonnie. I did.”

Your ears begin ringing—as you stare at him, you get the sense of dreaming. There’s a distinction to Johnny that contrasts the landscape framing him, a sharpness so focused that everything else lenses around him.

“Why—why are you here?” you find yourself asking, though you’re not entirely sure why. The question leaves you as if surfacing on its own power.

The corners of his mouth quirk—although for once, he doesn’t smirk at you, the way he always does.

“You tell me,” he murmurs.

He holds you in the tilt of his head; in the depths of his eyes, currents pulling you downward. You inhale, and expect, for some reason, water to pour into your lungs.

Then a gust of wind buffets the two of you. Johnny turns, surveying the sky. Breaking the spell, he says, “Come on, let’s get back. I don’ like the look a’that storm.”

Halfway back down the path, the front overtakes you; rain begins sheeting down, ice cold, needle-precise into your hair and down your collar. Johnny grabs your hand again even as you start worrying about slipping, and though the torrent veils the way, the both of you make it back to the trawler in one piece.

Back on the bridge, a red light blinks on the panel by the wheel. While Johnny attends to it, flipping a switch and bringing a microphone on a curly wire to his mouth, you squeeze your hair out over the sink nearby.

“This is Soap on the vessel Sea Ghost,” he says, and waits for a response.

“Soap. Drop anchor somewhere. Looks like a storm’s coming in,” a gruff voice comes in.

“Yeah, Cap, we noticed,” Johnny says with a laugh, turning and smiling at you. “We’re moored, dinna fash.”

“Good. Looks like it’s just for the night. Clear enough in the morning.”

“Barry. You got everything? Shops’ closed tomorrow.”

“Never will understand why. But yes.”

“It’s a holy day, Captain,” Johnny says pleasantly.

Price grumbles something about damn Catholics and their damn rules, which just makes Johnny laugh.

Then, “Gaz is here. Made it in after you left.”

Johnny’s posture shifts. Similar to a dog hearing the turning of a doorknob; amorphous attention coalescing, finding a target to point at. Anticipatory. Tail twitching, winding up to wag.

It’s a new reaction, to you—you’ve never seen it before.

Johnny lifts the transmitter to his mouth. He holds it there for a silent moment, before saying, “And Simon?”

No response from the other end of the line, pulled taut, as if snagged. Then Price responds “Haven’t heard yet.”

Something passes over Johnny’s face. Some flex of the muscle in his jaw. An expression held in check.

That’s—

That’s familiar.

“Alright. Back tomorrow then.”

“See you.”

He replaces the mic on its hook.

Thunder claps somewhere over the distant, open ocean. The trawler creaks and groans as the wind swirls around it. Yellow lamps illuminate the warm, wooden space, but are unable to penetrate the lowering blackness outside.

Tension—you can feel it drawing tight, see his shoulder blades shifting closer together. It aches in the muscles of your own back. He faces away from you, like you’re not there—

He turns to look at you. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t look quite real. As if he’s forcing the expression on his face.

“Poor bonnie,” he croons, looking you up and down. The tenor of his voice is saccharin-sweet and thick. “How’s a hot shower sound to warm up, hmm?”

Your belly pinches. “Sure.”

He leads you down a steep flight of stairs into the stomach of the boat, showing you into a single bedroom. The space is cramped, wedge-shaped—barely enough room for the double bed shoved into the middle of it, sheets and blankets gathered in rumples across the top. The unique musk of its occupant wars with the smell of lacquer; the walls are lined with orangey planks, evoking the sailing ships of old.

Directly to the left of the entrance, an open door leads into a small bathroom, into which Johnny guides you, hands on your hips.

“Go’ plenty a’ drinking water stored upstairs so take all the time you like,” he says. “Here, lemme show you how the taps work.”

You half-expect him, after the instruction, to stand there and watch, waiting until you undress. And he does hesitate for a moment, hovering in the threshold, before giving you a practiced grin, telling you to enjoy yourself, a closing the door behind him.

You stand in the middle of the tiny room for an uncertain heartbeat. Assumptions lurching. Almost—hoping.

His heavy footsteps climb back up the stairs.

So, you peel off your damp clothes and drop them into a pile on the floor, stepping naked into the shower. It’s far less mildewed than you might have worried of a single man living alone. Hot water chases cold out of your hair, streaming with pressure far superior to the cottage’s installment.

You realize your toiletries are still above deck, in your bag, beneath the two paperbacks Johnny packed that you haven’t gotten to just yet. You could step out after him—

You don’t do that anymore. You promised yourself.

The floor sways as the shifting sea rocks the trawler in its berth. You reach for the bar on the wall to steady yourself.

One version of yourself is sometimes able to fool the other. The truth is, you could have told him to stop at any time. Put your foot down, hard. Just because he owns the house you’re staying in doesn’t mean he gets to decide what your entire vacation is going to look like.

You scoff at yourself, without any humor. Vacation. Like you’d ever believed this was anything more than self-imposed exile.

The truth is, water takes the shape of the container it fills.

There’s a chill still present in your hair follicles. Impossible for you to identify until now; live with an ache long enough and it stops registering, until it’s balmed with a moment of relief. This is where the addicts begin; experiencing, for the first time, a complete absence of pain, as if it had never been there in the first place, and, once that pain is restored, the ruthless pursuit of its elimination.

Cold rain outside, warm rain within. You stand in the flow, listless. Steam rapidly clouds the empty spaces around you, gathering in droplets on the wall, drizzling down again.

That’s where the mistake is. Pain is never defeated—only deferred. Its panacea provides only diminishing returns, until it’s useless. Until you might as well be swallowing sugar pills or drinking seawater to assuage your thirst.

But you keep doing it. You remember too well how it felt. You chase it down because now you know how it feels.

At some point you have to understand that it always ends poorly.

The bathroom door opens again, and then the shower door, spilling yellow light into the shadowed recess—

Johnny.

The expression on his face is inscrutable; mysterious, as his gaze moves down your body, following the streaming water. Your arms curl around your chest in a perfunctory attempt to conceal yourself, even despite the futility of the effort.

He’s naked, and half-hard, a refrain on the previous night. One hand holds the travel-size soaps and gels that he must have dug out from your bag. He steps in behind you—enclosing the two of you in together.

“Sorry, bonnie,” he murmurs soothingly in your ear. “Had t’make sure we were tied up for the storm.”

The space is not even suggestive of being big enough for two people. You hear the squeak of the shower wall against his shifting back, hot skin slipping against yours as his hands draw you back against him by the hips.

“Dinnae want you t’slip an’ hit your head,” he murmurs, massaging the fat of your pelvis, as if there’s any reason to make excuses for what he’s doing.

Half-raised hackles petted down too easily. You relax into his touch, even as you disdain it. Your heart tremors in your chest.

“What’s going on tomorrow?” you finally ask. “Who’s Simon?”

Pathetic. A jealous lover, after less than forty-eight hours.

“Old task force,” he answers, kissing the back of your head. “Little reunion, food an’ beer, mostly.”

You half-expect him to go immediately for your breasts, or maybe your pussy. His cock is stiffening against the small of your back. But instead, he opens one of your bottles, squirts some pearly body wash into the palm of his hand. Rubbing a little to lather it, he puts his hands back on your hips, and begins massaging it into your skin.

Inward, up your stomach. Pressing into the soft parts of it, with the water slicking his way. His mouth touches the back of your neck—softly. Tenderly. With all of the languor you rejected the previous night, and not enough space for you to slap it away again.

His lips press inward, looking for the bite he left, which he lays his tongue on as if in contrition, licking it like a dog with a wound. The comfortable warmth of the shower swelters with his added body heat; the steam pulses in time with the heavy beats of your heart.

One hand slides up your body, fording your thoracic arch, the wedge of his hand ascending the length of your breastbone. He cups your jaw, bubbles between his fingers, one of your breasts nestling between his bicep and forearm.

He tilts your head to the side as he cranes his head further into your neck, lipping at the space behind your ear, kissing delicate, sensitive skin, as his other hand drags soap around your ribs, beneath and over both breasts, up into your pits and back down again.

A doll in his hands, bent along the shape of his will. He shifts his hips, frotting his erection against you.

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny, this isn’t anything. This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Aye, bonnie,” he hums. “Whatever you say.”

He licks a hollow in your throat.

His other hand dips lower, sweeping down into the crease of one thigh to round the lower swell of your hip; then back up again, fingers spreading.

The stall compresses your arms close against you; the only space you have available to lay your useless hands is on his arms. The dark hair you find with your fingertips is coarse, wiry, plastered to hot skin with water. The spray seeps between the both of you, streams in the runnels of flesh pressed together.

Between your legs, your clitoris heats, awakening even though untouched. You give a small whine, and Johnny huffs a little chuckle in your ear, suckling your neck as his fingers make the descent back, rinsed in the falling water, teasing your pubic hair before nudging your folds apart.

He finds you slick and aching. He only dips lower briefly to wet his fingers, and then, as he settles a light touch over where you’re most desperate for it, relief razes through your nerves in a sudden wash.

You search for the back of his head, slotting your fingers into the ends of his mohawk at the nape of his neck. He hums against you, hand dropping down from your jaw to cup one breast in his palm, weighing it, thumb flicking around the pert nipple in the same tight circle he draws around your clitoris.

Orgasm, usually so obvious on approach, sneaks up on you, quick and quiet, but when it takes you it floods you, rather than knocking you down. You tremble all over, the follicles on your scalp standing on end, the nerves down your back and sides bending like dune grass to a wind.

Your long, breathy cry reverberates against the shower walls, and you lean heavily back against Johnny’s body, grip tightening where you have your hands on him.

He twitches against your back, but he makes no move to chase his own climax. He only turns you carefully, when you recover, and lays his hot, open mouth on yours, tugging your hips close enough to trap his cock against your belly. This time, the wall is cool at your back, the crown of your head moving against it as Johnny angles himself deeper, sliding his tongue between your lips.

“C’mon,” he says, when he finally pulls away. His pupils are huge, black dilation swallowing the blue. The spray fills the empty spaces between the strands of his mohawk, fluffing the hair a little as it courses down the shaved sides of his scalp. “Need to get my mouth on you again, bonnie.”

This time, when he eats you out, he does it at his leisure. Licking honey off a spoon. So lightly that you whine at him, find the energy to bitch at him to do it like he means it, but tonight he does not indulge you.

No—he mouths at you, eyes closed, curly lashes against his cheek as you lay belly-up on the rumpled sheets of his bed. The heat of his tongue in your cleft is the only source of warmth you have as the rain lashes at the outside of the trawler, but the hot shower still lingers in your skin—

Humid. Sticky. Sweat gathering beneath Johnny’s palms where he holds your thighs to his ears, as if mimicking the way your sex will clutch around him when he enters you. Slick and tight and viscous.

When he crawls up your body—nosing at your belly, your breasts, inhaling as if your musk is something he’s trying to get drunk on—he fucks you slow and deep. You stop being able to tell if it’s the storm rocking the boat, or the weight of his hips rolling against yours, one of his hands on the headboard for leverage and the other on your mons, pressing down with the heel of his hand to feel the head of his cock moving in you.

Tacky skin catching on the grind; heart speeding up as he grins at you from above, thumb tapping your clitoris. Enough to wind you up. You reach for his hips with your clawed hands, digging your nails into the meat of his ass—firm, muscle tensed, twitching every time he bottoms out.

“Johnny,” you finally beg, on the edge of a sob, “please, Johnny, please—”

Breath leaves him like a steam valve turned, pressure carrying an uninhibited moan. He ignores your plea, hips rolling slow, forcing you to feel every inch of him in and out of you, every ridge—every vein pulsing on the surface of his cock.

His eyes are closed still; when the widest part of him catches the rim of you around him again, his mouth drops open, lips pink and bitten.

Lost—he’s lost in pleasure, in the feeling of you around him, pulling him in. You watch his chest as it heaves, the flex of his stomach as it tightens—the twitch in the muscles of his arms as the impact of each thrust ripples up his body.

Look at me, you want to say. Look at me. I’m right here. Look at me.

“Again,” he groans, choked, restrained, hands gripping your hips. “Say it again, bonnie—”

“Please—” you whine, on the edge of a sob, “please, please, please—”

Thumb metronoming at a quick tempo where you need it—you seize, back arching, tightening around him so narrowly you could force him out—

He snarls, sharp and hard, thrusting into the resistance, hands falling to fist in the mattress. Breath coming rough and fast, sweat dripping from his forehead into the cups of your collarbones and down between your breasts. Hard and fast now, pushing in as far as your body will let him, and a final, long moan tears from his parted lips, liquid heat flooding you as Johnny goes rigid with a climax following only moments after your own.

Pelvis flush with your thighs. He doesn’t let a drop escape, pushing against you, lifting your hips from the bed.

“Tha’s right,” he slurs, eyes hazy when they open. “Tha’s right, that’s where it belongs.”

He collapses on top of you, almost crushing you with his weight, as he seeks your mouth out with his. He moves his hips against yours with shallow thrusts, whining in his throat.

“Didn’t you—” you pull your lips away, too hot, too cold, buzzing and exhausted, “didn’t you just finish?”

He tongues at your cheek instead, and then down your neck. “Doesnae matter, is no’ enough. C’mon, bonnie, wrap your legs aroun’ me, please…”

After he is finally spent—long after you’ve had enough energy to do more than lay beneath him and let him use you as he pleases—Johnny diverts briefly to the galley, bringing back with him a plate of oysters and a pry knife. It’s his bed, so you don’t complain about shell fragments, but you resolve to make him change the sheets anyway, shifting uncomfortably to find a spot that isn’t soaked.

“Was on this boat,” Johnny says, as if picking up the thread of a conversation only recently dropped. He picks up one of the oysters and shucks it open. “When I drowned.”

The way he says it, you’d think it was a casual thing, something he barely thought about anymore, but the line of his brow is low and serious.

He hands you one half; you bring the shell to your lips and tip it upward. Brine slides across your tongue, flesh smooth and buttery. Johnny watches you with soft eyes before having his own.

“Price was with me. I told him to fuck off, but he said he wasnae gonna let me take it out alone the first time ever. I was a bastard back then, I told ya. We went out in a storm, like this one, even though any eedjit could take a look outside and know it’d kill him.”

You flick at the edge of the shell with your fingernail, looking down at your hands. “Why’d you do it?”

“Dunno. Had somethin’ to prove, I guess.”

“That you could still do stuff like that?”

He doesn’t respond, so you look back up at him. He angles his gaze toward the mess of your hair—the new hickies he’s left on your neck—the bead of your nipples in the cold. The hard angles of his face soften.

“All my life,” he says, measuredly, “all I wanted to be was a soldier. An’ I couldnae anymore. Even though I was better. Hell, I was better than better. But I couldnae go back. That was it. It all wen’ on withou’ me.”

He breaks open more oysters as he talks, hands steady and deft around shells and knife. When he finishes, he slides the plate into your lap, and reclines to face you on his side, propping his head up with his hand.

“We wen’ out when the waves were as tall as a man, an’ us hangin’ onto the railing for dear fuckin’ life,” he continues. There’s a faraway quality to the tone of his voice. “Only life wasnae so fuckin’ dear, was it? I could’ve held on tighter, I think. I fell off.”

“And Price pulled you out?”

That feeling again, meeting his gaze; caught in the arms of a whirlpool, being dragged down. A vial in a centrifuge, constituent parts separating.

“No,” he says, “he didnae.”

“Then…”

“Eat, bonnie.”

There’s a stillness to him that feels unnatural. Johnny is a man who should be constantly in motion, gesturing with his hands, bouncing on the balls of his feet, tapping any available surface with rolling fingertips. Instead, here in front of you, he’s still as a statue. Chest softly rising and falling, but otherwise completely placid.

He gazes steadily at you, down at the plate, and then back up. You sigh, and pick up another shell.

“I don’t remember exactly what happened. I remember getting pushed down deep, real deep, then getting forced up again, on a current or something. Not far enough to get any air, mind. I thought, I’m gonna die out here, an’ I didnae want to.”

He shifts then, a little forward toward you.

“That seemed important, you know? I didnae want to die. Dinna think the sea would’ve given me up f’ I did. It knows. Sometimes it doesnae care. But I guess that time, it did, ‘cause after I blacked out, next thing I know I’m wakin’ up on the shore.”

Something hard shifts in your belly.

“Cap found me a bit later, bringin’ the boat in. Gave him a real scare. Think it turned some of his hair gray overnight. After that…a’was no’ the same. How could y’be, after that?”

You—you don’t want to know any of this. You don’t care. You didn’t ask. His story drops expectation on your shoulders, heavy, custom-tailored, laden with understanding that sands your abraded nerves.

All of this is too much. The damp sheets beneath you, the food, the sex. The fact that you picked the last place in the world thought you could ever meet anyone, let alone someone who—

“And now you have a seal fetish,” you sneer.

Who understands.

Indulgent. This is indulgent, reckless, idiotic in the extreme.

Soap reaches out, and wraps a large, sun-brown hand around your wrist, the one still holding the oyster. Pulling it towards him, he opens his mouth and then tips the flesh from the shell. He slurps it down, noisily, mimicking the sound of his mouth and tongue on your pussy.

“Something like that,” he says, with a sharp, cocky grin.

He changes the sheets. Dims the lights. Plasters himself around you as the storm blows itself out, arm heavy over your waist, thigh and knee nested inside yours.

He’s warm at your back, musky with the mingling aroma of dried sex and sweat.

Sturdy. More real than anything that’s ever put its hands on you.

Johnny, who the sea loved so much it spat him back out. So treasured by the world that a bullet to the brain couldn’t even take him away from it.

Who, by the sound of it, means so much to the people in his life that they would follow him to the middle of nowhere just to keep an eye on him.

Bile churns in your stomach.

next chapter early access

a/n: two chapters left!

[rosones]

social media au - being an actress dating choi seunghyun pt. 6

liked by y/n, & 2,484,212 others

ttt ✓ - more to come

view comments

user - he gives 2016 tumblr vibes sooooo much

user - he NEEDS to post more selfies

user - my husband fr

user - maybe babygirl is a 37 year old Korean man named choi seunghyun

y/n ✓ - mr yummy

liked by author

liked by y/n, xxxibgdrgn, & 6,381,798 others

ttt ✓ - EXILE , THE ALBUM . 5.5.25

view comments

user - we are SO back

userlikesphotography231 - is this a drawing of y/n??

user - /@userlikesphotography231 considering the gorgeous silhouette + the fact that Top is obsessed with her, most likely is her lol

xxxibgdrgn ✓ - so happy for you, my brother 🤍🌼

ttt ✓ - /@xxxibgdrgn 🤍🤍🤍

user - so fucking excited for his comeback

user - as a VIP, I used to pray for times like this 🥹

user - already album of the year and it ain’t even out yet

liked by y/n, xxxibgdrgn, gq, & 7,342,447 others

ttt ✓ - Vogue Korea

view comments

user - he’s SO fine

user - y/n better share him

y/n ✓ - MY man

liked by author

user - this made my hole weak

user - jawline sculpted by the gods

the following article was written by journalist Kim Do-Yun & published by Vogue Korea .

T.O.P Returns: A Candid Conversation on Redemption, Love, and ‘Exile’

By: Kim Do-Yun

Choi Seung-hyun—better known as T.O.P. for years, was one of K-pop’s most enigmatic figures: a deep-voiced rapper, a captivating performer, an artist who thrived in mystery. But mystery turned to scandal when his 2017 marijuana case sent shockwaves through South Korea’s entertainment industry. The fallout was brutal, the silence that followed even more so.

Now, after years spent in near-complete solitude, he’s back—not just with music, but with acting, love, and a newfound perspective on life.

Throughout my interview with him, he exuded a quiet confidence, different from the playful arrogance he once carried as a member of BIGBANG. He has always been measured in his words, but that day, there was something more—an openness, a willingness to be seen for who he truly is, not just who the public wants him to be.

Facing the Shadows

“I won’t pretend it was easy,” he admitted. “There was a time when I thought I might never return to music or acting. I felt like I had lost the right to stand in front of people again.”

Following the scandal, T.O.P withdrew almost entirely from the entertainment world. There were sporadic updates—glimpses of his art collection, a few cryptic Instagram posts—but nothing substantial.

“I needed time,” he said simply. “Time to understand my own mind, my mistakes, and what I wanted from life. I spent years writing & making music with no intention of releasing it. It was a way of surviving, I think. But at some point, I realized I didn’t just want to create in the shadows anymore.”

That realization birthed his upcoming album, Exile, a deeply personal project that delves into themes of isolation, redemption, and transformation.

The Concept Behind Exile

“I see Exile as a letter to my past self,” he explained. “It’s about being cast out—sometimes by others, but more often by yourself. It’s about wandering, finding meaning in solitude, and ultimately, choosing to return.”

The album is a drastic departure from his earlier work, blending experimental hip-hop and jazz influences. The soundscape is layered, atmospheric—reflecting the emotional depth of a man who has lived through both adoration and condemnation.

“There’s pain in the music, but there’s also hope,” he continued. “It’s not just about suffering—it’s about what comes after. How do you rebuild yourself when the world thinks you’ve already fallen?”

The lead single, Ashes, encapsulates this journey. “It’s about burning down what no longer serves you and rising from it,” he explained. “Not in a dramatic way—no big explosion. Just embers, slow and steady, turning into something new.”

Reclaiming His Place in Acting: ‘Squid Game’ and Thanos

But music isn’t the only thing marking T.O.P’s return. His casting in Netflix’s Squid Game Season 2 sent fans into a frenzy, a bold choice for an artist who had stayed away from the spotlight for so long.

“I never thought I’d act again,” he admitted. “I had offers over the years, but I wasn’t ready. Then I read the script for Squid Game 2, and something in me woke up. It was exactly the kind of story I wanted to tell.”

In the highly anticipated sequel to the global phenomenon, T.O.P plays Thanos, a complex and ruthless figure within the deadly games. Unlike the participants struggling to survive, Thanos is a former winner—one who chose to return.

“He’s not a traditional villain,” T.O.P clarified. “He’s someone who understands the system better than anyone else. He’s cold, calculating, but not without emotion. He knows what it takes to survive, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes—not for money, but for something deeper. Something he lost.”

The role demanded an emotional transformation. “The hardest part was getting into his mindset. Thanos isn’t just playing the game—he’s manipulating it. He’s someone who has seen too much, lost too much.”

The weight of the character stayed with him long after filming wrapped. “I think I related to him more than I expected,” he admitted. “Not in his actions, but in his solitude. In that feeling of being outside of everything, even when you’re in the center of it.”

Love & Chaos

It was on the Squid Game set that T.O.P met someone who would change everything—his co-star, Y/N. Their connection, first built through long filming days, soon grew into something deeper.

“She saw me for who I was, not just who the world made me out to be,” he said, a softness in his voice. “There’s something freeing about that—being with someone who knows both your darkness and your light and chooses to stay anyway.”

For someone who spent so long rebuilding himself alone, letting someone in was no easy task. “I used to think love was another thing I had lost the right to,” he confessed. “But she changed that.”

Their relationship became public in a way that no one expected—through a series of intimate photos posted on Instagram. They felt raw, real, and unlike other polished celebrity relationships.

“I was nervous,” T.O.P admitted. “Not because I was ashamed—but because I knew how people might react. I knew what it meant to expose something so personal in a place where people think they have the right to dissect every part of your life.”

Y/N, however, had a different perspective. “She told me, ‘Why should we hide something that makes us happy?’ And she was right,” he said. “For so long, I lived in fear of what people would say. But love isn’t something to be ashamed of. If anything, it’s something to be proud of.”

Now, with both Exile and Squid Game, their love story is no longer a secret—but he’s still extremely protective of it. “I don’t need people to approve,” he said. “I just need her.”

Looking Ahead

As our conversation started nearing its end, I asked him what he hoped people will take away from his return.

“I don’t expect everyone to forgive me, and I don’t expect to go back to who I was before. That person is gone,” he said. “But I hope people will listen. Not just to the music, but to the story behind it. I hope they see that exile isn’t the end—it’s just another beginning.”

With Exile set to drop and his acting career reignited, T.O.P is stepping into the spotlight once again—not as the idol he once was, but as an artist and a man who has found his way back from the shadows.

——————————————————————————————————

I wanted to write that little article portion because I wanted to add something unique to this fic, this part is also why I took a little long to post something new !! I haven’t written like an actual piece of writing on this account so I’m like excited and nervous at the same time lol. anyway, I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it !! xx

[teenidlegirl]

⏦⠀˚⠀♡⠀⠀someone steals miguel’s valentine⠀⠀┈⠀﹙⠀blurb⠀﹚

a very late valentines idea but had to share it…

it’s that time of year where everything is pink and red with hearts everywhere. another year of celebrating valentine’s day. the entire spider society is decorated in pink and red. everyone is clad in those colors in various styles. cards, flowers, boxes, candy being passed around. everyone is in the holiday spirit.

well, everyone expect miguel.

before, he hated valentine’s day. it’s the day of love and he had no one. everyone he cared about was gone. what was the point of celebrating if you didn’t have someone to celebrate it with?

every year on that day, miguel would spend it in his office sulking like any other day. either going through reports of anomalies or rewatching videos of his precious gabriella, his true valentine.

peter and the spider teens would offer him gifts, which miguel wasn’t fond of. the spider teens would give him various candy and cards. a special card from hobie that had a drawn middle finger inside, which of course pissed him off and tossed it away. the only gift he accepted was a drawing of himself from mayday. he was on the verge of tears but couldn’t corrupt his ego so miguel stored it away in a drawer.

he hates valentine’s day.

until this year, miguel is celebrating for the first time and it was all because of you.

when he first met you, miguel was undeniably mesmerized by you. a pretty, smart, determined yet sassy woman. at first, he was against the idea of having another assistant since he already had lyla but it was her idea to have an extra one. plus, the medical staff needed some extra help so you weren’t only his assistant but also a nurse in some way. not to mention you aren’t a spider person and come from his own universe, just an ordinary person.

as time went on, miguel developed a crush on you. of course the idiot denies it and refuses to acknowledge it. but the way his heart beat increased and cheeks warmed up whenever you’re there said otherwise. miguel hasn’t felt this way about a woman in years and it honestly scares him. no matter how hard he tries denying his feelings for you, he couldn’t.

now here he is, trying to come up with a valentine’s day gift for you. marching around his office, a frown on his face and bunch of grumbles from his lips. why is so hard to get you a gift? maybe because he doesn’t know what to get you or what you’d like. or maybe because he hasn’t done this in years. it’s like all brand new to him and he doesn’t want to mess up.

“why not make her a card and write a poem inside it? it’ll be cute!” lyla magically pops up by his side.

“a poem, seriously, lyla? i can’t write a poem and it’s ridiculous. think of something else.”

the ai rolled her eyes. “oh please, miguel. women love poems. well, most of them but she definitely does.”

miguel stops marching around when she refers to you. do you like poems? would you like a poem from him? the man can’t even write one for fuck’s sake.

“no, suggest something else.”

“i’ll help you! that’s literally my job.” she cross her arms, shooting an obvious look.

miguel ponders for a moment before sighing. “fine.” he just can’t believe he’s doing this, writing a damn poem but it’s for you so supposedly it’s worth it.

you are worth it.

after lots of arguing, miguel finally crafted a poem, with lyla’s help of course since she mainly composed it herself and miguel only made a few tweaks to not sound that cheesy. the part he did make himself was the card. a simple red heart with your name in the middle. miguel isn’t an artist but it doesn’t look that bad, he put in his effort just for you.

he decides to leave the card on your desk while you’re on your break. miguel stays there for a moment, thinking that this was a stupid idea and was about to take back the card but it was too late to back out when he heard the familiar sound of your heels clicking approaching. miguel rushes off in time before you could notice him. his heart beats frantically with anticipation, pounding in his chest.

returning to your desk, your eyes light up in surprise when you notice a card with a heart on it. your head tilts in curiosity as you pick it up. back in his office, miguel pulls up the monitor of your mini office and feels his heart race as you inspect the card. a million thoughts ran through his mind.

do you like it? do you hate it?

opening the card, you read the poem written inside. it was so heartwarming, making you smile bashfully. miguel catches that and his heart skips another beat. as you finish reading the poem, you eyes land on the tiny signature at the end. a tiny ‘— M’ in black ink.

who is ‘M’?

your brows furrowed in confused as you think of people you know that have a ‘M’ lettered name. one particular name pops up to your mind and your smile widens immediately. miguel noticed your realization and his heart has never beaten so damn fast.

do you know it’s him?

those crimson eyes follow your tiny silhouette as you exit your mini office and head to the cafeteria. those thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion as miguel continue following you through the monitors. you enter the cafeteria and approach one of the spidermen, making him more confused.

what are you doing?

with the card pressed against your chest, you gently tap the spiderman’s shoulder and he turns around. miguel’s eyes widen in shock.

marco, spiderman from earth-9025. share some similarities with miguel in terms of appearance, expect marco isn’t abnormally tall or insanely buff.

“hey, um… i wanted to say thanks for the card, it’s very sweet of you.” you smile.

marco’s brows furrowed in confusion. “card? i didn’t…” his eyes land on the card in your hand then decides to change his mind. “oh! um, no problem! i’m glad you liked it. h-happy valentine’s day.” truth be told, marco has a crush on you as well.

oh miguel just lost his shit. how the fuck dare that little shit take credit for the card that he made for you? the poem that he, and lyla, wrote for you?

his fists clenched at his sides, blood boils with anger and jealousy as miguel seethes at the sight in front of him. that fucker took credit for his gift to you and is acting all lovely dovely with you.

someone stole his valentine.

oh that little shit is gonna pay for it.

beside the angry and jealousy boiling in his vein, sadness lingers in his heart as he watched you smile at marco. smiling at the wrong man. miguel should be the one be blessed with that smile. but instead another man has that honor and it pisses him off.

miguel couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the day. he watched you engage in a flirty conversation with marco in the cafeteria which went on for a while. the little shit had shitty jokes and flirting tactics but apparently it made you smile and laugh. miguel hated every second of it yet he couldn’t look away. he couldn’t look away from you, seeing you so happy with another man. he feels so… defeated.

yet again, miguel did only sign the card with his first initial. there are thousands of other people who have names that start with an ‘M’ so he isn’t the only one. oh how can he be more stupid than he already is?

finally, he turns off the monitor after lyla repeatedly told him to shut it off a while ago. he couldn’t bare it anymore. someone else took credit for his work and now has claimed your heart before he could.

his first valentine’s day, in a long time, ruined.

perhaps it was stupid to give it a chance.

as he was preparing to leave for a mission to distract himself from his broken heart, miguel sees you approaching with that gorgeous smile on your face and two coffee cups in your hands.

“you look like a zombie.”

oh you never fail to amaze him with your sarcasm, one of his favorite traits about you.

“funny.” he said flatly, taking the coffee from you, muttering a ‘thanks’ in return.

“so, any gifts you gotten?” you take a sip of your coffee as you lean against the ledge of his desk.

well, maybe that mission could wait. it wasn’t canon event threatening so. besides, miguel would spend time with you than be anywhere else.

“the usual, a drawing from mayday and unnecessary gifts from the kids.” he grumbles.

you chuckle. “lemme guess, hobie got you another special gift? another middle finger?”

“no, a shit emoji drawing with my mask on it.”

you almost choke on your coffee. “oh my god- that’s hilarious, i’m sorry.”

miguel rolls his eyes, unable to ignore his heart fluttering at the sweet sound of your laughter. “what… what about you?”

now, he’s a bit anxious. partly because he wonders of your thoughts about his gift. but he’s mainly still pissed off at marco for stealing his valentine.

“a shit ton of flowers, definitely not use to that but i loved it. some cards and candy. oh! i got a card with a really cute poem i thought it was from marco.”

he frowns at the mention of marco’s name. while you babble about the poem, miguel just wanted to grab you by the shoulders and tell you that he is the one who wrote it, he is the one who made the card, not that little dipshit marco. that idiot probably doesn’t even know how to treat a woman.

“but i gotta be honest…”

one of his eyebrows quirk up, intrigued.

“he’s a terrible fucking liar.”

okay, now miguel is confused. one minute you’re babbling about marco, now you’re calling him a liar.

“i know he didn’t write it. the way he was talking earlier didn’t match the vibe of the poem. he behaves like an average frat boy.”

there’s a tiny spark of hope. if miguel was a dog, his tail would definitely start wagging.

“if he didn’t write it, then who?” he can’t help but play along, secretly hoping you’d figure it out.

although, he was a bit confused about your sudden change of opinion about marco since you were having a lovely dovely time with him in the cafeteria earlier. but perhaps you were being nice to him.

“hmmm… i have someone in mind.” a teasing smile on your lips that make miguel’s knees weak. “i was thinking of who else has a name starting with the letter ‘M’ and have his way with words.”

that tail would be wagging faster. a wave of hope begins coursing through him. god he hopes you know it’s him. please, please, please say it’s him.

you reach behind you, pull the card from your back pocket, and raise it up. “did you ask lyla to write it?”

miguel blinks, shocked yet pleased. shocked that you assume lyla wrote the poem, which was the truth. pleased that you knew he was the true creator.

“i… uh… she did help me.” he admits sheepishly.

“i basically wrote it.” lyla magically appears in between you and miguel.

“lyla.” miguel groans, shooting a light glare.

“but mr. grumpy bug here did make the card.” the ai winks at you then disappears.

he appreciates his ai assistant having his back but calling him out like that, especially in front of the woman he likes, is embarrassing.

you can’t help but laugh. “well, she has a way of words but your heart is in the right place.”

speaking of his heart, it skips another beat.

“it was her idea… the poem! but i… i thought of getting you a… gift.”

oh god, he sounds like an shy idiot.

a smile creeps up to your face. he’s really cute when he’s shy, especially as the brooding grumpy man he is. “very charming of you.”

miguel doesn’t miss the sarcasm in your tone, making him roll his eyes but with a shy smile.

“but seriously though, it was nice of you to do that for me since you hate valentine’s day.”

“well… maybe i don’t have a reason to hate it anymore.” miguel briefly glances at you.

you can’t deny the way your heart flutters at that. truth be told, you always had something for miguel. every time you’re with him, you feel different. he is undeniably an attractive man. you tried burying your feelings since he was a closed off person. but now with this little fiasco, perhaps you can dig them up.

while at first you guessed wrong at who gifted you the card, you’re glad it was miguel and not marco. at a first glimpse, marco seemed like a nice guy which is why you assumed first it was him but after that encounter in the cafeteria made you realize he’s still a boy. majority of the things he said made you cringe. you only stayed and engaged in the conversation to not hurt his feelings, hence the smiling and laughing. but that’s when you realize it was someone else. you realized it was miguel, he was the right one. honestly, you didn’t think he’s the type to do something like that but you wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.

“maybe you don’t.” you smile softly at him.

perhaps next valentine’s day, miguel would have someone to celebrate with and will definitely make sure no one else will steal his valentine.

sure as hell not that dipshit marco.

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[loveesiren]

𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘚𝘶-𝘉𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘴 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘏𝘊𝘴

As requested, here is Subong vs. Thanos 🙂‍↔️ These are so fun to make lol

Warnings: Smut, MDNI 18+, lil bit of bondage, pill poppin purple boy

Choi Su-Bong

⊱ Subong, who has never given a fuck about a girl or her interests, wanted to know every single detail about you because he just found you so fascinating.

⊱ Subong, who wanted to make an actual effort to keep you in his life, learned to cook, just to impress you. He even learned a few Italian words just to use when he served you his famous fettucine alfredo that was mid at best but you loved the effort.

⊱ Subong, who became an avid gift giver. If he wasn't in debt before, he certainly was now. Every time he saw something that reminded him of you, he'd get it. Any time he passed a shop displaying a gorgeous dress, he had to buy it. He just loved spoiling you.

⊱ Subong, who had never given a fuck about the state of his apartment, had suddenly become embarrassed the first time he invited you over. His mom was almost ecstatic to get his call as he stood in the aisle of the grocery store, asking her what he needed to deep clean his house.

⊱ Subong, who once he read your "I'm on my way home" text, immediately sprang into action, drawing you a bath, adding your favorite bubbles, and pouring you a glass of wine to enjoy so you could unwind after work.

⊱ Subong, who sat next to the bathtub, rubbing your feet as you bitched about your stupid coworkers.

⊱ Subong, who told you to relax as he laid you down on your bed, trailing kisses down your skin and savoring your taste.

⊱ Subong, who took his time getting to know every inch of your body because he just loved the way you melted under his touch.

⊱ Subong, who made a playlist for everything, including having sex with you specifically. You loved the way his tongue moved to the rhythm of the music against your body.

⊱ Subong, who took his time. Making sure every inch of you was cherished before he even thought about his own needs.

⊱ Subong, who moves slowly, but with passion as he makes love to you.

⊱ Subong, who always keeps a hand on your cheek, his forehead pressed against yours, as he moved in and out of you because it kept him grounded, reminded him that this was real. That you were really here, his only treasure.

⊱ Subong, who was sure to pull atleast three orgasms from you so that you could sleep easily, cleaned you up as you laid still before presenting you with a fresh pair of silk pajamas, because his girl deserved it.

Thanos

✞ Thanos, who watched you through blown out pupils and hooded eyes.

✞ Thanos, who kept his hand on your ass whenever the two of you were in public (in private too, let's be real), to make it known you belonged to him.

✞ Thanos, who wore sunglasses as he sat in the club, holding your hips tightly as you grinded on his lap. Other girls would shoot their shot but he just dragged you on his lap, his hands groping your tits as he made it known he didn't want another bitch on him.

✞ Thanos, who popped pills with his friends and laughed loudly, making himself the center of attention. Tucking you under his arm because he didn't want eyes on you. Not because he was jealous, but because you were his and his alone. He didn't want others gawking at you.

✞ Thanos, who made out with you in the back of the car as you were driven home for the night. His hands reaching up your skirt, moaning into your kisses loudly, surely making it awkward for the driver.

✞ Thanos, who loved seeing his ringed fingers wrapped around your tiny throat.

✞ Thanos, who throws you on the bed and demands you strip.

✞ Thanos, who pops another pill as he watches you do whatever he asks.

✞ Thanos, who loved nights like this, mostly because you loved it too, groveling on your knees as you begged to please him.

✞ Thanos, who loved the feeling of your plump lips wrapped around his aching cock.

✞ Thanos, who loved cumming on your face and tits, cuz you just looked so damn sexy covered in him.

✞ Thanos, who didn't let you clean up because he was far from done.

✞ Thanos, who grabbed a handful of your hair, forcing you to stand before he bent you over the bed (or the nearest surface) to examine how much that pretty pussy was oozing for him.

✞ Thanos, who had since moved on from handcuffs, loved using rope and wire to tie you up in whatever position he chose. Whatever position he could could nail you the deepest in.

✞ Thanos, who gave you no warning before he stuffed his cock deep inside you, barely giving you a moment to adjust to his size.

✞ Thanos, who was quick to set a brutal pace, biting into your shoulder as he humped you like a dog.

✞ Thanos, who wasn't overly concerned about getting you off, he needed this more, and you loved when he used you like a toy.

✞ Thanos, who wrestled with the thought of where he should cum. Inside of you? On your ass? Stomach? He just loved the way you looked cover in his cum.

✞ Thanos, who ultimately always opted to finish on your body, rubbing his cum into your skin like his own personal brand of lotion.

✞ Thanos, who left you tied up and covered in cum as he laid beside you and lit a cigarette.

✞ Thanos, who took long drags of his cigarette as he stared at your silent, pleading eyes. If you were good, and didn't bother him, he'd allow you to shower once he was finished.

✞ Thanos, who decided if you didn't stay silent like a good girl, would have to punish you all over again.

✞ Thanos, who if he was feeling nice, would untie you and carry you to the shower, where you could clean both yourself and him up for the night.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[sunderwight]

So Luo Binghe is at first like. Alright. I'll just, seduce Liu Qingge. He's always had unwanted people throwing themselves at him in the past and Liu Qingge has all the social graces of a pig in mud, it can't be hard, right? Like, obviously Liu Qingge is very gay and Luo Binghe is a very attractive man, if he puts in the effort there ought to be a path that will work somewhere in there.

But then he arrives at Bai Zhan Peak and gets so mad at the whole situation that he just ends up fighting Liu Qingge like usual instead. Except the entire time he keeps thinking about having sex with him too. Which gives it some unusual energy, and means Luo Binghe isn't fighting as well as he usually does (distracted), so eventually Liu Qingge calls him out and asks if he's insulting him by not paying attention to their fight.

And Luo Binghe is like, I barely need a quarter of my attention on the fight to beat you, which stings because it's true but ah shit wait Binghe's supposed to be flirting. Or something? Something seductive. Well he's never actually seduced anyone but Shen Qingqiu before and he's definitely not fucking crying on Liu Qingge, so he draws upon the only other reference material he has (demon courtship) and just kicks his ass.

But like. Sexily. Sort of.

Yeah it doesn't really work. So while Liu Qingge is picking himself out of the dirt and spitting some blood out of his mouth, Luo Binghe switches to Plan B, aka "actually telling the truth" and is like okay so. Shizun's dying. Again. He got poisoned. Again. Anyway he needs to fuck you to fix it but he won't cheat on me, so I have to fuck you first to like, demonstrate that it's fine. And also we'll probably be married but you're gonna be a concubine. A disfavored one.

So Liu Qingge stabs him.

Once they get past that Luo Binghe establishes that he's not concocting some sort of elaborate joke, and Liu Qingge is like, I'm not having sex with you. Having sex with Shen Qingqiu is obviously still on the table though and he gets all tongue-tied and blushy about that. Also pretty blushy about the sex with Luo Binghe proposition, but shh, no, that's the flush of fury in his cheeks.

Reluctantly Liu Qingge agrees to consider it but he wants to verify it with Shen Qingqiu FIRST. So they go back to Qing Jing Peak and find Shen Qingqiu beating the snot out of Shang Qinghua (normal behavior) and Liu Qingge is like "he looks fine" but then Shen Qingqiu has a wife plot spurred attack of the vapors and. Well.

They go from there?

Shen Qingqiu gets hit by a rare wife plot.

And it actually is a rare one because Airplane didn't even write this one down! He toyed with the idea before ultimately dismissing it as being too controversial for the tastes of his readers, and adapting only a few of the same elements for a subsequent chapter of PIDW.

But apparently the System can pull inspiration even from the author's thoughts, especially when there's nothing to contradict the concept and even a few threads of it still to be found in the original, and somehow Shen Qingqiu runs afoul of this previously-unwritten plot bunny.

The core concept was a cuck scenario, of all things. One of the Luo Binghe's wives gets afflicted by a poison that can only be cured by dual cultivation, but specifically can't be cured by by dual cultivation with anyone who has mastery over demonic qi. Something something conflicting energies, something bullshit something. Peerless Cucumber would have ripped the chapter to shreds if it had actually made it to publication, not just for the insult of implying that Luo Binghe should let one of his wives sleep with someone else, but also because why would Luo Binghe -- able to use both kinds of cultivation -- somehow not be able to keep his demonic energies from influencing the situation just in this one case?

Well it turns out that in his specific case it's because sex gets him too worked up to keep things strictly separate, and the degree of control required to treat the affliction whilst dual cultivating is extensive enough that even a little slip-up would be fatal.

Of course, in the actual chapter of PIDW, this same plot device was altered and used to create a harem orgy where Luo Binghe oversaw several of his wives "treating" one another's "afflictions", but Shen Qingqiu just had to go and get a fatal of dose of the more severe version (he didn't realize the risk, because again, this version didn't even make it into the novel).

Anyway, of course this ends up with Shen Qingqiu trying to figure out another way to cheat death, while Luo Binghe goes through the five stages of grief before accepting that he's just going to have to let someone else fuck his husband. This leads to an argument because of course Shen Qingqiu's not going to cheat on Luo Binghe, and he's especially not going to force one of his martial siblings to sleep with him, come on now, and Luo Binghe trying not to cry tears of blood while bringing himself to explain that a fair few of Shen Qingqiu's sect siblings would be happy volunteers for this task.

Shen Qingqiu's just like, well of course you think that, for some bizarre reason you think everyone wants to sleep with me. Bias is what it is. Really it's flattering Binghe but obviously every other person we know is straight, that's just statistics, and everyone in the entire cultivation world knows that Qi Qingqi would sooner chew glass than have sex with a man!

Luo Binghe, weeping now: Shizun please. This is serious. I need you speak words that make sense in the order you're saying them.

They argue, they reach an impasse, the clock is ticking. So Luo Binghe reluctantly turns to the most reliable source of information (outside of himself) on Manipulating Shen Qingqiu to Do Things That Are in His Own Best Interests -- Shang Qinghua.

At first Shang Qinghua is like, well I'm flattered Junshang but I don't think I could shoulder the baggage of fucking Cucumber-bro for you. But then Luo Binghe is like no I need someone who is way hotter and more capable than you, if Shizun is going to fuck someone else at my behest they're going to be TOP TIER so that when I fuck him better afterwards he's really impressed with me. Liu Qingge, obviously.

Not Yue Qingyuan, Shang Qinghua asks? (He'd take the insult a little more personally but honestly he's just relieved that he's not being asked to navigate this social minefield.)

No, Luo Binghe says. He's not 100% sure he could beat Yue Qingyuan in a fight even to this day, which in his mind also translates to not being 100% sure he could do sex better than him either, so Yue Qingyuan is an emergency last resort. He's way more likely to cry on Shizun too and Shen Qingqiu is into that shit, it's too risky.

Alright, says Shang Qinghua, and he thinks about it, and then he comes up with the beautifully simple solution:

Luo Binghe has to fuck Liu Qingge first.

Because of course the crux of the issue is that even with permission, Shen Qingqiu doesn't want to cheat on Luo Binghe. But in the twisted annals of his mind, Luo Binghe himself is still entitled to a harem, even if Luo Binghe is also happily monogamous in this life. So if he shacks up with Liu Qingge first then Liu Qingge essentially joins Luo Binghe's harem, at which point if Shen Qingqiu sleeps with him it's not an affair, it's the gay version of those fanservice-y 3P scenes that the wives in PIDW did. Shang Qinghua translates the concept as best as he can to Luo Binghe, who -- though slightly dubious -- must accept that so far Shang Qinghua's wisdom hasn't steered him wrong with regards to his shizun's eccentricities.

Luo Binghe's mission: seduce Liu Qingge, or at least convince him to have sex, or possibly to lie and (convincingly!) tell Shen Qingqiu that they had sex. That last one is the longest shot so he's probably going to have to just fuck him (Luo Binghe still underestimates how willing his husband is to believe that just about anyone would have sex with him).

Shang Qinghua's mission: convince Shen Qingqiu that he owes his husband steamy threeway gay sex or something so that this plan he pulled out of his ass doesn't backfire and get him killed.

[mechncheese]

Answering some AU related asks in this post so I don't flood your feed ! I wanna draw some of these so those will be included in a separate post later on !

Jetfire, Ratchet, Wheeljack and Perceptor are on an Optimus assigned mission so that's why/how they're working together !

Prowl and Brainstorm join them later ! Prowl broke Brainstorm out of prison as a really terrible backup plan after the Jetfire's team gets compromised (full context for the AU's locations can be read here) but in summary, Luna 2, where the team was originally working, was raided by Decepticons. This forced Jetfire's team to jump through the Spacebridge to an unknown location.

Brainstorm and Prowl with the help of others storm Luna 2 and hijacks the Spacebridge so Brainstorm and Prowl can get to Jetfire's team. They only buy enough time for a one way trip so now Brainstorm and Prowl are stuck with the Science Team.

As a pitbull owner, this made me chuckle, I imagine he kinda acts like one too. His whale eye of judgement and him having absolutely no sense of personal space and getting into everyone's business. Sometimes he can look incredibly sad and pathetic. Who want him?

Honestly, he's probably considered it and then went "no, no bad Skyfire ! that's an awful thought !"

HONESTLY REAL, Jetfire would be the designated chef, I imagine he cooks in big ass portions because he eats a lot. Ratchet is the second designated chef of the science team, Perceptor mixed up the salt and sugar and fucked up the soup. Prowl only cooked enough food for himself.

First Aid is like ratatouille while Red Alert would overcook all his food out of fear.

Wheeljack and Brainstorm cook the worst meal ever, forced to be removed from the kitchen. Brainstorm probably steals a bite from everyone's food though just because "it tastes better when it's from your plate"

Thank you ! Brainstorm's wings get in the way of Everyone and Everything and he's probably ruined countless of Percy's (and everyone else's) carefully put together experiments. I think he has similar energy to when someone with a long ponytail turns around and accidentally whacks you in the face but on a much more painful scale.

In no particular order and mostly with the Science Team;

Staying up the longest without recharge

One sided racing with Jetfire, whether it be to the other side of the room, lounging area, kitchen, outside, doesn't matter he just needs to get there first (Jetfire chooses not to acknowledge this)

Engex drinking (He's actually an incredibly lightweight drinker, and the quickest to knock out out of the scientists but that won't stop him from trying)

Getting his lab reports done fastest

He keeps trying to challenge Perceptor in a game of scrabble and keeps losing

anything, and I mean ANYTHING in regards to Brainstorm, he will try his hardest to one up that guy

Wheeljack does not fuck around during group game night

Secretly playing a game of "lets see how many times I can lap everyone around the Science Base"

Glaring contest with Ratchet, whoever looks away first loses (also one sided, Ratchet's lost in thought)

"Do you dare me to do this thing?" "no" "ok im doing it"

Ratchet likes to nap, he's a big fan of getting rest and he definitely needs it, he probably snores like crazy tho. Wheeljack likes to drive long distances, doesn't need a location or anything he just likes driving around. Jetfire likes to read and journal his thoughts, his only way to cope and vent around here </3. Perceptor likes word puzzles, crosswords, word search, etc, he would be a HUGE wordle fan.

They have game nights together, mostly board games.

Brainstorm has never heard of the term “relax” in his life but he does like to push other bot’s buttons for fun. He wants to know what makes them tick. Prowl has never heard of the term “fun” in his life but he does like to sit in solitude and darkness in the quiet away from everyone.

The adding height to his wings bit is really funny omg

But nah, Wheeljack’s not really self conscious about his height. He prefers it over being Jetfire’s height. At least Wheeljack can fit through most doorways.

BAHAHA, where there's Prowl there’s Brainstorm and vice versa. Honestly I’m not sure which guy the Science Team fears more.

I'm sure that when they see Prowl around, they just look around the room for Brainstorm like they've just lost sight of a spider they've been keeping an eye on.

[stxary]

「 ✦ 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒚 ‎✦ 」

❤︎ pairing : bf!jungkook x fem!reader

❤︎ genre : drabble, pwp, non idol au, smut, fluff

❤︎ word count : 1k

❤︎ warnings : explicit content, edging, oral (f. receiving), fingering, thigh slapping, dirty talk, slight overstimulation, rough sex (lmk if i missed anything ! <3)

❤︎ a/n : hi so second fic… do we like the new banner?? 🙏 also this took me so long bc i had the worst writing block ever oh my fucking god

you groaned in frustration when you felt your boyfriend pull out from between your legs for the fifth time that night. your hand in his hair tugged harshly as you whined, unable to move your hips due to the grip he had on them.

“shh, i know baby, i know.” he cooed, licking his lips coated in your essence before bringing them down to your inner thigh and placing a few soft kisses there.

the way he talked in that fake sympathetic voice made you want to sit up and slap him. and you probably would, if it wasnt for the fact that your whole body felt like jelly. so instead, you tugged on his hair once again and whined, your voice coming out as a low croak.

“koo, please.” you looked down between your legs, meeting his dark, lust filled gaze. “i cant- i need to cum so bad.”

a slow grin played on his lips as he hummed, his gaze going back down to your glistening folds. he brought a finger up to flick at your clit, before running it through your folds, relishing in the way you whimpered.

your head fell back against the pillows, already feeling the pleasure he had taken away so many times simmering in your core again. his finger dipped down to trace your entrance, and his eyes flicked up back to your face to see your reaction.

he leaned back down and wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently, causing you to let out a whiny moan. “jungkook.” you draw out. you didnt even know why, your mind was too hazy to think about anything but the pleasure he was giving you.

his finger slid inside of you, curling it as he sucked on you more insistently now. your back arched as your whines came out in a steady pattern, your body felt like it was on fire.

jungkooks finger pushed in and out of you for a few more times before he pulled it out, replacing it with his tongue. “ohhh, fuckkk..” your hand on his hair tightened again, and your cunt was already fluttering around his tongue. you were so close. you were so damn close to this release you needed so bad. you squeezed your eyes shut and trapped his head between your thighs, trying to prevent him from pulling away and taking your pleasure with him once again.

he moaned into your cunt and gripped your hips tighter, and for a few moments you really thought he was gonna let you cum.

and then he fucking pulled away.

you opened your eyes and scowled at him, your swollen lips parted as a breathy whine came from them. he just stared right back at you with that shit eating grin before placing a kiss on your clit and crawling up your body.

he leaned down and took your lips in a kiss, sticking his tongue past your lips and letting you taste yourself on him. before you even got a chance to enjoy it though, he pulled away.

“gonna give you what you want now.” he murmurs as he pulls his calvin kleins down, his cock springing up. it was throbbing, and the tip was a flushed pink, matching the color dusted on his cheeks.

jungkooks tatted hand wraps around his cock and he strokes it slowly, bringing it so that the tip was nudging your entrance. you whined at the contact, rolling your hips in a futile attempt to get him to hurry up.

a harsh slap is delivered to your thigh, making you yelp. “if you keep rushing me, im not gonna fuck you at all.” his dark eyes meet yours, his words firm but the look in his eyes told you he wasnt gonna keep that promise.

“im sorry.” you whine once again, but he ignores it. he was too focused on the way his cock was gliding through your folds, and the shuddery breaths that were coming from you.

you were about to open your mouth to protest again until you finally feel him pushing into you. you couldve came right then and there, just from the relief of finally getting what you wanted after what felt like forever.

“ohh- fuck, baby.” he groans as he slowly slides himself into you, fingers digging into your thighs. he moves in and out shallowly, letting you relax around him until he finally bottomed out in you.

“move, please.” you plead. you realized you probably sounded really fucking pathetic right now, but you were too horny to care.

and jungkook gave you what you wanted, starting a steady pace that had you throwing your head back, whining out loudly. but he didnt do it because you asked, no. right now he was trying to chase his own release, cause that flick in his brain switched as soon as he sunk himself inside your tightness.

the small grunts and pants that were coming from his mouth had you clenching around him. it was embarrassing how close you were already, and he had barely started.

“s-shit, baby, youre so fucking wet.” he lets out an airy chuckle. “ive gotta start edging you more if it means youll be soaked for me.” he muses as he rams himself into you, focusing on the way your pussy was sucking him in like it never wanted him to stop.

his hands dragged up your sides and planted on the bed beside your head, and he loomed over you, watching your face contort in pleasure. the new angle had you crying out, your back arched as you grabbed at his arms.

your belly was tightening, signaling your rapid release. you were practically shaking under him, so it wasnt hard for him to figure it out. “koo- fuck, im g-gonna-“

“i know baby.” he repeated in that same sweet voice as earlier. only this time, instead of pissing you off, it was what you needed to send you over the edge.

you let out a high pitched moan as you came around him, back arching and nails digging marks into his arms. you felt like you were on cloud nine, finally cumming after being denied so many fucking times.

jungkooks hips stuttered at the sight of your face, blissed out, your cries, and the way your pussy clenched around him. “fuck.” he muttered under his breath, his voice a bit strained. he moved to grip your hips, picking up his pace.

it took what felt like an eternity to come down from your high, and when you did, you could barely process the fact that jungkook was fucking into you way rougher now, at an almost animalistic pace.

“too m-much.” you whimpered, but you made no move to really stop him. you put your hand on his chest, your nails grazing over the skin, but he took your hand and pinned it beside your head.

“just a.. a little more.” he panted out, his brows furrowed in concentration as he felt his own belly tighten. the force of his thrusts had you gasping, the overstimulation in your pussy hurting so good.

and he was right, a few more frantic thrusts and he let out a loud groan, stopping his movements completely to fill you up.

his hands raked up the sides of your body again, his hands wrapping around your waist as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, then on your lips. he pulled away to look down at you, studying your expression.

“you okay?” he brought his hands up to cup your face, making you open your eyes and meet his gaze. you hum and nod softly, blinking slowly.

“i wasnt too rough?” he asks, his brows furrowed in concern. you hum again, this time shaking your head. he gave you a soft smile before kissing you on the lips again, this time lingering for a moment.

he took one of your hands and interlocked your fingers, squeezing your hand slightly. “i love you.” he murmurs against your lips.

© stxary 2025, all rights reserved .

[kikidoul]

── SWEET MORNINGS.

ヾ(´︶`♡)ﾉ 박종성 x fem! reader content established relationship ᥫ᭡ warning explicit sexual content petnames used discussed somnophilia unprotected seggs (wrap it up pls!) aftercare because this is jay we're talking about lmk if i miss anything else . . .!? 1019 — mlist. req

note. first time writing jay so hopefully i wrote him well...? also thanks for 600 followers heh ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶ tag. @tfwbluu @heesimps

Between the two of you, Jay is more of a morning person. He likes to live his life with a routine planned out—waking up at nine sharp, brushing his teeth and washing his face followed by preparing breakfast before heading out for work. All of the above have to be completed within one hour. Not a minute later or less or he would’ve arrived late. However, that changed when he met you. You randomly barged into his life by accidentally spilling your coffee on him. One thing led to another and here you are, in a relationship with the perfect man. 

He was the first to wake up, his bodyclock already ingrained in him. It was a Saturday and normally, he would be annoyed at how he had woken up at nine when he didn’t have to go to work. However, he had come to appreciate it, for it gives him the chance to admire you while you were sleeping, blissfully unaware. Jay couldn’t help but smile at how you furrowed your eyebrows when he shifted slightly. 

He didn’t hesitate to pull you closer, not wanting to wake you up. His features softened at the sight of you snuggling closer, resting your head on his bare chest. Your legs were intertwined underneath the sheets with the air-conditioner acting as white noise in the bedroom. Jay was close to falling asleep again but his ears picked up a soft sound from you. He looked down, breath hitching when he felt you rubbing your clit against his thigh. There were no clothes being in the way, eliciting a groan from him when he felt you getting wetter. 

“Ngh, J-Jay.. wan’ you,” you mumbled, neediness evident in your voice. 

Hearing your words made his cock twitch. Both of you have discussed this and it turns out that you were fine with him having you while you were asleep. Besides, it’s not like he could help himself—not when you were all whiny and needy for him. Cursing under his breath, Jay adjusted your positions, making your back pressed against his chest. He rested his chin on your shoulder, hand spreading your legs so he could slide his fingers into your gaping hole. 

He groaned at how there was no resistance at all, the smooth glide made him rub his cock against the crack of your ass. You squirmed about in his grip, soft whimpers fell from your lips as his fingers brushed against your sensitive spot. 

“J-Jongseong,” you pathetically whined, the sound making his mind spin with how his name sounds from your lips. He watched as you blearily opened your eyes, looking over your shoulder, revealing your dazed eyes and pouty lips—the sight making him chuckle. 

“Yes, baby? Do you need something?” He hums, pressing a chaste kiss on your nose. 

You nodded, wiggling your ass against his, drawing soft moans from the both of you when you rubbed yourself against his hardened cock. “P-Please..” 

“Please what?” 

“Please fuck me.. wan’ your cock in me,” you begged, giving him doe eyes—one of Jay’s greatest weakness. 

Without hesitation, your boyfriend rammed his cock in one smooth movement. You were still in your current positions—your back pressed against his chest. You felt insanely full, filled to the brim as he split you apart on his cock. It was like your insides have been molded to fit the shape and outline of him. He didn’t give you any chance to breathe, thrusting into you from behind at a slow, languid pace. Unlike the other times when having sex was intense and rough, this was more slow and lazy, considering how both of you were barely awake enough to do anything else. 

Despite this, it was enough to make your mind blanked out. You looked down, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your pulsating hole. You let out a soft, breathless whimper as Jay grabbed your left leg, slinging it over his hips. The slight shift of angle allows him to hit deeper, drawing more sounds from you. 

“Hah, J-Jay, fuck,” you cried out, eyes squeezed shut when you felt your muscles tightening and your breathing growing ragged. 

“You wanna cum, princess?” He rasped, voice borderline scratchy and hoarse due to the lack of water. Jay planted kisses on the areas he could reach with his lips while his hand busied itself in stimulating your poor, overly-sensitive clit—rubbing the bundle of nerves in circles. 

“Mhm, please!” 

“Then cum for me.”

Jay turned your head towards him, crashing your lips in a fiery kiss as he fucks you through your climax. You whined, squirming as he continued thrusting into you after your climax. Soon enough, he was quick to reach his orgasm. Your walls spasm and contract at the feeling of him spilling inside you, eliciting a soft moan. He wanted to pull out but you stopped him with a tired hand resting on his chest. 

“Don’t, let’s just stay like this for a while,” you murmured. 

Your boyfriend chuckled, shaking his head in disagreement. “No, you’re going to complain about how sticky it feels once you’re fully awake, princess.” Ignoring your protests, Jay slowly pulled out and you squeezed your legs together, trying to get used to the sudden emptiness. 

He got out, grabbing some clean, damp towels to wipe him and you off. Jay was gentle the entire time, treating you like you were some sort of glass that could shatter anytime. Once he was done, he returned to bed, shifting the dirtied sheets to the floor. He helped you wear one of his shirts while he threw on boxers and sweatpants, not bothering to wear any shirts. You wasted no time in snuggling towards him the moment he returned. 

“Go back to sleep, we have the rest of the day to ourselves,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. 

“Mm.. love you,” you mumbled, eyes closing and you fell asleep in the span of five seconds. Jay was quick to follow suit, joining you in the land of dreams with you held in his arms. 

[euriiverse]

GUYS?!?!I JUST SAW A FUCKING TIKTOK ABOUT CALEB AS SPIDERMAN AND A MILLION IDEAS JUST CAME OVER ME WHAT THE HELLLL

No cUS HE ACTUALLY ISSS SO SPIDERMAN CODED. THE DOUBLE LIFE? ESPECIALLY IF MC IS EITHER HIS GWEN OR MJ BUT IMMA PICK GWEN BC I LIVE FOR THE ANGST BUT IMAGINEEEEE!!!

Spiderman!Caleb is hellbent on not letting you find out he's spiderman, doing everything in his will not to let you down or not letting you get in harm's way. It's still all the same, you both grew up under Gran's roof and you still basically grew up being childhood best friends.

Spiderman!Caleb gains his spidey powers after being bitten by a radioactive spider during on one of, let's say during an exposure trip for his program, and any usual spiderman origin story, the first few days with his new spidey powers were quite chaotic to say the least!

One day, you came home to a suspiciously torn-apart bathroom door and Caleb's disaster of a bedroom. Let's say Caleb's acting skills were put to test that day.

Imagine, you crashing at Caleb's bedroom (Caleb privileges means crashing at his bedroom as if it's your own bedroom too, man's a goner. He'd let you own up his life if you wanted to). You were just scrolling on your phone mindlessly then suddenly, you come face to face with Caleb in a spiderman suit coming through the window only to freeze as he sees you staring back at him like you've seen a ghost (nearly caused Caleb to fall back from the window and end up in a nasty fall but quickly held on)

Let's just say you freaked out for an hour and Caleb just took it like the man he was but would also try to appease you, looking at you like a kicked puppy.

Spiderman!Caleb would absolutely be reckless, (especially if it involved your safety) seriously taking years off of your lifespan whenever Caleb has to go home with cuts and bruises littered over his body.

".... Are you mad at me?" Caleb eyes you pensively. You only gave him a stern look in return while you were busy tending to a particularly large gash on his arm. You press the disinfectant a little too harsh making him twitch. He knows you're upset, and he knows that anything he says right now won't make you any less upset.

Imagine Spiderman!Caleb does finally relent and take you on a swing, hanging onto him for dear life as he swings you both from one building to another. (Duh, man's big and he's wearing spandex, ofc we're clinging onto him!)

Imagine the YEARNING. (The classic superhero trope yearning for their best friend) So you and Caleb were outside for a nightly stroll (or a nightly swing?). He wore is usual jacket with his spiderman suit underneath those layers of clothing. You both were conversing just as usual, easily falling into that familiar rhythm whenever you two were together. He wouldn't wish to be anywhere else at this moment, you were perfect. You were everything he's ever wanted, ever needed. He wished he could stay close to you like this forever.

oh and tell me Spiderman!Caleb wouldn't be extra playful around you, he would definitely use his strength to his advantage. cheeky bastard with all his spiderman abilities. You huffed as he stuck up on the wall, you stuck on the ground after you both were chasing each other like children (well, mostly you) after he won't stop teasing you. Soon enough, Caleb relents, chuckling as he shoots out a web and hangs down to your level (yep yk whats coming)

He was upside down, smiling at you with those ridiculously alluring purple eyes of his (i could get lost in them forever). Despite your initial irritation from the goose chase he made you do moments prior, you feel your irritation melt bit by bit, slowly replaced with that familiar warmth that you can't stop from going whenever Caleb is around.

How can someone look so handsome even upside down? He was peering at you, his gaze twinkling, and those lips curved into an amused, tender smile. You wanted to imprint this image onto your mind forever, until you could draw it countless times without fail. Before you knew it, you were reaching out to cup his face, leaning in and placing your lips on his.

QOFJFIJEIQJFIFNDKA i literally just wrote this on the spot before I dress up for my class today😖😖😖😖

ALSO:

HERE'S THE SPIDERMAN VID !!!!

[ourdawnishotterthanourday]

Rose Tinted — Boo Seungkwan

✧ Take off those rose colored glasses ✧

Plot: Picture this… you find out that your so-called best friend has been playing you all along.

🎥 Starring: fem!reader x best friend!Boo Seungkwan 🎥 Genre: big time angst 🎥 Word count: 0.9k+ 🎥 Warnings: swearing, asshole vernon, asshole kwannie (sorry y’all), brief mention of blood but not graphic 🎥 Notes: I am baaaack (hopefully for a while). I know I haven’t been posting for forever but I hope to see you all more often again ^^  🎥 Shout out: thanks to my lovely bestie @nothoughtsjustfic for motivating me to write again 💜 love you Chee! Never change pls hehehe

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

Set The Scene Masterlist —  Masterlist

“How much longer are you going to keep this up, dude? She’s been glued to your side since that dumb bet. Weren’t you gonna ditch her like forever ago?”

Time froze as you heard Vernon utter those words to your best friend… or so you thought. 

“Shit, Vernon! Be quiet before she hears you!” Seungkwan hissed in return, which was followed by a dull sound and then a shriek from Vernon.

“Whatever. I just don’t get it. You don’t even like her. She could offer to buy me unlimited pizza and beers and I still wouldn’t be able to handle all that clinginess.”

“Fucking hell! Just get out and don’t come back until we leave. You’re going to fuck up everything,” Seungkwan snapped, his voice unlike anything you’d ever heard coming from his lips. 

“Fine.” Vernon sighed dramatically. “But don’t come crying to me when it all comes to bite you in the ass.” 

A second later, you heard the front door slam shut, the sound of which snapped you right back to the horrible reality you were now forced to face. 

You’d just been shown a completely different side of your supposed best friend and you didn’t quite know whether to cry or scream. What you did know was that you couldn’t stay hidden behind the wall for forever, even though that did seem awfully tempting. You’d never been very confrontational but this matter couldn’t be left unspoken, not if you wanted to keep your sanity. 

You needed to hear the truth from Seungkwan himself. 

With your heart nearly pounding out your chest and a million thoughts running through your mind, you forced your legs to move in the direction of the living room where Seungkwan was awaiting your return. 

His head immediately shot up when he noticed you approaching him, a smile that felt just a little too forced making its way on his face. It was almost as if you could see a sliver of disgust flash behind his eyes.

Had that always been there or were you just overanalyzing everything because of what Vernon said?

“There you are! Any longer and I would have gotten worried.” Seungkwan chuckled as he turned his head back towards the TV.

Right. The movie the two of you had been watching before that awful conversation. If only you could turn back time. 

“Y/N?” Seungkwan asked with a raised brow when you hadn’t moved at all. “Aren’t you going to sit down? We can finish the last thirty minutes before we have to leave.”

“No.” 

Your voice was barely audible but you knew that it had been loud enough judging by the way Seungkwan responded.

“No? You don’t want to watch any more? Well, we can put on something else if that’s what you wan-”

You were quick to interrupt him. “No. That’s not what I want.”

“Okay?” He got up from the couch, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re acting kinda strange, Y/N. What’s going on?”

Without realizing it, you’d been clenching your fists so hard this entire time that your nails had pierced through parts of your skin, drawing a little bit of blood which you could feel dripping down your fingers. But you honestly couldn’t give a fuck right now. 

“Do you hate me?” you blurted out, completely catching the man in front of you off guard.

“W-what? Hate you? Why would you ask me that?” Seungkwan chuckled nervously, his hand awkwardly coming up to scratch behind his neck. 

“Be honest with me, Seungkwan.” You looked him dead in the eyes, noticing the way his eyes grew wide at the fierceness behind your words.

As if suddenly coming back to himself, he shook his head furiously. “You’re being crazy, Y/N.”

You let out a loud snort. “Me? Crazy? Then are you saying Vernon was lying just now?”

At that revelation, Seungkwan’s mouth opened and closed a few times as if he was about to say something but backed out at the last second. There was no talking himself out of this. And you were not backing down until you’d heard everything, even if it was going to crush you. 

“Yeah… I heard everything. About a supposed bet, about you pretending this entire time and wanting to ditch me. Does that ring a bell?” 

“Y/N, l-listen,” the man pleaded as he took a step forward to reach for your arm. 

“Tell me the fucking truth, Seungkwan!” you nearly screamed, surprising both yourself and him at the anger laced in your voice.

You could see the hesitation in his eyes at first, but it wasn’t long before that disgust you swore you’d seen before flashed behind his eyes once again. 

“You really wanna know what I think of you? Fine!” He threw up his hands. “I don’t like you, I never have, not then and not now. I’m not your fucking best friend and I’m sick of pretending. You’re right. It started out as a stupid bet to see if I could befriend you, but with how fucking desperate you were, that wasn’t hard. And then you just wouldn’t fucking go away so I thought, I might as well use your clingy ass to my advantage. Because who in their right mind doesn’t like free meals and free rides? All I had to do was pretend.” He chuckled bitterly. “Happy now?”

You didn’t stick around to respond, already halfway through the door with tears streaming down your face by the time he finished his cruel rant. This wasn’t the sweet and caring Seungkwan you’d been sharing all your secrets and insecurities with. This was the real Seungkwan, a mean, heartless excuse of a human being who you didn’t recognize at all. 

He’d broken your heart in a million little pieces and you didn’t know if you were ever going to recover from this. 

So much for letting someone in.

So much for not wanting to be alone. 

Boo Seungkwan, I hope it was worth it. 

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[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy VI

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge) ->chapter map

VI.

-Stewing in agony after the awkward ending to your otherwise pleasant encounter with Professor Wick, you spend the whole rest of the weekend working on a miniature diorama of a little girl living in the desert with a pet jackalope. It’s actually been a while since you made one, and by the time it’s done you do feel a little more sane. 

A psychologist might have said something about reclaiming the innocence from a conversation you wish had gone differently, or perhaps a longing for girlhood in which you did not have to worry about every conversation with a man turning into a sexual pitfall. Either way, the end result is cute, and weird, and you add it to the shelf with all your other little scenes. 

You are aware that most of your art comes from the bottomless well of dissatisfaction inside you. A part of you fears that if you ever did manage to get your shit together, you might not make art anymore. Maybe someday you’ll beat the game, retire to a cottage in the countryside, and fill your time with paint by numbers and talking to your numerous cats…

Until then, you’re currently living the glamorous life of No Sex In The City…and you have to go to work. 

-A week later, it seems Matt has decided to ignore Wick’s directive, or at least has decided they’re not mutually exclusive. He is meeting your eyes again, even shooting you a shy smile before class begins. It’s silly, what a thrill this gives you, like a glitter bomb gone off inside your heart. Perhaps after spending all weekend torturing yourself over Professor Wick, it just feels good to flirt with someone who is almost your own age. 

Or perhaps you’re a fickle creature in need of an intervention. 

Matt sits with you again under your maple tree, and even though you’re both quiet souls, it is surprisingly easy to talk to him. You talk about where you’re from and your families. You learn he moved here from out of state with his band mates, and that he never really had a happy home life.

He lets you flip through his sketchbook, and with every page you feel yourself softening towards him by the second. He really is very talented, and on top of that his drawings have a dreamlike quality that sucks you in. 

You pause on a two page spread filled with dark black lines and color. It’s a Chagall-esque bird’s eye view of a little town, houses and businesses, people going about their day, a bridge, a forest by a rolling river. It’s a seemingly happy and complex composition, until your eye settles on a pale form by the river bank far in the corner, a woman lying naked and alone in the cold. For some reason an uneasy, icy feeling creeps through your veins. Is she dead? 

“What is this, Matt?” you ask, taking in the details again. 

He seems to panic a little, reaching out to take back his book, closing it and tucking it into his backpack. “It’s just a dream I had,” he tells you, shaking his shoulders like he’s got the creeps. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

So you change the subject, but you still wonder. 

-Maybe Professor Wick was unfairly harsh to Matt, but you’re heartened to see the young man seems to have decided to rise to the challenge. He doubles his effort in his drawing, taking Wick’s direction and then some–the result would be stunning, but he runs out of time. The study is only half finished after three hours, and you can tell from your elevated place in the center of the class that he is miserable about it. 

“Wick is going to fucking annihilate me,” he mourns as you stand beside him looking at the drawing, now dressed in your robe. 

Critique is at the end of the week, and the students are allowed to work on their drawings on their own time until then, but they’re not allowed to take pictures of you for reference for obvious reasons of privacy. You’re afraid he’s right, and your heart goes out to him. He seems like such a sweet young man, and you don’t understand why John seems to have it out for him. 

“How much time do you need?” you ask under your breath, conscious of the man in undertaker’s black at his desk across the room. 

“I dunno. A couple hours?” he laments, and you elbow him to keep his voice down. 

“I could help you.” Finally understanding, he shoots a look with those wide dark eyes over at the teacher, before returning his attention to you. Those plush pink lips part with surprise, and you tell yourself that you’re not offering to do this because he’s the prettiest [and the saddest] boy you’ve ever seen. 

“You’d do that?” 

“You’re really talented, Matt. I want you to succeed.” 

He looks at you through his long hair like no one has ever said anything like that to him before. “That’s…really nice of you.” 

“Maybe I’m just vain,” you deflect. “This is going to be your best work...if you finish it.” You think you can tell that he has it in him to be great at this–maybe no one has ever given him that last nudge before. 

Maybe Wick knew what he was doing, being tough on him? 

Could be, but mostly, it felt like he was being a jerk, and you don’t want Matt to have to go through it again.  

----

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[lavshaze]

🖤 | Terrible thing

✧ contains ⤐ SMUT. dirt and filth. oral, missionary, doggy in front of a mirror. very brief mention of a breeding kink. also very brief reference to cannibalism bc im into the artistic image it creates. title is a reference to the song by AG because I'm obsessed with that song, and with silco. oh and lethal levels of yearning but yk, that's the usual. based on a real true story! w.c ~ 2.6k

You remember how he tastes. 

The feeling of him in your mouth— warm, sweet, and entirely unexpected of someone like Silco, who's all jagged teeth and rough angles. 

You remember gazing up at him through your lashes, fingers eagerly digging into his thighs as you wait for him to open his mouth and say something— praise your performance, degrade you for being so desperate to have him that you'd get on your knees in his office, call you a filthy whore for the behavior you've been exhibiting, for acting like a bitch in heat— anything in the sonorous tone that you’ve grown accustomed to. 

But nothing comes out of his mouth. 

Instead, you blink and find yourself in a new location. One where he's on top of you taking you at an agonizingly slow pace. You're on his bed now, sinking under his weight into plush crimson sheets; the questions you had a second ago melt on your tongue when he digs himself deeper into you, erasing any coherent thought from your head.

He fucks you into the bed with a passion that you have only dreamt of finding in other men you’ve taken to bed. He splits you open at the center, keeping your legs wrapped around him securely, and stitches you together with every deep slow thrust. He buries his head into your neck, hot breath over your skin as his teeth sink into the junction of your neck and shoulder. The moan that escapes your mouth is intensified when his long lithe fingers dig into your hips, making sure to leave dark, blossoming bruises to match the ones on your neck. The thought of admiring all these marks later makes your heart beat erratically in your ribcage. 

Yeah, that's more like the Silco you know. 

Your vision blurs as you reach up to thread your fingers through his unkempt hair, so different from his usual look. Despite the slow pace, you find yourself inching closer to your release, body hungrily clenching around his length. The heat of his body and the slow languid motion of his thrusts plants a sort of heavy yearning in your heaving chest, a hunger that grows every time he’s deep inside. You want to hold onto him forever, cage him in your arms, hold him against your chest as you come undone under his ruthlessness. You want to reach out and dig your teeth into his flesh, take a part of him and keep it to yourself.  

The moment feels too short. It feels too long. You can't tell where he ends and you begin. 

His scent heightens your senses, the characteristic dark musk mixing with cigar smoke, as you find yourself drawing closer to the edge. This is something holy, something sacred, something you’ll be praying to for a tremendously long time. His hips snap against yours in a particularly brutal thrust and a devastating noise escapes you, akin to a warning. He pulls back from his attack on your neck to watch, to observe with eager eyes— dark and wide, pupils blown wider than you’ve ever seen— as you fall apart under him. 

Despite him blowing into you like a shimmer addict, the desire in your body isn't fully sated yet. 

You’re just as hungry for him as you were when you kneeled down in front of his office chair and hurriedly unbuttoned the pants holding the cure to all your late night problems. The need to see more of him lands the two of you in front of his vanity; the mirror you imagine he adjusts himself in every morning now reflects the sight of your naked bodies, giving you a perfect view of all the bruises he’s been littering your body with. Pliable under his touch, your body aches deliciously as he enters you, a firm arm on your waist holding you back from toppling over. The sensation still feels new, the ache in your chest reinvents itself over and over again. 

In this room, it feels like only the two of you exist, and all you have to care about is how he feels. 

How does he feel? 

He handles your body so recklessly and yet with so much love, bending you in whichever way he likes and taking you as deep as he can go. You give yourself to him readily as you watch his face in the mirror, aquamarine and hellfire orange merging to touch the deepest part of your soul while his cock does the work to reach the deepest part of your body. 

He wraps his other arm around your waist and kisses your neck, almost like he's apologizing for the bruises he left earlier— warm, wet tongue soothing the ache of the newest ones. 

You admire how he looks in the reflection, nose buried in your neck like he’s finding a lost part of himself in your body, like he wouldn’t mind getting on his knees and worshipping you. 

Your eyes move down to observe your own body. It responds so steadily to his touch, moving and changing every time he thrusts forward, if it weren't for his tight grip on your waist and the possessive hold he has on you, you'd be up against the mirror. You wouldn’t mind that if it meant he got to feel you deeper. But you focus on your appearance, on your breasts, on your chest and the heaving thrum of your heartbeat, on all the imperfections you thought would bother you forever. The dip of your hips, the stretch marks that decorate your body, the fat of your stomach that Silco holds so possessively. 

Were you always this perfect? 

The thought is so erotic, it makes you want to lean in and kiss the mirror, press your bare tits to the cold glass and create a mark for everyone who comes into his room to see. For everyone to know that he bent you over the vanity and fucked you until you saw stars and could only utter his name. It makes you want to turn around and kiss Silco, make him feel the same appreciation that he works so hard to fuck into you. 

The man in question lifts his head and your breath hitches when your eyes meet in the reflection. Countless people have gazed into his eyes in fear, trembled at his feet and begged for their lives, but few of them have had the pleasure of trembling under his touch in the way you’re doing right now. The thought that this man is dangerous, and undeniably cruel at times, sends a jolt through your body. The realization that you’re in the arms of a monster, a beast, and he’s holding you so affectionately, it plants an unspeakable feeling in your chest. 

You watch with bated breaths as his eyes scan over your body, appreciating everything you have to offer. It's a little humiliating— being put on such an open display, having nothing to cover up your most intimate areas besides his bruising grip that travels from your waist to fondle your breasts— but it turns you on endlessly to be ravaged by something as simple as his gaze. 

Something deep in your stomach coils as you watch a sharp, razor-like smile stretch across his face. You think about his sharp edges, how you'd willingly cut yourself on them over and over if it meant having him close. Even when he's literally inside you, filling you up to beyond satisfactory levels, you're thinking of ways to have him closer. 

The thought of him planting something irreversible inside you, something alive, passes through your head like a seductive whisper. 

Your eyes meet in the mirror again and he looks proud of his work. He must know that after he's had you, he's ruined everyone else for you. He must know that everytime you let someone else touch you, you'll be thinking of his steady slender hands; and everytime someone slips their length inside you, you'll be comparing them to his size, to his drive. He must be smug as fuck knowing that no one in the undercity will ever fuck you like he's doing right now.

He looks into your desperate, wanting eyes and knows that you belong to him. 

The thought of him being possessive over you, with all the marks he's been planting, is nearly enough to push you over the edge once again. But you hold back, wanting to savour this moment, to savour the way he stretches you out and holds you close. Your breathing grows erratic and your pleas more desperate, but you hold it in because he looks at you like it's a silent order. If you hold out a little longer, you can come together.

The increasingly loud sound of your moans and gasps makes you long for his voice. You realize, on the verge of ruin, that he hasn't spoken much to you. This whole time, the sounds echoing through the bedroom have been coming out of your throat, deep from your chest, and only intermittently interrupted by his groans as he drilled into you like an animal. He hasn't been talking to you, using that silver tongue of his at what he does best, telling you things to satisfy that gnawing desire in your chest. 

You wanted him to tell you that he loved you, but you wouldn't fling that onto him during your first time together. You wanted to hear him call you nice things, call you pretty and use pet names like he always does outside the premises of the bedroom. Darling, dove, lovely, filthy, whore, slut. You wanted him to be a little mean, tease you for how desperate you've been to get into his pants. You wanted him to claim you verbally the way he does physically, you wanted him to say it out loud, claim you as his in a passionate declaration so you could replay it in your head when you touch yourself to the thought of him. 

You wanted to hear his voice. 

You straighten your back, pushing up against his chest, and tilt your head slightly to try and face him. You observe his neck and his flushed complexion, watch his throat bobbing like he's almost nervous that you're looking so closely. You notice some fresh love bites that you barely remember creating on his neck, but they're undeniably yours. It’s almost like they carve your name into him. You soften at the sight, realizing that Silco must trust you tremendously to let you touch him so intimately, especially around his neck. 

He looks down at you and you admire the shape of his nose, hoping that you'll get to have it between your legs soon. You look directly into his eyes and feel your knees grow weaker at the fondness in them, so raw and honest, like everything he's ever given you. The scarred side of his face is uncovered, giving you a clear view of the dark grooves that run down his face, like river streams flowing down to his neck. You lean your head further back, resting it on his shoulder, losing sight of his normal eye but holding the gaze of the altered one. The deep charcoal has always fascinated you, how someone could survive and continue fighting after being plunged into the depth of darkness of betrayal. But what always stole your breath away was the burning orange in the middle, illuminating the orb like a vicious flame in the middle of the rich black darkness. You catch your reflection in them and feel your chest swell with pride, the Eye of Zaun only has eyes for you.    

Your eyes move down to his lips and you feel the desire inside you increase tenfold. The shape that you've spent years memorizing, pinning after, it's so close in your reach now. Your mouth goes dry when you realize he's drawing in closer, the same idea infiltrating his mind. 

You can almost taste the alcohol and rich flavorful cigar on his lips, only a sliver of distance between you and everything you’ve been yearning for. 

But not all good things come to fruition. 

You should've known. It doesn't make sense. 

Three years of being his friend, being at his side when he needed you the most, growing closer despite everyone warning you about the notorious crime lord ruling over Zaun. Months of pining over him and memorizing his features and the lovely shape of his lips, wanting desperately to get a taste of him, to get a taste of the bitter and evil monster that sends horror coursing through the undercity. Sitting in his office, on his couch, pretending to innocently read the book you borrowed like you weren't imagining him bending you over that desk and fucking you until your legs were shaking.

Nearly a year of harboring feelings for him and you've never told him. 

The first thing you see is darkness. It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the lighting, and you realize, with a heavy heart, that you're in your bedroom. Alone, no Silco between your legs, nothing to accompany you besides the dull aching in your lower stomach and the wetness between your thighs. 

You knew your feelings for him were getting out of hand, but a wet dream like that is officially reaching a new low. 

Not that you haven't had dirty dreams about him before, or fleeting inappropriate thoughts when you were around him, but none of them have felt this raw. You've never felt so loved in any of your previous wet dreams, and you're starting to doubt if you've ever felt that loved when awake too. 

You turn to plant your face into the pillow, groaning in frustration. Even in your dreams, he fucks like an animal and loves like a starving artist. It felt like you were cursed; when everyone was warning you about him, they forgot to mention that you'd want to fuck him so bad it would haunt your every waking thought— and sleeping ones too, apparently. 

The alarm besides your bed beeps and you lift your head up from the eternal anguish to glimpse the time. The realization that it's 6:50 on a Saturday night jolts you awake. 

In exactly half an hour— 7:20 never made sense to you but you've learned to stop asking questions when it comes to Silco— you were supposed to meet the man who was just fucking the daylight out of you. Or, well, the man you wish would fuck the daylight out of you, and the nighttime and all times of the day really. But that's besides the point, you're fucked, and not in the way you need to be. 

You fight the urge to bury yourself into your bed sheets and just play dead until Sevika or some other trusted employee comes to drag you out of your apartment. But the thought of having to meet him in your sleepwear, the one with all the evidence of your arousal, was more mortifying than having to pretend you aren't thinking filthy, dirty thoughts about him. 

You've done it before, how hard could it be? 

Besides, it's almost a family activity now, your weekly meetups. Maybe Jinx will be there and a reluctant Sevika will join you and attempt to teach you how to play poker and you'll suck at it and it will just be a good old fun time. And you wouldn't be thinking of how sexy he looks when he leans back on the couch and drinks his whiskey like that and blows smoke rings and smirks when you lose and- 

No.

You were going to get up, take a cold freezing shower, and exorcise every dirty thought from your gutter of a mind. You were going to sit in his office and not have a single deranged thought about him, and it was going to be fine. 

Right? 

[laseracronym]

Jealousy, Jealousy (MHA/Fem!Reader)

Summary: Where you're not jealous. Definitely not. (MHA characters reacting to their girlfriend getting jealous. Part 1?)

Characters: Dabi, Aizawa

Content: Jealousy. Violence and Unhinged!Reader in the Dabi one.

MHA-MHA-MHA

Dabi

You stalked out of the bar, leaving behind the chaos you just caused.

Cold rage coursed through your veins, your pulse pounding in your throat. You could still see that woman's hands all over Dabi, hear the sweet words she was whispering in his ear. That stupid look on her face, the confidence she had that she would be able to take what was yours.

She's lucky all you gave her was a few broken bones.

A hand caught your wrist and you reacted quickly, spinning around drawing on your quirk, ready to strike.

"Take it easy, Angel," Dabi's grinning face, full of twisted amusement, both calmed and paradoxically infuriated you. "It's just me."

You scoffed, the sound a cobra's hiss, and let up on your quirk. You straightened up and pulled away from his grasp in favor of crossing your arms. You'd left him behind when you stormed out, eager to get out before you truly lost control.

He chuckled at your behavior, at the anger still radiating off of you. He was undaunted by it, moving closer, fingers skating along your upper arms. "What was that about, pretty girl? Feeling jealous?"

"I'm not jealous," you spun away from him and began walking again, his skulking footsteps following you. "I just don't tolerate anyone disrespecting me to my face."

"Sure, sure," he obviously didn't buy it.

"Don't piss me off," you snapped, walking faster, "you weren't exactly discouraging the attention, you know."

"And miss out on the show?" you were spun around to face him again and he pushed you up against a wall. His eyes pierced you, his voice a pleasant purr, "not a chance."

You tried to hold onto your anger, but a new kind of heat burned through you at the look on his face, the feeling of his hand running up your side. He nuzzled into your neck, his tongue dragging along your skin and making you shiver.

"Do you know how fucking sexy you looked? Raging like that, all over little old me," he grabbed a handful of your hair, tilting your head back so he could gain better access to your neck. "Vicious girl..."

Your eyelids fluttered and you gripped his shoulders tight as he began to bite and suck at your neck. Possessive lust hazed over your mind and you pulled him closer.

Dabi was yours, and you'd tear apart anyone who dared to try and take him from you.

Aizawa

It was stupid.

You were a grown woman, well beyond the age of petty bouts of jealousy-

And yet.

Sometimes, seeing Shouta's friends, like Miss Joke and Midnight, playfully flirt with him in the way that they did...

It got to you.

And you hated it. Because you knew they were just joking, knew they had no interest in Shouta. And Shouta never entertained their jokes at all, shooting them down in that stern way of his. You had nothing to worry about.

But sometimes, you could still feel the heat rise up under your collar, the tension in your jaw, the urge to tell them to knock it off sitting ready on your tongue. But you didn't. You didn't want to be that girl. You didn't want to make a big deal out of an obvious joke, be the girlfriend that was so insecure she had to bare her teeth at every woman that came near her man.

So you said nothing. But that didn't mean Shouta didn't notice something was bothering you. He knew you so well.

MHA-MHA-MHA

"What's the matter?"

You blinked, glancing over at Shouta as his voice brought you out of your thoughts. The two of you had just left after getting dinner with some of your UA colleagues and were walking home. At some point, after a few rounds of drinks, Midnight had turned her suggestive persona in Shouta's direction. You'd also had a drink or two at this point and couldn't help but leave the table, using the excuse of needing the restroom to step away and cool off for a while. The attempt to calm down didn't work, and you'd remained quiet and closed off for the rest of the evening.

"Nothing," you weren't very convincing, you knew, but you still tried. "Nothing's the matter."

"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully, not saying anything for a few minutes as you continued on your walk. But that didn't mean he was dropping the subject, "you've been quiet since Kayama started in on her antics."

Your mouth twisted into a soft grimace when he hit the nail on the head, "...she was just joking," you said, something you reassured yourself of many a time.

"She was," he agreed quietly, "but it still bothered you."

It wasn't a chastisement, merely an observation, but you still felt embarrassed. You didn't look at him, a horrid blush burning on your face as your silence answered for you.

His hand closed around yours, the familiar warmth a comforting balm to your nerves. "I'll tell her to stop. Joke, too." He really it all figured out, didn't he?

"No," you disagreed, and damn it, why was your throat tight? Why did your eyes burn? "I'm being- I'm just being childish."

"You're not being childish," slowly, Shouta stopped walking, pulling you to a stop as well. He used a gentle hand to guide you into looking up at him, and all you saw was his calm patience that you adored so much. "It's making you uncomfortable, so it's worth addressing."

His thumb brushed over your cheek, the tenderness of the action, of his words, coaxed a few tears out of you. You sniffled, nodding quietly. You still felt so embarrassed, but a part of you felt so relieved to finally have it out in the open, and to have Shouta take it seriously.

He brought you into a hug, and you pressed your face into his chest, the press of his hand resting on the back of your head grounding you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Don't be," he said reassuringly.

(Requests)

[annoyinglilbro]

Angel who is so dainty and oh so genderless, "I don't do labels" until the demon forcemascs the shit out of him is that anything

They also beat the shit out of each other with flaming swords and twisted daggers because why not

The demon has been watching them for awhile. Everytime he thinks he knows, he doesn’t. The curves are soft, hair short, eyes round and doey. His lips are pouted and chest is flat. Their voice doesn’t give anything away either, and really all the demon wants to know is what’s under that stupid Lacey gown. Ofcourse he isn’t ever expecting the angel to let him see, they’re constantly at each others throats.

“Hey pretty bird, gonna sing a song for me today?” He asks when the angel walks by, only scoffing and rolling their eyes.

“Why would I ever sing for you? You’re not worthy. You’re damned already, there’s nothing I could sing for you.”

Demon Hums but continues his stride by their side. This is routine. He’ll hang around, push some buttons, just enough to watch that face turn red and words turn truely spiteful.

“Give me a chance and I’ll make you sing real pretty for me, doll. Just gotta get you out of those clothes. What’s an angel look like under those wraps anyway?”

The angel pulls their clothes tighter to their body, cheeks heating up a light pink and lips turning to a frown.

“Come on, I’m sure you’re a real pretty girl under there.” The angel glares, making the demon put his hands up in surrender. “Or boy. You’re a real pretty boy, aren’t you?” That gets a different reaction. A spark of something in the angel eyes.

“I’m not a girl or a boy. Angels are genderless, regardless of what’s under our uniforms. We don’t do labels, there’s no need. Sex is a sin.”

“Oh I think you’re wrong there, sweet boy. I think you know you’re a boy but you’re just too scared to say it. Come on, no one else is here. You can say it. You a pretty boy?”

It happens fast. The fist that makes contact with his face, drawing blood from his nose and lip. He’s stood in shock, watching the way the angels lip trembles and their chest heaves.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, pretty boy.” The demon quips, wiping away the stray stream of red with his thumb.

“Stop it. You’ll get me introuble. We’re not supposed to…want those things. Okay? Please for once will you just drop it?”

Ofcourse he doesn’t. He grabs the dainty boy by his arm and drags him into an empty alley. Slams him into a wall and points a silver dagger just under his chin. The Angel looks at him, wide eyed and shivering under his touch.

“Everything’s a sin with you angels, isn’t it? Always denying yourself the simple pleasures. You lot wouldn’t be so stuck up if you just learned to enjoy the little things. Like having your cock played with.” His hand is slipping through the robes, feeling between the angels legs and into his cunt. His fingers dance over his little dick, perked and hidden under the hood. The way the Angel gasps and tries to throw his head back further against the brick wall makes the demon throb in his pants. “There it is. Your pretty little cock, probably so neglected. Tell me do you ever touch it? Ever give it any attention? What do you when you feel that ache between your legs?” His fingers continue working at him the entire time.

“I…I don’t do anything I..I’m not su-supposed to hmmm…”

“Don’t lie to me, Angel. What do you do, really, when your little cock gets hard and your cunt gets all wet.”

The angel bites his lip, looking to the side.

“I…sometimes I’ll rub against m-my pillow…I don’t mean to though! My clit just gets so- ah!!” He’s cut off by a pinch to the sensitive bundle.

“That’s not your clit, baby boy. That’s your cock. You’ll address it as such, cause you’re a pretty boy right? And that’s what boys have, cocks.”

“We’re..we’re not supposed to lean towards either gender- fuck! Please please please!!” Another harsh pinch, fingers that tug. It brings tears to the angels eyes.

“Stop denying yourself. Let it feel good. Let yourself be who you really are. What are you?”

The angel whines, body shaking against the wall and face bright red. His hips have started moving against the hand between his legs.

“I’m..I’m a boy! I’m a boy, I know it. I know I’m a boy, okay? I know I am. But I can’t, you wouldn’t understand! I can’t just be that, okay! I could lose my wings, my halo, I could fall.”

The demon leans in, pointed teeth now against the angels neck.

“I think you’ll find there’s worse things in life than falling. But I get it. That’s fine. How about when it’s just us, you’re a boy? Does that sound good, baby?” He sinks his teeth into the pale skin between his neck and shoulder, marking his claim on the boy.

The angel lets out a choked sob, legs shaking when he cums against the demons fingers. He’s slumped into his body, energy drained and fight gone.

“What could you possibly understand about what I’m going through?” He mumbles, head against the demons shoulder now. The blade is still pressed against his skin but he doesn’t care much for it now. It’s an after thought, an empty threat.

The demon doesn’t say anything, just grabs the angels hand and slides it down his pants. The angel gasps when he feels the familiar slit and button like dick. He leans back to meet his eyes, and the demon just smiles.

“Not all sinners are born this way. Some of us were song birds once too.”

[clitorphosis]

Another yap about Leon, this time DI.

Just bear with my dumb train of thought 💔

Tags: @melanchol1cs

cw: stepcest!!! Unedited, use of ‘daddy’, free use kink!!! and smut 18+!!!! Age gap!! Reader is female and she is in her 20s

Step dad DI Leon and free use…. ughhh… bashing my head against the wall imagining him bending you everytime he comes back after work. He rushes, tired as hell, but that exhaustion fades away when his eyes land on you - the reason why he doesn’t fall asleep at the desk of his work and the reason he tries to arrive as early as possible. To see you and fuck you. The best stress reliever and you are his <3

This time Leon finds you in the kitchen, vulnerable and not expecting him to be at home already, unawarely letting him to ogle your ass as much as he wants. But that’s for later. Pressing himself against you to force a gasp from you - his steps are so quiet, his appearance clearly startled you. He nuzzles against your neck, while pressing his hips against your sweet ass - to make you feel how hard he is right now.

He knows you don’t wear anything underneath your shorts. What a good girl, making it easy for him to use your pussy and to palm it. And you are wet, god you are so fucking wet, it can be felt through the fabric of your shorts - he can never fathom how his pretty and cute step daughter can be so horny for him. But here we are. His thick and calloused fingers would quickly push aside annoying fabric of the shorts, parting your pussy lips to tease your clit and watch your eyes become glossier and listen to your soft whimpers that are so easy to draw from your mouth everytime he touches you. At the same time he quickly unbuttons his jeans to tug out his dick, while his digits rub lazy circles on your swollen clit. Your walls clench around nothing, while thighs snap closed around his wrist. Your back arches like a cat in heat, wanting to get that dick in you soo bad. You are so fucking ready for him. Those little movements matter so much for him, even more than dripping wetness on his fingers.

And he buries his dick deep inside you in a quick thrust too, it nicely stretches your hole around his hard and throbbing cock. For you, your ‘dad’ cock is the best thing ever - your first and hoping it would be the only one. It was made for you as you are for him. Something so simple, any signs of exhaustion faded away and doesn’t exist right now in Leon’s body, your cunt makes his eyes roll back into his head. God, your pussy so nicely spasms around him too. He would grip your jaw, rolling his hips into your cunt and groaning against your ear - filling your head with his low whispers, how pretty you are and how you take him so well, like you were made for him while your cunt gushes more slick, easing his thrusts into you.

And you like calling him daddy, your face twists in pleasure easily, looking drunk cause of his cock. It makes him so dizzy, the pace of his quickens and now Leon pounds your pussy ruthlessly. He fears it is possible to become addicted on the sensation of your tight pussy, pulsing around his cock, and he is always greedy for more.

With age, he started to be more vocal during sex too, not noticing how he keeps talking to you everytime he uses your pussy, but the selfish part of him is still present - Leon chases on his orgasm first, then yours. Not always, he is a tired man and needs a his well deserved rest after all.

[parchmentmischief]

Soft Universe

Viktor x gn!reader

Content warnings: MDNI, power dynamics discussed (vague), (vaguely dom reader, sub Viktor, discussion suggests they’re both verse)

A/n: honestly I just wanted to write smut that’s inclusive and honest and HOT abt sex w a disability and what support thru that can look like (source: I am also disabled similarly)

A/n: Vitka and Vitya are both nicknames for Viktor in Rus (I chose Russian instead of Czech bc I speak Czech not at all.)

…

It started out innocent enough.

Jayce was trying and failing to copy Viktor’s accent, the pair of you giggling every time Viktor looked up from across the lab.

“I don’t sound like that.” Viktor appears like a ghost behind you both, startling you enough that Jayce lets out a yelp.

“Come on, it is good no? It’s close.” Jayce tries again, this time with hands up to block the random strewn book Viktor lifts to smack him with.

“Not even a little, it’s very bad.” Viktor says seriously, the corner of his lip twitching as he pushes down a smile. You and Jayce remain the only people allowed to tease him, even though he pretends he doesn’t like it from either of you.

“And, lovely assistant of mine, are you going to give it a shot?” Viktor asks, and your eyebrows raise.

Lovely?

“This feels like a trap. You just want to smack me with the book too.” You point a finger accusingly at the ready position Viktor is holding it in. Had he called you lovely? There’s a blush spreading across your face already, you can feel it heat your cheeks and ears.

Viktor gives a shrug, imitating nonchalance. “Fine, don’t.” A small twitch of his lips gives him away, he’s laughing at you.

As he turns, you have the sudden urge to make him eat his words, to maybe make him feel a bit embarrassed too.

“Ждать.” (Wait.)

He freezes.

“Это правильно, mmm?” (This is correct, hmm?) “Ты говоришь по-русски?” (You speak Russian?)

“Ты тоже?!” (And you speak it?!)

Your eyes crinkle a bit at the corners as you smile wide, switching back to common for Jayce’s benefit. “I know some, not a lot. But my accent is bad.”

“No it’s-“ Viktor catches himself, eyes wide at what he had almost just spoken aloud. What would have even come out? That your voice was deeper when you spoke in his native tongue and it made him want to sink to his knees in front of you? That hearing a language so far back in his memory felt like pressing hard on a bruise?

Gods, and did that mean when he called you милый (darling) when he was too tired to catch himself, that you Knew?!

Victor’s eyes widen and widen, still frozen in place. You see his hand tighten on his cane, knuckles almost white.

“I’m sorry if I startled you. Viktor? You’re looking a bit panicked.”

“You’ve been able to speak my language this whole time?”

“I mean yes, I had friends as a kid who spoke it so some just kind of,,, stuck.”

“Oh.” he says rather intelligently.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean for that to even be a secret it just kind of doesn’t come up? I guess? I’m not good by any means.” you demure.

Viktor’s ears are red. He can feel them burning but refuses to draw any more attention to it.

“Viktor?” you stand awkwardly frozen across from him, unsure of what you’ve done.

“Nothing, it is nothing. Your voice, it is much deeper when you speak in it.” he attempts to respond evenly but somehow it sounds breathless even to his own ears. He clears his throat to try to cover it.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you,,,, like this? About my voice?”

Jayce coughs pointedly in the background. “Should I uh. Leave?”

Viktor turns and says “no” in the same moment you say “yes.”

Twice in a row now you’ve shocked Viktor enough for it to be plain on his face. He twists from Jayce back to you almost unconsciously.

“I think Viktor and I need to have a deeper conversation about this, Jayce, would you mind?”

Jayce, who is very much confused about the ‘vibes’ of the room and whether or not the two of you are going to fight or fuck, decides to take that moment to slide over to the door and make a quick exit.

“Sure thing, I uh, need to head to the forges anyways. Bye!” The door closes soundly behind him.

You turn your full attention to Viktor. “You called me lovely.” you state.

“When did I do that.”

“Viktor! Literally just now, less than five minutes ago? ‘Your lovely assistant?’”

His mouth pops open in an “oh” but the sound doesn’t come out.

“I think I’ve figured you out, Vitka.”

“Vitka? Oh are doing nicknames now are we?”

You smile blithely, “I think it’s fitting.”

“And what’s that?” he swallows and sees your eyes track to his throat and up again.

You take a single step forward, now within his space. You can see him struggle to keep his eyes from going to your lips and fail.

Another step, and you’re close enough to breathe the same air.

Viktor thinks to himself that if he tilted his lips just so, your lips would brush. Oh how he wants to.

You move slowly, tipping your head to meet his eyes, running a hand along his jaw the way you’ve craved to do for so long. He leans into the touch almost subconsciously. It makes something soft and bright burn in your chest as his eyes close. You brush a thumb across his cheek.

“Will you let me kiss you?” You whisper it like a confession in his ear.

“You are my assistant.” You can see him conflicted, eyes shifting anywhere but directly towards you. “The power dynamics alone make this unethical.”

It makes you smile softly, that it’s something Viktor has concern over. “Is that why you’ve never said anything before?” You brush some of his hair back from his face, dragging nails lightly over his scalp, and his eyes flutter shut again at the contact.

“I promise, Vitya, the power dynamics are not something I’m worried about.” you grab the hair at his nape and give a gentle pull.

His eyes haze over and a soft groan escapes his lips.

“I don’t want to try to convince you to do something you don’t want Viktor, I’ll stop if you’d like me to.” you softly release the hold you have on his hair, dropping the hand to his shoulder. “But don’t hold yourself back if it’s on my account.”

He’s silent, eyes half lidded with open desire for you.

“Words, darling.” You whisper to him.

He kisses you instead. It’s gentler than you expected, a short press of his lips to yours. He cups your face so reverently between his hands. It brings a bright heady grin to your face. “So yes?”

“Yes, gods.” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you again, and again. They’re soft kisses, after every one Viktor opens his eyes like he’s afraid you’ll have disappeared in the time it takes him to look again. His hands trail through your hair slowly.

“Jayce is, ha,” a soft moan breaks his sentence as you press a kiss to his jaw, “he’s- going to make fun of me later.”

“Why’s that?”

“I just yelled at him,” a cough, “last week for having relations in the lab among all of the Sterile Equipment.”

You snort. “Your timing is perfect as always.”

You mouth along his neck, encouraged by every breathy sound that comes from Viktor’s lips. He tilts his chin to the side to give you better access.

Your lips come to the base of his throat and stop, your fingers pulling gently at the collar of his shirt. “May I?”

He nods quickly, “Please,, do.” The words come out in two separate breaths.

You slide your hands over his collar and unbutton one, two, three, pressing more kisses to his exposed throat and chest. You press one over the side of his chest covered by the brace as well, glancing up to gauge his reaction.

A funny little smile has made its way to his lips. One that you file in your brain to ask about again later, when you’re less focused on getting him to whine again.

You move down further, rucking up the fabric of his shirt to reach more of his chest instead of wasting time with the rest of the buttons.

One of your hands is anchored softly to his back alongside his brace, pressing him closer to you as you lean down, pressing kisses between the rib spacings of the brace, using a bit of teeth in the areas where you can hear his voice catch.

You’ve kissed low enough now to be just above the edge of his pants, and run a few teasing fingers just beneath the band of fabric, before leaning back up to catch his mouth in another kiss.

It becomes filthier, louder. Viktor’s tongue is in your mouth and he’s pressed close enough that you can feel his excitement lower. He’s not holding back how, his hands are all over every inch of you he can reach.

Your shirt ends up discarded somewhere on the floor, followed quickly by the tank beneath.

Your hand moves to the button of his pants and he pauses only slightly, hands still splayed across you. “My knee, it’s-“

“Do you need to stop?” you ask, just to be sure. You pause anyways.

“No, it’s,” his cheeks flush a bit, “not that. My, ah, pants can’t come off with the outer brace still on.”

“Oh,” you brighten, “of course, here.” You press him gently on his sternum, guiding him back onto the lab table to sit.

And then, because you can’t resist, you lift on both knees to spread his thighs open for you. Solely so there’s room for you between them, of course. It makes Viktor blush hard enough that he tries to cover his face as you sink to your knees, working smoothly to undo the knee brace mechanisms.

“How did you-“ Viktor pauses, coughs, “how did you know how to take this off so quickly? I designed the supports myself.”

You blink. “To make sure I could fix it for you, if you ever needed it.”

Something passes across his face for just a moment. “But you’ve never seen the parts up close before now, it must have taken-“

“Days, yes. To reconstruct without bothering you with invasive questions.” You press a kiss softly to his cheek. “I hope that doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable?”

“No, no it’s.” Kind of you. Thoughtful in an unobtrusive way, in a way that doesn’t step all over his autonomy. It makes something bright in his chest burn.

You just nod, like you’ve read his mind. Your hand comes back up to his hair again, softly running your fingers through it. “Would you like to continue? I don’t mind stopping.” You place a soft kiss on the corner of his jaw and his eyes flutter.

“More, more always.” And then he’s pulling you in, using his uninjured leg to cage you in against him. His lips are at your neck, kissing and leaving a line of marks he looks at with satisfaction. You leave one in return, high on his neck, just under his jaw, laving your tongue over it after in a way that has him pressing up into you.

His whole body shudders as you drag a hand lower, mouth still sucking pretty bruises in a bouquet on his neck. You tug gently at his pants, “May I?”

“Of course,”

You smile, kiss him again before turning your attention to the buckle. Just the barest brush of your hands over the straining fabric there has him hissing through his teeth.

You smirk just slightly, “Sensitive, Viktor?”

He all but tssks at you, “Yes, yes hurry up.”

You pull the zipper down slowly, just to tease him. He muffles a soft whine against his arm as you trace a finger over the new territory you’ve uncovered.

“You sound beautiful, let me hear you.”

He removes the arms slowly, uncovering the blush that’s returned to his cheeks, his eyes fluttering between you and your hand pressed too lightly against his length. When he looks up you reward him with a gentle squeeze, the pleasure shooting up his spine and making him gasp.

“You’ve,” he breathes heavily, “done this before.” He can’t help but to cant his hips into your hand. A hand that is still Not Moving.

“Mm, but I’ve thought about doing this to you infinitely more. Often times right here, sometimes in my bed, or yours,” you keep talking just to watch his eyes darken further. “One time in a janitor’s closet but you were being very loud,” You press an open mouthed kiss to his clothed length to pull a moan from his throat.

You move to pull his pants from his legs, wrapping a hand around his middle to guide him back up to standing with you.

You slide the fabric down slowly, reverently, placing kisses to his hips, both of his thighs, to the indentation marks left by his brace. You allow the fabric to pool at his feet before standing again.

Viktor’s eyes are distracted again with some thought, you can see his eyebrows furrow and unfurrow as he considers speaking.

“I’m sorry, that I can’t -“ you silence him with a gentle hand cupping him through his boxers, the sentence turning into an aborted sound somewhere between a moan and a whine. It has him stumbling back into you.

“None of whatever that sentence was about to be, darling.” You squeeze ever so slightly for emphasis. His eyes roll back in his head for a moment. “I’m honored. Viktor. I want you, I’ve wanted you for a long time. I want you exactly as you are.”

This, over everything else, is what seems to affect him most, his cheeks blushing red as well as the tips of his ears.

“And it doesn’t bother you.” He says it as a statement.

You run your hand gently up the ribs of his brace, tracing higher until a hand rests against his cheek.

“Nothing about this bothers me, at all Vitka. I want you, if you’ll have me.” You whisper this part, feeling a bit unsure despite your matching states of undress. This feels like more a confession than your lips on his. Past physical need, you feel like you’ve just offered a sliver of your soul out for him to heal or hurt.

Viktor surges forward in answer, kissing you like he’s starved of it. His spine is curved as far as the brace will allow as he presses into you, his bare chest exposed in an almost obscene way through his half unbuttoned shirt. Gods, you want to ruin him.

His hands are grasping, pulling you closer so your hips are flush together.

“What do you need from me darling” you ask against his lips.

“More, more, please”

You push him flat onto the work table, scattering notes and miscellaneous tools out of the way of his spine. His hair is spread in a halo around his face in a breathtaking way. He looks heartbreakingly beautiful all laid out for you, eyes glimmering with need.

Your thighs bracket his hips now.

“How would you like me?” You ask teasingly as you slowly lower yourself down to a comfortable sitting position astride him.

“You’d let me choose?”

You hum an affirmative. “I like any, but I don’t know what would pleasure you the most. Tell me.” Your request makes his toes curl.

“Any?”

You nod. “How have you thought about me?”

“Would you ride me, sitting as you are now?”

“I would love to,”

“And - another time, when I am more prepared, would you …?”

Another time, hmm?

He stutters , suddenly unsure “I thought that-“

Immediately you feel guilty for teasing him, surging up to place your lips to his in reassurance. “I’m teasing you, Vitya. I want there to be many more times too.”

“And yes, when I have the proper supplies to prepare you, I would love to watch you take all of me. You’ve done that before? Actually don’t tell me, I’ll just become jealous of a person in the past.”

“The jealous type?” his snarky tone is back but with no real bite.

“Well I’ve just gotten you all to myself, perhaps I’m feeling a bit extra possessive now.”

“Hmm it’s a good look on you”

You smile wide. “You like it? I can come by and leave you pretty marks above your collar more often if you’d like.”

His hand goes subconsciously to the bite you placed under his jaw.

“It is-“

“Completely visible, yes.” Your mouth curves into a self satisfied smile.

“You really are feeling possessive aren’t you.”

“I can’t help it if I want to keep you here and ravish you for the next eternity.” You roll your hips against his for emphasis.

“Come here,” He pulls you down to lie with him, kissing you deeply.

“Can I put my weight on the braced side?”

“Yes, I won’t break.”

You flick his forehead, “I never said you would, Viktor. Causing you additional pain isn’t very romantic though now is it.”

“Oh it’s romantic now,” He sighs, not annoyed, “Just put your weight on me and we’ll find out.” He pulls you down onto him before you have time to protest. “There, better?”

But you’re already kissing again before you could think to respond, slower, rocking your hips into each other in time.

Your need for him just keeps growing, you want to eat him alive. He looks sinful with hair mussed and his lips bitten pink, chest heaving. His moans begin to crescendo, his hands on your hips tightening to a point just before pain.

“You’re close?”

He barely has the sense left to nod, chasing a high this close like a man starved.

“Will you finish just like this, Vitya, for me?” Your hands ghost over his throat, marveling at how beautiful he looks under you. He surprises you by holding the hand in place there at his neck.

His eyes are glassy, you apply a bit more pressure, looking to see if you understand his request.

He whines and his eyes roll back into his head. You press to the sides of his throat harder, “I’ve got you, darling,” you grind down harder now against him, “Gods you look gorgeous like this Viktor. Not even fully undressed.”

He makes a wounded keening sound, back fully arching off the table as he’s hit with an orgasm. You work him through it, hand no longer putting pressure to his throat but gently held in place.

He comes down from the high slowly, hips jolting from aftershocks. He curls towards you like a flower to the sun. “That was -“ he’s still breathless, breathing deeply as you pull him into your arms, drawing soft patterns on his back as his breathing returns to normal.

•••

You lay in silence together for awhile, limbs tangled, sated and happy just in each other’s presence.

After a bit though, you prop your head up on one hand so you can look at Viktor. “Let’s do this again, but I’ll do it properly this time. Can I take you out to dinner?”

“You are, interested in that with me?” There is some amount of shock on his face.

You almost smack your head sitting up so quickly. “Viktor! Yes! Was my extreme interest in you not clear after quite literally taking you on the nearest surface?”

“Yes, well. I wasn’t sure if it was just, ah. Physical for you.”

“I’m sorry for not being clear then, Vitya. I’m interested in you. I love your mind and your body. The whole package. Including your injuries, including your insane sleep schedule, including your intense relationship with coffee-“

“Okay! Okay. I get it, I was being a bit self loathing. I am just. Ah. Interested in you too. More than physically that is. And I was hoping you felt the same.”

You press a kiss to his cheek. “And next time I’ll wine and dine you before taking you over the nearest surface.”

Viktor chokes