#from now on I will be keeping that shit at home WITH INTENT

[jorvikzelda]

this spring when I got hit with two really horrendous colds like a month apart I was like okay I've learned my lesson now I will always keep a cold survival kit at home. and then I did not in fact learn my lesson

[spacedace]

Okay but the Justice League finds out their new baby hero teammate Phantom is the Ghost King by virtue of the Fright Night showing up while they're in the middle of a meeting, looking terrifying and such and scaring the shit out of everyone- even more so when Constantine starts freaking out over the fact that the sworn night of the King of the Infinite Realms is in the Watchtower what the fuck that's apocalyptically bad Pariah Dark is supposed to be locked the fuck up forever - but instead of trying to smite them all or yeet them into the nightmare dimension he just pulls out a space themed packed lunch??? And gives it to Phantom??

And the mildly eldritch giant murder ghost is talking about how "The Queen Mother commanded me to ensure you ate my Lord, she says you missed your morning meal."

And Phantom is just grumbling about over protective sisters and "there's a cafeteria i would have been fine" what the fuck is happening right now?

What do you mean "oops you forgot" Phantom I thought the ghost thing was just a theme!

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 55-56

Chapter; Highlights, Notes, Tags, etc.

The Thirteen were on edge. They hadn't yet decided where to go. And hadn't been invited to travel with the Crochans to any of their home-hearths. Even Glennis's.

None of them, however, had looked his way when they'd prowled past. None had recognized him.

Dorian had just completed another walking circuit in his little training area when Manon stalked by, silver hair flowing. He paused, no more than a wary Crochan sentinel, and watched her storm through snow and mud as if she were a blade through the world.

Manon had nearly passed his training area when she went rigid.

Slowly, she turned, nostrils flaring.

Those golden eyes swept over him, swift and cutting. Her brows twitched toward each other. Dorian only gave her a lazy grin in return.

Then she prowled toward him.

Another assessing stare. "I would have thought you'd pick a prettier form."

He frowned down at himself. "I think she's pretty enough."

Manon's mouth tightened. "I suppose this means you're about to go to Morath."

"Did I say anything of the sort?" He didn't bother sounding pleasant.

Manon took a step toward him, her teeth flashing. In this body, he stood shorter than her. He hated the thrill that shot through his blood as she leaned down to growl at him. "We have enough to deal with today, princeling."

"Do l look as if I'm standing in your way?" She opened her mouth, then shut it.

Dorian let out a low laugh and made to turn away. An iron-tipped hand gripped his arm.

Strange, for that hand to feel large on his body. Large, and not the slender, deadly thing he'd become accustomed to.

Her golden eyes blazed. "If you want a softhearted woman who will weep over hard choices and ultimately balk from them, then you're in the wrong bed."

"I'm not in anyone's bed right now." He hadn't gone to her tent any of these nights. Not since that conversation in Eyllwe.

She took the retort without so much as a flinch. "Your opinion doesn't matter to me."

"Then why are you standing here?"

Again, she opened and closed her mouth. Then snarled, "Change out of that form." Dorian smiled again. "Don't you have better things to do right now, Your Majesty?" He honestly thought she might unsheathe those iron teeth and rip out his throat.

Half of him wanted her to try. He even went so far as to run one of those phantom hands along her jaw.

"You think I don't know why you don't want me to go to Morath?"

"Tell me to stay," he said, and the words had no warmth, no kindness. "Tell me to stay with you, if that's what you want." His invisible fingers grew talons and scraped over her skin. Manon's throat bobbed. "But you won't say that, will you, Manon?" Her breathing turned jagged. He continued to stroke her neck, her jaw, her throat, caressing skin he'd tasted over and over. "Do you know why?"

"Because while you might be older, might be deadly in a thousand different ways, deep down, you're afraid. You don't know how to ask me to stay, because you're afraid of admitting to yourself that you want it. You're afraid. Of yourself more than anyone else in the world. You're afraid." For several heartbeats, she just stared at him.

Then she snarled, "You don't know what you're talking about," and stalked away.

His low laugh ripped after her. Her spine stiffened. But Manon did not turn back.

Afraid. Of admitting that she felt any sort of attachment.

It was preposterous.

And it was, perhaps, true.

But it was not her problem. Not right now.

Manon stormed through the readying camp where tents were being taken down and folded, hearths being packed. The Thirteen were with the wyverns, supplies stowed in saddlebags.

Some of the Crochans had frowned her way. Not with anger, but something like disappointment.

Discontent. As if they thought parting ways was a poor idea.

Manon refrained from saying she agreed.

Even if the Thirteen followed, the Crochans would find a way to lose them. Use their power to bind the wyverns long enough to disappear.

And she would not lower herself, lower the Thirteen, to become dogs chasing after their masters. They might be desperate for aid, might have promised it to their allies, but she would not debase herself any further.

Manon halted at Glennis's camp, the only hearth with a fire still burning. A fire that would always remain kindled.

A reminder of the promise she'd made to honor the Queen of Terrasen. A single, solitary flame against the cold.

Manon rubbed at her face as she slumped onto one of the rocks lining the hearth. A hand rested on her shoulder, warm and slight. She didn't bother to slap it away.

Glennis said, "We're departing in a few minutes. I thought l'd say good-bye."

Manon peered up at the ancient witch. "Fly well." It was really all there was left to say.

Manon's failure was not due to Glennis, not due to anyone but herself, she supposed.

You're afraid.

It was true. She had tried, but not really tried to win the Crochans. To let them see any part of her that meant something. To let them see what it had done to her, to learn she had a sister and that she had killed her. She didn't know how, and had never bothered to learn.

You're afraid.

Yes, she was. Of everything.

Glennis lowered her hand from Manon's shoulder.

"May your path carry you safely through war and back home at last."

She didn't feel like telling the crone there was no home for her, or the Thirteen.

Glennis turned her face toward the sky, sighing once. Then her white brows narrowed. Her nostrils flared. Manon leapt to her feet.

"Run," Glennis breathed. "Run now."

Manon drew Wind-Cleaver and did no such thing. "What is it?"

"They're here." How Glennis had scented them on the wind, Manon didn't care.

Not as three wyverns broke from the clouds, spearing for their camp.

She knew those wyverns, almost as well as she knew the three riders who sent the Crochans into a frenzy of motion.

The Matrons of the Ironteeth Witch-Clans had found them. And come to finish what Manon had started that day in Morath.

The three High Witches had come alone.

Rushing steps crunched through the icy snow, halting at Manon's side just as Dorian's scent wrapped around her. "Is that—"

"Yes," she said quietly, heart thundering as the Matrons dismounted and did not raise their hands in request for parley. No, they only stalked closer to the hearth, to the precious flame still burning. "Don't engage," Manon warned him and the others, and strode to meet them.

It was not the king's battle, no matter what power dwelled in his veins.

Glennis was already armed, an ancient sword in her withered hands. The woman was as old as the Yellowlegs Matron, yet she stood tall, facing the three High Witches.

Cresseida Blueblood spoke first, her eyes as cold as the iron-spiked crown digging into her freckled brow. "It has been an age, Glennis." But Glennis's stare, Manon realized, was not on the Blueblood Matron. Or even on Manon's own grandmother, her black robes billowing as she sneered at Manon.

It was on the Yellowlegs Matron, hunched and hateful between them. On the crown of stars atop the crone's thinned white hair.

Glennis's sword shook slightly. And just as Manon realized what the Matron had worn here,

Bronwen appeared at Glennis's side and breathed, "Rhiannon's crown."

Worn by the Yellowlegs Matron to mock these witches. To spit on them.

A dull roaring began in Manon's ears.

"What company you keep these days, granddaughter," said Manon's grandmother, her silver-streaked dark hair braided back from her face. A sign enough of their intentions, if her grandmother's hair was in that plait. Battle. Annihilation.

The weight of the three High Witches' attention pressed upon her. The Crochans gathered behind her shifted as they waited for her response.

Yet it was Glennis who snarled, in a voice Manon had not yet heard, "What is it that you want?"

Manon's grandmother smiled, revealing rust-flecked iron teeth. The true sign of her age. "You made a grave error, Manon Kin-Slayer, when you sought to turn our forces against us. When you sowed such lies amongst our sentinels regarding our plans— my plans."

Manon kept her chin high. "I spoke only truth. And it must have frightened you enough that you gathered these two to hunt me down and prove your innocence in scheming against them."

The other two Matrons didn't so much as blink. Her grandmother's claws had to have sunk deep, then. Or they simply did not care.

"We came," Cresseida seethed, the opposite in so many ways of the daughter who had given Manon the chance to speak, "to at last rid us of a thorn in our sides."

Had Petrah been punished for letting Manon walk out of the Omega alive? Did the Blueblood Heir still breathe? Cresseida had once screamed in a mother's terror and pain when Petrah had nearly plunged to her death.

Did that love, so foreign and strange, still hold true? Or had duty and ancient hatred won out?

The thought was enough to steel Manon's spine. "You came because we pose a threat."

Because of the threat you pose to that monster you call grandmother.

"You came," Manon went on, Wind-Cleaver rising a fraction, "because you are afraid."

Manon took a step beyond Glennis, her sword lifting farther.

"You came," Manon said, "because you have no true power beyond what we give you.

And you are scared to death that we're about to take it away." Manon flipped Wind-Cleaver in her hand, angling the sword downward, and drew a line in the snow between them. "You came alone for that fear. That others might see what we are capable of. The truth that you have always sought to hide."

Her grandmother tutted. "Listen to you. Sounding just like a Crochan with that preachy nonsense."

Manon ignored her. Ignored her and pointed Wind-Cleaver directly at the Yellowlegs Matron as she snarled, "That is not your crown."

Something like hesitation rippled over Cresseida Blueblood's face. But the Yellowlegs Matron beckoned to Manon with iron nails so long they curved downward. "Then come and fetch it from me, traitor."

Manon stepped beyond the line she'd drawn in the snow.

No one spoke behind her. She wondered if any of them were breathing.

She had not won against her grandmother. Had barely survived, and only thanks to luck. That fight, she had been ready to meet her end. To say farewell.

Manon angled Wind-Cleaver upward, her heart a steady, raging beat.

She would not greet the Darkness's embrace today. But they would.

"This seems familiar," her grandmother drawled, legs shifting into attacking position.

The other two Matrons did the same. "The last Crochan Queen. Holding the line against us." Manon cracked her jaw, and iron teeth descended. A flex of her fingers had her iron nails unsheathing. "Not just a Crochan Queen this time."

There was doubt in Cresseida's blue eyes.

As if she'd realized what the other two Matrons had not.

There—it was there that Manon would strike first. The one who now wondered if they had somehow made a grave mistake in coming here.

A mistake that would cost them what they had come to protect.

A mistake that would cost them this war.

And their lives.

For Cresseida saw the steadiness of Manon's breathing. Saw the clear conviction in her eyes. Saw the lack of fear in her heart as Manon advanced another step.

Manon smiled at the Blueblood Matron as if to say yes.

"You did not kill me then," Manon said to her grandmother. "I do not think you will be able to now."

"We'll see about that," her grandmother hissed, and charged.

Manon was ready.

An upward swing of Wind-Cleaver met her grandmother's first two blows, and Manon ducked the third. Turning right into the onslaught of the Yellowlegs Matron, who swept up with unnatural speed, feet almost flying over the snow, and slashed for Manon's exposed back.

Manon deflected the crone's assault, sending the witch darting back. Just as Cresseida launched herself at Manon. Cresseida was not a trained fighter. Not as the Blackbeak and Yellowlegs Matrons were. Too many years spent reading entrails and scanning the stars for the answers to the Three-Faced Goddess's riddles.

A duck to the left had Manon easily evading the sweep of Cresseida's nails, and a countermove had Manon driving her elbow into the Blueblood Matron's nose.

Cresseida stumbled. The Yellowlegs Matron and her grandmother attacked again. So fast. Their three assaults had happened in the span of a few blinks. Manon kept her feet under her. Saw where one Matron moved and the other left a dangerous gap exposed.

She was not a broken-spirited Wing Leader unsure of her place in the world.

She was not ashamed of the truth before her.

She was not afraid.

Manon's grandmother led the attack, her maneuvers the deadliest. It was from her that the first slice of pain appeared. A rip of iron nails through Manon's shoulder. But Manon swung her sword, again and again, iron on steel ringing out across the icy peaks.

No, she was not afraid at all.

Around him, the Crochans thrummed with fear and dread. Either for the fight unfolding or the three Matrons who had found them.

But Glennis did not tremble. At her side Bronwen hummed with the energy of one eager to leap into the fight.

Manon and the High Witches sprang apart, breathing heavily. Blue blood leaked down Manon's shoulder, and small slices peppered the three Matrons.

Manon still remained on the far side of the line she'd drawn. Still held it.

The dark-haired witch in voluminous black robes spat blue blood onto the snow. Manon's grandmother. "Pathetic. As pathetic as your mother." A sneer toward Glennis. "And your father."

The snarl that ripped from Manon's throat rang across the mountains themselves.

Her grandmother let out a crow's caw of a laugh. "Is that all you can do, then? Snarl like a dog and swing your sword like some human filth? We will wear you down eventually. Better to kneel now and die with some honor intact." Manon only flung out an iron-tipped hand behind her, fingers splaying in demand as her eyes remained fixed on the Matrons.

Dorian reached for Damaris, but Bronwen moved first.

The Crochan tossed her sword, steel flashing over snow and sun.

Manon's fingers closed on the hilt, the blade singing as she whipped it around to face the High Witches again. "Rhiannon Crochan held the gates for three days and three nights, and she did not kneel before you, even at the end." A slash of a smile. "I think I shall do the same." Dorian could have sworn the sacred flame burning to their left flared brighter. Could have sworn Glennis sucked in a breath. That every Crochan watching did the same.

Manon's knees bent, swords rising. "Let us finish what was started then, too." She attacked, blades flashing.

Her grandmother conceded step after step, the other two Matrons failing to break past her defenses.

Gone was the witch who had slept and wished for death. Gone was the witch who had raged at the truth that had torn her to shreds.

And in her place, fighting as if she were the very wind, unfaltering against the Matrons, stood someone Dorian had not yet met.

Stood a queen of two peoples.

Yielding only those few steps, and nothing more.

Because Manon with conviction in her heart, with utter fearlessness in her eyes, was wholly unstoppable.

The other two witches had fallen back, as if waiting to see what might happen.

But she yielded no further ground. A wall against which the Yellowlegs Matron could not advance. The crone let out a snarl, attacking again and again, senseless and raging.

Dorian saw the trap the moment it happened.

No one seemed to breathe at all as Manon plunged Bronwen's sword into the icy earth beneath and bent to take the crown of stars from the Yellowlegs witch's fallen head.

He had never seen a crown like it.

A living, glowing thing that glittered in her hand. As if nine stars had been plucked from the heavens and set to shine along the simple silver band.

The crown's light danced over Manon's face as she lifted it above her head and set it upon her unbound white hair.

Even the mountain wind stopped.

Yet a phantom breeze shifted the strands of Manon's hair as the crown glowed bright, the white stars shining with cores of cobalt and ruby and amethyst.

As if it had been asleep for a long, long time. And now awoke.

That phantom wind pulled Manon's hair to the side, silver strands brushing across her face.

And beside him, around him, the Thirteen touched two fingers to their brow in deference.

In allegiance to the queen who stared down the two remaining High Witches.

The Crochan Queen, crowned anew.

The sacred fire leaped and danced, as if in joyous welcome.

"Go."

The Blueblood witch blinked, eyes wide with what could only be fear and dread.

Manon jerked her chin toward the wyvern waiting behind the witch. "Tell your daughter all debts between us are paid. And she may decide what to do with you. Take that other wyvern out of here."

Spared by the Crochan Queen on behalf of the daughter who had given Manon the gift of speaking to the Ironteeth.

Within seconds, the Blueblood Matron was in the skies, the Yellowlegs witch's wyvern soaring beside her.

Leaving Manon's grandmother alone.

Leaving Manon with swords raised and a crown of stars glowing upon her brow.

Manon was glowing, as if the stars atop her head pulsed through her body. A wondrous and mighty beauty, like no other in the world. Like no one had ever been, or would be again.

And slowly, as if savoring each step, Manon stalked toward her grandmother.

Warm, dancing light flowed through her, as unfaltering as what had poured into her heart these past few bloody minutes.

She did not balk. Did not fear.

The crown's weight was slight, like it had been crafted of moonlight. Yet its joyous strength was a song, undimming before the sole High Witch left standing.

So Manon kept walking.

She left Bronwen's sword a few feet away.

Left Wind-Cleaver several feet past that.

Iron nails out, teeth ready, Manon paused barely five steps from her grandmother.

A hateful, wasted scrap of existence. That's what her grandmother was.

She had never realized how much shorter the Matron stood. How narrow her shoulders were, or how the years of rage and hate had withered her.

Manon's smile grew. And she could have sworn she felt two people standing at her shoulder.

She knew no one would be there if she looked. Knew no one else could see them, sense them, standing with her. Standing with their daughter against the witch who had destroyed them.

Her grandmother spat on the ground, baring her rusted teeth.

This death, though ...

It was not her death to claim.

It did not belong to the parents whose spirits lingered at her side, who might have been there all along, leading her toward this. Who had not left her, even with death separating them.

No, it did not belong to them, either.

She looked behind her. Toward the Second waiting beside Dorian.

Tears slid down Asterin's face. Of pride- pride and relief.

Manon beckoned to Asterin with an iron- tipped hand.

Manon raised a hand. "Let her go."

When there was no trace of the Matrons left but blue blood and a headless corpse staining the snow, Manon turned toward the Crochans.

Their eyes were wide, but they made no move.

The Thirteen remained where they were, Dorian with them.

Manon scooped up both swords, sheathing Wind-Cleaver across her back, and stalked toward where Glennis and Bronwen stood, monitoring her every breath.

Wordlessly, Manon handed Bronwen her sword, nodding in thanks.

Then she removed the crown of stars and extended it toward Glennis. "This belongs to you," she said, her voice low.

The Crochans murmured, shifting.

Glennis took the crown, and the stars dimmed. A small smile graced the crone's face.

"No," she said, "it does not."

Manon didn't move as Glennis lifted the crown and set it again on Manon's head.

Then the ancient witch knelt in the snow.

"What was stolen has been restored; what was lost has come home again. I hail thee, Manon Crochan, Queen of Witches."

Manon stood fast against the tremor that threatened to buckle her legs.

Stood fast as the other Crochans, Bronwen with them, dropped to a knee. Dorian, standing amongst them, smiled, brighter and freer than she'd ever seen.

And then the Thirteen knelt, two fingers going to their brows as they bowed their heads, fierce pride lighting their faces.

"Queen of Witches," Crochan and Blackbeak declared as one voice.

As one people.

[rutadales]

I think my least favorite thing that happens in fandom spaces is how overly familiar people act towards you. Like whenever I get a post over 200 notes I have people making jokes in the tags that aren't like outright distressing or gross or anything but that just. idk! are jokes I would only make with people I know. Like "fuck you!" or "oh this is awful" or whatever that's done in a joking tone but it's still weird. You don't know me like that

And it's not so much a problem over here because we are so insular as a community so even if I don't know you guys by name or if we don't follow each other I still recognize the person commenting on my stuff. enough to almost certainly recognize the joking tone instantly and for that familiarity there to be warranted. we're not friends but it's like, yeah! I know this person they've been here forever. It's comfortable.

But in larger spaces that casual familiarity is gone. I've literally never interacted with you before. It's like if you overheard a conversation on the street and just walked in and started joking around with them like you knew them. it's uncomfortable!! and like yes obviously I'm looking for interactions when I post and tag things that's the whole point, so it is inherently different than say a private conversation being intruded on but djakfoofjf just don't act like you know someone you've literally never engaged with at all before.

[crossbackpoke-check]

a doc of omega yamo being a nuisance, you say?

well…

[pseudowho]

"Yuuji-- if you don't mind, can I ask you something?"

Yuuji looked up from his phone, feeling so grown up to be in the Jujutsu High staffroom with Kento. He raised his eyebrows, the scar across his lip tugging up.

"Uh...yeah, sure. Go crazy."

"What is scary dog privilege, exactly?"

"Scary dog privilege? Huh, well...let's see, uhm...so it's like..."

Yuuji explained, all peaches and wide eyes and animated hands. Kento nodded occasionally, listening intently. His mind, naturally, strayed to you; you were what this was all about, after all.

As with any thought of you (you being his blossoming latent obsession), Kento's stomach flipped, his grip tightening fractionally around his coffee.

Kento remembered.

He remembered when he dropped you home. You checked over your shoulder, again, and again, and again, before you unlocked your door and hurried inside.

He remembered how he had once walked up behind you without much thought, and you spun with panic in your eyes. Kento recalled how quickly you had relaxed, to see it was him, and how high his hope climbed as a result.

He remembered how you had spilled the contents of your bag. You snatched your pepper spray up in the hope that his keen eyes had missed it.

He remembered how you headed to the subway after a staff night out. Your keys had been curiously gripped between your fingers, a weapon that wasn't a weapon.

He remembered, how just the day before, he and you had walked together through central Tokyo to get lunch. You had sat on a park bench together, and Kento had been so overwhelmed by the need to hold it together, Kento, keep it together, that he barely registered the relief written on your skin.

You had eaten in comfortable silence, then leaned over to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek on the way to the bins.

"Thanks for the scary dog privilege, Kento. It's the first time in a long time that I've relaxed in public."

Kento's eyes had drifted closed for just a few moments too long, with the warmth of your lips on his skin, and he stuttered, fumbling, unlike himself.

"Ah...scary...dog privilege?" He asked, quiet. But you were already gone; throwing your crumbs to the ducks.

Yuuji's voice snapped Kento out of memory, and back to the staffroom.

"Dunno if that makes sense, Nanamin?"

A molten pit of spite and rage ignited in Kento once he put two and two together. Scary dog privilege. He gave you scary dog privilege. Why was walking the streets in safety a privilege? Shit. Kento kept his voice level, patting Yuuji on the shoulder as he left, his steaming coffee abandoned.

"Thank you, Yuuji. Stay safe out there this afternoon, and call me when you're finished, please."

If Kento hadn't already felt dirty enough with the knowledge that he pleasured himself to thoughts of you every night, he felt worse, now. He stalked through the corridors of Jujutsu High, calling Ijichi, calling Shoko, determined to find you.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Once you noticed how one man's gaze lingered on you, you noticed them all. To you, almost all seemed to do it, and to every woman, be they 18 or 80, tall or short or curvy or lithe or gay or straight or anywhere in between. Then, when you began to notice the gazes on 16 year olds, or 12 year olds, or--

You had nauseated by the time you turned the corner to grab lunch. Simultaneously built up and dragged down and accused, you were a madonna and a whore and a bitch. You wondered, vaguely, how deeply, how incurably the disease ran, as you entered the bustling café. You didn't want to think about it. You'd just grab food, and go, and--

"Ah. Good afternoon."

You blinked, to see Kento before you in the queue, and felt a warm burst of joy from your tummy to your toes.

"Kento, I'm...happier than you know, to see you, actually."

A satisfied hum. "I had a feeling you might be. Now...about something you said yesterday...."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento didn't immediately strike one as a scary dog. He was built, yes, but his suits hid it well, and he was only a little taller than average, and really quite mild, but--

-- oh.

The way his glares could frost a soul. The way other men bounced off him, a stone wall, when a shoulder 'accidentally' hit his. The way his eyes found wayward gazes like a sniper, with the dulcet loading of a bullet behind his sneer. The silent commanding respect. The dares that other men would not dare.

It was no wonder, then, how you and Kento, became you and Shoko and Kento, became you and Shoko and Maki and Nobara and Kento. While individually able to fight your own fights, feeling Kento's scary dog privilege melt threats with acid, was a burden blissfully relieved.

With Kento's protective Midas' touch, your daily lunches turned to gold, unsullied and unmolested. Still...he was there for the whole group.

So why, then, in such a large group, did you look up to find his gaze on you, and only you? How could his eyes caress without staring? It was sorcery, surely.

Kento sequestered you one day, throwing his crumbs to the ducks alongside yours, as the others chatted on the benches behind you. You looked up, shooting him a sideways smile, and wondering how you could ever be good enough for him. He spoke quietly.

"I always believed a dog to have just one owner."

You felt your stomach twist with insinuation. You laid the thread.

"...oh?"

"And while I'm happy to offer my privileges to the benefit of a group, I...would like to be in the position to make such a privilege exclusive."

You swallowed hard, looking sideways again with hope against hope against hope against--

"Are you...saying you'd like to be my scary dog?"

"Very, very much so."

[callsign-datura]

CW: pet names, oral (fem! receiving), spelling his name on the clit "c'mon pretty girl, open up f'me," simon murmurs, his lips and peachfuzz scraping against the soft skin of your thigh, up to your knee as his hands roam up and down your legs. brown eyes focus on you as you keep your legs pinned together, an embarrassed whine leaving your throat as you tilt your head to the side.

"si, you don't have to," you said quietly, looking down at him with your big doe eyes as you reach out to cup his face. he leans into it, his eyebrows knit and the corner of his mouth quirks.

"why not, sweetheart?" simon was a man of few words, but the look in his eyes was enough to make you shrink underneath it. his looming frame rises and he stands, but you keep your legs together still as he rests his hands on your knees. his size always sends your heart aflutter, but now it was beating so rapidly in embarrassment.

"i-i haven't shaved. i didn't bother once you left, so..." it's been months since he left. he came home out of nowhere, his big bulky frame caging you against the wall before wrestling you onto the bed, prime and ready show you how much he missed you. your pretty pussy was all he could think about for the days leading up to his return, and now you were denying him because you hadn't shaved? he knew you wanted him as bad as he wanted you. he felt insulted.

"hah, love," he begins, a small amused smile curling his lips as he tries easing your legs apart again. "i've been gone f' months... thinkin' 'bout you, an' that pussy of yours, and y'think i give a shit 'bout hair now that i've finally got ya where i want ya?" he cocks his head to the side, overgrown blonde hair tickling his brow as your legs finally release and fall apart, his hands going down to grip the waistband of your panties, snapping the elastic against your flesh to watch you jump before he sinks back down to his knees.

he chuckles as your face reddens and you swallow, your head falling back to avoid looking him in the eyes when you feel his lips against your inner thigh. "c'mon now. y'know me better than that, sweetheart," his lips part and he bites down gently, smirking against your flesh when you jolt again. "much, much fuckin' better than that," he chuckles in amusement as he speaks, trailing his kisses down your inner thigh and peppering soft kisses and lovebites along the fat of your thigh before stopping just shy of your pussy. "pretty little thing, aren't ya? shaved or unshaved, i'll devour ya all the same," he whispers, his voice low but carrying enough intent to make your walls flutter on nothing. he moves a hand between your legs, using his thumb to spread your lips just enough to give him direct access to your clit, planting his mouth there as his lips curl and his hot tongue darts out to lave over you.

his tongue moves in hot, slow circles, your legs twitching at the content as you squeal and writhe pathetically. the contact after so long is almost too much for your body. one of your hands plants itself on his head and runs through the untidy locks, pulling gently to guide him closer. smugly, he obliges, but not before he lets loose a grunt and a teasing, "needy girl." before closing his lips around your clit and sucks gently, applying pressure against it with the tip of his tongue at the same time as his hands cup your outer thighs.

he releases your clit with a faint 'pop', his tongue sliding out and flattening against you, dragging upward from your hole to your clit, laving once again as the mix of your slick and his spit drip down onto the mattress beneath you, leaving a mess that's only likely to grow as time goes on. "mm. missed this fuckin' pussy," he grunts, his raspy voice making your clit twitch and the heat of his breath fanning over you. you whine in response, lifting your hips, seeking more friction. you sniffle quietly beneath him, lifting your head to look at him as his gaze flickers over your body before he sinks down again. he moves a hand between your legs and rolls his middle and pointer finger against your pussy, gathering his spit and your slick before he carefully pushes them inside as he starts lapping at your clit again. your needy pussy sucks his fingers in, and instinctively, he curls them, searching for a few moments before the pads find your g-spot. the sudden pleasure makes you jolt and your toes curl as you push your legs apart and rest your heels on the edge of the bed, lewd mewls leaving your lips as he grunts into your pussy. he doesn't thrust his fingers, just rubs them against your g-spot as he laps hungrily at your clit-- like a man starved. which he was. months left without the taste, feel, scent of your precious pussy left him hungry. he shifted as he kneeled, his hardening cock in his pants making the fabric strain against him, quickly becoming uncomfortable as he continues to eat you out. he doesn't care though, your pleasure in this moment matters more to him than that.

each mewl, whine and cry that leaves your lips makes his dick twitch. he has to stifle a whine of his own. his eyes flutter open, looking up at you to find bright, eager eyes staring down at him. your mouth is open, lips quivering and red from how consistently you bit them to keep quiet. eyes dilated and wide, rolling back once he starts rolling his fingers into you.

he chuckles quietly into you, shutting his eyes again to savor the taste and squeeze of your pussy. he can feel you getting close, so he continues-- a bit faster than before. the noises of your pussy are loud, lewd and embarrassing, but his grunts are louder. you whimper pathetically as the coil in your stomach tightens and the heat falls over you. his hand is planted firmly at the curve of your hip, gripping tightly to keep you in pace as he licks hungrily at your clit, alternating between lapping and circles.

as your squirming becomes more frequent, you feel his laps become a bit more erratic. through your hazy mind you don't connect the dots yet, too distracted by the incoming pressure of your orgasm. your hips lifted and you cried out. "s-si, please! gonna cum... m'close..." and he only chuckled into your pussy, mumbling a "cum f'me sweetheart, know you can. give it to me." then he starts the pace again. you realize then after his licks become more defined, that he's using his tongue to spell his name on your clit. the thought makes you gasp, the sound low in your chest as he suddenly applies a bit more force as he thrusts his fingers into you, purposefully angling them to hit your g-spot with the tips of his fingers over and over and over again. you wail his name and your walls clench, the warmth flooding you as that coil snaps. he groans deeply into your pussy, helping you ride through it as you reach your peak. it lasts a few seconds, and you mewl and whine pathetically, fingers tugging at his hair as he continues, helping you down from your orgasm with slow licks. he withdraws his fingers from you shortly after his tongue halts, and your hands come to your face as he rises between your legs and leans over you. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, shushing you softly as his hands run up and down your sides. Your arms thread around his neck and you mumble to him. "...were you spelling your name on my clit?" a pause. his rubs stop, and he hums quietly in amusement. "maybe. 've gotta make sure you know what name to moan. seems like it worked..."

you can hear and feel the smirk on his face, and you scowl playfully, hiding your red face in your hands as he laughs into your neck. yeah, it worked. and now he was gonna continue doing it.

[mattscookie]

MY PRETTY BOY

summary. . .over the past few hours, you could not keep your eyes off matt. once you got home, you had to do something about it.

pairing. . . matt sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings. . . HEAVY SMUT, moaning, kissing, rough!fem, sub!matt, established relationship, overtsimulation, male receiving, female receiving, sooo all the good stuff.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

all day, matt had been teasing you. he had been calling you a “good girl”, “ma” and all these other names that had been driving you CRAZY. the two of you had spent the day at an aquarium. you had been going around town, walking into new stores, shopping, chatting and having such a great time. you couldn’t help but notice matt’s pink hoodie. he rarely ever wore it, but when he did, it drove you insane. the way it hugged his chest and loosely flowed down his arms.. you just couldn’t handle the desire for matt anymore.

as matt walked through the front door, he let out a heavy sigh. “fuck, i’m so exaughsted. today was so tiring but so fun” you smile at him as you nod. “yeah it was fun. but i was thinking we could cuddle up and watch movies now, if that’s okay.” you say that, knowing your intention of fucking the shit out of home later. matt nodded, his lighting up with a smile plastered on his face. “yeah, yeah! for sure.”

you two made your way up to matt’s room. when you walked in, you flopped down on his bed. “i’m gonna grab some snacks.” he smiles and quickly runs out of the room. oh how cute he looked when he was excited. after a few minutes, matt returned. he had brought some root beer, chips and sour strips. he placed them on the desk next to the bed before flopping down next to you. he grinned as he looked your way. “hi” he says. “why hello there” you reply, turning your head to meet his icy blue eyes. you grab the remote and press play on a movie as you both sink into the bed, the blankets and soft pillows engulfing you.

as the movie played, you looked over at matt. the strands of hair falling in his face. the way his eyes lit up at the funny scenes and the way his lips parted when something shocking happens. he looks so fucking adorable, you thought. matt’s eyes met yours when he caught you staring, his face flushed softly and he looked back at the tv. you couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction. “what’s got you so flustered, hm?” you say smugly. “nothing.” he replies, noticeably embarrassed. “hm, okay then.” you wink at him then turn to the movie.

as the movie ended you faced your body towards matt’s. “ya know, it pissed me off how you were teasing me all fucking day with those petty little nicknames.” matt’s eyes widened as he looked at you. “i’m sorry, ma. i didn’t mean to make you upset..” he replied. “i think i need to do something about it.” matt’s face flushed gently as he looked at you. “and.. what would that be?” you smirked and placed a hand on matt’s clothed thigh. “that’s for you to find out.”

TIME SKIP!

the only sound coming from the room was heavy breathing. you stared into matt’s eyes as you climbed on top of him. he looked up at you, his eyes full of want and need. “fuck.. i need you. p-please..” matt said, desperately. practically whining. you trace your finger down his jawline before slowy tipping his chin up. “eh? didn’t quite hear you, matty.” matt’s eyes roamed down your body before shooting back up to your eyes. the bulge in his pants grew at a relentless pace. “mommy, i need you.. really bad.” you smile. “and what would need from me?” matt frowned, pouting slightly. “i.. i don’t wanna say outloud.. it’s weird.” you giggle and lean in closer, your warm breath against his lips, sending a shiver down his spine. “you’ve gotta tell me baby, or else i can’t help.. that.” you say, referring to the bulge in his pants. “please. fuck me.. fuck me till i can’t breathe” he looked up at you with desperation, his eyes glossy and his lips puffy.

you smashed your lips against his as you climbed into his lap. his hands trail over your body and you immediately stop. “no touching unless mommy says so, okay?” matt nodded. you grabbed his wrists and pinned the above his head, he let out a little gasp. you kiss down his neck and along his collar bone. you slowly take off his shirt and smirk at the sight of his toned stomach, his shirt somewhere in the floor now. you run your fingers up and down his torso. he shivered at the touch. you begin to slowly pull down his light blue jeans, the car keys still attached. his bulge looked so big under his boxers. you couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of precum leaking through the grey calvin cline underwear. as you placed your hands on his v-line and started to pull down his boxers, he whined. whimpers left his pretty lips as he watched you, he was so desperate for you and your touch. it was mesmerizing. his hard dick slapped against his stomach as you pulled it out your thighs clenched and the sight went straight to your core. “please.. mama.. c’mon. i need ya so bad..” matt whispers. you smile down at him.

you gently wrap a hand around his base. your lips sink down onto him. he was so long and big. it was so hard to fit him in your mouth. you slowly started bobbing your head up and down on him, and for the part you couldn’t reach, you jerked off. matt whimpered and his glistening eyes watched you intently. “hey.. uh can you.. uh..” he said hesitantly. “take off your top.. i wanna see your pretty tits.” you smirked at him. “since you asked nicely..” you lifted your shirt off and matt’s eyes widened. “so pretty.” he reached out to grab one and you grabbed his wrist. “no, no, no. remember what i said? no touching unless you get permission.” you smirk and he nods, apologizing.

you place your head back on his dick and start bobbing your head at a relentless pace. matt whimpered and groaned. “fuck.. your mouth f-feels so good.. on m-me.. on my -shit- dick..” you smirked at him and only continued bobbing faster, your eyes glistened with tears as his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag. he took his hand, and tangled his fist with your hair, pushing you down deeper on him as he bucked his hips against you. you pulled your head off and looked at him, holding your hand out under his chin. “spit.” you demand. he immediately obeyed and spit his saliva in your hand. you used it to coat his dick as a lubricant and you started stroking him really fast. you rubbed your thumb over the tip every once in a while.

matt moaned and whined, feeling his climax come close as the knot in his stomach tightened. he let out several strangled moans. fuck, he looked so good. “AH.. fuck mommy.. shit!! shit i’m cumming!“ continue jerking him off until he lets out one final pornographic moan as his cum shot up in the air, landing on his stomach and your hand.

you slowly shimmied down your jean skirt, revealing your light pink panties. the one with a bow tied on the front. matt’s favorite. your pussy is throbbing and soaked wet as you look at him. his dick was so hard and his eyes were filled with tears of pleasure. you place his tip at your entrance rubbing it back and forth before slipping it into you. “fuck matt, you’re s-so huge” you pull your body up and slam back down, fast. repeating the process until you build a pace going back up and down. throwing you head back, you moan. god you could ride him all day. your legs felt like they were getting weaker and weaker. you place your hands on his chest gaining balance. matt noticed how tired your body was getting, he grabbed my thighs and started to thrust up. he was so good at this. hitting every perfect spot, at such amazing angles. you felt him start to twitch inside you. he must’ve been so close. his eyes stared with overstimulation.

"please… baby… i can’t… it’s… too much… can’t…" he whimpered, his hands clutching at the sheets, knuckles white with the effort to hold on. his body trembled uncontrollably, the overstimulation sending waves of intense sensation through him. his cock, still hard and sensitive, throbbed inside her, a mix of pleasure and pain that left him dizzy and disoriented. his cum shoots up im your pussy as you feel your self clench, cumming too. you both sigh and flop down together.

you cuddle up to him and give him a sweet kiss on the cheek. “my pretty boy.”

I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!

it’s the first fic i’ve ever written so.. it might be bad!!

BUT HERE WE GO ANYWAY! ENJOY ANGELS!! 💗💗

(not proofread!)

@shorthairchris @sturn10log1rl @sturnstars4 @mattscoquette @bernardsboobs @bernardsbendystraws @submattenthusiast @rlchrissturniolo0 @alyrasturnz @chrissangel @n8doe @deareststurns @thenickgirl @thisisntmattsturniolo @biggyballzben @hearts4thetr1pl3ts @lacyssturns @qrzrrae @evie-sturns @vampmattsbae

[pantherxrogers]

after the game - wooyoung x fem!reader (18+)

⚾️ pairing: wooyoung x fem!reader

⚾️ warnings: pure smut (18+), no plot lmao, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, housewife kink, explicit language, gentle dom vibes, hint of sub reader, not proofread 👀

⚾️ summary: after seeing his wife interact with the kids at the baseball game, wooyoung wants one of his own.

⚾️ a/n: still trying out the lowercase text! this is puuuuure smut with no plot, so i hope you guys are okay with that lmao. also, i am madly in love with wooyoung and that baseball game did not help 😮‍💨

my masterlist

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

it all started with a baseball game.

now, wooyoung’s black jersey and pants are strewn on your bedroom floor, along with your sundress and thong. the pair of you barely made it to the bedroom, bodies intertwined as soon as you got home.

he’s still slightly sweaty from the heat, refusing to shower until he’s had his fill of you. he’s been hard for hours, and he’s not stopping until you both get your fix.

all you can do now is pant beneath him, his thick cock stretching you to the brink. the fringe of his grown-out hair hangs over his hooded eyes, which are focused on your sopping cunt.

he bites his lip at the sight, fascinated by your wetness coating his shaft. your steady moans keep him going, like music to his ears.

“that feel good, baby?” he teases, pushing further into you, knowing that you’re on cloud 9. you can feel every ridge of his cock, the closeness sending a shudder down your spine.

“sh-, shit, yes,” you huff, “feels so good, woo,” you whine, lifting up to meet his lips.

it’s sloppy and wet, both of you focused on the intense pleasure. the way his tongue delves into your mouth makes your pussy even wetter. he’s like a starved man, ravaging your body for whatever you can give him.

“fuck, this pussy is so damn tight,” he groans, breaking the kiss. the sight of him wetting his fingers makes your eyes roll back. when he starts rubbing tight circles on your clit, you know you won’t be able to hold back for long.

“uh, woo, please,” you whine, unsure of what you’re actually asking for. you’re so close, but you don’t want this to end. he lets out a cocky laugh, carrying above the slick sounds of his sharp thrusts.

“i know, baby, i know.” he slows down a bit, making sure you feel all of him. he loves the way your face contorts, getting off on your pleasure.

“h-harder, please,” you beg, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. you moan out when he leans down, slower thrusts allowing him to grind against your clit.

you let out a gasp, hands suddenly pinned to the mattress beneath you. he’s staring at you intently, wanting to see the moment you fall apart.

“look at me when i’m fucking you.” his serious tone makes your pussy throb. when you meet his eyes, you’re enthralled by his beauty.

his tanned cheeks are flushed, brows furrowed in concentration. his full bottom lip is between his teeth, another sign of the harsh way he drills into your pussy. a warm shiver spreads over your body, further turned on by the hungry look in his eyes.

“there’s my pretty girl,” he hums, love-filled smile briefly breaking through his dominant demeanor. you whine when he pulls his cock out, sitting up to find out why he stopped.

you sweep your eyes over his body, appreciating the beauty of your husband. his lean body before you, muscular thighs bent at the knee, sitting back on his heels.

his veiny hand grips the base of his cock, tapping it on your clit. he makes a show off stroking himself, loving the way to stare at him. your thighs quiver, the sight of him making your pussy clench around nothing.

he pants, rolling his head back at the way your wetness clings to his tip. each tap of his sensitive head against your clit drives him wild.

“woo, please,” your voice cuts through to him, breaking his trance. with one last drag from your clit to your opening, he nestles his cock into you, the squelch filling the quiet of your bedroom.

“fuck, gonna cum soon,” he grunts, his thighs slapping against your thick ones.

“me too,” you squeal, feeling more of your wetness leak onto his hard cock. lifting up, you trace your tongue along the vein in his neck, the sensation making his cock jump inside of you.

“gonna cum in this pussy, make you a proper housewife,” your eyes roll back at his words, excited by the mention of his breeding kink.

“y-yes, please,” you squeal, bringing your hips up, matching the pace of his thrusts.

“want me to fill you up?” he huffs, pinning your wrists again. “maybe i should just cum in this pussy and get you pregnant, hm?”

“f-fuck woo! i’m cumming!” you squeal, eyes shutting at the immense pleasure. he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, rolling his hips into your clit, prolonging your pleasure.

“that’s right baby, cum for daddy,” he groans, thrusts getting sloppy at the sight of your fucked out expression. your pussy feels even wetter around him, the lewd noise pushing him further to the edge. your hand comes up to tweak his nipple, before running your manicured nails down his abs.

“you look so pretty for me, woo,” you hum, turning your head to press a kiss to his flexed arm.

“shit, i’m close,” he whines, hips losing their rhythm. you wrap your arms around his neck, meeting him with a sweet kiss before you pull away.

“wanna feel you cum inside me, woo,” you purr, looking up at him with doe eyes. “wanna feel you in me all night,” you look straight into his eyes, already seeing his orgasm wash over him.

“fuuuuuuuck,” he pants, warm spurts of cum flooding your wrecked pussy. you soothe him during his orgasm, stroking every part of him you can get your hands on.

when you’ve both come down, wooyoung is quick to hop up, much to your dismay.

“wooooooo,” you whine out, missing his warmth already.

“i know, baby, it’s okay,” he coos, running into the bathroom to grab a washcloth for you. when he comes back, he’s very gentle, carefully cleaning your sensitive folds. he finishes off with a soft kiss to your thigh, finally taking his place beside you again.

he pulls you into him, your sweaty bodies cuddled together beneath the sheets. your little yawn makes him chuckle, heart full of love at your cuteness.

“did i tire my baby out?” he teases, lifting your chin so he can see those pretty brown eyes. your smile is bashful, always feeling a little shy after a particularly strong orgasm. he smothers you kisses, unable to contain his love for you.

“speaking of babies,” you murmur, now causing a blush to spread across his face. “hello, mr. breeding kink,” you tease him, having fun with his embarrassment.

“you just looked so sweet today with all the kids. it made me start thinking about our future kids,” he confesses, tracing his finger along your cheek. you feel your heart skip at his confession, trying to fight back the sudden tears in your eyes.

“jagi, what’s wrong?” he hums, brows furrowing at your tears. he’s afraid for a second, hoping his confession hasn’t made you uncomfortable.

“nothing baby, i was thinking the same thing today,” you pout, so in love with the man in front of you.

you share a kiss so sweet it almost makes your heart burst. wooyoung’s lips are soft against yours, setting a slow pace. you both savor the feeling, never tiring of sharing your affection.

you’re both breathless when you pull away, giggling under the sheets like teenagers.

“so, maybe we should keep practicing,” he smirks, covering your body with his own. it’ll be a while until the both of you leave the bedroom again.

[luvyeni]

⠀ ( drabble ) finally forever ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 박성훈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ sunghoon tying himself to you for once and for all  ヾ

yandere!sunghoon・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ yandere ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎mentions of murder, ‎ ‎unprotected sex, breeding kink, crying kink‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. yandere sunghoon smut PLEASE, your yan work has got me salivating. It can be any scenario you would like (punishment, stokeholm syndrome i hope u get what I mean) love your work !! take care. 🫶

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 hope this is what you wanted 🫶🏽🩷

you no longer walked on eggshells when sunghoon was around like you did when you first started whatever it is you had — you no longer fought with him about leaving ; in fact you hated when he'd leave or when he said he'd take you out. . . all you wanted was to have him to yourself.

sunghoon didn't see that at first; he thought you were just trying to fuck with him , waiting for him to let his guard down just to leave , so he tried everything to get to you — chaining you up to your bed , leaving you without food; that didn't work , he'd come home to you sitting on the bed , waiting for him.

he even tried bringing another girl home; no he had no intentions of sleeping with her , she was purely there just to see if you squirmed; and when you didn't , instead you cried , he killed her , there was no use for her and of course he couldn't let her go , you being tied to the bed kinda threw her off and he didn't want her to call the cops — even then you didn't do anything , not a flinch or anything.

he didn't even console you as you cried thinking he was tired of you — he still didn't fully believe it , he believed this was all an act , that was until you wrapped your arms around him , begging for him to never leave him , that you needed him; that you wouldn't be able to go on without him… that's when he knew he had you.

“you'd die without me?” he said , you sniffled, nodding your head. “stop all that whining , i killed her you saw it.” he said. “i was never gonna sleep with her.” your eyes were red, tears streaming down your face — it was fucking turning him on. “pl-please don't do that again.” you said. “you've acted like a bitch this entire time , why should i listen to you.”

“you know how much trouble you put me through? how many people died because of you?” he grabbed both your hands. “things won't change that easily because you suddenly love me , you still need to be punished.” he dragged you back to the room , throwing you the bed. “you want me to believe that you really won't leave?” he said , cuffing both hands , binding you back to the bed. “then shut the fuck up and let me do what i want to you.”

you laid there; no resistance as he pulled your pants down , leaving you in the underwear he bought. “you love me now?” pulling his pants down , freeing his cock from his underwear , it was your first time ever seeing his dick. “y-yeah.” you stuttered , pulling your panties to the side. “look at this wet cunt , no matter if this shit is just an act , this pussy is definitely singing a different tune.”

“i-i do love you.” you cried out. “i-i swear.” he let out a tsk sound. “then show me.” was the last thing he said before stuffing you completely full of his cock. “oh yeah fuck!” he groaned , wasting no time in thrusting into you. “so warm , fuck i waited so long for this.” he gripped your waist , holding your waist in his hands , as he began to pound into you. “hoonie fuck!”

he never heard that nickname came out your mouth , but it only encouraged him to fuck you deeper , and with much more force. “shit , should just use this little pussy until you can't take it anymore.” he hissed. “forget if you cum or not.” he slapped your cunt. “sunghoon.” you screamed pulling at the restraints. “use you as my cum dump.”

you began to tear up again , he was being really mean. “keep crying , show me how sorry you are.” you sobbed out and apology after apology , not even sure what you were apologizing for. “im sorry , im so sorry.” you said in between sobs. “please let me cum , i need to cum , please i love you so much.” he heard enough , plus he was on the brink of cumming himself. “cum , cum now.”

he gave your clit a few slaps as you came , creaming his cock , tightening around him. “fuck I'm gonna fill you up , keep you pregnant with my kids so you'll have no choice to stay.” he didn't really like the idea of child , but if was to get reassurance that you'd stayed with him then so be it. “fuck im gonna cum inside you.”

“please hoonie , please fill me with your cum.” you begged , he gave you a few more thrust, stilling his hips as his cock pumped a load of his cum into you. “fuck , you're mine.” he groaned. “this is my fucking pussy.” his hand coming up to your throat. “you're mine , and a few kids will solidify that.”

“gonna fuck a few brats inside you so you'll be stuck with me forever.”

©LUVYENI

[seattlesellie]

Jealous. 🎀

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

cw: mean dom!ellie sub!reader, jealous kinda toxic ellie, eating it through the panties, orgasm denial, spit play (literally spits down ur panties like), exhibitionism, some dude named michael.

an: pls be gentle, i haven’t written in a long time! 💗 credit to angel gbc for the mod used in the picture above <3

something we can all agree on is the importance of aftercare — right?

Ellie is big on that obviously, as she should. Caressing her slim fingers down your body, planting wanton kisses on your shoulders, running her palms across your shaky thighs, whispering words of encouragement in your ear;

“Did so good for me, babe”

“I love you, so much”

“Need anything? hm?” She’d murmur against your skin whilst cradling your body from behind.

And she always insists on cleaning you up. She consistently renders you nothing but an achy mess, dried up juices staining your wobbly jelly thighs, combined sweat on your breasts and ribs, back of your neck. The ritual of bringing a wet towel to bed, swiping it’s fabric across your inner thighs, your face, your behind — is a sacred one for her. Not solely because she loves hearing your sweet, exhausted sighs of relief as she cleans the soil away, but also not solely because she gets to see your naked body in all of its glory again.

It’s the act of taking care of what’s hers. In a way, when she wipes your cum away, she’s taking care of herself — too.

Here, lays a solid proof that she can break things apart and put them back together again. She’s not a total fucking fuckup.

The ability of making you scream and cry, then moments later have you whisper in that saccharine voice of yours an airy “love you s’much, Els…”

It’s fucking exhilarating.

She loves it every time, she does it every time.

But today… today you pissed her off. You poked the bear, for real this time.

There’s this new Michael guy in Jackson. He’s handsome, tall, has coal black curls that somehow stay soft and shiny even in this apocalyptic hellscape. He told Ellie and you where he was from, what he did, why he came. Ellie didn’t listen to a thing he was saying. It was like he turned into a fly and started loudly buzzing in her ear. He kept looking at you weird. Smiling at you, smirking, laughing at your jokes, even the ones that weren’t all that funny. She knows you have this affect on people, that damn charm, hell — you have this affect on her.

And she’s usually just playfully jealous, manages to keep it relatively tame and simple by tightening her grip on your waist.

But you just wouldn’t stop bringing him up. “Michael” this, and “Michael” that, “Michael invited us for dinner”, “Michael said this funny thing earlier”,

For all Ellie knows Michael could die in a ditch and she wouldn’t give a fuck.

You're on your way back home from the Tipsy Bison on a chilly Thursday night. Jesse was there, Dina, Maria... and Michael. She thinks of his name and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, tart, pungent.

"Meh, I'm more of a Tequila girl, Whiskey tastes like shit" you announced with a giggle. Michael rested his hand on your thigh, and agreed with a nod and a chuckle. For you, it meant nothing.

For Ellie, it meant everything.

Her blood pressure was usually low, steady, healthy as a bull. As of now, Ellie felt like she just ran a marathon. The blood rushed to her head and her brows furrowed without intention. She cracks her neck and moves it left and right, takes a long and burning sip out of her Whiskey and shuts her eyes. She repeats a mantra in her head; "I'm not angry, I'm not angry, It's fine."

But you're so damn intuitive.

"Els? y'tired?" you murmur towards your auburnette girlfriend. She suckles on her bottom lip and considers saying no, but she lies.

"Exhausted"

You leave the humble bar hand in hand, wrapped up in her big coat that smells of mint and wood and Ellie. She prays you won't mention his name, prays you could just go home and forget about this whole thing, but you do, innocently.

"Oh, Michael said one of the horses is sick, I'm thinking of helping out in the barn tomorrow an—"

She stops you mid sentence with a scoff and a tightening grip on your hand. "Oh, mhm, Michael said that?"

Her voice mocks your own a little.

You stop and shift your gaze towards Ellie who has her lips tucked in a tight line. Internally, she's cussing herself out. You don't deserve her anger, but she can't help herself. Your answer is an unsure hum. Her grip tightens even more, and it hurts your palm but you keep on walking side by side, quietly. Five minutes manage to pass with no words being muttered by no one. That's until she shakes her head and lets go of a husky chuckle.

"Did I do something?", you mutter doe eyed. Ellie stops in her tracks and inhales. She grabs you by your waist and walks towards you, making you have to clumsily pace backwards until your back meets a cold grey brick wall with a resounding thud. "Uhg!" You hiccup, breath catching down your throat. You even sweetly giggle, thinking in your head that this could possibly be just a sweet attack of PDA.

But her eyes are dark, gone from emerald to pine, pupils pitch black as big as a button. Her warm whiskey breath meets your nose and your top lip, you gulp. Why isn't she laughing? teasing?

"El?" your voice is still candied, always. Ellies mouth is agape, scarred eyebrows scrunched and furrowed as if she's confused, or pissed, or provoked. Her forehead meets yours so automatically, you attempt to connect your lips with a kiss but she backs away meanly. Albeit her taunting position, how intimidating and truly scary she looks whilst you're caged within her frame, your'e still smiling, you're still thinking she's just teasing.

You're not used to this, she knows, but god knows she yearns to teach you a lesson.

You don't fuck with what's hers.

She licks her bottom lip before she starts speaking.

"Take off your skirt"

Her voice nearly renders you drunk, It's huskiness, gruffness, it's depth, and really, you've only had one shot. Your cheeks heat up and your ears feel as if they're nearly burning. Her lips are so damn close to yours and she still won't let you kiss her.

"Wh... we're in public, we can't—" you stutter, eyes shifting downwards towards the knee she has shoved near your barely covered crotch. When she brings it upwards just to brush delicately on your inner thigh, you let go of a small gasp.

She responds to your gasp with a barely audible "Mhm?", her eyes sharpening with intent.

"Yes we can", she tsk's, and her voice taunts. Her eyes graze over your face, and you expect her next sentence to bite like the last one did, but her voice goes softer. "For me?", she cocks her head to the side.

And it simply pushes you over the edge.

You peel your skirt off of your body, asscheeks plastered over the brick wall as her body squeezes you further back, and you're left half naked with a piece of fabric scrunched below your knees, resting on your shoes. She eyes your body up and down, meeting your pleading and still confused eyes — and for a moment, thinks of just carrying you home and taking care of business once you get there. No jealousy, none of that.

But it's still bitter down her throat, and she can still picture his disgusting hand meeting your soft thigh, her soft thigh — as your body is hers, so that thought is ever so fleeting. It's either now or now.

Her cold as ice finger traces faint circles on your lower tummy, making the fine hairs of your body rise like soldiers. You whimper quietly as her finger snaps the elastic band of your panties and lets it smack down your pelvis. You rub your thighs together, but you're ever so pliant as she makes your legs spread wide with a boot covered foot opening up your calves like a gate.

She whispers in your ear. "Are you wet?", it makes you shiver.

"M'cold" you whine.

She scoffs.

She kneads your bra cup with her palm, squeezing an erect nipple with her thumb and middle finger. "Didn't ask that"

Her eyes meet your gaze and again she reconsiders this whole thing — because you truly look so needy, and your lips are so pouty and sweet and red with cold, you look as if you'd die if she didn't kiss you right now so how can she even be worried, let alone be jealous?

She knows how much you love her, how much you yearn for nobody but her, how her touch leaves you speechless time and time again.

But it's like something takes over, a dark figure, a figure that's thirsty and starving and wants to prove a thing it already knows.

It's an internal struggle, she doesn't want to be possessive,

She can't help it.

Your panties are striped with pink and white, and she looks at them as if they're the most expensive lace in the whole entire world. Her breathing gets heavier as she curls her fingers inside the cotton fabric, pupils darkening when she notices a sweet clear string of your arousal clinging from the entrance of your cunt to the bottom of your underwear.

She chuckles, followed by a sigh of relief that you notice. You are wet, right in the middle of the street where an innocent soul could catch you at any given moment. "Didn't answer cause you're shy?" She knows you so well. You bite your lip and nod, butterflies fighting in the pits of your stomach. A chaste kiss on the lips is all you get from her, and you deeply whine into the air. "At least kiss me!" you beg, — god, you're so cute when you're pissed.

Before landing on her knees, Ellie looks from side to side in order to check that there's truly nobody around, and no — not because she's scared to get caught, but because she'd die before she let someone see her girlfriend half naked with her skirt down her thighs.

Ellie is face to face with your quivering, pantie covered cunt. A wet patch greets her — a fuckin' pleasure, one she can't help but swipe her tongue across. Your choked up, terrified sound of a moan is a symphony to her hears, fuck Mozart. Her eager muscle of a tongue is so warm against your pussy you nearly forget it started snowing yesterday.

You buck your hips inwards, she groans. "No moving", she warns — simply to assert a dominance that has already been asserted. She kisses your little clit, coo's at the way it slightly pokes out of the fabric, erect and pumping on her tongue. "Ellie... Ellie... Ellie", you babble like a prayer, which she nods to. "S'my name, that's fuckin' right", she groans as her husky voice is muffled by your soaked panties.

"Ellie..." you repeat, thighs beginning to ache as you try and spread them further apart, almost sitting on her face.

Ellie, not Michael.

She smiles, greedy, triumphant.

She flicks her tongue on your clit, once, twice, three times before biting on your meaty pussy lips. You bite your knuckles in order to keep your voice down, but she glares up at you. "Do that again n'I swear to god I'm stopping" she growls.

You're not used to this side of her at all, but her voice makes your hole leak a small stream from deep inside. She feels it's wetness on her tongue, eyes closing in ecstasy as she audibly suckles your sweet, tangy, heavenly juices from the now sheer fabric. Her own spit runs down her chin, she doesn't even bother to wipe it off. All you can hear are your breathy, whiney moans, tiny begs of "take 'em off, please", regarding your panties, and Ellie's throaty groans. You're so wet from your own juices and her saliva it nearly gets uncomfortable, but then again you're so goddamn close to cumming.

You try taking matters to your own hands, attempting to peel off your panties from your waist with a shaky hand but she snarls and slaps your wrist away.

"Nuh uh, pussy's fuckin' mine, don't touch it"

With relentless sucking on your drenched clit, and soiled panties, she opens her eyes to merely glare at you again with a warning look. "When you're close, you let me know" she bites.

You don't respond.

A stinging slap meets your pussy, which makes your thighs shake, whole body jolt, and throat ache with a high pitched yelp.

"You're not listening" Ellie warns.

"You listen when I talk" she warns again. Her tongue meets your clit and it pushes it further and further up. You shake, eyesight gone blurry, you're close, you know it by the way the coil down your stomach threatens to snap, and by the way it tickles down there so damn bad.

"M'close" you brokenly wail.

She grunts deeply and stops completely. your heart nearly breaks, no no no no no. "Ellie, Ellie, Els, no!" You try and buck your hips forward but she holds you in place with an iron like grip. You buck them again and she peels off the fabric of your underwear, slightly rising up as she stares inside at the mess she made of you. There's a devilish smirk that creeps up from her lips, apple of one cheek rising. You let out a sigh of relief, thinking that perhaps she'll actually fucking eat you out properly instead of letting you suffer inside a warm, wet material of a mess that truly doesn't look like something wearable anymore. Instead, she audibly spits inside with a "Ptu'", letting the band snap shut. Her saliva mixes with your warm sleek. You're so confused she nearly feels bad, but she's such a cunt that she really doesn't.

"Were going back inside," she murmurs so casually as if she didn't just fuck you up in the middle of the street, as if her chin isn't shiny with your precum. "N'if Michael puts his hand on you again, I'm eating it in front of him"

[vampaiaz]

— promiscous

♱ character: eddie munson

♱ synposis: things eddie would do if he was ur bf, fwb, or anything! but he’s a perv like… all the time…

♱ cw: vulgar language use, sexual activity, afab reader

♱ a/n: this is gonna be a series! i’m gonna be doing it with diff st teens hehe even the gals <3 let me know if you’d enjoy that pls! oh and request if u want :3

perv eddie as your boyfriend that keeps his hand under your skirt when you’re out, sitting next to each other. the tips of his fingers grazing your panties.

perv eddie that loves to watch you sleep and thinks about how pretty you’d sound if he played with your body while you’re asleep.

perv eddie that hates it when you wear sets under your clothes when he didn’t tell you to. he wants you to only be pretty for him in the bedroom.

perv eddie that deals with you and when you were short on money, he offered another way to pay him.

perv eddie as your friend that hypothetically invites you to skinny dip with him, his dick hardening when you said you would. when he went home, he looked through his magazines and jerked off to the one that looked like you the most.

perv eddie that keeps your underwear under his pillow. he stole it when you slept over, and while you didn’t even notice it was gone, he was up at night wrapping it around his length and whimpering out your name.

perv eddie as your fwb that makes sure you sit on his lap, especially when there’s people around. everytime you squirm while talking, he shuts his eyes in hopes of not getting a hard on.

perv eddie that films you while he’s fucking you. whenever you’re not around, he plays it to get his sweet release.

perv eddie that knows you get horny when you’re high. he gave you a shotgun kiss which turned into you now on his lap, and his hands on your waist.

perv eddie that tells you he wants to go home and fuck the shit out of you at the most random times.

perv eddie that obviously grips his dick or adjusts himself when you stare at him. he likes the way you look at him, makes him want to eat you up.

perv eddie that asks you to dress in certain ways when you two decide to fuck. he wants his fantasies to be real. can’t blame him!

perv eddie that watches you intently when you walk ‘cause he can see the way your chest moves during every step you take.

perv eddie that squeezes your ass as a way to greet you. you swat his hand away and he smirks in return ‘cause he knows you like it.

perv eddie that tells you “i just love hearing you sing, sweetheart.” whenever you moan from how good he’s fucking you.

perv eddie that hangs around you when you exercise ‘cause he wants to hear those little sounds escale your mouth.

perv eddie that hugs you from behind and cups your tits with his hands. he feels comfortable doing it, you feel comfortable too but you only push him off when he starts fondling them.

perv eddie that loves to watch you at night. his eyes staring intently at your slightly open window, he can hear the moans and whines coming out of you. he’s the only one that knows how perverted you are too, you were letting the whole neighborhood hear you. thankfully eddie had it all to himself.

[reidrum]

hey, if you haven’t wrote this before i was wondering if you could write a fic about spencer catching you admiring his hands and later on he fingers you (idk how to word this properly 😭)

fingers crossed | s.r

spencer reid x bau!reader

a/n: this is literally my brand fr

cw: 18+ no minors, fingering, reader is afab, spencer’s slutty ass hands, soft dom spence (duh), praise kink, office shenanigans lol

wc: 1.5k

—

you should’ve known you’d get caught, you work on a team of people literally trained to notice things. you working on that team meant that you thought you could be subtle. yet it didn’t stop you from gaping at spencer whenever he used those fucking hands of his.

it started off innocently, becoming so entranced when he would explain the geographical profile to the team on cases and his massive hands would span the map occasionally using a finger to point out a spot. then it was the way his veined hand engulfed his pistol, so much that it could disappear if he tried. you took detours on the days you knew spencer would be in the training range just so you could watch his fingers pull the trigger over and over again.

you’d go home thinking about those hands, how they would feel roaming your body, squeezing your chest, placed on your throat. it was enough to make yourself come three times over, just imagining what his fingers would feel like inside you. but it never felt as satisfying as what you really craved.

the next day you’d come to work, you and spencer had to work on a report together, and you weren’t sure how you were gonna keep your shit together if he was less than a foot away from you.

he pulled up a chair to your desk and you both started going over the files, and he’d occasionally reach over your lap to point something out in the files you were holding. he’d nonchalantly brush his fingers on your thighs, your shoulders, even placing his hand on the small of your back when hotch had called both of you to his office. it was turning you on so bad, you were getting wetter by the second that you had to cross your legs to find some satiation.

spencer knew you were getting restless, anticipating you were going to break soon. it’s just what he planned.

“everything okay?” spencer whispered, placing his hand on your upper thigh.

the action shocked you, “i’m good! i just think i need another cup of coffee.” you abruptly get up and practically run towards the break room. spencer watches you walk away with a faint smirk on his face. he gives you a minute or two to calm yourself before getting up and following you.

he found you leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand and eyes closed, like you were trying to regulate yourself before returning. you heard footsteps and opened your eyes to watch spencer walk over right next to you, and grab the coffee pot in a way you could only describe as deeply sensual as he accentuated every movement, flexing his fingers around the handle and gripping so motherfucking tightly his veins popped up, before pouring himself a cup and speaking to you, “so, i think we’re missing a file. will you come with me to the records room to help find it?”

he calls your name again when you’re so obviously still staring at his hand holding the mug and not attending to him. you snap up and stare at his face blankly, he stares back with that smug ass smirk still and you realize he’s holding his hand out for you to take.

he has to be fucking with you right? it can’t just be a coincidence at this point. spencer literally rambles on and on about the actual probability of coincidence, and if it happens enough times, it’s intentional.

so you take his hand.

and now you’re reflecting on the last few hours, the maybe not so accidental touches to your thighs, the over exaggeration of his fingers pointing to lines in your files that you knew he didn’t need to check again, and now his outstretched hand leading you to a secluded room. you don’t have time to finish your conclusion when the door to the records room closes behind you both and spencer pushes you against it to cage you in with his arms.

“hi.” he’s so close to you oh my god.

“h- hi.”

spencer starts trailing his hand up the side of your hip, “you seem really distracted today.”

“oh…i didn’t realize, sorry.” you murmur, trying not to get distracted as his hand ends its journey on the side of your neck, curling his fingers around the back and angling your face up with his thumb.

“i’m not sure how you expect to get anything done if you keep staring at my hands all day, sweetheart.”

fuck.

your eyes widen, “i wasn’t, no it wasn’t like that, i..” but your protests fall on lost lips as he thumbs over your lower lip.

“if you wanted my fingers that bad, all you had to do was ask.”

your heartbeat fastens as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, slow but exploratory. he feels you relax a little and pushes his tongue through and attacks you more earnestly. your hands have rested on his shoulders while his have both moved to your hips, pinning you to the door.

one hand moves to play with the button of your dress pants, rubbing his thumb over the button and slightly dipping the tips of his fingers into your waist, “is this okay?”, you nod, “if you want me to stop, at any point, just tell me.” you nod again, pulling his head back down to kiss him, already missing the drunk feeling he gives you. he deftly undoes the button and pulls down the zipper, pushing your pants down around your thighs but leaving your panties on.

you thank whoever’s watching over you that you chose lavender lacy panties today, and it seems spencer’s especially thankful as well when he lets out a groan, “i think you’re trying to kill me.”

“i think it’s going both ways right now.” you pant.

spencer dips his index finger just below the waistband of your panties and pulls it back, “oh honey,” snap. “just you wait.” you let out a soft whimper while he chuckles to himself.

he runs his hand down the lace trimming of your panties, reaching the crevice of your inner thigh and your core. ghosting his fingers over where you really need him, he watches your face intently for how you react. your eyebrows are furrowed, and your breathing is heavy, but not enough to let out a moan. and spencer is nothing if not an overachiever.

he presses his middle finger flat against your core, staring as the increased pressure causes your mouth to fall open. he’s getting closer, but it’s not enough.

moving his fingers back to the crevice, he hooks two fingers and slides your panties to the side, wasting no time in collecting your arousal and spreading it all over you. he faintly hears his name fall from your swollen lips, and he knows he’s close to his goal.

giving your clit the last bit of attention, he dives his middle finger down and enters your hole, and you lose it.

the sharp gasp you let out immediately turns into a pornographic moan as he begins moving in and out of you.

“there’s my girl, knew i could get those pretty sounds out of you.” he breathes in your ear.

his praise goes straight down, making you clench around his slender finger, something that spencer made note of, “you like it when i tell you things like that huh?” he adds his ring finger to the mix, “wanna hear how good you’re doing for me?”

“spencer, please…i’m so close” you whimper.

“i know baby, you’re taking my fingers so well, can’t imagine how you’d look full of my cock.”

“fuck, oh my god…” you whine

he’s got you teetering on the edge of your orgasm as you let out another loud moan, the feeling of his fingers sliding in you so fucking easily is enough to make you delirious. spencer feels you clench around him again and knows you’re so close, and rubs his thumb on your clit.

“come for me, pretty girl, show me what my fingers do to you.”

it was enough to send you crashing into your peak, grabbing on to his forearms as you roll your head back, spilling out a mix of expletives, his name, and moans as he fucks you through your high. you slowly come back down to reality, panting heavily as you meet his honeyed eyes again. he slows his movements and gently pulls out, opening his mouth to suck the arousal off his fingers.

“jesus fuck, spence.” you whimper.

he laughs as he helps you pull your pants back up and resituates you with a pat on your ass, “come on, let’s go pack up our stuff.”

“what why? we still have to finish the report.” you lamely point out.

spencer leans down to plant a longing kiss on your lips again, “i think the file i’m looking for is at home,” he smooths your hair down, “go tell hotch we’re gonna finish it at my place.”

you can’t help but smirk, “why won’t you come tell him yourself?” your eyes panning down to his bulging crotch.

“don’t be a little shit, you know why. now go tell him, or i’m not gonna be as nice as i was now when we get there.”

[moonstruckme]

I love your roomate!james. I was wondering if you could do one where shy!reader is sick and she doesn’t tell james bc she’s used to taking care of herself but he’s adamant about taking care of her. 🥺🖤

Thank you lovely!

cw: implied nausea and vomiting

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.6k words

James worries he’s scared you off. 

He thought you’d been having a good time the other night, hanging out with his friends and then teasing each other while he battled you for cleanup duties after. He’d certainly had a good time. Watching you smile more readily as you got comfortable, feeling your soft form tucked up against his on the couch, it had made his whole body feel light and fizzy, but now James wonders if the easy, familiar energy of the night had made him too bold. There had been a moment, just before you’d gone to bed, where you’d seemed to stumble, defaulting back to the awkward, self-conscious way of speaking you’d had before you got to know each other. 

James might not have thought anything of it—you still get shy sometimes, he can never figure out what causes it—except you’ve been very obviously avoiding him ever since. That next day, you went to work and then disappeared into your room straight after you got home. He told himself he was being paranoid. But yesterday, you seemingly had the day off, and every time you needed to emerge from your room James heard you dash down the stairs and back up as if your bedroom was the only safe zone in the apartment. 

He hears you doing it again now, the soft click of your door unlatching before quiet footsteps start down the stairs. If Sirius were here, they’d probably make a game out of timing you, but James estimates it’s less than a minute before you start back up again. He wishes he could tell you not to hurry yourself; he has no intent of cornering you in your own home, even if he does want to patch things up. 

Then something falls on the stairs with a loud thud, followed by a sharp gasp just outside James’ room, and all thoughts of giving you your space are quickly abandoned. It was a valiant effort. 

“Shit,” he says as soon as he opens the door. He crouches beside you, taking your elbow in his hand, cushioning it from the cruel edge of the step, “Did you hurt yourself?” 

You must have had a mean fall. You’re completely crumpled on the stairs, one of your legs curled under you and one outstretched behind you as though it’s slipped back. Both of your elbows are braced underneath your body, keeping your face from smacking into the corner of the stair. James is willing to bet that big sound he’d heard was your knee hitting the step below you as you tripped. 

“Fuck,” you whine, pulling an entire loaf of bread from beneath your other elbow. The middle has been completely crushed, smashed between your forearm and the edge of a step. You look genuinely distraught about it. 

“Did you hurt your knee?” James frets, fighting the urge to haul you up off the stairs so he can look you over properly. He does take your other elbow in hand, using a firm grip to encourage rather than haul. You get more or less upright. 

“I’m okay.” You sound a bit odd, though he supposes you could be winded by the fall. “Thanks, sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for?” James can’t help it if a bit of teasing makes its way into his voice. This is something the two of you always do, you overapologizing and him making fun of you for it. “It seems like if anyone ought to be apologizing, it should be the stairs.” 

Your mouth tips up slightly. “Solid point,” you concede. 

The load in James’ chest lightens at your willingness to fall back into a casual repartee. He rubs the point of your elbow distractedly. “Wanna tell me why you’re taking an entire loaf of bread to your room?” he asks, grinning. “Do you have a secret stash of sandwich-making supplies in there?”

He feels goosebumps erupt on the side of your arm, and he does his best to soothe those, too. It must be too cold in here for you. “No,” you say quietly.

“Mm. I thought we were past this, angel. Come downstairs, I’ve still got leftover pasta in the fridge.”  

He starts to lead you down, but before he’s made it two steps you say, “No, thank you.” 

“Oh, come off it.” James shoots you another easy grin, hoping to loosen you up. “Don’t be a martyr. I’m all for carbs, but bread by itself will hardly sustain you.” 

“I don’t have much choice.” You shrug, and your shoulders stay up higher than they had been. You seem embarrassed. He waits, intrigued. “It’s sort of the only thing I can keep down at the moment.” 

It takes a blink for James to understand. “Are you not feeling well?” 

“Not very.” Your voice is softer than soft, swallowed up by the nerves James thought he’d earned an exemption from but nonetheless can’t hold against you in this state. 

He can see it, now. The way you’re holding yourself, like you could curl up on the floor at any given moment. Your complexion is flushed and your eyes slightly unfocused, glazed. 

He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” It comes out more caring than he’d ever meant for it to, but James is too worried about you to dwell much upon that. You bat his hand away weakly, but he just moves them both to your cheeks, feeling himself frown. “You’re burning up, love. Why didn’t you say?” 

“Not much to say.” You move away from his touch, backing towards your room. James pursues you, hand hovering near your elbow because you really do look like you could pass out. "It's a stomach bug. It'll pass."

“I could have been helping you if I knew. I just thought you were avoiding me,” he admits. You look so sorry he’s quick to smooth things over with a smile. “Do you need me to get you anything from the store?”

“I already went.” You slump onto your bed before seeming to realize he’s still behind you, your brows coming down. “I’ve got everything I need, but thanks.” 

“You went to the store like this?” James is aghast. “You should be resting! How high is your fever?” 

“Dunno.” You seem to give up uncharacteristically quickly on getting him to leave, sighing and sinking back against a propped-up pillow. “I don’t have a thermometer.” 

“You don’t?” He’s more frazzled by the second, every way in which you’re not being properly taken care of piling onto the last. It seems a miracle you’re still alive. 

You look suspicious. “Do you?” 

Shit. He grins sheepishly. “No...” 

But that doesn’t change the fact that you should, for some reason. People like James are allowed to coast through the world unprepared because responsible ones like you always have the things they need. 

He feels your face again. This time, you let him. Your breath fans warm over his wrist, those fever-glazed eyes drooping slightly. 

“Your hand is cold,” you say through a sigh. 

“I think you’re just hot,” James mutters, but that doesn’t stop him from stroking his thumb over your cheek, just once. Your lashes flutter closed, and his heart does an impressive flip in his chest. 

“Have you had paracetamol?” he asks you. 

You hum. James sweeps his thumb over your cheek again, hoping to rouse you, but it only seems to worsen your drowsiness. Your head actually lolls into his touch. 

“Is that a yes?” 

“Mhm, yeah,” you say without opening your eyes. “You need to stop doing that, m’gonna fall asleep.” 

“You should be sleeping,” he says softly. It’s impossible to keep the fondness from his voice. “I’m gonna get you a cold flannel, okay?” 

Your eyelids crack open. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” you say, voice nearly slurring with sleepiness. “I’ve always done fine, by myself.” 

“You never neglect to remind me.” James slips his hand from beneath your face, going to the bathroom between your bedrooms. “I don’t mind helping, though. You don’t always have to do everything on your own, what are roommates for?” 

You make a quiet, breathy sound he suspects might be a laugh. “None of my other roommates were ever as nice to me as you are. I think you’re taking things beyond the requirements of the job.” 

James thinks so, too. But still. Regardless of the complicated feelings he’s starting to have for you, you’ve always deserved to be treated with care. 

“You mean to tell me,” he says, wringing out the flannel and going back to your room, “that if you were this poorly, none of your previous roommates would have offered to help?” 

Your eyes are open more fully now. You watch him as he lays the flannel on your forehead, smoothing away a couple of baby hairs before they can get trapped underneath, with an odd expression on your face. 

“I handle my own problems,” you say softly. 

James’ thumb is still stroking the baby hairs at your temple. He can’t get it to stop. 

“Maybe your problems could be my problems, too,” he says. The lightness of his tone is automatic, but it serves as no representation of the great and weighty feeling in his chest. He realizes his breathing has synced to yours. Quiet inhales and exhales in your quiet apartment. 

Your eyes slip closed again. “Why?” you murmur. 

James doesn’t have an answer for that. Not one he’s ready to think about. The lines of your face smooth out as you relax. More evidence of frowns than smiles, but he likes to think he’s made progress on the little creases fanning out from the corners of your eyes since he’s moved in. He feels a pang of triumph any time they make an appearance, little rays of sunshine on a wholly lovely face. 

Because he’s your roommate. Because whether you’re ready to admit it or not, he’s your friend. Because he cares about you. 

In the end, James doesn’t have to come up with an answer. You’re already asleep. 

[peppermint-toads]

you don’t like doctor’s offices. especially not now. you don’t like the hypnotic hum of the fluorescent lights, the cabinets that’ve been there since the late 80’s, the pamphlets sitting in an acrylic holder telling you that you have options.

options. not anymore. because you’re sitting on the examination table about 16 weeks pregnant, waiting for the doctor.

“the baby looks healthy,” the doctor tells you, barging into the room without a knock. “i’m prescribing zofran for the nausea. the nurse will see you out.”

thank fucking god. you wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of this place. the best part about these visits was the walk home. they are usually quite pleasant. being pregnant in the summertime has its downfalls, but feeling the breeze in your hair and through your thin dress is your saving grace.

it’s just another bonus that you pass your favorite ice cream shop on the way home. you think you’ll have an affogato today, decaf, of course.

it smells like heaven in the shop, that cool, sweet smell from the coolers. your favorite. this is your saving grace, this affogato will solidify the day as a good one, despite the lingering feeling of doctor on you.

ice cream in hand, it’s finally time to go home. the walk is clearing your head already. you eat a spoonful of vanilla and sigh. maybe you ought to stop by the pharmacy for those meds. on second thought, that can be tomorrow’s task. you’ll be alright.

actually, maybe not. because you see simon riley’s stupid, bulking form walking towards you about a block away. fuck. shit fuck. you should hide. duck into the closest shop before he can come after you. but it’s no hope, you’re looking up and you’ve already made direct eye contact. nausea meds sound so good right now.

may as well keep going forward. it’s not like he’ll notice, anyway. you’re barely showing, but your white dress isn’t doing you any favors right now.

you’ll give a polite smile, duck your head, and all will be well. no stopping, no small talk, no—

simon is physically cornering you to a complete halt in the middle of the sidewalk, and there is nothing you can do about it. maybe if you curl your back in a little bit, the bump won’t be as noticeable.

“what are you doing? stop that.”

he is so gracefully referring to your posture.

“i don’t have time for this simon. i’ve got things to do.”

you walk sideways around him, and he follows.

“where are you coming from?”

you can’t help it. “you lost the right to ask that question when you fell off the face of the planet.”

you hear him grunt behind you and smile. great, no snide comments yet.

“you look different.”

shit. he’s jogging, catching up to you and walking by your side now. the breeze is picking up and you shift uncomfortably. the fabric of your dress is clinging to your stomach.

simon looks down, his intent is to see what you’re eating, but he catches a glimpse of your swollen stomach and freezes. he’s nearly swallowed by all the foot traffic.

“simon?” you feel the loss of him by your side. he’s stood still, strangers bumping into him and jostling his shoulders.

great. now you’re backtracking, when really all you want is to be at home, in bed.

“simon, what’s your problem?”

“you’re pregnant.”

time stops for him. he’s the father, no way he couldn’t be. unless you were cheating on him, which he highly doubts considering your heart is the purest thing he’s ever encountered during his time on this earth.

you let out a long, long sigh. “yeah.”

then you’re swaying, trying to keep upright and simultaneously swallowing down vomit. simon watches as the life drains from your face a bit. his hands are gripping your shoulders to stabilize you. his touch feels nice, warm.

“i need to get home,” you tell him with a sad smile, pained to be leaving his soft touch behind yet again.

“i’ll walk you.”

you nod. you don’t have the heart to ask him to take his hand off your waist, feels too good. and he’s keeping the world right side up.

it’s only a short distance home, and soon he’s ushering you up the stairs to your flat. you don’t stop him from doing that, either.

you also don’t stop him from pulling your favorite blanket over you after helping you lie down on the couch.

you don’t even get the chance to tell him to leave because you’re just so tired, and his presence makes you feel so safe. you’re falling asleep and quickly. he lets you.

he sits and watches you sleep for the better part of an hour. when you stir, he’s there, staring.

he’s in your lounge chair, chin resting on his folded knuckles.

“i’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

you’re barely awake and what’s he saying? “huh?” you say stupidly, wiping your eyes of sleep.

“i said,” he swallows, “i’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

you’re sitting straight up now, definitely more awake now. “i couldn’t have told you. even if i wanted to. you disappeared, simon.

he did. but he doesn’t have the time to explain that now. so, he ignores you.

“how far along are you?”

you tell him. he stands from the chair, sitting down right next to you. he asks if he can feel your stomach. you guess so.

things are getting a little too serious for you now.

“right, well. i had a lovely nap, and i’m feeling much better. thank you for walking me home, but i need to stop by the pharmacy and—”

he interrupts you, tugging your wrist when you try to stand. “i’ll go for you. i’ll do it, please. i’ll do anything you ask me to.

you frown down at him. “simon, there’s no point to this. please just go. it’s just… too late.”

simon’s heart is breaking. he didn’t think it could break anymore than it already has in the last few months.

“let me stay.”

he begs. you think there are tears in his eyes, and if you let them fall you know there’ll be no going back. so you sit with him, you let him kiss you with his hand on your stomach. you let him lay you down on the beat up couch he was always pestering you to replace. you let him pull your dress over your head and kiss his way down your stomach. you let him sink into you slowly and pull your calves up to rest on his shoulders. you let him cum inside of you, again.

you even let him go to the pharmacy for you.

[realcube]

HQ MEN AS YOUR BOSS ...with chemistry pt2

characters ♡ kuroo, atsumu, sakusa & ushijima

tws/tags ♡ vaginal, semi-public sex // recording, slight daddy kink // oral (receiving) // size kink — minors dni!

part one ♡ sfw version

♡ KUROO

as a chief sports promotor, of course kuroo needs a secretary, but the jva says he'll need to pay for one out of his own wage. he's apprehensive about the idea at first but figures that with the time he'll save by having one, the profit would be greater than the loss. and once he meets you, he's automatically sold.

although he may have have been wrong about the whole 'profit greater than loss' thing, he's definitely losing a bit of money by having you as a secretary. not of your performance or anything — no, you're an incredibly effective worker and are increasing engagement by tenfolds — but rather, due to the fact he's dropped thousands on gifts for you.

kuroo isn't subtle about wanting you, so instead of overtly flirting with you like a lout, waiting by your desk almost everyday is a gift with a cheeky note. without fail, it is always pricey and extravagant too: diamond necklaces, luxury perfumes, designer bags and jewellery made from real gold and silver (he knows which metal you prefer, but he buys you both because you can have it all). it's a classy way of showing he cares.

one day, a random tuesday a month after you and your ex broke up, your primal desires took over, and — after two years of knowing each other — you finally decided to submit to kuroo's advances. you could do a lot worse, anyway.

and you realise that as he has you bent over his desk, in his office contructed of mainly windows. at least you had a nice view of the city skyline while he hit it from behind. with his hands starting at your waist, then exploring under blouse, he leans forward to sensually kiss from your shoulders to your neck. slowly and gentle, in stark constrast to how roughly he was nailing into you.

he keeps going until he reaches just behind your ear, then he chuckles against your flush skin, "wearing the perfume i bought, angel? smells good on you." his finger circles your clit teasingly, "i like it. gotta let everyone know whose bitch you are."

♡ ATSUMU

he doesn't give a shit about his garden, it just happened to come with the big house he bought. there could be a family of rabies-infested racoons living back there for all he cares. atsumu just saw your personal adverisement for your gardening services online and thought you were hot. thus, he made up some lie about wanting trees planted and flowers grown to get you to come over.

but once you actually arrived at his home, you were far too focussed on taming the inhospitable environment he calls a garden to even notice the passes he was making at you. eventually he just gave up and left you to your work, but not without discreetly taking photos of you from the windows in his kitchen to send to the msby jackals groupchat with the 👀 eyes emoji.

he was expecting jealousy to befall the team but instead, the jackals take notice of how intently you are working on the garden, and atsumu receives and influx of messages mocking him for showing off a girl that clearly has no interest in him and offering their houses as a solace for you. however, he promptly replies stating that even though you may seem preoccupied right now, by the end of the day, he guarantees he will have slept with you, and if he doesn't, he owes each one of them ten thousand yen.

and unfortunately for the jackals, atsumu wins that bet.

"just like that, yeah." he grunts, holding your legs against his shoulders, "cum for daddy. c'mon." his breathing is heavy while his bare chest, glistening with a sheen of sweat, heaves. he has you laying on his coffee table while he fucks into you, big cock leaving you a wet, incoherent mess. your greedy cunt clamps down on him and he can tell by your quivering legs and heightening moans that you are close to your climax.

"thats righ— wait.." his breath hitches, steady pace faltering for only a moment as he grabs his phone off the couch and swipes, onto the camera. slowly regaining power and momentum in his thusts while holding the camera above your exposed figure. he grins and slurs, "gotta record this t' send to the team n' prove i wrecked this gorgeous body. go on. keep moaning for daddy."

♡ SAKUSA

there's no better feeling than coming home to a pristine house, that's what sakusa thought. however, being pro volleyball and always training and going to promotional events hasn't left him with much time to get the cleaning done himself. he wasn't fond of the idea of someone being in his house alone when he wasn't there, but he was even less fond of coming home after a long day of training, muscles aching, and still having to vacuum.

he researched dozens of cleaning companies, until he found one that he deemed reputable enough hire from. he arrages the trial for a day he is off so he can assess the quality and trust-worthiness of the cleaner he is sent.

so perhaps it was the halo effect, but as soon as he saw you walk through his door, he knew he wouldn't have a problem with leaving you alone in his house. in fact, the idea tickled him slightly.

having a cleaner wasn't cheap, especially considering how big his house is. despite that, after he met you, he increased the frequency of cleaning visits to five days a week, making you essentially his personal staff. and it goes on like this for around five months, racking up quite hefty total.

every single penny is worth it though, in his opinion. to come home to shining floors, spotless counters and to experience the habitual fleeting moment of tension between the two of you, before you left. that all changed though when he got his first day off in months, and he was able to hang around the house while you did your usual duties.

you were sprawled out over his linen couch, one leg hooked over the armrest and the other resting on his shoulder. lips moves vigorously against your folds, while his tongues delves in and out of your dripping hole. the sizzling coil that's been winding in the base of your stomach suddenly gone stiff, ready to snap at any moment.

his merciless fingers pinch and pull at your clit, as his tongue continues to plough in and out of you, rhythm only ever wavering to lap up the juices covering your folds. that is, until the coil breaks and you come undone right against his face. your walls convulse around him and a breathy moan is pulled from you. hot liquid surges out of your pussy in squirts with each thrust of sakusa's tongue, as he fucks you through your high.

once you settle down, he finally pulls away for air. with your fluid dripping down his chin, drenching his shirt and the wooden floor beneath. slowly standing up, sakusa looks at the floor with a grimace, "clean this up."

♡ USHIJIMA

whether ushijima can cook or not is down to personal preference, but he is independant enough to know how to cook meals that are vital to a hearty and healthy diet, such as boiled eggs, oats, beef stew etc. yes his dishes may be lacking in any flavour or delectability but it's nutritious and that's what matters.

but once he is a pro volleyball player and travelling constantly, he doesn't have the time to meal prep for himself anymore and his paycheck grants him some disposable income, so what's the harm in hiring a chef?

however, once you enter his life as his personal cook, you become a luxury he can no longer live without. until now, ushijima wasn't aware eating was supposed to be enjoyable, he always viewed it as something he just at to do in order to get all his essential vitamins and minerals. who knew food could taste this good?

it was an extra benefit that you looked so good while making it, too. neither of you would ever admit it but there was always a heavy atmosphere of sexuality when you were around each other. ushijima was undoubtably stoic so his tells were subtle, but you took notice of the lingering eye-contact; how his hand would always brush past your ass when he'd walk by you in the kitchen; the way he'd stand so close to you in coversation.

it was only a matter of time before the boiling tension between you two erupted.

you sat on the kitchen counter with your legs wrapped around his torso as his big cock drilled into you. your arms were over his shoulders, nails digging into his back with your eyes sewn shut. he's a mammoth; the biggest you've ever taken. every time he pushed into you, it was as though you were going to split in half.

he could tell you were struggling, so he slipped a hand under your ass and pulled you towards him in order to whisper in your year, but during the process he ended up forcing his dick even deeper inside you, resulting in a mewl from you. he leaned down and grunted, "take it."

something about your trembling form, so delicate and supple, hardly able to fit him inside you, it drove him mad. so eager finish himself off, he picks up you up by the ass so you are hovering a couple inches off the counter, and takes full control of your movement. pressing you against his dick per his whim and matching your movements to his brutal pace.

your only response to this is a chorus of profanities, and piercing the flesh of his back with your nails. he's delighted, though, at how your pleading pussy swallows him so nicely, despite its initial protests.