#he is literally losing his mind god bless | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeonzzzn · 8 months ago

Note

hii I have an idea in mind ><

hee as your ex watching you ride his best friend jake

but instead of hee freaking out and being jealous, he will join them and ask y/n to show jake how good she can ride him

tysm !!

anon, I literally cannot thank you enough for blessing my askbox with this rq. I was drooling the entire time writing this.

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a good ride: heeseung / jaeyun

pairing: hee x afab!reader x jake word count: 2.4k

The last thing Heeseung expected to see when he returned back to the apartment was seeing you—his ex-girlfriend—riding Jake’s—his best friend—cock.

Heeseung wasn’t even surprised in the slightest. He’s known Jake had the hots for you. He’s seen the way Jake would look at you when you were over like you were a piece of meat he wanted to get his mouth on badly. Has seen how Jake would check you out thinking nobody else had noticed it.

Heeseung wasn’t even mad. Not at all. You and him have been broken up for a good three months now and Heeseung has accepted the end of the relationship. He figured Jake would snake his way to you somehow, wanting to have a taste of that sweet pussy of yours and even do it behind his back. Heeseung just didn’t think he’d catch you both in the act.

Does he still love and care for you? Absolutely. Does he miss you? Of course. Does he wish nothing but the best for you even if that’s riding the fuck out of his best friend's dick? Also a yes. Would he do anything to fuck you again? Also a major yes.

Which is why Heeseung kept quiet, watching carefully as you bounced on Jake’s cock, your head flung back as loud moans escaped your lips. Knuckles turning white from the grip you had on Jake’s shoulders.

Jake was also completely fucked out. His eyes closed tightly with furrowed brows, panting and moaning like a bitch in heat with his hands attached to your waist. Your name spills from his lips following up with “Yeah, that’s it, baby,” and “Yessss, just like that, fuck.”

Heeseung found this situation way too hot. Because like, is that how you looked when you rode him? Heeseung has only ever seen how you look when he was beneath you, never from the side like the angle of view he has right now. And boy was it a sight to see.

Heeseung tried to keep quiet as he palmed his growing hard-clothed cock, steadying himself against the wall. He wanted to touch you, wanted Jake to watch him touch you. Show him how to touch you properly and in all the right places. Wanted Jake to see how you lose yourself on his cock.

He pushed himself from the wall, his mind on autopilot as he now stood behind you, neither you nor Jake even realizing Heeseung was there. And neither of you didn’t until Heeseung’s hands cupped your breasts.

You jolted to a stop, and leaned yourself back against Heeseung’s chest, already knowing it was his hands that were touching you, and on pure instinct you fell back onto him, letting out a gasped moan.

It was Jake’s reaction to you no longer moving, seeing how his eyes widened out of fear that you realized what actually was happening, your body now tensed as you tried to push away from Heeseung.

Oh god, what did you get yourself into? He was going to kill Jake and then you for this. You could tell Jake had the same thoughts. How could he not? He was railing his best friend's ex-girlfriend. You were supposed to be off limits, something Jake couldn’t have because of the bro code. Jake couldn’t help himself when it came to you, mostly after how upset you were after the breakup, he didn’t leave you alone and when the moment came for him to finally get his cock deep inside you, he took it. But at the cost of his best friend standing behind you now.

“Why did you stop moving pretty?” Heeseung cooed into your ear, his fingers squeezing the plush of your breasts, “Go on, keep riding him.”

You looked at Jake in confusion but continued to slowly move on him. This was the last thing you expected.

Heeseung dipped his head to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses up the skin and to your jaw, “I’ve missed touching you baby,” he whispered, “And I love seeing the way you ride my best friend.”

Jake’s hands on your waist squeezed tighter, something about the way Heeseung is just…letting this continue did something. You were clenching around his dick tighter, and the angle you sat on his lap now made him fuck so much deeper as you leaned into Heeseung’s touch.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Jake chanted, “Fuck she feels so good.”

“Doesn’t she?” Heeseung snickered, tracing his tongue up the side of your face, “Cum on his cock, YN,” he kissed your brow before dropping one of your tits to connect that hand to your jaw and force you to look at him, “Make him cum too, then you’ll wrap yourself around me, understand?”

Your head spun at the thought of getting to feel Heeseung deep inside you again. Jake might be big, but Heeseung was big. You ached for that stretch his cock will give you.

You clenched around Jake tighter at the thought, bouncing faster on his dick.

“Jake,” Heeseung said, leaning his face closer to you, his hot breath touching your lips, “Rub her clit,”

Jake listened, releasing one hand from your waist and snaking it down to your clit, rubbing fast circles.

You jolted your body upward, a wet moan escaping your lips only to be halfway muffled by Heeseung’s lips connecting to yours. His tongue shoved down your throat.

Jake felt you clench around him, causing him to throw his head back onto the couch, “she’s fixing to cum,” he moaned, “fuck she’s about to cum.”

Heeseung pulled from your face, both your tongues still hung out your mouths, a string of salvia connecting your tongues together. Jake lost it at seeing that sight, seeing you so desperate to kiss his friend again, imagining you wanting to be that desperate over him instead.

Heeseung ran his hand down to your heat and on top of Jake’s hand, helping him rub your clit faster, “Cum for us baby,” Heeseung whispered, “Show him how you can make a mess.”

You leaned your head back onto Heeseung’s shoulder, keeping eye contact with Jake as he bucks his hips up into you, mouth gaped open and pants getting heavier. Jake loved how you stared at him, loved seeing how you bit your lip and whimpered as you came undone around his cock, keeping your eyes connected to him the entire time.

Heeseung released his hand from Jake’s, the biggest smirk on his lips as his hands fly back to your tits, squeezing them and kissing your neck again, “Such a good girl baby, taking Jake’s cock so good.”

“Fuck,” Jake moaned, his hands slipping to your hips and bucking faster, “M’cumming,” he pants more, dropping his head down, furrowing his brows, and squeezing his eyes shut, “Fuck I’m cumming.”

Jake unloaded into you, pressing your hips down onto him, making sure every drop of his cum was shot deep inside you.

“Good,” Heeseung cooed, “Make out with her while I undress myself.”

Jake was confused as to why this was all even happening, but who was he to say no? He just fucked you in front of Heeseung, might as well keep going.

Jake cups one hand to your neck and brings you to him, lips moving against yours, his aching cock getting hard again as you sit there and cock warm him. His hand at your hips slides to your thigh, squeezing the plush as you shove your tongue down his throat.

“Fuck that’s so hot,” Heeseung groans, slipping his jacket off his body and tossing it to the floor, seeing how yours and Jake’s cum dripped out your cunt and pooled on Jake’s thighs and legs, “You both came so much.”

Heeseung stripped himself of the rest of his clothes, sitting beside Jake, “Come here, baby.”

You release your lips from Jake and look over at your ex-boyfriend, your body shaking as you shift yourself from Jake’s lap to Heeseung, loving how Heeseung’s cock was already twitching, so red and angry as it waits for you to suck it into your pussy.

Heeseung places his hands on your hips softly, and tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, keeping his eyes locked with yours as you take his cock between your hands and lined himself up to your entrance, slowly sliding down onto him.

You gasp at the stretch, your hands flying to Heeseung’s shoulders as he fills you completely.

Heeseung furrowed his brows when his tip hits your cervix, fighting back the urge to close his eyes and release the loudest moan at feeling you wrapped around him, “Fuck, YN. Missed this cunt so fucking much.”

“Missed this cock too,” you whisper, giving yourself time to adjust to his length and size.

“Shit,” Jake hisses, taking his cock between his hands and pumping himself, your cum still covering his dick making it the perfect lube to help his hand slide up and down with ease.

“Okay baby,” Heeseung said, “Show Jake just how good you ride my cock, ya?”

You nodded, starting slow, letting your cunt shape itself perfectly to Heeseung’s size until you slid up and down his length with no problem then bounced on him.

Jake was losing his mind, stroking his cock at the same speed you rode Heeseung. Jake knew the sexual chemistry between you and Heeseung would never be on the same level as you and him. Heeseung knew your body inside and out. Has had years to figure out how to work your body with his hands, mouth, cock, and the entirety of his body. Jake only had the few times he’s gotten to make out with you after the breakup and then today. But was Jake jealous to see you riding Heeseung? No, not one bit. All it did was give Jake silent pointers on how to fuck you better next time.

Heeseung started moving his hips in sync with yours, his fingers digging into your hips, pants leaving his mouth and at a worse rate than what Jake was not even five minutes ago.

Heeseung might have your body figured out, but he was such a sucker for your pussy. No other cunt will ever feel like yours or replace yours. He was weak for your fuckhole and probably always will be.

“Fuck I’ve missed this pussy,” he groans, flinging his head back onto the couch, “Missed the way it feels wrapped around me, missed how fucking wet it gets, how it fits my cock so perfectly. Fuck. I’ve missed you. All of you.”

Heeseung was so in love with you still, and the fact he was balls deep inside you after months of being away from you drove him to the edge.

You were also still in love with him, losing yourself on his cock and bouncing faster and faster, wanting to feel him come undone beneath you.

“Jake,” Heeseung hissed, trying to steady his breath but it came out shakey anyways, “Touch her, rub her clit again. I can’t cum before her, wanna feel her cum first. Fuck.”

Jake stood quickly from the couch, pressing his chest to your back, cock twitching at the pressure of your skin against it. One hand wrapped around the front of your neck, pushing your head to his shoulder, while the other hand ran back to your clit, middle finger circling faster than he did earlier.

You moaned out, one hand leaving Heeseung’s shoulder and finding its place on Jake’s hand around your neck. He wasn’t choking you, but the pressure there was driving you crazy.

The feelings you have for both these men were driving you up a wall. And here you were, having the greatest threesome sex with them.

Your skin felt hot at their touches, breathing became uneven. You tilted your head up to Jake’s, taking his lips back to yours, kissing him so desperately as if you needed to steal the oxygen from him.

“Faster,” Heeseung groaned, feeling his climax reaching faster than he wanted it to, “Touch her faster.”

“Fuck,” Jake moaned against your lips, working his finger on your clit faster, your mouth parting and hand gripping his wrist harder, “Fuck look at you, coming so undone by us,” Jake kisses you harder, “You’re so fucking sexy. Being so good at taking our cocks and fingers.” Jake started rubbing his cock against your back, knowing he was close to his second orgasm.

You clenched around Heeseung’s cock, “I’m cumming,” you moaned into Jake’s mouth, “I’m cumming.”

“Yesssss,” Heeseung hisses, fucking into you faster until he felt your cum wrap around him and seep out your hole and onto his thighs, “Gonna fill this pretty cunt to the brim, gonna show you just how much I’ve missed you.”

Heeseung fucked into you harder, being nearly seconds away from spilling his seed. Jake was now moaning into your mouth, the friction of your body moving from Heeseung fucking you and him bucking his hips against your back had him shooting his hot cum up your back, curses falling out of Jake’s lips as he drops his head down to your shoulder, biting hard on the skin from the high of his second time cumming.

Your help from Jake’s bite sent Heeseung over, his cum painting your gummy walls white as if you were the canvas and he was the painter.

The perfect painting that belonged in a museum.

Heeseung slumped his body back onto the couch, the grip on your hips softening as his thumbs now do figure eights against the skin, “I love you,” he finally admits, “I still love you.”

Before you tell him you still love him, Heeseung pulls you closer to his body, with no inch left of space, and falls to his side on the couch, grabbing Jake’s arm to force him to lay behind you, filling up every inch of the couch.

“We’re dating again,” Heeseung growled, taking your chin between his fingers, “And you’re going to date Jake too.”

Jake widened his eyes, staring at his best friend as if this was even remotely okay, “We are sharing?”

Heeseung chuckles, giving a nod, “You already fucked her, I want to keep fucking her. We might as well share.”

Jake just smiles, his lips connecting back to your shoulder as his index finger traces up and down your side, “I’m fine with that.”

You felt dizzy as you were sandwiched between your boyfriends, feeling as if you were on cloud 9.

Heeseung shifted, his cock still inside you twitching, “Jake, ready to ruin her again?”

Your eyes widened, fixing to protest but feeling Jake’s fingers sliding into your mouth, shutting you up. His cock against your back hardened, “Fuck I want to keep ruining her.”

This was your life now, but you couldn’t complain. Not when they both bent you over in multiple different positions and gave you praises.

You could get used to this.

#yeonzzzn asks #— 🎠 anon #heeseung #sim jake #sim jaeyun #enhypen #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #sim jake smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #heeseung x reader #reader x heeseung #jake x reader #reader x jake #enhypen x reader #reader x enhypen #yeonzzzn writing

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nvuy · 5 months ago

Text

hands on — sunday

summary. sunday feels eyes on him from everywhere, yet he still seeks your gaze despite how much he loses himself in your eyes.

notes. wrowwww confit part 2 is here i DID post it on ao3 like 5 mins ago but i think ao3 died in my country for the 74th time this year soooorrrrr hello tumblr!!!!!!

i'd strongly suggest you read confiteor here (or on ao3) before reading this one, otherwise this entire fic just sounds like an acid trip.

warnings. mdni, 18+, gn reader but you have fem anatomy, long ass 12k post, mild degradation, little bit of horror themes if you squint?, alternative summary: sunday receives head and has an existential crisis, sunday literally loses his mind (in a sexy way), religious guilt, religious themes & symbolism, sunday needs therapy, you're a weirdo (in a sexy way), y'all get it on in a church.

The church had always been beautiful. A place of worship, fairness, mutual happiness. It’s partly the reason Sunday was always so enamoured with its pieces on the walls; Robin used to trace her hands over the paintings, and he was sure he could spot her fingerprints from when the paint was still drying.

Sunday had never felt so disgusted with himself.

The murals watched him, one thousand unblinking eyes following him as he walked down the aisle, with muted clicks from his shoes against the red carpet with gold trimming.

He was so angry.

He’d trudged home the night prior seething, and Robin had rested a hand on his shoulder and whispered to him until he gathered himself. He hated to present himself in such a way to her, and although she begged for him to shed a light on his problems, she was met with silence.

He was so angry at his traitorous hands when they wandered below the waistband of his pants. He’d been trying to sleep, tossing and turning for hours, desperate for some sort of distraction. He’d retrieved a glass of water, he’d stayed up to read, and nothing was helping. Nothing soothed the ache between his thighs; the thought in the back of his mind that you were in that same rut.

He felt awful feeling himself up again, this time alone, and he was so ashamed when he muffled his cries and came into his hand.

Vile.

There’s a statue in the church. One erected from only the most exquisite sculptors of the era, crafted meticulously over gruelling hours to perfect the shape of THEM. Xipe stands behind the pulpit, larger than anything in the church, and silent. THEIR arms remain still, outstretched and gestured towards the empty pews. THEIR eyes are not open, but there is a gentle smile carved onto a perfectly whimsical face.

It is a beautiful statue, sure, but Sunday would have preferred another God to watch over instead.

Perhaps it was for the best.

In the preparation of the morning service, Sunday was unusually quiet. Staff piled in silently, bidding their greetings, and even Robin—and, bless her gentle heart—was reticent, her lips pulled together into a thin line. The choir practised, and it was the only sounds he heard that morning.

The wine the church offered was of pure grapes. The chalice the sacramental wine rested in was golden with a thin stem and a wide base. A single golden spoon laid within the red.

It’s supposed to be blood. It feels dastardly eerie to offer a piece of THEM to those undeserving of such.

Instinctively, when his gaze met the statue’s, his gloved hand raised and clasped the golden charm at his chest tightly.

Sunday felt a tap on his shoulder.

“The congregation is prepared,” Robin said to him. She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “As per usual.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off of the statue. “Good.”

“And there are people coming in now,” she continued, nodding towards the door that led out to the lectern. “It’s almost eight.”

“Thank you.”

She stopped, eyeing him warily.

“There’s something bothering you,” she commented quietly. “You’ve been on edge since last night. Did something happen?”

Sunday finally turned to look her in the eye. His face remained expressionless, though his tone held a hint of warning. “I’m fine, Robin. Please. Don’t worry about me.”

“Brother–”

“Robin.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, though that smile he always pulled onto his lips when he was trying to deter her mind from him. His heart was pounding in his chest. “Please. Enough.”

Defeatedly, her shoulders sagged. She wanted to tell him, as she had so many times before—so many times—that she was there for him. She’s always been there for him.

Robin’s lips twitched into a soft, but crushed smile. “Okay.” She stared down at her shoes. They were slightly scuffed at the sides. “Okay, I… I’ll get the choir started.”

Sunday had turned back towards the statue with an approving, idle hum. His shoulders had stiffened as he watched THEM closely, fingers interlocked in front of his stomach. It was a nervous habit Robin recognised all too well.

His hand was bleeding around the golden charm now.

She said nothing.

ೃ༄

When Sunday sang prayers into the microphone with a bandaged hand beneath his gloves, he wondered if he was ever truly a good person. Was he… ever fit to see the Heavens once he passed? It was all down to the judgement of one final being; unbiased, unjudged, honest.

He always valued honesty.

“Grace be to thee, and to your kinship.” The sunlight was burning into the back of his halo. “And, weary sinners, hold your heads, as THEY will shine light down upon you, and forgive all of your transgressions.”

The chalice filled with wine sat idly on the table. There was an embroidered white table runner draped over the top to cover the chipped and old wood.

The pattern was eerily similar to the stockings you wore that night.

He dreamed of you.

How could he? To betray himself, The Family, his own flesh and blood. He felt repulsive, like swallowing strong liquor. His saliva was thick in his throat as he spoke, hands pulled tight around the edge of the pulpit, mere inches away from shedding the program that rested in the centre. The wood creaked beneath the pressure.

He remembered your voice as if you were truly whispering in your ear at that moment.

You’re haunting him. He hears your heels in the hallway at home; he can smell your perfume when he passes down the aisle every morning. The script in his hands has tears from how firm he’s been gripping the paper.

He had to remind himself he is good. He is good, and loved, and obedient, and his God is so benevolent and thoughtful to watch over someone as pathetically weak as he is. THEY will forgive him.

He knows, he told himself. He knows what he did all those nights ago.

Sunday felt unworthy to hold the golden chalice in his hands. The other staff had positioned themselves ready for the wine service. One had stopped to look strangely at the man. Sunday’s hands were trembling around the handles.

“Reverend Sunday?” one of the priests asked gently. “Are you alright?”

Briskly, he nodded his head once and pulled as much of a reassuring smile on his lips as he could. Then, he turned, careful not to spill the wine in the chalice and moved forward.

There was already a line forming down the aisle.

He is loved.

“Go…” He hoped his voice was steady. It should be, for he’s said these exact words everyday for almost a year now. “Eat your food with gladness.”

He is good.

The spoon shook in his hands as he offered it to one of the churchgoers.

The next person stepped up. The priest on the right grasped their chin gently with the red cloth. Sunday offered another spoonful of wine.

They were replaced with the next person.

He is loyal.

“…And drink your wine with a joyful heart.”

The next. And the next. And the next.

Routine. Stagnant, maddening, routine.

He glanced down to dip the spoon back into the wine again. The chalice was half full now, and the line was beginning to dwindle. He could see the end of it now.

He is faithful.

“…For THEY have already–”

His heart faltered when he looked up again.

The wine spilled from the spoon. He almost dropped the gold onto the floor.

The breath that escaped his lips was shaky.

It seemed that everyone in the church was transfixed with the smile you directed at the Head Reverend. Even the priests to his left and right had stopped.

The choir had paused. A quick glance to the right would reveal Robin with her lips slightly parted. The organ player had pressed the wrong key and had halted the singing.

When you shifted, he was reminded that you were not a perfect statue carved from the Gods hands. Not like the statue of Xipe that stood behind him. Your eyes flitted downwards, and he noticed your fists clenched at your sides. Discomfort pulled across your face like ink bleeding onto a canvas.

Perhaps it was the distasteful attire you’d chosen for the ceremony that had garnered the staring.

Maybe it was the unearthly beauty that sculpted your face, as if you were a being that had been picked from an inch of the Gods skin and blood, and brought to life on land, so full of love and saccharine bittersweetness.

He could taste it on his tongue.

Sunday quickly dipped the spoon back in the wine when one of the priests moved to hold the red cloth beneath your chin.

He swallowed. “–Have already approved of what you do.”

The spoon slipped between your parted lips.

The other priest wiped your mouth with the cloth. It was like velvet on your lips.

Hesitantly, out of time with the conductor, the church organ continued where the player had paused.

You pulled away from the cloth before the priest could remove his hand himself, and you offered one more warm smile—and sharp canines poked over your bottom lip—before you moved to let the next person replace you.

As you left, Sunday promptly ignored your hand that traced the leather of his belt beneath his coat.

His heart was racing beneath his chest, like a bird hitting its wings against the confines of its cage.

Heat clammered and sweltered up his neck. He ignored that, too.

ೃ༄

He can’t.

When Sunday stepped out of the confessional booth and locked the door with the key, he leaned against the door and shut his eyes tight.

He felt too big for his clothes. His skin doesn’t feel like it’s his. It’s hot. It’s just so hot and his skin felt as though it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. His breathing was shaky and uneven.

He cannot bear to look at the images and murals plastered over the walls. If they had a choice, the unstaring eyes would, too, look away in shame. The statue is still.

Sometimes, he was convinced it moved when no one was looking.

Maybe that’s just paranoia. It all is, isn’t it? He’s always been scared of little things. Things with eyes, like dolls, and portraits, and people, and Gods. Not THEM. Never THEM—deep down, he did fear THEM. But he knows he is loved. Otherwise, he would have been abandoned.

The murals are watching him.

The walls are warping the longer he stares. The halos behind the figures’ heads are fading. He feels his own doing the same. He is unworthy of it. It is more like a weight of lead, than a ring of light.

He’s still thinking of you.

It’s horrible. It’s wrong. His eyes sting, though he’s not sure if it is exhaustion, or if he will cry again. But he can’t cry. He had wept silently in his bed the night prior because he couldn’t sleep. And it’s hard to sleep when the house is silent, but there’s a distant clicking of your heels down the hallway outside of his room.

It does not stop, nor does it draw closer or further away. It is a rhythmic click click click, and it is suffocating. It’s even worse when he feels you breathe into his ear and urge his hand between his legs. He feels your hands trace over his shoulders to his chest from behind—and of course you’re behind, because if he were to turn around, he’d see something ugly.

He’d see nothing.

It’s all in his head.

But it feels real. How hot your breath is against his neck, how your lips follow the throbbing veins in his throat, how your fingers wrap around his wrist and guide his hand between his legs.

The feeling weighs on his chest like gold.

He draws close to pulling off his clothes when he is in bed. He fights his will, because it is you in his ear whispering that he is most beautiful in his rawest form. And he believes you, but the idea of ruining himself any further makes him feel sick.

And one night, with what he feels are your teeth buried in his throat, he sings that he loves you, and he grows cold.

He cannot sleep, and when he can sleep he dreams of you. And even as he lays wide awake in his bed, his hands wander, and he can feel your skin on his.

He can’t love you.

It’s not love. Love is warm, unfamiliar, and new, and he hears tales of how comfortable it is.

It’s wrong to feel this way.

He removed himself from the confessional. His legs felt weak when a hesitant breath left his lips.

“It’s like a weight… isn’t it?”

Sunday froze. He’d never felt so cold before. His spine snapped straight like it’s was crafted of metal, and something horrible hooked within his stomach, hard and aching, like he’d swallowed lead.

He heard you swallow.

He didn’t dare turn around, fingers trapped on the pages of printed hymns he was about to put away.

“It’s persistent.” He heard the telltale sign of your clothes moving. “You feel it, too.”

He was afraid of what he would see when he turned around.

He does. “I don’t know what you speak of.” He then turned, eyes glaring and face alight with anger. “If you know well, you will turn and leave. Don’t come back here.”

His shaky inhale gives himself away.

He isn’t sure if you’re real. For his sake, he hoped you weren’t.

Sunday held the key tight in his bandaged hand.

“You should feel guilty.”

His heart stopped. The teeth of the key were digging into the hole in his palm. The bandages strain against his flesh, and he bites his tongue before he can let out a bark of disdain at you.

Ungrateful.

He won’t voice it. He will say nothing. This is not his fault; it can’t be his fault.

And he still feels it is his fault. But this all happened because of you. And he’s been trapped inside his head for all these nights because of you. It’s all you.

“Should I?” he asked quietly. He watched your face twist. “Or should you?”

“Is it not your job to help people like me?” you tried. You felt blood rise up your neck and settle in your face. You weren’t sure whether it was because he was still the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, or if your frustration was climbing further and further towards your heart. “I thought you could help me.”

You had promised to fix him as well.

If anything, he felt even more broken than he had ever been.

Sunday breathed out shakily.

The bandages around his hand were beginning to dye a dark red like the wine he had fed you.

He swallowed hard. You saw his throat move.

“Fix this, Reverend. Fix me.”

His voice faltered when he whispered, “I cannot fix what is beyond repair. I cannot give you anything more than I already have.”

“Then take me.”

There was silence.

He felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Sunday glanced towards the door of the church and tried to control his breathing. “I can’t.” He shook his head slowly. He can’t bring himself to look into your eyes. “We can’t do this again. It will fix nothing. It will make everything worse.”

Your legs trembled. You felt your heart stop in your chest, and it hurt.

And you were so angry.

So, so angry. You wanted to spit in his face, or maybe you wanted to fall to your knees and kiss his shoes and beg for forgiveness.

Whatever you felt for this man, love, attachment, some sort of long winded delusion that he could be yours if you tried hard enough, surged inside of your head.

You wanted to touch him. You wanted to feel his skin on your hands, and you wanted to hear him again.

You swallowed your pride, and then you uttered, “please, sir.”

Sunday exhaled sharply through gritted teeth.

“Not only are your hands sullied with filth, but you are also disobedient.” He still cannot bring himself to look at you. He didn’t want to. He was afraid he’d succumb to your whims if he did. His hands were trembling, fingers weak and almost as if they would snap off from the knuckles. “I told you to never come back here.”

You almost looked offended.

“I don’t come here willingly–”

“I know what you are.”

Sunday’s fists clenched by his sides. The wings beneath his ears had stiffened, feathers bristling like cacti.

“I know what you do.”

You said nothing. If anything, your eyes were transfixed on the statue behind him.

“You find reverent men, and you ruin them.” He turned, then, but his eyes didn't meet yours. “Tell me: are you proud of yourself?”

“Never proud, sire,” you admitted. Then, you bowed your head. “Though I will say, I do hope you enjoyed yourself last night.”

He inhaled sharply, and the corners of his lips twitched upwards.

There, you dared to reach forward and trace your thumb along the bandages of his wounded hand.

And he let you.

He did not flinch away, nor did he tell you to leave again.

He simply stared down at your fingers as they smoothed along the expanse of the scratchy material along his palm. Your fingers slotted between his.

Sunday sighed, defeated.

Your hand was so warm. And despite the disgust and the swamp he felt bubbling in his guts, he felt as if he’d known you his entire life.

There was something so foreign in your skin, and yet he wanted nothing more than to melt into you like a burning flame upon a candlestick.

Sunday, at that moment, felt no shame in what he had done to himself that same night.

If anything, it pleased you, and that lit his skin on fire. A nice warmth buried itself in his stomach.

“How dare you come back here.” The whisper was without malice, though he wished it did hold some sort of bite. Instead, he sounded pathetic, and lost, and he felt only you could help him.

You don’t seem the slightest bit apologetic.

Instead, your lips stretch into a small smile.

“I blame you,” you said to him. Your lashes fluttered against his cheek. You didn't dare let your hand wander. Cautiously, you squeezed his fingers around yours, and silently prayed that he could let you indulge one last time.

He blamed himself, too.

His heart raced in his chest when your lips pressed to his. The poor muscle bashed helplessly against his ribs, like a small defenceless bird trying to free itself of its enclosure. Perhaps his heart knew better and attempted to leap from his throat.

You were gentle. So gentle he was convinced you were a different person; a different being to what he initially presumed you were. And it hurt. His chest hurt, like one thousand feathers weighed down upon his bones. Your lips were soft, and his own trembled against yours.

Sunday’s other hand was still curled by his side, shaking with the urge to touch the expanse of your skin, and to also remain glued to his thighs at the same time.

One of the wings beneath his ear tickled your jaw. The feathers trembled against your skin. You pressed deeper into hus mouth, so much so he almost startled back when your chest pressed against his.

Sunday could feel your heart clammer against his own, and he felt as though you couldn’t have been any closer to him.

A tick in time, a short moment of weakness, and one he’ll regret when he goes home and struggles to sleep again, but his hand abandons your grip. He tries his hardest to resist. He shouldn’t have ever let this happen again.

Your arms daringly swung around his neck, one hand holding his cheek gently to keep his lips on yours. You could feel his hesitation, but something wrong urged you forward; urged you to ruin him even further.

His hands rested on your hips. They did not move. They did not wander. They were frozen on your skin like ice.

You tasted of the wine he’d given you.

It was strange, sweet, and it made his face flush the same colour as the blood on his hand.

“Blessed Reverend,” you whispered against his lips. “How will you sleep tonight?”

Your nose brushed against his. His feathers rustled when your breath and the scent of wine curled around his cheek.

“I won’t,” he admitted. It’s quiet. You barely heard it. “I will toss and turn.”

You fluttered your lashes at his answer. He felt your lips stretch into a smile.

His heart frantically raced in his chest when your lips touched his again, and he stiffened when he stepped backwards with you and his back pressed against the pulpit.

The hand on his cheek traced down the throbbing veins of his neck, and he had half a mind to pull away from you. His own hands held firmer against your hips.

He was growing dizzy.

When he fluttered his eyes open, sick from the taste of wine on his lips, he saw one thousand eyes staring down at him.

On the walls, on the ceiling, from the stained glass windows. His heart hurt in his chest, the thudding so loud he could barely hear anything else as it echoed in his ears. The swarm of guilt, still, was not enough to tear him off of you.

The statue behind him, however, burned holes in the back of his head. He knew the sculpture was carved with its eyes shut, but he felt it he turned around, he’d notice the crack of a pupil beneath the stone eyelids.

Your hand was on his stomach now, thumb following the central curve of his belly down beneath his navel.

When your thumb hooked beneath his belt, his fingers wrapped around your wrist before you could dip any lower towards his thighs.

“Not here,” he pleaded softly against your lips.

He swallowed hard.

“Where do you suggest we go?” you asked. He almost didn’t hear you. There was implication in your voice.

He hated how warm he grew in his chest, but he knew it was wrong. So wrong, and it’s horrible.

“You will not clamber into my bed tonight,” he whispered to you. That he knew for sure.

You shook your head slowly. “I want you to take me here.”

His stomach churned. It was as if he’d swallowed unjust liquor in one giant gulp. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think as he did. His mouth tried to form words, some type of rejection, or some form of a nicely worded insult, but nothing came out.

Instead, he stupidly gaped at you.

His eyes flitted up to the statue of Xipe. THEIR eyes remained closed, all six of them, and the expressions held still.

Sometimes, he was convinced the statue was alive.

Perhaps that was just paranoia.

He found it fitting to pull you towards the hall and down a flight of steps. He held onto you tight by your arms, afraid you’d disappear, as he once again, grew uncomfortable in his own skin and clothes.

Fitting to be furthest away from the sunlight.

As his fingers fumbled with the keys to the cellar, your hands wandered around his waist. and your warm lips pressed to the back of his wings. The feathers twitched and flinched.

Sunday’s breathing grew heavy as the door unlocked and creaked open.

The cellar was… just that. A cellar. There were an abundance of barrels laid down beneath the benches on either side of the room. They were most likely full of wine for the services. There wasn’t much out on display.

Fittingly so, it was dark, and there were no windows.

Your shoes clicked against the tiled floor.

It’s dark. So dark you can barely see him, but he keeps a firm grasp on your wrist as you step into the room. It’s not too cold, surprisingly. It does not smell of mould or abandonment; perhaps they take good care of this place.

You almost knocked into a table in the centre of the room. The glass sitting on top clattered and shook as you startled back into him.

“It is safer here,” Sunday whispered in your ear. You knew he locked the door. His hands squeezed your shoulders.

“I believe you,” you told him.

Sunday hummed at your words, and his lips brushed against the side of your neck. His breathing remained unsteady.

You turned around to feel blindly for his waist. It was probably best that it was dark down here. It was appropriate for the both of you, and so far away from the sky, and the leering eyes of the murals painted onto the walls.

His body is warm against yours.

He finds it in himself, wherever he hides himself away, to kiss you then. Maybe because it’s dark. You can just make out the outline of him, and whatever light creeps through the bottom of the door is enough.

“I came for you, sire,” you said. “Use me as you wish.”

Sunday’s lips bumped against your neck. “You cannot whisper depravity into my ears.”

“You brought me down here for a reason,” you answered him. Your fingers slid down his throat and you thumbed over the top button of his shirt. “I say what I want.”

“You are filthy.” And he kissed you again. Fury flared in his stomach like fire.

You freed the first two buttons of his shirt, and while you were busied following the smooth skin of his neck, he pushed off your coat.

You managed to pull the white blazer off of his shoulders, and though he couldn’t see it, he heard the heavy fabric crumple to the floor by his feet. He internally cringed; the wrinkles he would have to iron out would be too telling.

You hummed pleasantly as you drew him back against your lips.

The wings around his waist were a nice surprise. You hadn’t expected them to be any larger than your arm with the way he tucked them beneath his coat, but although the feathers were flattened from the material, they stretched out wide in relief.

He knew the blackened feathers were ugly and uneven and clipped to the very edge, but you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, your fingers flitted over the base gently, a soft caress of your hand that made the feathers bristle.

Your lips were so soft. Despite wandering hands, you were so gentle. It made his stomach churn, but his heart stammered in his chest.

The feathers rustled. You heard them. They reminded you of a pigeon shaking out its wings.

The table was just next to your hip.

You moved away from his lips for just a moment.

And then, you reached forward blindly and swiped the glass off of the table. Jars and glasses and bottles of wine smashed onto the tiles, and Sunday’s grip tightens on your hips.

“What are you doing?!” He asked with horror strewn about his face, though you couldn’t directly see it. It was very well and obvious in his voice. “Why would you–”

You silenced him with your fingers pressed to the cupid’s bow of his lips. “Lay on the table, Reverend.”

“Are you–”

“Lay down.” You guided his hips softly, cautious of the poor and frantically beating heart in his chest, until the bones bumped into the edge of the wood.

Sunday’s breathing shook with disdain. The table pressed against his back, and he could feel your hands sliding up his chest to push him backwards. The exposed skin of his chest met the slight chill of the air. Your thumb moved along the line of buttons before it raised again to push at his jugular until he was forced back onto the table.

Sunday trembled for a moment.

It almost hurt how quickly the guilt in his stomach vanished when you crawled up on the table next to him. His vision, although useless in the lowlights of the cellar, fogged over with heat and the thick air that filled his lungs.

His skin prickled when your lips grazed his neck.

This is wrong. So wrong, and–

His fists clenched by his sides when your lips drag down his chest, following the buttons on his shirt. The plastic was cool, and it collided with your teeth as you travelled lower and lower.

All the while, anxiety stirred in his stomach like some roaring beast. This was wrong, to be beneath you like this, where he’s not taking what he wants, where he’s not in control. This is wrong, wrong, wrong–

Where his shirt pulled untucked from his pants exposed a lining of skin and his stomach, and he felt teeth set into his flesh. The skin below his navel stirred a bright red, and his veins were set ablaze.

He stiffened, and his hand instinctively came forward to pull his skin free from your teeth.

He felt his eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. So, so slowly.

Sunday inhaled, and his voice trembled, so he kept his lips shut.

You spoke, “don’t resist. Enjoy it.”

He felt the telltale tug of his belt, and the jingle of the buckle as it finally loosened. He sighed in relief from the feeling. Still, his hands curled even tighter by his sides. “How can I–”

Your fingers ventured beneath his unbuckled belt. You then firmly rubbed your thumb up and down and up down his side of his cock twitching in his pants and Sunday had half a mind to squirm on the table.

“Do I make you anxious?” He heard you giggle close to his ear, and your lips smoothed over the base of one of his wings.

He wanted to say you did, and you made him shake, and you made him dream about you, and you made him touch himself when he couldn’t sleep, and–

Nothing but a moan pulled from his lips when your hand finally freed his cock from his pants.

His chest heaved in disgust and pleasure and everything for that was your sullied and dirtied skin touching him. That was you, and those terrible shameful words that spilled from your tongue that made him shudder and caused his heart to quicken.

His face grew impossibly hotter than before.

You hooked your legs around his thigh, pressing your knee between his legs firm enough to still him. The dryness of your hand tugging the warmish pulled skin of his cock sent his mind into a haze.

The horrible rhythm of your hand against his was so good, and he wished he could just disappear right then and there.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was so relieved there were no eyes watching him here. He was so relieved the cellar only had one door locked now. He made sure of it.

If you commanded him to take, then he would ensure you wouldn’t leave this very room until you’d given him everything you had to offer.

Heat sweltered between his legs, surging like flames licking up his skin.

He wanted to speak. He wanted to order; he wanted to bend you over the table and take what was his.

His ankles weakened when your fingers slipped over the head of his cock. Just at the thought of ruining you, a drop of cum squeezed from his slit, and your thumb smeared it all over him as best it could.

His stomach heaved, basically convulsed, as you stroked him firmer and firmer until his limbs grew weak and burned from squirming and wriggling beneath you. He gave up barely minutes after you’d started, and now he only found it in himself to moan and moan over and over again beneath your hand like some dog.

Wrong.

He felt your lips trail down his neck.

Oh. His hand rested behind your head and he tilted his head so your lips could drag against his flesh. It was awful. So, so awful his jaw clenched and his fingers twisted into your hair.

Your teeth pulled at the taught skin below his jaw.

“Don’t leave marks,” he breathed. He swallowed, and you followed the shape of his jugular with a graze of your teeth.

This is awful,

His stomach churned. He feared he’d throw up with shame.

Sunday was panting now, nails digging into your scalp. His teeth gritted and grinded behind his lips. He can’t do this. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t–

Sunday managed to sit up shakily.

“Put–” Another moan escaped his lips, followed by a trail of laughter at how ridiculous this was. “Put your mouth on me.”

“Is that what the High Priest wishes?” Your lips followed along the soft skin above his collarbone. “He wants his dick sucked by a ‘whore’ on the streets? Will that satisfy you, Reverend?”

Anger flared in his chest. His hand moved from behind your scalp to grasp your chin firmly. “You will do well to remember you are here to please me.”

And you would.

A dreamy sigh escaped your lips as he gripped your face hard enough to almost hurt. His nails dug into your cheek. “Of course, Reverend. Thank you.”

He let go of you.

As obscene as it was, his hand twisted into your hair again and pushed your face towards his lap.

This was only slightly better. How he could pull and tug you where he wanted. He was here to take; isn’t that what you said?

Still, it was obscene. Grotesque. Disgusting and muddied and it’s so, so hot down here. For a moment, he feared Hell, for maybe the world below the soil had risen to take him and you into the earth.

It would be what you both deserved.

He felt your tongue first. Awful thing, your tongue. If he’d had it his way, it would have been torn from your mouth the second you stepped into his church this morning.

It didn’t feel as awful as he knew it was when the wet muscle dragged along the head of his cock. The tip of your tongue nestled upon his slit, and it was so hot, and he almost lost his mind trying to remove what was left of his clothes on his person.

He did not.

Though it was dark, and he could see the outline of you clearly, he refused to let him feel more of your skin on his.

Your lips pressed a dainty kiss to the tip of his cock before they then wrapped around the head.

Hot. That’s what it was. Sweltering, sweaty, sickening humidity crawling up his neck, like one thousand bugs twitching and writhing upon his skin.

His stomach stuttered, and he felt your palms rest on his hips as you positioned yourself more comfortably to the side of him. You draped your stomach over his soft thigh to splay your hands over his torso.

Sunday raised his fingers to bite down on the side of his hand to silence himself. There was no coming back from this. Exiting the confessional yesterday with filthy hands already destroyed him, and now something sour was pooling at the back of his throat at the idea of unlocking the cellar door and leaving.

He couldn’t imagine how dishevelled and improper he looked.

His wings fluttered when your mouth lowered further on him, and one of your hands abandoned his stuttering hips to thumb along the sensitive skin beneath his cock.

You were consistent, licking up and down with your tongue in wet passes. It drove him mad. He preferred it that way, floating out of his mind, as your warm tongue covered the skin of his cock in your saliva.

You tasted salt as his slit dripped pathetically, but you kept your lips zipped at teasing him any further. You could hear him above you, a panting mess, breathing all slow and heavy, of whatever he was an hour ago with a tight and twitch grip in your hair, so much so his nails had embedded themselves into your scalp.

His hips stuttered forward when you pushed your mouth further down his cock.

You drooled around the skin, slicking his thighs with spit and his own cum, as you willed your breathing through your nose. Surprisingly, instead of what any vile man would do and move his hips forward and fuck the back of your throat without a care in the world of your ability to breathe, Sunday waited.

He waited patiently. Perhaps he was searching for signs of discomfort, or maybe he was adjusting to the heat of your mouth and your tongue stretching past your lips to run along the swollen veins of his cock, but either way he waited.

He was more or less hesitating.

He felt so disgusting and hot, but your mouth was so warm and his breathing shook more and more and the air felt trapped inside of his lungs.

It’s so hot.

Your tongue dragged up a swollen vein alongside his cock again and Sunday hissed, holding your hair tight as a warning. Watch yourself. He was afraid of how difficult it was to allow your mouth to do its own thing; how desperately he wanted to feel the back of your throat.

You would let him. You had promised him you’d let him take and take and take until there was nothing left of you.

The hand in your hair served more as a gentle encouragement than a forcing manoeuvre. He was swollen. He could feel himself bursting at the seams.

Instead, he searched for a distraction. “Come–” His breathing stuttered. “Come here.”

You pulled off of his cock.

You hummed curiously.

One of his hands was following the gentle curve of your spine, dipping lower and lower towards the back of your thighs. Instinctively, you moved closer towards him.

But still, you managed, “you don’t have to touch me, sire.”

“I want to hear you,” he whispered.

His hand snaked around your front and steadily undid the button at your waistband. The zipper followed next before his gloved fingers disappeared beneath your underwear and delved between your thighs.

He wouldn’t take the gloves off. He couldn’t.

The feeling of the scratchy cotton against your clit sends you into overdrive.

You part your thighs to allow his fingers to tease up and down your slit as you trace the underside of his cock with your tongue.

His hips remained still.

You felt he wanted to. How he desperately wanted to grab your face through how his hips tremored and twitched around your mouth. How he wanted so badly to bury his cock in your throat and feel you choke and splutter around him.

You moaned around him, and Sunday hissed again, this time lower, and it almost served as a warning. Your pleasure, for this moment, would come after his.

Still, you grinded down on his fingers as he rubbed your clit in quick and light circles. Your breathing stuttered, and he dared to guide your head just an inch lower around his cock.

His thighs began twitching.

“Oh…” It’s breathy and light and warm, what spilled from his mouth. His fingers pushed back what strands of hair had fallen in your face. “You–” Words didn’t escape his lips properly, and all that tore from his throat was a dreary and miserable whine.

You keened over his fingers. The cotton was good, though now his palm was soaked.

You whined stupidly when his hand abandoned your clit, before your muffled disappointment was replaced by a pleased hum when he pushed a finger inside of you. The glove slid in with embarrassing ease, and Sunday flushed at the feeling.

You squeezed around his finger, drawing him in further.

Your lips were growing desperate around his cock, tongue flitting out again and again to taste the cum that streamed from his slit.

“I–” Oh, God. The room was spinning. “I can’t–” His stomach heaved when your tongue grazed along the swollen vein before you drew backwards and licked harshly along his dripping slit. “I can’t–”

He dragged his cock forward into your mouth again and again. Not enough to touch the back of your throat with the tip, but enough to knock the air from your lungs with every push.

You learned quickly that Sunday preferred your mouth and tongue remain relatively still and open for him.

He preferred to control how he fucked into your throat, holding onto the back of your head as gently as he could—you dutifully ignored how his nails stabbed into your scalp.

It was easier for him now to take what he wanted.

You’re so wet. He could hear it, even if he hadn’t even bothered to strip you of your pants. It’s obscene, and his cock hardened even more at the sound.

His rhythm remained the same. He’s quick, much unused to the wet heat soaking around his cock, and more so worried about how the head rubs along your tongue.

But you’re so obedient like this. So pliant and warm with his hand between your legs teasing that gaping and soaking hole. And it’s so warm and hot and yes, yes, yes, come on–

“This is–”

Your eyes fluttered open to acknowledge him.

His thighs twitched around your head.

He let out a shaky gasp.

His hand loosened around your skull. You drew back only just and mused a simple, “take what you need.”

He needed you.

He smelt wine from how you’d smashed the bottles onto the floor. Sacred, important wine that you’d tossed aside like you’d thrown his blazer to the floor and the golden medallion on his breast.

It filled his senses, blurred what little he could see, and he slid his cock on the curved line of your tongue again and again and again and again and again.

Two fingers, soaked in your slick, abandoned in teasing your hole to ghost over your clit again.

You’re so good. So good to him. So hot and heavy. So pretty. And you sound beautiful. Your muffled groans were like music. Like the music he’d listen to in the privacy of his home.

He felt bliss. Heavenly bliss.

His stomach lurched at the debauchery. How awful you were, how you made him feel alive in his own skin.

And nobody had ever made him feel this way. And he loved it. Every second, even if his flesh warped and his organs twisted in loathing. For himself, for you, and those pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

His hand carded over your hair with care.

His fingers teased at your clit in horrible horrible circles that made your hips twitch towards his hand. You were grinding over his palm now in steady back and forth lines.

So good.

He couldn’t even think. Nothing but stupid moans pushed past his lips, and he was almost deep enough to reach the back of your throat. So, so close now.

Your tongue was so hot it almost hurt. The noises, and the dripping of your saliva down to his thighs, made his hips squirm beneath your hands. Filthy. It’s all dirty here.

He felt after this he’d have to scrub himself until his skin withered and only bone was left.

You hummed. You pulled off of him again. When he mumbled a string of disappointed gibberish with his eyes squeezed shut in frustration, you whispered, “are you close, Reverend?”

Heat crept up his thighs and down from his stomach.

You thumbed the swollen veins and cooed at his slicking cock. “Are you?”

“Finish this,” he whispered harshly. “Finish me.” He tugged on your hair gently, guiding you down toward his cock once more.

Excitement bubbled in your stomach.

Your tongue flattened against the head of his cock. Your spit slid down his skin as you buried him deep in your mouth. Maybe you pushed too far, because you gagged around the skin close to the base.

Your nose just barely grazed the supple flesh of his lower belly. Your hand wrapped firmly around what skin you couldn’t reach.

He’s delicious. He was so heavy in your mouth and warm and his cum smeared thickly over your throat.

Sunday’s hips rocked forward as deep as he could possibly bury himself. You take him in and suck. The wet slurps of your tongue make his skin burn hotter. He feared he’d faint, or melt, soon. Like a candle. Like the votive candles upstairs in the–

His mind kept trapping himself of the main hall upstairs, and the thousands of eyes peering down at him.

Drool and cum dyed your lips with a shimmer. You were growing more and more desperate and there was a concerning and lonely ache between your legs somewhere deep inside of you. Your lips sucked a tighter seal around his cock while you kept your tongue flat for him to slide his cock over it.

Sunday’s fingers tightened in your hair.

“You–!” He tried to tell you you were awful. This was wrong. This was disgusting, and vile, and you were just a wretched streetwalker tempting him for a thrill.

He said nothing. He couldn’t.

He stiffened up again, and his thighs locked around your head.

And then, his cock jerked in your throat, and he came.

A long and broken sob echoed in your ears.

You held his hips still as he squirmed and wriggled beneath you, salt coating your throat in streams as his chest and stomach heaved with his heavy quickened breaths.

His head was swamped with a haze, like a thick foggy mist clouding over his senses.

His skin almost melted off of the muscle in his body. He felt like the countless votive candles still burning on the floor above, with the statue of Xipe, and the hundreds of eyes painted on the walls– again. His mind reeled back again.

Sweat dripped from his flesh like wax.

Sunday held a vice grip on your hair. His other hand between your legs had stilled for the moment, though he could feel you still grinding onto the soaked material of his glove.

“Good,” he mumbled. He was petting your hair. He swallowed hard to ignore the ache between his legs. “So good.” His words were slurred, and amidst the darkness, what he could see swirled into a muddied watercolour piece.

He was drawing in sharp inhales that whistled through his teeth while you cleaned him up. Your tongue traced the angry red flushes and patches along the sensitive skin, following every drop of cum that had fallen past your lips.

Sunday let go of your hair in favour of feeling his racing heart beneath his chest. It ached and thumped with need.

He was sensitive. He’d been wriggling the entire time, but now his hips couldn’t keep still, and he couldn’t stop himself from following your tongue with his cock.

His breathing stuttered loudly as he dragged the skin over your tongue. He wasn’t sure if he wanted you to open your mouth again, but at the same time, he was afraid he’d grow tremendously addicted, and you’d both remain there a lot longer than he would’ve wished.

So, he pulled away, as difficult as it was.

Guilt steamed in his stomach like a hot iron sliding over his belly and scorching his flesh.

He felt you swing over between his thighs as your mouth, sticky with cum and spit, abandoned his cock and trailed kisses up his torso.

Sunday’s free hand grabbed your chin when your lips bumped up against his jugular, pulling your mouth towards his.

He tasted himself on your tongue, but he avoided it as best he could. His hand between your legs pressed firmly against your clit, and your body twisted and grinded and squirmed on his gloved palm.

He almost felt bad.

Almost.

A string of bubbled gasps and whispers of worship escaped your lips, but they fell on his deaf ears. The smell of wine was stronger here with your heart pressed to his. His thumb teased your clit as best it could with how you moved against him, and his glove was soaked in your slick.

He was furious with himself, and yet he also found himself not caring as he did. Maybe it was you; maybe you were muddying his senses. Maybe he’d go home tonight and stab a blade through his chest and ruin the awful guilt-stricken beating muscle beneath his ribs.

For now, as you had wished him to, he’d indulge.

He’d take.

Your fingers tightened their grip when they flew to his shoulders. The linen of his loosened shirt crumpled and wrinkled beneath your hands. There was a strain behind his arms as you pulled harder on him, pleading beneath your breath.

“Was that enough for you, Reverend?” you whispered to him. Your lips were pressed against his. That same squelching sound between your legs, and Sunday could feel his cock hardening as it did the night prior.

He said nothing. The air was thick with the scent of his skin, and yours.

You felt the flutter of feathers brush along your cheek.

“I’m–”

Sunday swallowed when he felt your stomach jolt against him. “I know.”

“I want your devotion, Reverend,” you admitted. How debauched to whisper things like that against his lips. He knew you wrong, and yet his heart raced at the thought. At the idea of disobedience. “I need you.”

It was very well possible down here. No prying eyes, no other members of the church.

Just you, and him, in the mellow darkness, rocking against each other.

His fingers quickened and you almost cried.

He feared then, and now, that you did receive devotion.

Instead, to hide the burning shame in his stomach, which only grew between his legs, he rested his forehead against yours and sighed shakily. For a moment, there was the faint glow of his halo, and the distant sound of a bell toll. You just saw the outline of his hair.

Your fingers brushed past his wings blindly.

They passed through the ring of light behind his head. You felt nothing but warmth on the pads of your fingers.

“Go on,” he breathed. “Let go.”

And you did.

Your stomach pressed to his in a harsh arch and your nails raked upon and wrinkled the back of his dark shirt even further as you came.

Bliss and sugar clouded your head like fog.

His wings fluttered behind him in a panic when one of your hands hooked around the base of the clipped wing of the pair. You whispered his name like a prayer, and it hurt when he kissed you. It burned on his lips like flames, and he loved it.

Too much.

And yet not enough.

Sunday felt you weakly try to crawl on top of him, but he pushed on your shoulders gently until you rocked backwards. He held you up as best he could on shaky legs as you both rose from the table.

The wood was covered in sweat and condensation and heat, and Sunday couldn’t bring himself to tear his mouth off of you. Wine. Wine on your tongue like blood, and he couldn’t stop himself.

Heat burned in his chest, and his stomach, and it steamed to his head and rushed up his neck in bubbled waves.

He grabbed you by the collar of your crumpled shirt and pushed you against the table. He felt weak, his bones rattling beneath his skin and his blood boiling, and there was anger there, but also something else and it scared him.

Perhaps you picked up on it.

He heard you laugh, even as he forced your stomach further into the edge of the table.

“Blessed Reverend, did you fall in love?”

His blood ran cold.

He couldn’t possibly call it that. He knew it wasn’t true for you, either. The way you looked at him threatened more than love.

It can’t be love. He’s not allowed to love.

His heart frantically raced in his chest. His fingers trailed from the back of your collar to the small of your back, and he pushed and pushed until he had easily bent you over the expanse of the table.

He was panting. You could hear him somewhat close to your ear.

“No,” he answered, but he sounded unsure. “But you did, didn’t you?”

Another breathless laugh. You heard the jingle of his belt, and his gloved hands slid up the back of your thighs. He’d managed to wedge one of his legs between yours, but it didn’t nothing to quell your squirming.

His touch was soft. Too soft to the point it tickled your skin with feather-light strokes against your legs.

One of his hands wrapped around your front to feel blindly along your cheek. He grabbed your face tight, and he felt your heart thrum in your throat.

You felt him roughly tug off your pants and they fell to a pathetic heap on the floor. You kicked them away, and they fell into the pile close to his discard clothes.

“Spread your legs.”

You were panting, laughing, as he squeezed your spit covered chin in his gloved hand. The soft and soaked cotton was rough, pinching against your flesh. His breath was so hot down your neck.

You let out a droning whine.

He clicked his tongue, and the firm hand pushing you into the table pinched the back of your thigh. You cried out, and your leg twitched instinctively.

“I will not ask twice,” he whispered into your ear, lips hot on your skin.

Weak in the knees, and your stomach pressed hard and flat into the edge of the table, you shakily did as he said, hesitant with the warm hand that remained on the back of your thigh less he reel back and bruise it.

He did not.

He seemed pleased, though he did not voice it.

A gloved thumb exposed the sensitive skin between your legs, and you outwardly flinched forward on the table when his finger grazed over your sensitive hole.

Cold. It’s so cold, and he’s slowly drawing circles around your entrance.

You could feel yourself clenching, trying to entice him inside again.

His thumb pushed into your cunt, and you let out a hum. You almost squealed when the tip of his finger brushed against your walls.

“Is this not what you came here for?” Sunday asked. “To ruin yourself?”

“I’ve already ruined myself,” you said meekly. His thumb pushed deeper to his knuckle, and you mewled. “Thank you, Reverend.”

Ever the gracious Bronze Melodia, and despite your willingness to be pliant for him, he still asked for your wellbeing. To seek in your pleasure, because he knew no better.

“And have you found the relief you’ve sought?”

You didn’t want him to care, but there was a burning in your heart, because he did.

You let out a throaty hum. “Almost.”

You heard his teeth grind behind his lips, and his thumb abandoned your hole, smearing slick along your cunt. The soaked cotton caught on your clit and you moaned. “Filthy.”

He’s so angry. Heat flared in his chest.

You felt him burning, his thighs slick and trembling on the back of your legs.

Impatiently, you canted your hips back into him, and he gasped out of shock and a shameful delight when your slickened cunt dragged against his cock.

Your hips rocked against his again, skin sticking with sweat to his hip bones and he throbbed. His teeth gritted hard enough to almost crack his teeth.

His hand moved from your chin to press flat on your stomach.

It’s so hot. He could feel your skin radiating off of him. And it was overwhelming, like he’d been thrown into a sauna with no water for relief.

He wanted to fill you with cum.

It hurt to think. He shouldn’t think. All he should do is fuck you until there’s no other man out there for you but him.

And you can never have him.

So he can keep you here and watch you pine and chase after him, and he’ll deny you every time. And make you ache and suffer for what you’ve done to him.

But for now, the aching and twitching in his cock made his head spin every time he slid himself upon your slit. Back and forth and back and forth and–

It’s so hot.

He felt his mind twisting and melting beneath his skull.

Desperately, Sunday gripped the base of his cock and shakily guided the tip to your aching hole. His other hand abandoned the warmth of your stomach trapped against the table.

You mewled when he stretched your hole as wide as he could with splayed fingers. A dribble of slick escaped you, and he could feel you clenching already.

Your toes curled in your heels. One of your shoes comes off, and he feels the slide of the embroidered stockings against his leg.

Those same stockings with that pattern he saw in every single embroidered table runner in the church, and at home, and it made his skin crawl.

“You’ll let me enjoy myself, Reverend?” you whispered behind you.

Sunday pressed you further into the table and rocked his hips against yours. “You’ll lay here and take me.” His tip kissed the entrance of cunt. And then, with one hard exhale, he slowly canted his hips forward towards your thighs. “That’s what you wanted.”

You hummed and slackened against the table.

Hot. He’s so hot inside of you as his twitching, creaming cock splits your hole wider. The veins run along the stretchy walls and slip further inside of you.

He throbbed when you felt his hips press against your ass.

Sunday was already panting, holding your hips in a tight grip that loosened as he bottomed out. You felt him bend over you, his stomach jolting against your back as he tried to hold you still.

He was squirming, wriggling like a fish caught on a hook. You were so warm, and you dripped and squeezed around him, and he couldn’t possibly pull himself any closer to you. He wanted your skin to fuse with his in a tangled mess of grotesquery. He wanted you to assimilate and merge beneath his skin.

This cannot be love.

Possession flared inside of his stomach.

He was trembling. His cock twitched with need inside of you, and you let out a moan.

“I’m–” He shakily exhaled against the nape of your neck. His face was burning with shame.

You could feel it on your skin. “I’m right here.”

He pressed inside of you deeper. Deeper, deeper, deeper. He wanted to press all the way to your womb and leave a permanent imprint of his cock that left you with an empty ache for as long as you lived. “This is wrong.”

You hummed in acknowledgement. “But you love it.”

And he does.

Sunday slowly pulled his hips away from your ass. So slowly, and he felt one of his traitorous awful hands reach blindly for yours to hold it. You squeezed his hand in response. He held on tight.

Then, he slammed back into you.

He grew breathless almost immediately, and the air was knocked from your lungs. Your hips smashed into the edge of the table.

The ache was good.

You murmured praise, and his cock grew impossibly harder as he reeled his hips back and filled you again.

He’ll take good care of you here. He knows as much. Your skin is so, so hot, and his cock is so warm and snug inside of you, and he felt his mind growing muddy all over again.

Sunday rocked his hips quicker, his knee almost knocking against the table by your hips.

So good.

His bottom lip quivered. One of his hands dragged up from your hip and slid up beneath your ruined shirt. He pressed you down against the table as flat as he could.

So wrong.

He’s wrong. You’re wrong. You’re both sick, and ungodly, and corrupt. And you both belong to each other. He belongs to you. As depraved as you are, he feels he is worse. He wants to drag you to his bed and satisfy himself again and again, but he knows he can’t.

So he takes you here, again and again and again.

His cock buried itself impossibly deeper with every imprint he left inside of you. His tip kissed as far against your walls as it could, and his hips tremored with every grind of his hips against your ass.

He felt like a dog. Like some pathetic mutt mounting its mate.

But that’s what he felt he was in that moment: pathetic, weak, and some mindless man with his brain in his cock.

The bones of your hips were aching, snapping back and forth into the edge of the table, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care for the fire surging in your veins.

Your body felt numb, like you’d been burned one thousand times over, and then had ice poured over you.

It’s awful, and yet you felt so alive.

Your hand was shaking in his when you murmured, “let go. Let me touch myself, sir.”

His cock squeezed against a particular spot inside of you, and you couldn’t see straight.

Your ears were ringing a tune you couldn’t place your finger on, and your clit throbbed with every brush of his cock against your walls.

In response, he held that hand he held still against your back. He silently allowed you the reprieve of his touch when your fingers curled around his thumb, and he did not pull away.

The scratch of his shirt against what parts of your spine peaked through your pulled shirt.

You shivered, even more so when his lips delicately lingered beneath your ear, and his hot breath fanned over your cheek.

This is wrong. It’s wrong how good he feels.

It’s wrong how you clenched around him, sucking him in impossibly deeper to the curl of your warmth around his cock.

He fucked into you again.

His tip was burning with need, and his stomach twisted and turned at the thought of it. Wrong, and filthy, and–

You let out another plea. “Le’ me touch myself, Reverend.” To hammer the nail in the coffin, you then murmured, “oh God.”

It’s the need that made him crack. It’s the idea of just how tight you could be if you were to cum all over him. How he could watch that gorgeous spine unfurl in front of him, how a melody would spill from your lips only for him to hear.

The sounds are disgusting, but somehow so invigorating. Wet and loud and so grotesque.

Sunday breathed out, and he sounded excited.

“You sought relief in me, you wretch.” he breathed into the nape of your neck. Sweat dyed his lips with salt. “Do it, then.”

When he removed his hand from your wrist, he felt your knees buckle. He pushed your hips further upwards into the table, for if you both fell any closer to the floor, away from the sky, he was sure he’d never wake from this horrible dream ever again.

Your hand slipped down your front towards your swollen clit.

His cock fucked into you harder, chasing the feeling of your cunt squeezing around the sensitive flesh, struggling to pull tighter. So filling. It’s so good. It’s so good it’s shameful, and he understood in that moment why sinners confess to him in the booth, go home and use their wives, and then repeat this endless cycle of debauchery.

As guilty as he felt, he sank his teeth into the exposed skin of your shoulder where your shirt fell.

You’re so beautiful like this.

Moaning and begging for more of him and covered in sweat.

His halo was glowing.

He swallowed the saliva building in his mouth when he pulled his teeth away from your skin. “You’re disgusting.” It’s weak, it’s pathetic, it doesn’t even sound like he believes it.

Because you’re not. You’re like an angel, laid flat on the table, offering your very being to him.

All you were missing was a halo—distantly, he knows you’d never receive one.

You let out a squeak of laughter, breathless. Your hand stirs between your legs. You manage to crane your neck and make eye contact with him. His halo lit up his pretty, flushed face in a shimmer of gold. “Are you close?”

His feathers fluttered at the question. His face grew brighter.

Your cunt squeezed around him again, and he let out a gasp at the tightness. “Very.” He was embarrassingly close, and all you’d done was squish him tight inside of you.

Your cunt squelched around his skin, and Sunday whimpered.

You squelched against his cock as he drove in further, desperately chasing that heat the coiled tighter and tighter in his guts.

He was afraid he would grow addicted to this. He was already growing addicted. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he gripped your hips tighter.

Sweat stained his neck, and heat trapped beneath his ruined shirt. He’d have to burn his clothes. Plead for a new uniform entirely, and perhaps for salvation.

If anyone found out about this.

His stomach turned.

His cock slipped out of you and he grunted. Sunday fumbled with himself trying to slot back into your twitching hole. “Stop wriggling.”

Your cunt trembled as he stretched past your walls again. Your fingers tremored over your sensitive clit. “Haha. Of course, sir.” Breathless, slurred, beautiful.

He could listen to you moan in his ear all day.

His skin stuck to yours like glue, sweat and slick soaking his thighs as he pushed into your guts as deep as he could.

As dangerous as the thought was, he wanted to fill your womb with his cum. His cock throbbed and throbbed and as he drew closer and closer to the edge, he fucked you harder and harder.

He felt the heel of your shoe slide up against his thigh soaked in sweat. It was exciting how you treated him like a prince, and also like the dirt you stepped in with these expensive shoes.

Sunday shivered behind you, his hands trailing over the curve of your ass up to the base of your spine. Pretty, pretty skin. So soft and dainty, and so warm and supple beneath his fingers.

He didn’t deserve to feel like this.

He buried his lips into the nape of your neck again, gently brushing kisses along your sweaty skin. His tongue pushed past his lips, and he tasted salt and the lingering scent of your perfume.

Sunday slammed his hips against your skin again. And again– and he felt he was losing his mind. His hands gripped your hips so tight you were excited to see the bruises he left on you in the morning.

You were moaning and moaning against the table.

One of your hands had balled into a fist and viciously smashed against the table. “Harder, priest. Make me yours.”

“You are mine,” he reminded you coldly in your ear. Still, his hips made a resounding smack against your ass.

Sunday moaned when he felt your walls twitch around him, so tight he felt as though his blood circulation was being cut. It made his head swim. He pawed at your back desperately.

So close.

You purred praises again as his cock head kissed that sweet spot inside of you, and your fingers drew sloppily around your clit. “Just like that, Reverend.”

Sunday’s halo almost blinded you with how bright it was glowing.

He wanted to mumble that he loved you. He wasn’t sure if it was the true, or if he was stumbling over his tongue with these disgusting falsities and delusions.

Like the delusions that played in his head of waking up next to you, crawling between your legs and tonguing at your cunt, pleading for relief while his cock stirred in his pants.

“Let me fill you,” he pleaded quietly. “Please.” His tongue was watering, and he wiped drool off of his lips with his shoulder.

He heard you sigh dreamily, cut off suddenly with another harsh thrust of his cock inside of you.

He was twitching.

So fucking close.

Come on.

Shame. Shame poured from every pore in his skin like pus.

“Of course, sire. I’m yours.”

In your final confession, Sunday’s chest heaved. His gloved fingers gripped your hips enough to still them entirely, staining the unmarred skin with dark bruises and blood.

His cock twitched deep inside you, his mind twisted, and he came.

He filled your womb, just like he wanted to, and he moaned so pathetically against your neck you cried out for him. His breath fanned over your sweaty skin as he trembled above you, hips smacking weakly against your ass as he emptied himself.

“God.” It spilled from his lips.

Blasphemous. Awful. He’ll never see the light of day the same again,

He clawed at your hips, pressing you down into the table.

His heart lurched when you squeezed around his sensitive, aching cock still buried deep into your cunt, drooling around the skin as you came again.

He felt slick dribble past the rim of your hole, sticking to the soft supple skin of his thighs as he kept himself snug inside of you.

Warm.

He exhaled shakily.

The praise you had whispered had gotten to his head. Heat swelled in his face, and Sunday swallowed thickly.

After a moment, you sighed, just as wobbly as he was, and raised a hand to pull his chin down just enough for you to crane your neck to the side and kiss his cheek.

You could feel his heart bashing against your back as his chest rested on your spine. Truthfully, you could’ve stayed this way with his slowly softening cock deep inside of you.

He pulled out slowly, almost unwillingly, and he heard you hiss lowly. His cock slipped from your cunt, and his slit was still aching as the remaining cum bubbled and dribbled down the side.

Sunday did nothing.

He removed his hands from your hips and you finally pushed yourself up from the table. He heard the creaking of your bones and a sigh of relief as you stretched your skin.

His heart was still racing. He felt nauseous.

His gloves were sticky and tacky, but he still refused to touch your properly.

He heard you shift, sitting up on the table and gliding a gentle, but firm hand up and down the stretch of his spine. His wings fluttered at the attention.

His halo was still glowing, just enough for you to see that he was masking his guilt and staring far too long at the wall of the cellar. After what seemed like hours, he fumbled to pull his pants back on at the very least and attempted to straighten his rumpled shirt.

In that time, he’d heard the clicking of your heels as you’d fussed to dress yourself as best you could without moving from the table.

Devotion.

Your hand was now soothingly rubbing his shoulder.

His knees buckled.

As he slowly lowered himself to the floor, he turned to face you and slotted himself in between your legs. This was devotion, right? His gloved hands slid up your thighs as you watched him curiously. His knees hit the floor first, and his lips trembled when he leaned forward, pried your thighs further apart, and kissed your clothed cunt until your hips twitched and you giggled.

You playfully shoved his head away with a push to his forehead.

Sunday rested his head against one of your thighs and continued to tremble. His face was still

coated in sweat.

When your hand gently reached down to pet his hair, he shakily smiled.

He’d find later after he finally pulled himself from the cellar and locked it, and trekked back up the stairs to the main hall, that the murals were not looking at him. The statue was still, just as silent as it had always been, with six eyes shut to the world with their unhearing ears and unspeaking mouths.

All that would watch silently was a bird. A small, deep purple nightingale that watched from afar.

For now he walked down the aisle after you silently, holding onto his coat and his white overthrow. The golden badge that usually rested on his breast weighed heavy in his hands like led.

He did not dare to gaze at the walls. He held onto the key for the front door as if it would disappear from his grasp.

It was cold outside, and the wind blew steadily as he shut the door behind him before securely locking it tight.

He heard your heels stop.

“Reverend?”

Sunday wanted to bark at you. What more could you possibly want from him? You’d taken everything, and now he knew he would go home like a ghost trekking a lonely path, fall into bed, and tremble all night as his fingers felt blindly for the waistband of his pants.

Instead, he only hummed. He kept his hand firm around the giant brass knobs of the church.

“Don’t fear Hell.”

The words did not assure him, but for that moment amidst the wind, Sunday listened.

He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, squeezing the sore muscles tight.

He stiffened at how warm your skin was. How he desperately, desperately wanted to feel your lips on his again.

He refrained.

Sunday barely turned his head to look at you.

“I will be there with you.” And that, you could promise.

Daringly, you pressed a chaste kiss to his hair before you let go of his shoulder, and left.

He only glanced away for a moment, but when he peered back down the street, you had disappeared, along with the faint clicking of your heels.

Sunday’s shoulder remained warm long after you had let go.

And that warmth remained present for every day that you did not return to him.

But, distantly, with every service that he swears he sees your face, or the pattern of your stockings in the embroidery, he knows the fleeting feeling of your warmth is enough.

#sunday x reader #sunday x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x reader #✦ ( after hours. )#✦ ( the macrocosmos. )

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icarusredwings · 2 months ago

Text

Thinking about the first couple of days after moving in, Logan is trying really hard to ignore the man dancing around the tiny kitchen, but sometimes just... stares at him. This level of domesticity is just so confusing to him. How come they literally saved the timeline, and 3 days later, he was cooking eggs and cleaning like nothing happened?

Like a prayer isn't the only Madonna song Wade sings. Wade is currently using a spatula as a mic as he twirls and dances around the kitchen in a frilly pink apron that says 'Kiss the Cook'.

And Logan is just... Appauled? He's so damn confused. Al notices that he's staring and smirks to herself.

"Didn't know breakfast came with a show, did you?"

"Does... Does he always do this??" He asks, almost shocked, but nothing Wade did would truly suprise him anymore (even though it's only been 3 days)

"Papa, don't preach, I'm in trouble! Papa, don't preach, I've been losing sleeepp!"

"Yyup. All the time."

Turning his head back to look at him, Logans brows never left their state of confusion, seeing Wade lean back on the counter with his hands and do a little kick, almost flinging their breakfast off the stove.

"But I made up my mind! Iiiimmmm keeping my baby!!"

It was almost like a trance. He just... couldn't look away. "... Is he high?"

"Dun- dun- I'm gonna keep my baby, yeah Ooh!"

"Nope. He's just like that." Al tells him and turns up the volume on the tv as Wade picks up Puppins and swings her around, holding her up like the lion king before kissing her head.

It was now that he caught on and almost instantly started performing, teasing, and keeping eye contact, making Logan blush, even more confused. Watching him lean over the counter, wiggle his tush and with the spactula again, sang to the dog.

"Daddy, Daddy, if you could only see just how good he's been treating me- "

"Wade!"

"Yes!?" This was excitment.

"The eggs!" He pointed, practically jumping off the couch as the pan was now on fire.

"Oh- Damn it! Always ruining my dances! Do you know how many hours I had to stay late on set to learn this choreography!?"

"What!?? Just get the fucking fire extinguisher before-"

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. FIRE. FIRE. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. And suddenly, the appartment was wet, the buildings sprinklers having went off, putting out the fire and soaking everyone in the room..

"God curse you, Wade! Every time!"

"Uhm i believe its god BLESS you-"

#blind al #mary puppins #logan howlett #worst wolverine #wade wilson #madonna #papa dont preach #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #domestic stuff #poolverine #deadclaws #peanutbub #loganpool #wolverpool #hes a peacock #this is a mating dance #and he failed

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gor3-hound · 2 months ago

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TOUCH ME INSTEAD – SCOTT SUMMERS + LOGAN HOWLETT

ft. scott summers x f!reader x logan howlett

a/n: commission for the super lovely @dollfacefantasy. literally check her out i do not have enough praise for her omg... god bless her for feeding my scogan fantasies. title is from the song 'over my head' by james marriott !! thanks to @cubedkennedy and @nexysworld for giving it a lil look over when i was tweaking 😓

cw: 18+ content. mentions of grief + death. gay sex (seriously... reader is in the background of this one), anal sex, oral (m!recieving), overstimulation, handjobs, fingering (f + m recieving), kissing, biting, blood, scott centric. canon divergent but set after x2

word count: 3.4k words

Scott hasn't been the same since Jean's death. He still remembers the jet. Demanding they lowered the ramp. Snapping at Nightcrawler to go and get her. The way the realisation set in as she spoke through Xavier. He didn't believe it at first. Not really. Something in him knew – you couldn't lose someone like her without feeling the shift in the universe.

Everything came crashing down all at once. She was gone. Jean Grey was gone, and he was all alone all over again.

He cried so much the first night without her that his lungs burned and his heartbeat pounded painfully in his head. Hours had passed before he eventually exhausted himself, falling asleep curled up on her side of the bed. When he awoke the next morning, he was suddenly very grateful no one would be able to see just how red and swollen his eyes were under the shades he wore.

There's a feeling of exhaustion that is unexplainable to those who haven't lost anything. Scott’s mind couldn't handle the rapid changing of emotions coursing through him. The regret he felt for every time he didn't put his all in when it came to Jean. The desperation he felt to find some way to get her back, some hint that she was alive somehow. The guilt he felt for every argument they'd had. That he hadn't told her ‘I love you’ the day she died. At the end of it all came acceptance.

With acceptance came numbness. Everything he did reminded him of Jean, so he chose to do nothing at all.

Logan of all people seemed concerned about him. Scott feels a little queasy when he thinks back to the jet, about how he clung to the older man. He felt safe with him, although that's something he'd never admit – even if he knows there's no point trying to hide it; Logan's the only one Scott’s let visit him since he lost Jean.

“She's been askin’ about you, y’know.” Logan didn't have to say who he was speaking about for Scott to know it was you. You had tried to speak to him once he returned to the school after the mission, and he had instantly pushed past you. It wasn't your fault, not really. You just reminded him too much of her in the way you acted. He couldn't stomach your presence right now. He didn't feel strong enough.

“Don't start lecturing me. I don't have the energy for your shit tonight.” Scott remembers how hard he had to try not to let his voice waver. How hard it was not to tell Logan how badly he needed comforting. He was a leader, first and foremost. He wouldn't break down. Not in front of him.

“You should at least come out ‘n eat somethin’.” Scott can't remember the last time he felt hungry.

“Nah. Nah, I can't face the kids like this.” That was the end of the conversation. Every time you or Logan have tried to visit him since has been met with silence and avoidance. He's never felt this pathetic before in his life.

It's better this way, he thinks, curling up with one of Jean's old shirts. The smell is starting to fade. He cries himself to sleep for the first time that night since she died.

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

“He's grieving, Logan. You just gotta give him time.”

A scowl spreads across the man's face at your words, brows pinching together as he brings the lighter to his mouth, igniting the cigar he has perched between his lips. He takes a few puffs, breathing the smoke out through his nose as he leans back in the chair.

“He's bein’ a fuckin’ asshole, s'what he's doin’.” He grunts, running a hand through his hair. His gaze is distant at your words. Directed at you, but going right through you. “We're all grievin’. Bastard's just gonna end up killin’ himself at this rate.”

“He loved her, Logan. He's gonna need time to process it.” You say with a sigh, running a hand over your face. Your free hand absentmindedly taps against the table, fingers cycling one by one against the hardwood. The noise draws Logan's gaze downwards, and he scoffs slightly.

“I loved–” Logan pauses. I loved her, he was going to say, but it didn't feel right. He loved the idea of her. Loved her like a friend, once he’d truly gotten to know her. I love him, is what he wants to say, but it isn't the time or the place. What good would it do?

“Doesn’t matter.” He huffs after a moment, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the jacket hanging off the back of his chair, unscrewing the lid and gulping some down. Nothing he can think of seems right to say at this moment.

Logan can't ever remember feeling so hopeless.

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Numbness bleeds away to self-destruction. Scott can't help but feel as though there's something he should be punished for. He could have tried harder to save Jean. He should have. Maybe she'd still be here if he had.

It's the third time he's been to the Danger Room this week. His muscles still ache from last time, each step he takes causing discomfort to shoot through his legs. The pain is a welcome distraction from his grief. A reminder that he was still alive.

Once Scott is thrown into combat, his mind goes blank. He's able to focus – finally – as his brain quietens down. He blocks each and every attack that comes his way with a hand or an arm, leaving his visor untouched. He has no desire to use his powers today, not when each hit he sustains makes him feel alive again. Makes him forget.

The simulation around him falters and fades, and it feels as though his entire world comes crumbling around him. He's suddenly aware of the throbbing pain behind his knuckles, the ache spreading upwards until a dull soreness settles in the muscles of his arms. Each blow he'd been unable to block sends searing pain up and down his body now that he's not relying on adrenaline to get him through.

His gaze filters across the room appraisingly, eventually settling on Logan who is slowly approaching. Of course it was Logan. It always came back to him.

“I was training.” Scott snaps. Or attempting to, at least. He's winded and tired and sore, and he doesn't want to have to deal with Logan today if he can help it.

“You were takin’ a beatin’. Not gonna learn anythin’ just letting a bunch of holograms kick the shit out of ya.” Logan grunts in response, taking his space in front of Scott.

“I didn't ask for your advice.”

“I couldn't give a fuck either way. Your attitude is startin’ to piss me off.” Logan growls, stepping closer until he and Scott are barely a few inches apart. His hands come up to push at the younger man’s shoulders, sending him stumbling back a few steps. “Hit me.”

“Sorry, what?” Scott replies, brows knitting together as he stares at Logan through the visor.

“C'mon, I know you've wanted to since the day we met. M’not givin’ you another chance.” Scott’s eyes narrow behind his eyewear, but his hands come up to push harshly at Logan’s chest. The mutant doesn't budge. “Really? I know you can do better than that, bub. Hit me.”

So Scott does. He hits Logan as hard as he can, fist connecting with the rigid muscles of his chest over and over again. The skin of his knuckles crack and break, blood marring his pale skin as he unleashes his frustrations out on Logan. He just takes it, jaw set tight. The only indication any of this hurts is his tense expression and the occasional grunt that spills past his lips.

Logan catches Scott when he eventually collapses against his chest with tears in his eyes, clinging to him just as he had that day on the jet. He holds him there until his breathing evens out and he stops crying.

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

“Hey, uh… Can I talk to you for a second?” Scott's voice is quiet as he pushes open your door, even in the near silence of your room this late at night. He wasn't sure what he could say to you to make this better. He knows he's been avoiding you. Well, he's been avoiding everyone (except Logan, apparently, who is determined to stick to him like a tick), but he knows you worry about him the most.

“Yeah, sure. What's up?”

“I, uh…” He swallows hard, throat bobbing as he turns his head away. He seems more like a guilty puppy than anything at the moment, tail tucked between his legs as he shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. He scratches at his jaw, stubble irritating his skin that he's been too tired to shave off. “Logan said you were asking about me.”

It's easier to say that then to really address the issue. He wants to speak to you, sure, but he doesn't want to admit how much he's been struggling recently. The idea of speaking about his loss almost feels selfish. You lost her, too. Everyone did. He doesn't know why the idea of speaking Jean's name out loud makes him feel queasy, makes him lightheaded to the point he has to grip the kitchen counter to stop himself from losing balance.

“Yeah… Well, I've been worried. I knocked at your door a few times, but you never answered.” You're not like Logan, you don't just barge in. He's not sure whether he appreciates that fact or not at this moment. He's missed seeing you. He almost regrets hiding away these past few weeks, but he's been acting downright pathetic. You look up to him, and he didn't want you to see him like that, anyway.

“You don't need to be worried about me. I'm alright, sweetheart. Honestly.” He has to be, doesn't he? That's his job. You don't need to know how much he's struggling.

It's a good thing he's doing such a terrible job at hiding it. You raise your eyebrows at him, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he realises he's not getting away with it when it comes to you. He clears his throat, tilting his head away from you.

“I'm fine, seriously–”

“You've been holed up in your room for over a month now. No one's expecting you to be at your best, but you're not even giving yourself a chance to feel better. You can't keep going on like this.”

“Don't.”

“I'm just saying that you're not doing yourself any favours–” A scowl crosses his features as his head snaps back to face you. He stiffens up, pulling his shoulders back. Acting like a cornered animal.

“You don't know the half of what it's been like for me. You barely knew her. You've… what? Been around a few months? Now you wanna lecture me about how to feel?”

He's raising his voice now, and you can't help but mirror his tone. Your body tenses, words sharper when you speak again. “I'm only trying to help–”

“I never asked for your help.” He snaps.

“What're you girls fightin’ about this time?” A third voice cuts in. You and Scott both turn to see Logan standing at the door, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the frame. His gaze travels between the two of you, taking in the tension in the room.

“Nothing.” Scott huffs, turning away from him once more. Logan clicks his tongue in response, shaking his head as he steps past the threshold and into your room.

“Could hear both of you from my room.” Logan says, shutting the door behind him. “Hate to say it, but the kid's got a point.”

A muscle in Scott's jaw twitches as he tilts his head to look back at Logan, his body still tense as if he's expecting a fight. He'd rather that than the alternative, but when he sees how you're both looking at him, he knows it's going to be a long conversation if he keeps avoiding the issue.

He breaks far quicker than expected when he notices the expression on Logan's face. He was ready for annoyance, disbelief, indifference, even – anything but concern painting the older man's features. Maybe he's been looking for an excuse to be honest. He doesn't know, but the words come tumbling out before he can stop them, and all he feels is relief.

“I just–” Scott pauses, then swallows, then sucks a harsh breath in through his teeth. You don't need to see his eyes to know he's crying. It isn't long before the tears break past the edge of his shades, travelling down his cheeks in small trails. “I just want to forget her.

I know I shouldn't say that, I just… fuck. Just for a couple hours, or… just something. She's constantly on my mind and I just… I need to breathe.”

He watches as you and Logan share a wordless exchange before moving towards him. The hands that find him are warm and firm and so damn distracting. He lets out a choked sob as he leans into you, arms wrapping around your body as Logan's strong hands grip at his shoulders. His thumbs press into his flesh and rub circles in his tense muscles to soothe him, all while he's clinging to you like he's scared you'll disappear. Truth be told, a part of him is absolutely terrified he might lose you – he's even scared he might lose Logan, that his healing factor will somehow fail or be rendered useless one day and he'd be left truly alone.

He's so lost in his own mind that he barely registers your thumbs brushing the tears off his cheeks, doesn't even hear your whispered words of comfort. But when your lips meet his, everything quietens down for a moment.

When you kiss Scott, it's soft and sweet. The tension bleeds away from his shoulders as he kisses you back, eyes fluttering shut. His hands find your hips, tugging you flush against his body. His lips part further as he feels Logan press against him from behind, leaving him panting into your mouth for a few seconds as he feels Logan's steadily hardening length pressing against his ass and the scratch of his facial hair against his skin as the other man presses kisses along the back of his neck.

You tug Scott's face closer again, and he kisses you back almost mindlessly. Your tongue slides along his lower lip, and he parts them immediately granting you entry. He sucks on the wet muscle before he's licking into your mouth, desperate to taste more of you, feel more of you.

A hand that's too big and too rough to be yours slides under the fabric of his boxers to squeeze his cock. He whimpers against your lips, jaw growing slack as Logan starts to lazily stroke him while grinding against him. He's starting to feel a little dizzy, his legs weak as heat pools in his lower belly. Scott can feel hands tugging and pulling at him, guiding him to the bed on the other side of the room. He lets himself be led without any complaints, the distraction making him desperate. Pliable. He hasn't felt this way since–

The thought leaves him as Logan pushes him back onto your sheets. You watch closely as Logan's hands greedily roam Scott's body, hitching his shirt up so he can lick and bite the toned skin of Scott's stomach.

“Fucking Christ.” Scott hisses, jerking under Logan. When Logan lifts his head from his stomach, the shape of his teeth is visible, and a small amount of blood is visible on his grin. Logan is quick to pull Scott's clothing free, and you shimmy forward to help.

“Open up.” Logan grunts as he taps two fingers against your bottom lip. They part easily, allowing the digits to press against your tongue. You suck and lick at them eagerly, the taste of cigars lingering on the skin as you coat him in your saliva.

The fingers pop free, and he slides his hand down the inside of Scott's thighs until his fingers – warm and wet with your saliva – prod at his entrance. Scott's expression is tense, his chest heaving at the intrusion as Logan sinks his digits in slowly. A whine spills from his lips, hips jerking as he grips at the sheets with enough pressure that his knuckles turn white.

“Fuuuck.” He hisses once more, back arching as you spit in your palm and enclose your fingers around his hard, leaky cock, pumping his length slowly. He's going to go mad. There's no way he can last, not like this. Between Logan scissoring him open and your hand squeezing and stroking, he's going to paint his stomach in less than a minute. “It's too much… please.”

The fingers withdraw from his ass, making him whimper in protest. That is until the blunt head of the other man's cock prods at him, his hips jerking into your grip helplessly as a new string of curses fall from his lips.

“Look so fuckin’ sexy like this.” Logan groans, slowly sinking into him until his hips are flush against Scott's ass. His claws prick gently at the skin of his knuckles, barely unsheathing as he struggles not to immediately rut into the tight heat surrounding him. Scott cums in an instant as the sharp tips graze his skin, ropes of white coating the taut muscles of his stomach.

Your hand continues to stroke him through his orgasm, but then it isn't stopping. And Logan starts to thrust, knocking a choked gasp out of Scott. He writhes under the both of you, chest heaving with heavy breaths. He gasps and whines, torn between bucking into your hand and crawling across the bed to get away from the overwhelming pleasure.

Scott isn't even aware he's been begging until Logan laughs all throaty. Your grip tightens as you pump him with more vigour, his cock twitching in your grasp. “Shit, Scott. Didn't realise you were this much of a slut.”

Scott's body is tense, but he can't form the words to argue with the other man. His lips part, but all that comes out is a needy whine as your lips enclose around his head. His mind is gone – all he can manage is rocking his hips into your mouth, then back to meet Logan's thrusts. His hands move from the sheets to grip your hair, pushing you down further onto his length until he's nudging at the back of your throat. His breaths come out in short pants, thighs twitching as another orgasm approaches.

Logan's hand slides down your back as you work on bringing Scott to the edge, sliding under your pants to tease your entrance. He groans under his breath when he's met with how wet you are, his fingers dipping into your cunt and curling until you're moaning around Scott's cock. Every time he fucks into you, the force of it sends Scott further down your throat.

“Gonna… gonna cum, baby. Fuck.” Scott breathes out, the only warning you get before he coats your tongue with his release. You swallow as much as you can, a mixture of drool and cum leaking past the seam of your lips as you pull off of him.

Logan growls as he feels Scott tightening around him, and it only takes a few more thrusts before he's spilling into Scott. His hand falters slightly for a moment before he shifts, pulling you closer so he can thumb at your clit as his fingers drive into you.

“Come on, baby. Give Scottie a little show, yeah? You gonna cum for us?” His voice comes out breathless, his gaze flicking between you and Scott, who's lazily gazing at you as he attempts to catch his breath. You nod eagerly, head falling back against Logan as you reach for Scott's hand, giving it a small squeeze.

A few more skillful movements of Logan’s fingers has you gasping, body tensing as your climax hits you. Your thighs clamp around Logan's hand, your grip on Scott's making the man wince. You collapse after a moment, but not before you and Logan crawl either side of Scott, curling up against him. He wraps an arm around each of you, nosing at your hair.

For the first time in a while, a small smile curls at the corner of his lips.

#logan howlett x you #scott summers x you #scott summers x logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #scott summers x reader #scott summers #xmen #xmen smut #scogan

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bwabys-scenarios · 1 year ago

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Imagine being Feitan’s cute chubby!wife. You’re a literal walking ray of sunshine. Foster kittens, volunteer at shelters, wear the cutest bright colored dresses.

The entire troupe is genuinely SHOCKED when he introduces you to them. How can a twisted guy like himself have such a cute wife?? Shalnark is super jealous.

Bros like “hey babygirl he can’t handle all that, but I can 😏”

If looks were enough to kill Shalnark would be six feet under!!!

“Mine.”

Feitan just wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You just giggle and kiss his cheek. They fucking GASP.

“HOLY SHIT it’s not a joke oh my god!!”

Phinks is losing it. Chrollo is just giving his blessing and happy Feitan found someone. Uvogin is also shamelessly flirting with you and chrollo has to break him and feitan up before they kill each other.

You just laugh and cover Feitan’s face in kisses, which he accepts with an embarrassed tut.

“Sorry boys, but Fei is the only one taking me home tonight.”

Feitan is very shameless about his love for you. Grabs your ass in public, whispers dirty things in your ear. Doesn’t usually care who’s around, you are his and he isn’t afraid to show t. The only people that don’t see his PDA are the Phantom Troupe because he doesn’t want them thinking he’s gone soft(he has, you have him WHIPPED).

He’s a bit boney, so really enjoys cuddling up with his chubby wife. Your hands are soft, and his are calloused from a hard life. You kiss every scar he has and tell him how handsome he is every chance you get. He wonders what he did to deserve this love you give him.

Phinks is the only one he trusts enough to watch over you when he has a solo mission. You fix up all his injuries when he gets home with the sweetest of smiles.

You aren’t officially married, but it’s official in your minds. He doesn’t want to spend his life with anyone else.

Loves to just lay face first in your boobs while you hum to him, stroking his head. Though be careful he is mischievous and might bite your tiddy… you have been warned.

So gentle with his fragile wife, carries you like you’re made of glass. First time he tried to pick you up, you squeak out in protest. He easily picks you up, scoffing.

“Easy. Think I’m weak?”

“N-no, just thought I was too heavy!”

He lifts an eyebrow and holds you with one arm, his hand low key fondling your butt.

“Not heavy. Little wife.”

He’s so in love with you he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Would do anything for you.

A/N: send feitan requests PLS

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fluffyartbl0g · 2 years ago

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Redraw of the panels that SHATTERED MY HEART o(；△；)o!!! OG panels + Opinions on the Luffy separation arc under read more

Okay let me just go on a tangent about my feelings about the post-series Luffy separation arc, cause I think it gets way too much hate when it’s such a heartbreaking and well executed deviation from oda’s standard formula!!! I know that we all love monkey d. luffy and he’s LITERALLY the main character of the series, but it was also really nice to get more time to focus on the rest of the crew. But here’s the thing, even when Luffy wasn’t here, he was still here. And I’m not talking about the so called ‘blessings’ or whatever that kept SUSPICIOUSLY popping up around the crew when Luffy disappeared, I’m talking about the consequences that arised from him disappearing. We truly got to see how grand the effect luffy has had on the world around him, and how many lives he was able to touch ; - ; So even though luffy physically wasn’t present (I mean KIND OF but you know what I mean), this was still VERY MUCH a luffy arc imo.

Oh man but I think Oda wrote luffy’s disappearance so well,,, I was sobbing for like 80 percent of this arc. Like just gradually seeing the crew’s deterioration as time passes by,,, but everyone has such unwavering faith in their captain, he HAS to come back cause Luffy always comes back. But here’s the thing, Luffy didn’t know what was happening to him when he started disappearing. But what he DID know is that he wasn’t sure if he was gonna be able to come back or not. And Luffy hates breaking promises- he’d never make a promise if he didn’t plan to keep it, and he’s not an idiot either, so when he just felt himself disappearing and saw zoro nearby... Instead of saying something like “I’ll be back!” and potentially making his crewmates wait for him forever, he tells zoro to “take care of the crew”... SOBBING AND CRYING T - T. So YES. the crew has unwavering faith in their captain. But. Luffy didnt say that he’d be coming back or anything. So what are they supposed to do really.

And it’s really hard to read at some parts, like it never loses the goofy tone that has been there throughout all of one piece and it’s really sweet to see everyone rely on each other to keep one another afloat, but the slight tension that keeps building up over the months while they keep looking for clues and answers... And how each lead keeps becoming a dead end... When it builds up and Usopp finally voices the thing that’s on everyone’s mind.

Oh man. I started crying so hard. It took 6 month for any one of them to say something. Like this is One piece. Of course Luffy is gonna come back eventually, it would be waay too dark otherwise... But Idk man, even I started to doubt that :((( But luckily. THIS IS ONE PIECE. So right after everyone started,,, well not exactly losing hope or anything (maybe a bit)? but going BATSHIT INSANE FROM THE REALITY THAT THEIR CAPTAIN MIGHT BE GONE FOR GOOD, they finally got a solid actual clue of what might’ve happened to luffy!!! And I’m SO GLADDDD!!!!

Omg and when they tracked down the pray-pray no mi user and finally got some answers out of him. OMG WAIT A MOMENT I REALLY LIKED IS WHEN PRIEST GUY IS LIKE “urerheg without luffy up there as a god the entire world may very well be destroyed cause the sun has been super unstable for centuries blah blah” and then Nami freaking PUMMELED THE GUY AND SHOVED HIM DOWN WITH HER STAFF AND

SOBBING CRYING SOBBING. THEY WOULD POTENTIALLY BLOW UP THE ENTIRE WORLD IF IT MEANT THAT THEIR CAPTAIN WOULDNT HAVE TO BE LONELY ; - ; KILL ME.

URGH I was really hoping that Luffy would return right once they beat him up cause I really really missed my boy, but honestly I think the final method of getting Luffy to return was super clever and absolutely worth the extra 3 weeks of waiting!!! I know that it was foreshadowed across the whole West Blue Saga and everything but I honestly had no clue it would end like that, DONT MAKE FUN OF ME :(((

When the crew finally got their captain back after 8 months of waiting... I mean they’ve been separated before for even longer periods of time, but they always knew that they’d be back together. This time they didn’t know. BUT AREHAHRGE ALL THE PAIN AND SUFFERING WAS SO WORTHIT WHEN THEY ALL FINALLY REUNITED T - T!!!!!! UWAHHWHAHWUAAGGHA!!! AND SEEING ALL THEIR ALLIES AND FRIENDS THEYVE MADE JUST CHEER AND CRY WHEN THEY HEAR THE NEWS!!!! I WOULD CHUCK ALL THE PANELS HERE IF I COULD BUT ID JUS T REACH THE IMAGE LIMIT BECAUSE ALL OF THEM MADE ME CRY ; - ;!!! Literally just read those 5 chapters in the arc finale cause,,,, man so good T - T

Anyways TLDR: The post-series luffy seperation arc is NOT BAD and you guys are JUST COWARDS AND LIARS!!!!

#tw unreality #post-series #one piece #op fanart #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #zolu #nami #usopp #straw hat pirates #gear 5 luffy #op spoilers #one piece spoilers #wano spoilers #please dni if ur a post-series one piece hater >:(#this is a post-series POSITIVE post only!!! Feel free to gush about other post-series arcs that you like on this post :D!!!#(for that person i scared: i put tw unreality higher just 4 u :3)

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sugawhaaa · 4 months ago

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HII CAN WE GET SOME KIND OF SUGGESTIVE JONGSEOB THOUGHTS CUZ IM OBSESSED WITH HIM . THANK YOUU :3

🎀JONGSEOB AS UR BOYFRIEND 🎀

Warnings:: suggestive

Pairing:: Bf!jongseob x fem!bodied!reader

A/N:: okay so 😵‍💫 this request has been in my inbox for way too damn long and I apologize 😭 I started writing so many different Jongseob things but I decided today's the day.

So many picture Jongseob to be a cute little baby 🥺👉👈 but HAH ur wrong. Have u seen any clips of dirty-minded piwon? Jongseob always be the one to point it out istg 💀 can't blame him bc he grew up surrounded by pretty kpop women but ANYWAY

He's still a little new to real intimate things but he definitely has his dirty side

I feel like Jongseob would often get into this state every once and a while where he's just so horny to the point he can't even look at you without getting hard

Your hands are his weakness. Touch him literally anywhere slightly suggestive and he's folding like laundry

He has this odd fascination of seeing you wet. When you get out of the shower with just a towel separating your body from his eyes, when you go to the pool and you get out all dripping wet with sticky hair god he gets so flustered

Idk why but I feel like he's got a thing for cleavage too, his eyes just naturally fluttering down every now and then before looking back into your eyes

His drunk thoughts aren't for the faint of heart 😭 he'll pour his soul out to you

He'd be really ashamed about this but he'd totally masturbate to the thought of you or even photos of you

He's so bad at cleaning up after himself when it comes to masturbating mainly because he won't plan beforehand. He'll fuck your pillow but when he's done he realizes it's covered in stains.

Sometimes though, he doesn't really mind if you find his mess. He knows that you definitely know he masturbates to you very frequently and it kinda turns him on to know that you witness the aftermath of his pleasure

He gets super flushed really quickly. Whisper a little something in his ear and his cheeks are red

He'd be shy to show you his body at first, just shirtless or in boxers. He'd quickly throw something on but once he realizes you couldn't care less he starts to worry less

On the flipside when you walk around in just your bra he loses his mind. Like I said earlier he has this weird little thing for cleavage.

His a pervy little teenage boy so ofc he watches porn and ofc he's bad at hiding it too. Sometimes he'll forget to close the tabs or clear his search and you'll stumble upon some of his favorite videos~

Sometimes he'd write little songs to the thought of you, both dirty and not. The dirty lyrics go all out though and after witnessing what he's written he wants to hide away from himself.

The members would sometimes find his song lyrics and sometimes show you too. Sure it might be a little invasive but he was writing about you after all.

Once getting comfortable with you he'd love to randomly grope you. Nothing too inappropriate ofc but if you were home alone he might bring his hand around and give your butt a firm squeeze, blessed to feel such a specimen

Ofc his love for boobs falls into the too but he'd be much more gentle. He knows your breasts a more sensitive than your ass so he's very cautious.

Make out sessions with him go hard. He looks like the type to not know what he's doing but hoo boy are you wrong

He loves to bite your neck too URGH he'd love it so much. Brushing back your hair to expose your neck before licking all over to soften the skin before sinking his teeth in

This isn't very suggestive but he'd love to do your hair, running his fingers through your soft locks. Though sometimes his mind may travel, imagining it wrapped in his fist

He loves to trickle his hands up your shirt. He wouldn't have a goal, not trying to grope you or anything but just grazing his fingers over your skin purely because he can

For some reason the sight of your bras around your room kinda turn him on. He would try to ignore it, knowing it was normal to have clothing around but man he just feels all warm and tingly inside

And for the final h/c this man loves it when you sit in his lap for SO many reasons.

You and all the members were hanging out one Friday night like any other. Your boyfriend, soul, and Jiung were out in the living room while the other three were with you in the kitchen. Throughout the night a few drinks had been passed around and after getting what you had said was your last, you went out to the living room to your boyfriend. He smiled when he saw you, just like he always does. You come over to him before sitting down on his lap.

His eyes widen in surprise but he quickly recovers. He sets his can of alcohol on the table next to the couch before wrapping his arms around you. "Hey baby, what's up," he smirks before leaning back, pulling you with him. As you lean back he feels your ass rub down his length. He bites his lip hard as he squints his eyes slightly. The pressure of your body weight was a little painful but the friction was ethereal.

"Just wanted to cuddle my love~" you hum in response before taking a sip of wine. "What are you guys watching?" You ask before turning your head to look at him. You then notice the state you've got him in. His jaw clenched and his eyebrows curled. You chuckle softly.

"I dunno, some anime that I just hopped into," he shrugs and you can't hold back your smile.

"I see," you hum thoughtfully before wiggling around on his lap. You feel his body tense and it takes everything in him not to moan in your ear. He then leans up to your ear, his hands traveling up your body, resting on your breasts.

"Are you this needy for attention?" He says in a mocking voice. "You know, good girls use their words," he whispers in a low voice.

#p1harmony #p1harmony smut #p1h x reader #p1h jongseob #p1h fluff #p1h smut #p1h smau #p1h imagines #p1harmony jongseob #p1harmony fluff #p1harmony x reader #p1h #requests #smut requests

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jazeswhbhaven · 2 months ago

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Falalalala, Michael is Sold~ (Christmas Miracle Card Spoilers|Summary)

Howdy there lovelies, sorry it took me fucking forever to drop this, I've been distracted with Amy and Sitri (which I still need to finish out the last parts of that lmao) But, alas here we go with seeing how things play out with this bratty, brother-complex angel being sold at an auction... To view the prologue parts for the card I already went over HERE YA GO <3

If you've already saw all of that, I'm jumping right in. Same format as Raphael's Summary. As a reminder since the angels are paid banner only per PB's warning I am only allowed to really just paraphrase and heavily summarize his card story instead of the usual reacts I do.

Enough of the boring yapfest let's go lol

First I would like to thank my friend for continuously sharing card content with me. I wouldn't be able to do these things without such blessing, ;w;

Second, I would like to let the public know Michael was my fave at first due to aesthetics only. The pretty black hair, the one wing on the side of his head, but goodness doesn't he have some demons in him. (I want this to be a joke and a literal thing because..)

Anyways

We lead in with Michael being pissed off that he's having his body shown, and everyone is infauted with his skin describing it as porcelian white. So marks show up very easily.

I like the continued theme that every seraph does not show their body to anyone but God.

The bid was high, like 55 million. Makes sense Tarataros is rollin' in dough.

Some important things to note for Michael's card is that unlike his brother Raphael, he made a lot of expressions each time he was touched.

Instead of cursing and vocally trying to say anything, his body is simply reacting as he's thinking about how he shouldn't be showing ANYONE this and that MC needed to be stopped.

We still have the elements of "non-consent" but it seems it's different with Michael. He's wordlessly threatening everyone's demise but he doesn't put up as much of a fight.

MC ofc is getting turned on by everything he's doing

The guests have started masturbating in their seats (imagine being that one person just wanting to be there for the auction and your neighbor just starts jackin' it/flicking the bean. lmao)

Oop. We're punching them in the stomach again. I think that's going to be a reoccurring thing for Gabriel too.

This is interesting...Michael slumped forward? I don't even think Raphael did that. I wonder without his powers poor Mike is possibly the weakest? He seemed to be the most powerful aside from Lucifer.

Michael is and has been getting turned on by the way since MC started touching him. He doesn't understand, but I'm like...my guy you almost came when your brother plucked out your eye I know what you are....

Now I don't remember if Raphael was branded, but Michael is branded for the auction. His halo starts glowing around this time too. Again I know what you are.

Also, Michael is so pissed off and horny random objects are shattering and he's basically crying buckets. Also his emotions are affecting the weather too. Neat.

Alright so now he's really upset. He doesn't want MC to touch his cock because it's only for God to see and touch. He was not doing much before but he's definitely putting up a fight now.

Even auctioneer was like "Uh head for the decks folks he may cave the walls in on us" and everyone was like "Nah, stfu" like damn ya'll really want that angel bussy.

So as common theme of sounding continues...as you guessed Michael gets a metal rod stuck in his pee hole and well he's losing his mind ya'll.

I bet he would like being called a good boy by his favorite person...

Anyways, after all the poking and probing from MC it appears that he only needs the rod stroking the inside of his cock for him to get to his climax. Nothing anally is being done to him for his story.

So after he cums he basically leaves in a beam of light. The other devils came on him too. They say though that he left wordlessly he stared at MC as if he wanted to say something. Interesting.

Though that's over and done with, basically the end of the story are the devil's bidding on MC's tormenting as if that's something to bid on lmao but Mammon was like yah 10 billion and it's being donated for the end of the year party in MC's name. What's cute though is that MC is referred to as His/Her Majesty along with Mammon. It's like his citizens shipped them already.

ANDDDD that's all folks. That's Michael's Christmas Story. If you want my blunt opinion????

5/10

I'm sorry ya'll, this card story wasn't really worth the money for Michael fans. It falls short in terms of what's done to him, he kinda just sat there for the majority of it until his cock was touched, and he just kinda poofs back home without confirming any feelings whether negative or positive towards MC like how we see in Raphael's card.

However, I did like the elements of Michael being able to withstand being touched and stayed still for the most part. This has me believe something that I will explain in my theories below. Also in adore mode you can play with his tiny head wing, like pulling on it and such. Wings are sensitive I imagine so it's a fun element.

THEORY TIME

I want to say that I think Michael didn't put up much of a fight because to him any other part of his body being touched, though it hasn't been touched by anyone before...is not that big of a deal to him and perhaps he's had these feelings faintly but just didn't push himself to explore that any further.

Now also, we note that his chastity belt was not removed by MC. I feel that the reason this did not happen is because Michael has 0 feelings for MC and thus the miracle didn't extend to that possibility. Now to compare with Rara's card...maybe during the event he started feeling things for MC, curiosity, and some kind of need for them, in that moment perhaps he felt as if this is what God wanted for him so he gave in 110%.

Michael resisted feeling that way for MC, because he simply did not want those feelings. He just wanted to experience being in pleasure only. Because perhaps...those feelings are deep for "someone else" that keeps getting implied ._. But anyways. That's more for those who ship that to go about, I personally do not lol (brother complex is brother complex)

I also think that perhaps the relationship between MC and Rara is meant to build more than the other two seraph angels. I'll just have to see Gabe's card and see what we're working with. I do not have a prologue for him because he was in the Nightmare Pass only last time....I wonder how they will pan out his story and what differences I will notice.

As always thank you lovelies for tuning in ^^ see you in the next react <3

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb michael #whb spoilers #whb content #cw bd/sm #whb non consent themes #oh this beauty here #i also have a theory on why he cries so much #but anyways lets goooo #minors dni

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wrr000 · 7 months ago

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"Can you be quiet for five minutes?"

AN: hello! i wrote this for fun, it's nothing serious or special, i just needed to do something with myself. hope y'all will enjoy it anyway lol (also, i had that one scene from shrek 2 in mind)

»»————-　♡　————-««

Summary: the night wasn't peaceful for the ghoul because reader talks too much

Warnings: english is not my first language; reader is female; it was supposed to be more of a comedic oneshot; a lot of inner thoughts

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

The night was getting cold. Chilly air mixed with the pleasant warmth emanating from the fire, touching your red cheeks. It was a nice feeling, especially after a whole day of walking in the brutal heat. The sun was killing you and the night was a nice change.

'I fucking hate wasteland', you thought to yourself every day.

Burning sun, disgusting monsters, crazy raiders or even that ghoul, literally everything could kill you any minute. It was hard to survive out there alone ans you knew that. Maybe that was a reason why you didn't ran away from him yet.

"So...", you couldn't stand the silnce anymore, "are you gonna finally untie me?"

You sat by the bonfire with your legs pressed to your chest, staring into the sparkling flames. Hands still tightly tied, of course. The other end of the lasso held the ghoul whom you met a few days ago.

He was sitting on the other side of the fire, leaning against a huge piece of something wooden. He looked like he was sleeping with a cowboy hat covering his face. The ghoul wasn't like anyone you've met before, but you weren't sure if it was a blessing or a curse. He did tied you up after all and have gave you no choice, but to travel with him to God-knows-where. On the positive side - he didn't killed you. And that was something unexpected.

"Hellooo..? Did you hear me, Mr. Ghoul?", you never called him like that before, but you wanted any interaction.

No response. Was he really sleeping or just pretending that he didn't hear you?

It was in his style, to be honest. Ever since you met him, he seemed cold, selfish, like he doesn't care about anything else in the world but him. Sometimes straight up annoying, sometimes kinda funny and nice in a twisted way. These mixed feelings made you somewhat intrigued.

"Listen lady" , he didn't looked at you. "I need some peace and quiet so no stupid questions or talkin', got it?"

"Oh, come on! We have been travelling for days! I'm not gonna do anything stupid", it was this time when he was just annoying as hell.

"I bet you won't, sweetheart", you knew he smirked under that stupid hat.

"So what, are you gonna keep me like this to what? Sell me for chems? Or eat me one day?", you spoke once again. "You know, both options are pretty problematic for you because, I mean, you are really planning to sell skinny, dehydrated girl and hoping for decent payment?", fake scoff escaped your mouth. "Keep dreaming. I am way more useful as a compa-"

By anything stupid you meant something like killing him or running away. First of all, he was very skilled and you knew that attacking him was suicidal mission. Second of all, you could try to escape, but you didn't know if it was even possible with this man and did you really wanted to?

On one hand, there were plenty ways for him to hurt you. Shooting, beating, selling, starving you to death or worse - eating you alive. It was something... common on the wasteland. People were doing everything to survive and as crazy as it sounded, you understood it, the ghoul knew it as well. But on the other hand, after raiders killed your parents, life became harder than before. You hated it and what you hated more was loneliness. You had none, no friend and no family left. Maybe it was delusional, but you hoped for befriending the ghoul and travel with him for a little longer. Or maybe he could help you made it to town where you could stay. In that situation you didn't have many options (it didn't work by force anyway) to consider or anything to lose, to be honest.

"Oh, for fu-", he straightened up, finally looking at you.

You didn't have many opportunities to meet him face to face and take a closer look. Beautiful eyes spoke more than thousand words, that's for sure. The most noticeable thing was the lack of a nose, but aside that the face was handsome. You could imagine how he looked like before the ghoulification. In fact, you always thought that people were exaggerating with their disgust towards non-feral ghouls. They were still humans, right?

"You asked me a milion questions already, while I couldn't ask you one", you heard the irritation in his voice. "You better don't cross the line"

That silence was overhelming. Sure, the sound of camfire was nice, but your thoughts were getting weirder and weirder. You needed something to occupy your mind and because you weren't the best at small talk (or starting a conversation at all) you came up with the stupidest idea.

Classic threating. You rised your tided hands, palms facing him in surrender. It wasn't the right time to ask about the future and you didn't wanna cross the line, at least not that night. He was looking at you for a moment, making sure you wouldn't ask anything else and returned to his previous position.

You stared at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking about and you couldn't read him. Not before, not now and probably not in the near future. He seemed like he could always read your mind while being completely unpredictable to you. What he thought about you? What was his plan? You should be very scared or just scared? Many questions were running in your head, but you couldn't find answer for none.

"What it's like to be a ghoul?", you mentally slapped yourself, but there was no turning back now. "I mean, how did you become a ghoul? It was quick or it was a long process? My parents never told me much about ghouls"

Deep, long sigh escaped his mouth. He looked at you again, not bothering to move his body. Even someone like him lacked words and strength for you.

"Did someone ever told that you talk so much?", a ghost of a smile crept across his face.

"Actually, yes, my father told me that once", you smiled proudly.

"No lesson learned", you quite enjoyed his harsh voice with strange accent. He definitely didn't talk enough. "Can you be quiet for five minutes?"

"Hm, I'm afriad no, Mister", then it striked you. "I don't know your name! I won't shut up until you will told me your name. Wait, you do have a name, right?"

"Yes", you felt annoyed again by his lack of cooperation.

"Well..? You know my name, even you don't use it, may I know yours?"

"Cooper", the ghoul hide his face under the hat again. "Now, let me rest for a while, will ya?"

Bright smile appeared on your face. That was what you called a progress. It was genuinely a cool name and suddenly you started to wonder if he liked yours.

"But...", you heard a growl from under the hat, "we will talk about what to do next? I know how things works out here, but... We don't have to be enemies. I know you want to survive and I don't wanna be your prisoner forever"

You were on thin ice and for the first (and not last) time in your life you couldn't gather your thoughts. You wanted to tell him a lot of things in one go.

"I'm not your enemy, sweetheart, you don't have to worry. Now sleep or I'll have to shoot that pretty face"

You noded quietly. You knew that tomorrow you would try to talk to him again, still hoping for some sort of cooperation or agreement. Your life was on the line, after all. Not to mention that he called you pretty and even another threat couldn't take it away from you. Maybe that was the sign that he doesn't mean no harm to you, there was a hope, at least.

#fallout #fallout tv show #fallout series #fallout x reader #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #fallout the ghoul #fallout cooper howard

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jeonqkooks · 2 years ago

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a little taste | jjk (m.)

the one with just the tip.

[ ‘ a little taste ’ series masterpost ]

pairing: jungkook x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre/warnings: established relationship, smut (pwp), unprotected s✩x (this is fictional, don't do it irl folks), cre✩mpie, jungoo is an ✩ss grabber, he's also a lil shit, 2 secs of dirty talk?, swearing, they're both frustrated lol, zero editing pls forgive me

word count: 1.3k

note: happy sunday errbody! we got a surprise ALT drop 🥳 i have no excuse, i woke up this morning and wrote this in one sitting before i even got out of bed lmao. have fun all u horndawgs <3

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

You know how you got here, and the reason is very stupid.

It always starts with a meaningless discussion, really.

You two were having a quiet night in, cuddling on the couch and watching a rerun of your favorite TV show when a raunchy joke popped up, which somehow (because bless Jungkook’s brain and his useless ability to jump from point A all the way to point Z in a blink of an eye) led to the infamous “Just the Tip” debate.

You were taking the Negative, for obvious reasons, and he was on the Affirmative side. Jungkook wasn’t arguing that all men could handle themselves when their literal dick is inside of a woman; more so that he, this one specific individual, easily could.

And you suppose that’s why you’re here, trying to settle the argument, the both of you naked from the waist down. His hard cock pokes at your entrance as his eyes twinkle with a mischievous glint. Jungkook is always so competitive, but he sometimes forgets that you are too, and you’ll try your goddamn hardest to make sure he loses this one.

Okay, maybe it’s not just a silly little debate. It might have escalated into a silly little bet, one that involves the loser having to fold the laundry for a whole month.

Which so happens to be your least favorite chore.

Which only gives you more incentive to win.

Men are simple creatures, how hard can this be?

You bite your lip as he pushes in, just the tip, then stills. The stretch is a little dry at first, and a tad uncomfortable. You barely prepped before both of your shorts flew off somewhere in favor of you wanting to prove a point. Jungkook’s fingers slip through your folds to find your clit, fondling the nub until he could feel you getting wetter by the second, coating the tip of his cock in your slick.

“Ready to lose?” you ask coyly, to which he only responds with a playful scoff before he pulls his hips back, nearly slipping out of you in the process. He bucks forward again, and you can already tell that he’s trying to hold back, to be mindful of how shallow his thrusts have to be lest he wants to give you a few more inches than necessary.

“Fuck,” a tiny, whiny, moan escapes your lips, barely audible to your own ears but Jungkook catches it. He smirks at you triumphantly, never stopping his movements down there. God, you’re really not used to this. Whenever you two are on each other, it’s always hard and unrestrained, purely focused on making the other feel as good as possible.

How the hell is he so good at this?

Maybe you should’ve known. What can’t Jungkook do?

You keep expecting more every time he pulls back, anticipating that his cock will fill you to the brim like it always does. But then he gives you just the fucking tip - which you suppose is fair; that’s the whole point of this idiotic bet after all - and you swear you could burst from frustration.

Jungkook senses your inner turmoil, how you’re trying to keep yourself from begging him to fuck you silly. You can’t say you’re surprised when he tugs his t-shirt over his head - in that insanely hot way that guys do! - and throws it recklessly across the room, flexing his abs and biceps at you. It’s like his tattoos have a mind of their own, the intricate ink winking at you with his every move like it’s mocking you, tempting you.

What’s on the line again?

Oh, right, laundry. Fuck!

You’re positively dripping with arousal, a want - no, a need - that he just won’t satiate. “That’s not fair,” you complain, even though your hands are already reaching for him, pulling him closer so you could touch him all over.

“Who said anything about fair?” he says before he kisses you, his tongue slipping past the seal of your lips to taste you. He moans against your mouth as his fingers sneak down to squeeze your bare ass.

So he wants to play dirty? Well, you can do dirty too.

You time his thrusts so that when he ruts forward, you clench around his cock.

That’s when you feel it. Him, deeper and throbbing inside of you.

For the first time since this started, you have the upper hand.

You break the kiss only to narrow your eyes at him. “That felt like more than just the tip,” you purr.

Jungkook groans, but it sounds more like a growl than anything. Okay, he’s really competitive. His hands dig into your ass so roughly that you’re pretty sure it will bruise in the morning. His hips stop moving entirely, trapping his cock within your walls where it’s achingly, deliciously hard.

You can practically feel his self-control slipping away, and all over a single clench?!

It might’ve taken you a bit longer than expected but alas, men are simple creatures.

You squeeze around him again, just for kicks. “What’s the matter, baby?” you tease, enjoying the way his eyebrows knit together tightly, almost like he’s angry. “Ready to admit defea– Oh!”

Then, that motherfucker shuts you right up. Jungkook shoves his whole length inside of you until he bottoms out, aided by the wetness that gushes out of you. He gives you a single grunt as the base of his cock rubs against your clit, the tension in your belly amping up tenfold when you feel him, so fucking deep in you because that’s where he belongs. This is what you wanted.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he mocks you with a sly smirk, though he doesn’t give you any time to answer before he starts fucking you with fervor, pounding you into the couch - or the next dimension - like he’s got a personal vendetta.

“I– fuck–!” If you could formulate a coherent response, you would shoot him back a retort - You lost! - but whoops, all rational thought flew out the window the second he rewarded you with his cock. It’s absolutely insane how easily he’s able to render you speechless just like that.

You struggle to even moan his name, for crying out loud. Jungkook holds your legs open so he could fuck you better, the tip of his cock kissing your g-spot with every thrust, sending you embarrassingly quickly to the edge you’ve been looking for. You hold onto him for dear life, nails digging into his shoulders and making him grunt from the added pain. It’s right there, you’re so close…

“C’mon,” he purrs, ducking down to suck a mark into the skin of your neck, “come for me. I know you want to.”

Just a few more thrusts and you’re falling right into that sea of bliss that awaits you at the bottom of the cliff. You come hard around his cock as a shout rips itself free from your throat - not even of his name, or anything in particular - and Jungkook is falling right behind you. He empties himself inside of you with a broken moan, warm ropes of his cum painting your velvety walls white.

You hold onto each other like that for a while longer, neither of you caring about how his softening cock is letting your combined release trickle out of you and onto the material of the couch. You play with his hair as he kisses your neck softly, and when he finally props himself up on his forearms to look down at you, there’s something so sweet in his gaze that makes you flush all over.

It almost makes you forget about what you’ve been playing for. Rationality starts crawling back in again after the dicking down you just had.

Almost being the keyword. Too bad for your boyfriend though.

“I won,” you say happily, giving him your brightest grin.

“Did you really win though?” he asks, eyes narrowing playfully at you. Always the negotiator, this one. “Or did you want me to fuck you so badly that I let you win?”

“I won. You said just the tip and then you gave me your whole dick. Now prepare to fold the laundry for a whole month.”

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lucysarah-c · 8 months ago

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WE NEED AN ENTIRE STORY OF LEVI AS A BABY BOY DADDY! LIKE PLEASE ITS ACTUALLY TOO GOOD 🙏🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭😭😭😭

You all have inspired me to write a one-shot, so I'll post it soon. Thank you so much!

But since I'm on it, I think I'll give you a few headcanons.

In my idea, Levi didn't have many children, and while sometimes my scenarios may change depending on the situation, mostly Levi's boy would be an only child. This wasn't Levi's original idea, and I'll explain why.

Leaving aside whether in the canon period of time there are real contraceptives or not, I 100% believe Levi is a highly meticulous guy. If he needs to pull out and count days in the old-fashioned way, he will. If he has to wear condoms every single time, he will. I believe Levi would try to make sure that if he ever has a child, it would be planned, as far as is humanly possible, of course. Sometimes contraceptives fail, etc.

In my mind, I believe Levi and Y/N decided or happened to have a kid around the time before the expedition to Wall Maria. There was about half a year when the scouts waited for the correct time to do the expedition to Wall Maria. Well, I believe she probably got pregnant around that time. I believe it was a mix between Levi transitioning a lot of emotions after Kenny's death, etc., and having more free time on his hands since they weren't doing expeditions while preparing for the mission… and well… let's say they decided to go handy, haha.

With that said… I think Levi would hardly admit it out loud, but he's one of those guys who always wanted to be parents, so they kinda said, "You know what? Fuck it, if it happens, it happens," and well, it happened almost immediately. Levi hears the news around two months later, and let me tell you, this man is all over the moon. He wants to be part of EVERYTHING. For me, Levi wants to prove that he is better than the men who failed his mother and also failed him. Levi wants to prove he can be a present father.

She goes to the doctor for just a check, he wants to be there. Better keep his man informed because he would ask a million questions. He's a first-time father, and she may sneeze, and he's all worried. Levi saw too many women die in childbirth or from difficult pregnancies in the underground. He's blessed with the chance of being a father, but also terrified. Levi feels that if he loses his love just because he "grew selfish" and asked for more (aka asked for a kid), he would feel horrible.

Anyways, back in the day, men waited outside during birth, and I believe they would try to kick Levi out of the room, and he would be like, "and who is going to stop me?" He wants to be there.

Now is when his baby boy comes into the picture. I believe, and God bless the mother, he was such a healthy CHUNKY boy. He was BIG. Those kinds of kids that look so healthy but at the same time, it's like "he literally sucked her dry, that baby took anything the mother has to offer."

Like, she's too tired after childbirth, and the nurses offer Levi feeding bottles with milk to keep the baby eating while the mother rests… and the baby is EATING to the point a doctor comes, pats Levi's arm playfully, and says, "Hope you've a good salary, Captain, because that kid is going to eat like a horse."

Perhaps these are the only few times that Levi is the most excited out of the two, she's tired from all the work, and Levi is over the moon. Ah, but don't you dare to touch his baby without washing your hands. If Levi could force you to take a bath in chlorine before even getting close to his baby, he would.

Aside from that, I think Levi's baby boy that I've named in my mind "Adrien" because Y/N thinks that naming her kids with A's to match the last name, especially since Ackerman's are finally able to not be in hiding.

In my mind, Adrien inherits Kenny's height. Yes, as you heard, KENNY'S HEIGHT. 190cm (6'3"). He's a big boy. I think it's funny that all the doctors check the baby and say, "haha, he's going to be tall!" and Levi is there looking at her like "… I don't like to admit I'm short as fuck, but if the kid isn't mine you can tell me," joking obviously, lmao.

"Levi, the kid is a photocopy of you."

Adrien is an extremely playful, happy, and hyperactive kid. He's so cheerful, and it makes Levi wish his mother was around so he could ask if he was such a cheerful kid too.

Chunky fat legs running down the halls as he doesn't even speak properly, but he already knows which office is daddy's office. He loves horses, he loves playing soldier, he loves being a daddy's boy.

This is when I mention that I believe Levi having a single child wasn't his original plan. I think he wished to give Adrien a sibling to make sure he won't be alone in life if anything ever happens to him as he was. But the whole rumbling happened, and after that, Levi was too busy trying to move him and his family outside of Paradise and after that settling down, taking care of Gabi and Falcon, that well time flew, and when everything was back to calmness, haha, well let's say that Levi had to admit that the train had left the station, and his energy to go back to change diapers had kinda withdrawn, lmao.

Finally, I think Adrien was a very hyperactive kid mainly because of the Ackerman genes. He has energy, he has strength, he has the abilities. He just has too much bottled up and doesn't know how to get tired. Levi is basically running around making sure the kid isn't jumping from the roof or climbing the kitchen cupboards. He probably ends up signing him up for a bunch of activities: baseball, self-defense classes, football, triathlon.

I have a bunch of other headcanons, so let me know if you want more!"

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @s0meb0dy-0nce-t0ld-me @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @flxrartsstuff @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 Wanna join my tag list? Here!

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thefallenangelsgang · 3 months ago

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I'm losing my fucking mind

Or: I just saw Lord of the Rings the Musical at the Chicago Shakespeare Theater and my brain chemistry has irreversibly changed

I'm too genuinely scrambled at the moment from travel to make a solid post (I am multiple states away from Illinois and I hate city driving) but I cannot shake the life-changing experience that was.

SPOILERS AHEAD

(Spoiler free tldr: story is changed sometimes severely to make a sub-3hr runtime or to simplify, but the message doesn't get completely lost. Tolkien fan approved)

First issue I can see everyone having is how much the story changes because it does change a lot. Rohan and Gondor being merged is probably the most glaring. I think it works because the show is more focused on the Hobbits (specifically Frodo and Sam). Personally I can look past it. My one issue is the missing Sam monologues (mount doom is a rather swift sequence, I'd have liked to see Sam give his devotion speech and his speech about the shire while waiting to die) those would have made insane songs but alas. The ending still was a gut punch though so it's more a personal preference thing.

First thing that blew me away was the technical aspect. The lighting and set design was GORGEOUS and EVOCATIVE. There were multiple times lighting alone drew me to tears.

The puppetry is immaculate. The nazgul chase is singularly some of the most beautiful choreo I've seen and I'm a slut for puppetry

The cast play all of the instruments live on stage, sometimes while doing choreography (nothing will prepare you to see Legolas holding a fucking trumpet or Boromir strapped into a goddamn accordion)

The costuming is more accurate to the original editions' illustrations which I found endlessly charming. One difference is, for safety (probably OSHA), all the hobbits (and Gollum) wear Sandals. This is never discussed. I love that.

BOROMIR IS KILLED BY HIS OWN SWORD WHICH I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW PERFECT THAT IS NARRATIVELY

GOLLUM PLAYED BY TONY BOZZUTO IS NEARLY INDISTINGUISHABLE FROM ANDY SERKIS

(I am not joking about this. Somehow he has mastered Andy's physicality and voice work. It truly was a sight to behold.)

Saruman/Elrond's actor (dressed as a hobbit) was hanging out in our section during preshow and was having a grand old time.

Bilbo and Frodo were in the main audience bothering people. Frodo was playing a stick and ring game and got absolutely shown up by some 10 year old he invited to play.

The Entmoot took literally 2 minutes (the way I had to stop from HOWLING at that)

I was SOBBING at the end, like actually.

Somehow this production managed to keenly make me feel the ending of Frodo leaving for the Grey Havens more than the movies did. The Irony of Frodo leaving being both a hopeful prayer that there is a place where people bound with trauma and wounds too deep to heal can live in peace without pain and also a grim acceptance that sometimes people cannot recover was STARK

Frodo and Sam really push the narrative of this show up until the end and it hits HARD. God bless this cast with steady work, they all deserve it.

#lotr #tolkien #lord of the rings #lord of the rings musical #lotr musical

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earlysunshines · 1 year ago

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moonlight serenade

kindergarden teacher!sana x fem!reader. (pt. 3)

summary: sana finds you even cuter after seeing you in shark pj's, you two are hopeless lesbians, you drive sana home and it's more romantic than it should be – oh my god you're not a mother?

wc: 5.3k

warnings: mentions of food, i think that's it ; reader has tattoos ; u two are hopeless romantics ; lesbians being lesbians

pt 1. pt2. pt4.

a/n: I love jazz. I've been listening to jazz in a bakery/cafe while writing each part actually. pls listen to moonlight serenade by ella fitzgerald, it's a work of art and one of my all time favorites :-D

(are lyrics in fics corny? I have no idea. I just love jazz and thought this song was perfect for this part.)

trying to write as much before I move! enjoy ;-]

“Are you actually serious?” Jihyo says, placing her cup of coffee down. Sana pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a small breath,

“Jihyo, I don’t know what to do,” Sana says defeatedly.

Two months have passed by and that means two months of seeing you every now and then. Johnny, your brother, has returned from his business trip, so he ended up being the one to take Hana to school in the morning and the one to pick her up in the afternoon. You, however, were not going to miss the chance to see this lovely woman named Sana. 5'4 inches of pure beauty and charm. So, you convinced him to let you take Hana to school once or twice a week just to see who you think is the woman blessed by Aphrodite.

I mean, the temperature is dropping, and the warmth that spreads through your body when you see Sana is definitely something you need for this weather.

Every week Sana would see you in the morning once or twice. You two would exchange your friendly greetings before Hana goes off to chat with her new best friend Jiyeong, you’d stare at each other all lovingly (you two are oblivious, it’s sick), and then part ways. Rinse and repeat, reuse, reduce, recycle, etc, this went on for two damn months.

Sana would never say anything more, she wouldn’t flirt, she wouldn’t ask you out, and she wouldn’t do anything but be friendly. She still believed that you were literally her student’s mother, and there was a guilt that got heavier every time her heart did a flip from seeing you.

Each interaction sparked a small flame in your hearts, and just before it grew bigger, you’d wave goodbye; the flame would die again, never growing large enough to really warm you two the way you both needed.

“Sana… I honestly have no clue what to say,” Jihyo starts, and she looks at the young teacher in front of her, practically losing her mind, “I mean, you’re sure she’s her mom?”

“Yes, I mean, the girl’s dad and her take turns dropping her off and whatnot. I'm not going to be more delusional than I already am trying to find anything that makes her seem less like a mother, I mean, it's clear that she is the mother of that girl.” Sana explains, and her heart sinks a little, “I guess her dad is nice, though, and tall, I don’t know.” Sana groans.

Jihyo watches Sana stick out her signature little pout and swirl the coffee in her cup,

“Well… There are always others, no?”

“I don’t know, it’s just something about her Jihyo,” and Jihyo listens with interest, “I just, ever since we met, I feel like, there was some kind of… god this is so embarrassing…” Sana trails off, putting a hand on her forehead and pinching her eyes shut from slight embarrassment. Sana reminisces the way you’d joke about Hana making your wrinkles appear if she kept it up with her little antics, how you’d make her laugh at your little comments, and the way your eyes scan the room for her in the mornings and -

“You’ve been a hopeless romantic since we were roommates, I’ve probably heard worse.” Jihyo sighs, and she reminisces about the days when Sana and she had to share a small single-bedroom dorm, and how she would gush about anything and romanticize everything.

“Look, she’s just so pretty… Maybe we could just be friends? She’s sweet.” Sana suggests, and Jihyo laughs in disbelief.

“You want to be friends with someone’s mother that you also, or, might have a crush on?”

“Maybe.”

You let yourself in through the front door with your spare keys, hanging your jacket on the coat hanger and sliding your shoes off, setting them on the shoe rack.

There’s a faint melody of a slow, soft song playing, and there’s a low voice that hums along to the old tune. It fits the atmosphere of the quiet house on a Thursday night.

You creep through the hall quietly to see your brother in the dimmed kitchen washing a few plates. He’s in a navy long-sleeved shirt with its sleeves rolled up so water doesn't temporarily shade his apparel, and loose shorts that go down to just above his knees. His hair is a bit messy, and he looks nerdy with his circular black glasses on. You laugh at the sight of him in his pajamas and slides, he jumps a little and turns his head in surprise after hearing you.

“My god, at least text me.” He sighs, and you chuckle at him. You make your way over to the area where he is and sit across from him at the kitchen island, he directs his attention back to the dirty plate in his hand, “Did you need something?”

“Kinda.”

“You know where everything is, just grab it if you need it. Also, be quiet, Hana just fell asleep.” Johnny responds, turning off the sink and placing the white dish in the dishwasher.

“It’s not a physical thing, I just… maybe some advice, or at least your thoughts.”

“...On?”

“There’s this girl,”

"Oh," He mumbles quietly, “You’re ready to date again?”

“I think so,” You begin, “She’s different you know. Not like that girl in high school. She’s actually the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and she’s sweet and nice and caring and-”

“How long have you known her?”

“Two months...”

“So it is Ms. Minatozaki.” Johnny scoffs, though, not in an insulting way, more of an ‘I fucking knew it’ way. He picks up a rag and starts to wipe it on the countertop.

You look at your taller brother in surprise, “How did you know?”

“Hana tells me all about you two y’know? Why else would you willingly wake up earlier than you should to drop off my daughter at school? And, she tells me that you ask about her teacher?” He laughs, “You’re not good at hiding things, never have been.”

“Hey!” You say defensively, and a little too loud as it makes him put a finger to his lips,

“Lower your voice.”

“Sorry.” You mumble, laying your head on your palm. Johnny turns his body to face you instead of the counter connected to the sink that he had previously been wiping,

“Soooo, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know Johnny.”

“You think she likes you?” He asks, genuinely curious about your new interest. Johnny grabs two glasses of water and places them on the counter, then sits down to the right of you, making sure to give his full attention to you.

Johnny has always been a good brother, and you two had your necessary brother-sister moments where you were at each other's throats; in fact, you’d bicker all the damn time and it even went on into high school. However, you two always had each other’s backs. Even when you hated each other there would be moments where you two were the only ones who understood each other, and sometimes time seemed to stop when you’d talk about the deeper topics and anything bothering you two.

And so, time slows down as Johnny listens to your rant.

“We’re friendly, I mean, what am I thinking? I feel slightly delusional I won’t even lie,” You sigh, “She’s so pretty and sweet and I just, I really want to get to know her. Like ever since I met her I felt like… It’s so corny but I swear the world literally paused for a moment.” You add, shifting your look away from your older brother.

How are you supposed to tell your brother that this woman that you’ve known for two months is making you lose some sleep, and, by the way, you haven’t even had a full conversation with her either. You think of the woman that you go out of your way to run into and see for ten minutes a day total, twice a week. You think of her radiant smile that rivals the sun's rays, the voice that’s more soothing than any song on your playlist, and the way her eyes light up when she sees you, and -

“You’re head over heels, huh,” Johnny says, amused.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I barely know her.” you lie,

“Well, you could.”

“And how am I supposed to do that? ‘Oh hey I think of you day and night just because I think you’re cute and nice and I think I almost overfilled a cup of cold brew while daydreaming about you, uh maybe we could go out sometime?’”

“Maybe don’t say that much, dumbass.” Your older brother says playfully, “Just start with a compliment or something, you seriously suck at this romance stuff.”

“Thanks,” You mutter, rolling your eyes, “But what if she thinks that’s weird? I’m literally her student’s aunt.”

“Maybe,” Johnny sighs and finishes the water in his cup, “Maybe you should get some rest, y/n. If you lose sleep over this woman who you’ve never had a full conversation with, imagine how much sleep you’ll lose when you finally do.” He stands up and makes his way over back to the sink to rinse the glass cup you had gotten him for his last birthday, “So, maybe you should catch up on rest now and rant to me when you finally have the balls to actually make a conversation with her, then I could actually give you some decent advice."

“You suck.”

“I want to give you my feedback and advice, but this is literally all I can say right now: ask her out and come back to me.”

“This is too much.”

“You’re a loser, y/n.” Johnny jokes, and he takes the cup that you hadn’t touched away and then rinses it.

You don’t even get to plan anything or prepare yourself for your next interaction with Sana, and you look stupid when you run into her too.

You’re at the nearest convenience store in an oversized t-shirt that was your brothers’, the gray shirt with a shark graphic on it that was too comfy to not steal. Paired with that tee were plaid shorts and white socks with more sharks on them that you had gotten from Hana last Christmas, along with grayish-green clogs on your feet.

You were dressed like a college student that was on a budget, and of course, you had to run into the woman of your dreams at a convenience store at 12:24 am on a Friday night while looking stupid.

Sana had run into you while you scanned the drinks section. You didn’t notice her calling out your name while there was pop music playing in your earbuds, and when you turned to see who had tapped on your shoulder your eyes widened.

Sana held a small basket in her hand, and she wore a purple sweatshirt along with gray sweatpants, much more presentable than what you were wearing. Your face goes red as you realize that she’s caught you looking ridiculous, all while she looks perfect.

Her hair is clipped up and some strands fall over her face, and she looks so unbelievably adorable just standing there smiling at you.

“Hi.” She says, looking you up and down.

She scans your whole look and gets a little flustered by how precious you look. Your hair is messed up and disheveled at the roots, as if you’d just gotten out of bed and ran a hand through it. The oversized t-shirt drowned your figure in comfort, and your inked, toned forearms were revealed. The t-shirt you wore had a cute shark graphic on it, Sana had guessed that your daughter had something to do with why you had that shirt. She smiles at the sight of you in such comfy clothing, looking lovely as ever while you stare back at her.

“Hey.” You respond, taking out an earbud,

“It’s surprising to see you here y/n,” Sana giggles, “Thirsty?” She questions, and she’s peeking at the vitamin water in one of your hands.

“I guess so.” You mumble, biting the inside of your cheek and putting a hand in your pocket, “It’s pretty surprising to see you here too.” You add. Surprising, but wow, definitely lucky. When would you ever see her looking so comfy and out of her workplace looking so cute?

Sana giggles and you feel like a huge gust of wind has hit you so suddenly, about to hit you off your feet. You smile brightly.

“I couldn’t sleep, I wanted something to snack on,” Sana shrugs. You glance at her basket and see some spicy turtle chips in the basket,

“Eating something spicy at this time is new to me, most people would have something warm, no?”

“Maybe.” Sana mutters, “I like your outfit, by the way.”

Your ears turn red again and you look down at your clothing, “Yeah… It’s a shirt from Hana’s dad, haha, that’s why it’s so big.”

Sana’s heart sinks a bit at the mention of Hana’s dad.

Sana and Johnny had met other times, and Sana thought he was nice, sweet, and she can't lie he does has a nice smile, but not as nice as yours. He treated Hana with care; Sana could tell he loved her dearly, as much as you did.

“I see, I like it. The two of them must love sharks, she always draws them during class.”

“She and her dad are very similar, lots of shark things in the house. I prefer koalas.” You reply. You wonder why the hell you’re mentioning koalas at this time, at this moment in this place, but it doesn’t matter because it seems to spark some kind of conversation with the woman in front of you, and Sana thinks it’s cute, actually.

“Koalas?” She questions amusingly, "They’re cute. I think hamsters are cuter, though.”

“hamsters?”

“Mhm.”

You chuckle at her response and wonder, how does she get cuter every time? Sana turns her head to eye at the drinks, then makes her way to the refrigerator door to grab one for herself, she grabs a canned iced americano and turns her body to face you again,

“Do you live near? I feel like I would’ve run into you sooner if you did.” Sana says, looking at the can in her right hand.

“Uh - no. The nearest convenience store closes at 12, so I just drove around until I found one open.” You answer, “Do you live near?” You ask. You wonder if the question is too weird or creepy to ask, I mean, this is a woman you don’t know too well, and would it be weird to ask a person you find so attractive where they live?

“Kind of. It’s a fifteen-minute walk, maybe less, give or take. The one right next to my place is closed too.”

“You walked? At this time?” You question her. Worry takes over your whole body because she walked alone? In the dark? At this hour?

Sana just hums in response, “Yeah, the neighborhood is really quiet and not too bad.”

“Still, you should’ve driven or something.”

“I don’t drive.” She simply states. You furrow your brows. She just stares back at you with those big brown eyes, it almost makes you forget about worrying.

She walks past you and heads to the self-checkout, you follow. There's a sudden idea that pops up in your mind, and you usually wouldn't be so bold to suggest or ask anything so direct, but it's twelve in the morning and your mind is too scrambled to make or think of any decent decisions.

“Sana,” You murmur, voice just barely above a whisper as you find the confidence for what you’re about to say, “Uh- this might be a little weird to ask, but, um…” You stutter, why the hell are you stuttering? She’s staring at you with those large espresso-colored eyes that remind you of your job at the moment, and the longer she stares back at you the more your mind races. This woman has your heart doing flips and pounding through your chest, you can barely manage your thoughts and words,

“Yes?”

“Uh, could I take you home?” You finally say, barely managing to make eye contact with her and it’s a humbling experience as your usually leveled (at least you think) demeanor crumbles under the presence of this woman.

“You don’t have to. It’s late and I don’t want to cause you too much trouble, y/n.”

“I’d be much more troubled if I knew you were walking home alone at this time, I insist.”

“Alright then. Let me pay first.”

You pause for a moment and Sana just turns back around, scanning the chips and canned coffee she had in her basket. It’s almost 12:30 now, and a pretty girl is letting you take her home. This wonder of the world is letting your disheveled self take her home.

“You have a nice car,” Sana says. She's never had a thing for cars or really knew too much about them. She's only paid attention to Jihyo’s five-seat white Lexus and the black, modified BMW that belonged to her childhood friend Momo. Other cars don't really matter or stand out to her, but Sana’s interest in you grows when she first sees the green Mercedes. Five-seated car looks nice and neat from the outside, for some reason, it really catches her attention. When she sits in the passenger seat she’s hit with the smell of coconut and vanilla. There are two things hung from the internal rearview mirror: One, a small keychain of a koala, and two, a picture of you and Johnny.

Sana can’t help but smile at the picture of you two, you two look happy.

You start the engine and put on your seatbelt before putting the drink you bought in the cup holder. You press on the screen in your car and a slow jazz melody plays. Of course, it had to be a love song.

“I’ve never seen your tattoos up close, they’re really pretty.” Sana suddenly says as you start to move out of where you were parked. Her eyes scan from your upper forearm, where the tattoo started, and down to where it ended just below your wrist, “I only saw a bit of them when you had dropped Hana off the first day.” Sana added.

She wanted to add on about how she also noticed the tattoo just under your knuckles too, and how she found the ink on your skin so endearing. She wanted to tell you all about the things she found attractive about you. From the noticeable things like your bold features to the little things she’s noted in her mind from every meeting. The way you’d always run a hand through your beautiful hair once or twice, the eye contact you couldn’t hold with her, the way you bit the inside of your cheek when you were quiet, the way your fingers often tugged at the beaded bracelet on your hand, how cute it was to watch you say bye to your daughter, and various other little details. Sana wanted to tell you all about those things, but that would be incredibly weird, right?

“Oh, yeah, thank you. I got the tattoo on my forearm a couple of years ago. Hana picked out the butterfly on my hand last year, actually.” You say, looking at the screen of your car as you back up a bit, making sure you don’t hit anything.

“Oh, also, you can type the address on my phone. Here.” You add, handing her the device. Sana types in her address quickly and it pops up on the screen. It’s a quick 4-minute drive, and you both wished it were a bit longer.

The music continues to play softly while you two sit in silence, and it somehow makes the mood a bit more intimate whilst the faint sound of Ella Fitzgerald's voice echoes,

I stand and I wait

For the touch of your hand in the June night

The roses are sighing

A moonlight serenade

Your breath hitches, “Um, you can change the song if you want…” You say embarrassed. Sana shakes her head and mumbles,

“It’s alright. I like it, It’s cute.” She admits, making you blush a bit. You grip the wheel a little tighter as you stop at the red light. The heartfelt lyrics fill the air with a romantic hum, and only the tender melody is heard as you sit together in silence.

The stars are aglow

And tonight how their light sets me dreaming

My love, do you know

That your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?

Sana’s heartbeat skips a little knowing that you listen to such romantic melodies, and she wonders if you love as romantically as such songs. Her mind wanders to the thought of you serenading her in the moonlight, or serenading her in a more domestic setting. The sudden thought of you humming along to these tunes while you cooked or cleaned allowed made her cheeks flush a bit. Jihyo was right: Sana is a hopeless romantic. She’s too far in to get out of the hole of these feelings, and her heart aches a little, the guilt piles up.

You on the other hand are freaking out.

Sana likes your lovey-dovey taste in music, and she seems content (Sana's having a crisis). Maybe you do have a chance with this woman, I mean, she’s already in your car and letting you take her home. Maybe you can do this again, maybe you can listen to songs like this together in a more intimate setting rather than your car, and maybe you can do more than just listen to Ella Fitzgerald together. All the maybe’s in your head are cut short as you reach her place and park in front of her apartment complex.

“We’re here.” You mutter, and you wish you weren’t.

Sana nods and reaches for the eco-friendly bag she had set down, unbuckles her seatbelt, then turns so that her eyes stare into yours with a new intensity. She puts her left hand on your right hand that had been gripping the gear shift ever so gently, your jaw tenses a bit and your left hand that had been on the wheel tightens its hold once more. She looks from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes again. Your heart is suddenly an acrobat the way it's doing so many flips.

“Thank you again, I appreciate it.” She says, and her other hand is on the handle of the door, ready to get out, but she doesn’t.

“Anytime, I didn’t want you to be out alone at this time.” you wonder how that sentence leaves your mouth so calmly because your heart is beating at least two hundred times per minute.

Sana’s lips curve into a smile again and you relax a bit,

“Well,” Sana starts, and she opens the door, “I’ll see you soon?”

“I’m picking up Hana on Monday.”

“Great. See you then, y/n.” She finally says, turning away and getting out of the car. You two look at each other again and your eye contact lingers a bit before she finally closes the door, waves, and turns to head inside the apartment complex.

The music continues to play, and your heart longs for her once again.

I stand at your gate

And I sing you a song in the moonlight

A love song, my darling

A moonlight serenade

A week passes after this encounter, and Sana is currently giving the kids an announcement that might have them jumping off the walls.

“Alright everyone in your seats please.” She says kindly. The students listen to her and shuffle to their seats, some chatter being shared as they do so. Sana claps her hands in a pattern to bring the students’ attention to her, and they clap their hands the same way that she had, quieting down in the process.

“Alright everyone, before I make this announcement, I need everyone to behave and not get too rowdy, okay?”

“Yes Ms. Minatozaki!” The class answers enthusiastically. Sana nods and smiles at them,

“Alright. So, there’s a special trip that is planned for you all next week.” She begins. The kids' faces start to light up after hearing the words “special trip” and almost all of them are itching to get more details on it. Sana’s face seems to light up with theirs from just looking at the excitement on their faces, so she continues,

“Next Wednesday we will be spending the day at the art museum downtown. There are going to be multiple people guiding you throughout the museum, and you’ll be able to learn about the art.” Sana explains, “And, at the end of the trip we’ll all meet back at a special room where you can paint along with an instructor.”

The kids’ smiles grow even wider, some are whispering to each other while others continue to keep their attention on the young teacher.

“Now, I also wanted to add that we will be needing some chaperones to help look after the class. I have some papers that I’ll give to you, make sure you show them to your mom, dad, or guardian. If they’d like to tag along to help out that would be great, and highly encouraged.” Sana says, pulling out a pile of papers from her desk, she begins to pass around said forms.

An hour passes and it’s free choice time. Hana walks up to the young teacher with the form that Sana had previously handed out. Sana smiles at the young girl and tilts her head,

“What is it, Hana? Is everything okay?” The young teacher questions,

“Um, Ms… What does guardian mean? You said mom, dad, and guardian earlier. Does that mean grown up?” Hana asks, and she looks at the paper as if her five-year-old self can read the whole thing with ease,

“I guess so. It’s an adult who takes care of you.” Sana explains to the girl. The girl hums to herself and furrows her brows,

“Does that mean y/n can come?”

“Of course, she’s your mom isn’t she?” Sana asks, and she’s confused as to why the girl looks up at her in surprise,

“My mom?”

“Yes… She’s your mom, no?”

“Ms. Minatozaki, Y/n is my aunt.”

Sana’s whole world stops for a moment. Y/n is her aunt?

“So your dad and her are…?”

“Y/n is my papa’s younger sister, she always jokes about him being so old,” Hana says, laughing to herself.

Sana genuinely stops functioning as she processes this new information: You’re not taken. Fireworks set off in her heart and confetti seems to pop: you’re not her mom. All the guilt that had been on her shoulders from thinking she was infatuated with a taken mother is gone, and it all makes sense now. Sana wonders how stupid she could’ve been, I mean, you and Hana’s dad had similar features, face shape, hair texture, and color. The young teacher had also realized that Hana only called you by your name, and not “mommy” or “mom” or anything like that; how could she have been so stupid?

“Ms. Minatozaki?”

“Oh, yeah, yes Hana. Y/n can come, of course, she can.” Sana says, and she really hopes you do come. Hana smiles and looks back at her paper before talking to her teacher again,

“You know, my aunt, she asks about you a lot.”

“She does?” Sana says, her heart skips a beat. Hana nods and looks back up at the teacher,

“She always asks about how school was, but she always ends up asking more about you and how you were during the day.” Sana’s eyes widen and she looks at the young girl in front of her, exposing you for being so interested in her.

The flame in her heart grows bigger, and it seems that the flame has no intention of dying down now that she knows you’re not Hana’s mother. Hana turns around and makes her way back to her desk to color after seeing that Sana wasn’t capable of responding again, and Sana doesn't even notice. Hana sits down unbothered, not knowing that she just turned Sana’s whole mood around, not knowing that this new piece of information will have her daydreaming the rest of the day – no, the rest of the week – maybe the rest of the month.

The school day comes to an end and the usual routine occurs: bell rings, kids scream, talk, and practically leap out of their seats to get in line to go to the entrance of the building. Sana waits with her usual group of eight, which includes Hana, and she hopes that today would be the day that you decided to pick her up. You had already picked Hana up on Monday, but now it’s Wednesday and those are the days that Hana’s dad would usually pick the little girl up, great.

Forty minutes pass and Sana sits down at the main office with Hana, no one had come to pick her up yet. Hana seems to be unbothered by this as she colors and draws on the sheet of paper that Sana had given her to cure her boredom, but she worries slightly since Jihyo still waits for her in the front.

Sana texts Jihyo a string of apologies and explanations and before she reads the instant reply, the sound of heavy breaths are heard as a familiar face enters the room, looking around all worried until her body relaxes when she sees her niece.

Y/n lets out a sigh of relief seeing Hana sitting down, coloring as if there wasn’t a single problem in the world. Her look shifts over to Sana, who is already looking at her. Their eyes meet and it makes the two women smile at one another.

“Hana,” your voice makes the little girl turn her head. She smiles and runs up to hug you, leaving her art on the desk,

“Aunt y/n!” And this is the first time Sana hears the little girl actually call you her aunt, she wishes that she would’ve called you aunt earlier (it would've saved her sleepless nights of wondering what the hell to do with her feelings, but at least she knows now).

You hug the little girl back and swipe away the strands of hair on her face, “Hi little one. Your dad had something come up at work, I rushed over as soon as my shift ended.” You explain. You turn back to share eye contact with the young teacher, eyes narrowing and lips curving upwards as you smile at her, “Thank you for watching her, I’m sorry for being so late.”

“It’s all right, really.” It’s more than all right, Sana thinks.

You grin again and turn your attention back to your niece, “Ready to go?”

“Yup!”

“Okay little one, come on.” and you crouch down to let her wrap around your shoulders, letting her piggyback ride you. You grab the art that your niece had made on the table and finally stand in front of Sana, thanking her.

“I’m sorry again, thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem, it’s nice to see you again,” Sana admits, a bit shyly too. The grin that’s already present on your lips grows and you wave to the shorter woman,

“I’ll see you.” You finally say, waving with your free hand and turning your head to the little one, “Let’s get going, your dad will be back by dinner.” You mutter, and Hana hums tiredly in response before you head out the main office doors, taking a quick glance at Sana, smiling again.

…

Jihyo’s going to lose her mind when I tell her all of this, Sana thinks to herself.

#sana imagines #kpop x reader #sana x reader #twice sana #twice x reader #gay gay gay #twice imagines #minatozaki sana #sana fluff

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