#i can't swing it. not the way i want to. there are some songs on the playlist that make me unwell

[kinaesthetiqueer]

weiss deserves to go little a feral. as a treat.

[kyunniebuns]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 050 - Lover! HSR Men x Fem! Reader: Can't sleep at night.... ♡ ˎˊ˗

꒰ Caelus, Aventurine, Sunday, Dan Heng ꒱

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ ℂ𝕒𝕖𝕝𝕦𝕤 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

"Alright, who is begging to be whooped by my bat—" Caelus announces, his voice full of conviction as he held his bat until his gaze lowered down to see your sorry little state clutching a miniature plushie of him you got from the trailblaze stern's merchandise. "O-oh, babe!"

He immediately panics and throws away the bat he was ready to swing at a moment's notice.

"I uhm... Heh!" He scratches the back of his head before taking your hand. "What's wrong? It's really late now, did you have a nightmare?"

"No... Not really" You slump, entirely upset. "I watched a sad movie and now I can't sleep."

"... Ah, that old film Mr. Yang recommended?" Caelus hums thoughtfully, "Wanna hit the hay with me then? My new room is really big and I got new pillows!"

"Please" You nod sheepishly as your boyfriend guides you inside the upturned storeroom he spent days decorating and renovating.

It was a sight to behold knowing how empty and barren the place was until the astral express team decided to give him the space. Now Caelus had a whole paradise to himself. A kitchen, his own bathroom, a weapon station, and even his massive gaming area that he spent hours on end when the crew isn't off doing training or he's joining March on whatever stupidity to stress Dan Heng and Sunday with since the former head of the oak family has decided to hitchhike for a little while.

"Wanna talk about the movie?" Caelus asks as he kisses your plump cheek so you would look at him. "Or is it too sad?"

You shook your head, not wanting to recall the film that made you look at the wall and contemplate life. Mr. Yang is truly cruel for suggesting such a sad movie.

"Hm..." He ponders, trying to recall the contents of the book he asked from Dan Heng about cheering up your girlfriend who is clearly upset.

Now that he thinks about it, the contents of that book is too cringey and will probably not help you at all.

"Anything you want me to do?" He gently ruffles the side of your head.

"Sunday told me he taught you some voice thingies" You say, your eyes glimmering as you look up at his golden orbs.

"Well, uhm... Err... About that" A dust of pink tinges on his fair cheeks.

He wanted to surprise you with a love song on your anniversary so he secretly started asking voice lessons from him, but maybe he should have told the halovian man that it's for a surprise.

"You will, right?... Right?" You nod expectantly, making Caelus feel all the more helpless as he can't resist his lover.

"Alright, alright" He nods as he clears his throat.

"You can do it, Caelus. Sunday said your voice is really good, just relax" He tells himself.

He needed a bit more time as he developed the courage, but eventually he started humming. He remembered Sunday's lessons well after all, he should be fine.

Caelus kept humming for a while until he noticed you completely passed out in his arms and nuzzling his chest. He silently screamed a victorious howl, crying of joy and thanking Sunday for joining the astral express and for the free singing lessons.

Now he knows the perfect way of coaxing you to sleep without using unconventional methods. The strict guidance he underwent from Sunday is all not in vain.

After all, he has his cute girlfriend snuggled up against him with a miniature plushie version of himself in her arms. What more can he ask for?

So gently, he squeezed you in his arms while kissing your cheek.

"Goodnight, baby. I hope you dream pleasant dreams"

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝔸𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕖 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Aventurine has just finished working on his remaining paperworks for the evening until there was a knock on his office, he lazily called out to come in and perked up at the sight if your wearing the pajamas he bought for you the other day.

"Ah, look at you, darling. I knew the limited edition one made of fine silk suits your cute figure, come come. I want to admire you more." Aventurine urges you to come over.

And once you were near enough, he perched you on his lap and peppered your pretty face with kisses.

"It's bedtime now, though, why are you still awake, hm?" He inquires as he strokes the top of your head.

"Can't sleep..." You complain softly as Aventurine presses his lips on your forehead.

"Mm, is it because you need me by your ride to sleep?" He teases.

"Mhm..." You nod sheepishly, feeling childish for such a demand.

"Ah, how cute!" Aventurine muses, giving you another plethora of kisses. "I would love to join you in bed, but as you can see, the ipc is working me to the bone again and I have just returned from break"

He gestures to the pikes of paperwork still on his desk and open documents on the screen.

"Can I stay here then?" You ask, playing with his necktie. "I'll be good, I promise"

"Whatever makes your pretty little head happy, dearest" The signonian man hums, pulling your head to the crook of his neck as a way to coax you into sleeping.

The room soon falls into silence, with the exception of Aventurine's writing and keyboard typings. A sweet aroma of wood and citrus permeates through his office, making the whole place even more cozier than it already is.

And soon, you would find yourself lost in dreamland in your beloved's arms.

It took him a while to notice, but Aventurine soon realizes you're completely asleep. He smiles gently, his heterochromatic eyes gazing so lovingly at your face.

He never really thought he would be holding you like this again given all the trouble he went through in penacony. Not to mention, he was dead set on disappearing there until a knight of beauty rescued him from hell.

Aventurine is not taking another chance at being so reckless again knowing that someone as precious as you is waiting for him at home. And how could he leave you when you're this adorable and clingy? He would rather be humiliated than ever make you upset again.

So once again, he kisses your forehead— A lingering one this time as a way to bless you in your sleep.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕪 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Sunday's days are finally peaceful and stress-free ever since he became a runaway fugitive in Penacony. Who knew staying in the astral express can bless him with such clarity and tranquility? He's never had his guard down like this when he was the head of the oak family. He always presented himself as the most perfect person as he can be.

But now, he is dressed in an outfit that is asymmetrical. He lives in a space where there is a mess here and there that he cannot help but tidy up as a way to help pompom. It's quite awkward to reside in the train that bodyslammed him multiple times when he was at the peak of insanity. But this will do. Yes. This will do. Sunday is, after all, still adjusting to the life in the astral express, the astral express that you are also part of.

"Sunny?..." You call out to him as he arranges some books that he borrowed from Dan Heng as a way to pass the time.

"Dearest." The halovian smiles lovingly, putting down the books he is holding and gesturing you to his bed so he can sit you down. "My love, if you sleep this late then you will he moody in the morning again"

He cups your cheek gently, his wings fluttering softly as he touches your skin.

"I just can't sleep... I was scared you're still missing" You murmur, making his heart ache.

"I told you, it's alright now. I'm hitchhiking here" He reassures you before tucking you in his sheets. "I promised you that I will protect you as I give my services to the astral express, you needn't be so distressed."

He then ponders for a while, "Shall I hum you a tune then? My sister used to be like you when she has trouble resting. While I would normally suggest that we listen to her albums, it seems that my love needs 'Sunny'— More right now."

It was awkward to use that nickname, but he would make an exception for his beloved.

"Mhm..." You nod, intertwining your fingers together.

Sunday started to hum a lullaby he used to coax Robin with when they were little. A soft, steady and melancholic lullaby his mother taught him when he was younger. It was one of the few things he cherishes from her. Though her departure is abrupt and sudden, Sunday chooses to remember all the joyous memories he has given him and his baby sister.

And part of that way is singing you the lullaby she would sing. It never fails to soothe you after all.

See?

Your already breathing so slowly. Your chest would rise and fall in a steady manner and he would eventually stop.

"There we go, my little bird" Sunday cooes, kissing your forehead. "Don't worry about me anymore. I will stay by your side as long as you permit me to. I want to see the stars with you a bit longer, so rest well."

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝔻𝕒𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕟𝕘 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

"Yes?..." Dan Heng answers the door and sees you fidgeting with your little fingers.

"Hi..." You awkwardly greet him.

"..." The vidyadhara steps aside, a silent way of inviting you in since he knew what is going on.

"Am I bothering you?" You ask, glancing at the paperwork on his desk scattered around.

"No, I was finished anyway" Dan Heng shakes his head, "Ignore the papers. I was just reviewing some stuff regarding our recent expenses,"

His blue eyes then glance down at you who is holding a teddy bear he gave you as a present on your birthday. The sight softens his heart.

He lifted his blanket, tipping his head over to it so you can snuggle in.

Once you are settled, Dan Heng tucks you in before climbing in himself.

"Aren't you uncomfortable with my bed?" He inquires, softly patting your hip to coax you into sleep. "I don't have a comfortable mattress like March and Caelus."

"But yours is the warmest" You shake your head.

"Is that so?" He smiles softly, "Shall I tell you a bedtime story the elders tell the children then?"

"Stories?" You perk up at the suggestion.

The stories from the xianzhou loufu are always fascinating and Dan Heng had a talent for story-telling. Maybe it's because of the fact that he loves reading books that he has a knack for it.

He starts telling you the folklore that he finds fascinating. His voice is low but not too quiet, he expresses the right emotions as needed and fluctuates his voice to immerse you further in the story.

It never fails to amuse Dan Heng on the precious way your eyes would light up at the climax of the story and when he tells you the twists.

You are always so amazed by the folk lore he tells like a little girl.

By the end of the story, you are ironically more exhausted than he is as you struggle to keep your eyes open.

"What a fun and sad story" You yawn, "Are stories from the xianzhou loufu always full of tragedy?"

"Not really, I just chose this story in particular for tonight" He kisses your forehead as a way to apologize, "I'll tell you a happier one next time then, forgive me for this one."

"Nuh-uh... It's okay" You shake your head as your eyes finally close. "I like Dan Heng's stories..."

And just like that, you are asleep in the vidyadhara's arms— Warming his heart all the more at the sight of you so snuggled up on him.

Truth be told, Dan Heng never thought there would come a day wherein he would ever have a lover. He's always busy attending to the data bank and taking care of March and Caelus to spare them from their stupidity. There are times where he is just so over them and lets them be stupid though just so they can have a taste of their medicine.

But with you? He would never do that.

Dan Heng will always keep you out of danger. He wont necessarily direct you to what not to do or what to— But he will be by your side and ready to extend a guiding hand should you actually need him.

Every boyfriend wants to cherish his dearest darling.

And Dan Heng is no exception to that.

Telling you bedtime stories is just one of the few duties he enjoys doing as your lover and he silently hopes that you keep coming to him to hear all about his culture that he adores.

He presses his lips on yours, applying a chaste kiss before muttering in his native tongue— A silent oath that vidyadharas have to their fated ones. An oath that he binds himself to you. To his beloved. To the one who owns his heart.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: Moshi moshi (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡, this is my official hsr fanfic heuehshab. These four are my most fave in the game currently and I couldn't resist the idea of bedtime with my boys(⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠), so here! This is my first official offering and to many more. I will add a few more lovers ofc, but I wanted to kickstart it off with these bbs in particular( ∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩). ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[hanniebaeee]

All I want for Christmas

Chris Bang x fem!reader

Warnings: some tears and making out

Genre: almost exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Summary: You and Chris are on the verge of a break up, but then, it's Christmas. And there's some magic in the air.

a/n: Merry Christmas everyone 💕 Love you all, and I can't thank you guys enough for all the love and support. Lots of love and wishes for the New year from me✨

The freezing December air bit at your cheeks as you stepped onto the rooftop of your apartment building. One of your neighbors, Jimin, handed you a cup of mulled wine, and you accepted with a smile. Your fingers wrapped tightly around the mug tightly, your eyes taking in the sight around you. 

The party was in full swing - warm fairy lights strung across the rooftop, some of older women decorating gingerbread men. A beautiful Christmas tree gleamed in the center, but none of it reached you.

Your eyes darted around the crowd, searching for just one face. 

Chris.

Your chest ached at the thought of him. It had been weeks since you last spoke. Since that disastrous fight. You'd both said things you didn't mean. It was just a poor way of shielding your own hearts from being hurt.

You loved him. God, you loved him. But sometimes love wasn’t enough. Or maybe…it was just too much.

You sighed and sipped your drink, leaning against the railing, letting the city lights blur your thoughts. And then, you felt it before you saw him. That quiet pull.

There he was.

Chris stood at the far end of the rooftop, near the makeshift stage, surrounded by kids. 

He looked good. Too good. In that beautiful grey coat and pants, and that crisp white shirt that you loved so much on him. But his eyes - they were rimmed with dark circles, hollow in a way that absolutely shattered your heart.

You turned away, your breath hitching. How was it possible to miss him this much, when he's standing right there in front of you?

“Alright, alright, gather ‘round!” someone announced, pulling your attention to the stage.

The kids had taken seats on the front row, giggling with excitement. And then, Chris stepped forward to the mic, with a guitar in hand. And his eyes met yours, and your heart stopped.

“Settle down, settle down,” he told the kids, with a gentle smile on his face, his voice a little rough around the edges.

And then his eyes met yours once again, as he started to sing. 

Silent night, holy night…

The world faded. His voice was like warm honey, dripping with emotion, so achingly tender, like he was pouring every ounce of himself into the song. You stood frozen, his voice wrapping around your chest, squeezing tight until tears pricked your eyes.

Towards the end of the song, you couldn’t take it anymore. Blinking rapidly, you slipped away, setting your mug down on a nearby table and heading for the stairwell.

You didn’t make it far.

Sinking onto the cold steps, you buried your head in your hands, shoulders trembling as sobs wracked your body.

“Y/N.”

The voice was breathless, and you looked up to see him standing there, his chest rising and falling like he’d run after you. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and his eyes, wide, desperate.

“Chris, I…”

He didn’t let you finish. He sat on the step near you, his hands cupping your face as he leaned in close, his forehead brushing yours.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I can’t be without you. I know I screwed up, I know things are messy, but…please. Don’t let this be the end. I need you, baby.”

You swallowed hard, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Chris, it’s not that simple. We keep hurting each other.”

“I’ll fix it,” he said, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “Whatever it takes. I’ll fix it, because I love you more than anything. Please, just…don’t give up on us. Don't give up on me…”

The vulnerability in his voice shattered the last of your resolve. You surged forward, your lips crashing into his in a kiss, so desperate but sweet. 

He groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you into his lap as you straddled him on the narrow staircase.

The stairwell was quiet except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint hum of music drifting down from the rooftop. Chris’s hands roamed your back, pulling you as close as he could. Your lips moved together in a rhythm that was both frantic and tender, years of love and pent-up longing pouring into every kiss.

“God, I missed you,” Chris whispered against your mouth, his soft wet lips so warm. His thumbs brushed along your jawline. “Missed this. Missed you.”  

“I missed you too,” you admitted, your hands threading into his soft curls. “So much.”  

His lips found yours again, hungrier this time, and you melted into him, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt. He shifted slightly, leaning back against the wall and pulling you further into his lap. And the heat radiating from his body was enough to make your head spin.  

“Chris…” you murmured, breaking the kiss just enough to look at him. His eyes held a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

“I love you, baby,” he said and tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t from sadness.

You pressed your lips to his and he hummed softly, his hands sliding down to your hips, and sliding under the hem of your sweater. His touch was warm, sending shivers down your spine.

His lips slipped down your neck, and you tilted your head to give him better access, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Chris, anyone can just walk by,” you managed to say, your voice tinged with both amusement and desire. 

“And?” he teased, smiling as he nipped lightly at your collarbone.  

You let out a laugh that quickly turned into a sigh as his hands slid higher under your sweater, his thumbs brushing the sides of your ribs. His kisses grew rougher, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you squirm. 

“Okay,” you said breathlessly. “But if Mrs. Park from 3B catches us, I’m blaming you.”

Chris chuckled, his grin boyish and utterly irresistible.

“Fair. But I think she’d just tell us to get married already.” he said, and you stilled, searching his eyes. There was no teasing in his gaze now, just pure love.  

“Too soon?” he asked softly.

“No,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. “Not at all.”

With a radiant smile, he kissed you again, slow and deep.

“Come back to me,” he whispered against your lips. “Move back in with me. Let’s fix this. Together.” 

Your heart swelled, and you nodded, tears spilling over. 

“Okay, Channie. Let’s try again.”

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere

Dividers: @strangergraphics

[madaqueue]

PUSH AND PULL

something silent and intangible ties you to sukuna, and has for as long as you've known each other. but you can't help but wonder what would happen if you pull on that little red string of fate, bringing him closer than just friends.

pairing: ryomen sukuna x f!reader

themes/content: modern non-curse au, best friends to ???. suggestive/smut. language, pet names (pretty, baby, sweetheart), he calls you a slut but like as a joke, alcohol consumption, semi-public. 18+, MDNI (wc: 2.6k)

It was always just you and Sukuna, for as long as you could remember. Even as kids, the two of you found your home in the corner of the playground after he pushed someone off a swing you wanted to use; in highschool, you etched your names into the desks during some mundane class, landing both of you in detention. He wove his way into your life, and you into his, mending the frayed threads left behind by scissors and rough hands.

So of course neither of you ever dated - you didn’t need anybody else. Nobody would put up with (nor could handle) him and his moods. And you, well, nobody would dare get near you so long as you had him around.

To his credit, it took very little to scare any potential suitors off, oftentimes nothing more than a glare or a firm hand on their shoulder. And he seemed to understand that no one would ever quite compare to you, everyone else too boring, too bland, too pathetic to deserve his attention.

And so, you played along, this little game of pushing and testing and teasing and almost almost almost.

Yet, there was always something in the way, some invisible force keeping you from ever bridging the gap. “Just friends,” you both called it, a name for the insurmountable chasm between you. It was silent, unspoken, but always felt, a magnetic pull that kept you close but never allowed you to touch.

Tonight in particular, at this shitty house party of a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend, that pull feels almost tangible, lingering in the hazy air.

Music blares, flashing LEDs illuminating the thin layer of sweat covering both of your bodies. Every thump of the bass electrifies the air, your heartbeat vibrating in tune. Tattooed hands hold your hips firmly against his body, your ass pressed to his pelvis.

You love this song. He loves you loving it.

That smug grin plays across his face, shadows cast by the flickering party lights above making it appear far more sinister to someone who doesn’t know Sukuna. But to you, he’s perfectly content.

When the chorus hits, you bend at the waist, dropping forward and grinding against him. Always such a fucking tease, he thinks as a quiet laugh escapes his lips. His fingertips tighten their hold but he shows no other sign of his sinful desires (he was proud of his restraint, even after all these years).

Bending your knees, the pathetically thin material of your dress rides up just enough that a prouder man would feel obligated to look away. Sukuna, of course, just chuckles as you look over your shoulder.

“You look like a slut.” Bright white teeth shine through his grin.

“At least I can dance,” you retort, hips circling against the front of his jeans. “You look stiffer than a dead guy’s dick.”

Throwing his head back, a laugh overtakes him, seemingly louder than the shitty pop song playing through the speakers. Pink hair catches under the red lights, absolutely electrifying. “Jesus, I forgot how filthy that fuckin’ mouth of yours can get.”

Fully turning around, you press your chest against his, your dress doing little to hide the way your nipples harden at the mild friction. The now-empty cup in your hand dangles at your side as you stand on your toes, lips brushing against his ear. “I’m gonna go get another drink to wash out this ‘filthy fuckin’ mouth,’” you shout over the music.

Instead of verbally responding, Sukuna steps back, slapping your ass as you make your way to the kitchen.

You know, of course, that he wouldn’t let anyone else talk to him the way you do, and you, of course, wouldn’t dare let anyone touch you the way he does (and he sure as hell wouldn’t let anyone else do it, either).

The kitchen is brighter than the surrounding chaos, your eyes blurry as they adjust. Finding your way to the stash of bottles, you pour yourself some combination of juice and liquor. The fake marble of the table is cold against your skin as you hop onto it, crossing your legs as the liquid hits your lips.

It’s certainly palatable, you shrug.

You bask in the muted silence for a moment before it’s broken by Sukuna’s loud footsteps marching towards you.

He always commanded attention so effortlessly, eyes turning to follow his path. At first you thought it was the visible tattoos lining his skin and notably unnatural hair, but over time you grew to wonder if there was something more innate, something living within his soul that evoked the unyielding focus from those around him.

Ruby eyes lock on yours (surely an effect of the colored LEDs still flashing nearby) as he glides in front of you. Your legs part, dangling over the edge of the countertop as he slots himself between them, arms encircling you.

Placing his palms onto the table behind your waist, the scent of whatever expensive cologne he probably stole this week hangs on his clothes as he leans closer.

“Thought I finally got rid of you when you didn’t come back.” His voice is gravelly, lips pulled into a leering smile.

“Maybe I just finally got sick of dancing with someone who only wants to paw at me,” you chuckle sarcastically. Lifting the cup to your mouth, you take another swig. “And you’re awfully close for someone who smells like shitty beer and sweat.”

“Oh really?”

Before you can respond, his lips are trailing up your neck, his nose pushing your hair to the side as he nuzzles into your skin.

His breath is hot, tickling your earlobe as he lowly whispers, “Well you smell lovely.”

On instinct your legs try to close around him, a desperate attempt to quell the ache growing between them. You hate his stupid fucking voice, his annoying flirting, how he always goes just a little too far pushing your buttons.

But he’s your friend.

(And that’s all you’ll ever be to him, too).

All you can do is chug your drink, hoping the alcohol dampens the racing pulse of your heart.

“Thanks, I actually pay for my perfume, unlike you, you fucking delinquent,” you manage to spit out.

Finally he pulls back, eyes locked on you. There’s an intensity behind them you can’t quite name, but one you’ve grown familiar with.

He’s playing with you.

A low hum vibrates from his throat in response, his gaze traveling down to your lips. “What’re you drinking?”

He changes the subject, as he always does when things threaten to get too serious, too real. Always running away, afraid to face the ever-insistent voice inside him that evokes a pause the moment before he hurls himself over the edge into desire.

You smirk. “Why don’t you try it?”

Bringing the cup to his face, it rests on his lower lip as you tilt it upwards, the saccharine liquid pouring down his throat. His eyes never leave yours as he swallows. A small trail dribbles down his chin while you place the empty plastic cup onto the counter beside you.

“Messy boy,” you coo, tone as falsely sweet as the drink lingering on his lips.

Grabbing his face, you pull him towards you, close enough you can make out the faint freckles decorating his cheeks. You collect the sugary liquor on your tongue as it travels along his skin, slightly rough from his freshly-shaved stubble. When you reach the corner of his mouth, you place a teasing peck before releasing your grasp.

“Someone should really teach you some manners, ‘Kuna.” And that devilish smile spreads across your face.

You see, you can play with him, too.

He stifles the giddy laugh building in his chest as he fixes his gaze back on you. “And someone should teach you how to make a drink, that shit was nasty.”

“You entitled brat,” you snap back, pushing him away with a hand against his chest. “I make excellent drinks, otherwise why else would you end up drunk on my couch every weekend, hm?”

“Maybe I just like the couch’s company,” he grins, dimples poking through the darkened lines spanning his face.

You’re both just staring at each other, waiting for something to happen, for someone to make a move. The air is electric, buzzing with that imperceptible desire.

Fuck it.

Just as you move to lean into him, a noise cuts through the static.

“Sukuna!” someone calls from the depths of the party.

His head whips around before shooting you an almost apologetic glance. “Guess someone else requires my attention.”

“Wouldn’t wanna keep them waiting for everyone’s favorite asshole,” you mock. With a mirrored smack of his ass, you send him away into the chaos surrounding you.

In his absence, your head swirls, overwhelmed with the alcohol and the lights and the sudden heat in your core.

Just friends.

You’re just friends.

Taking in a steadying breath, your hands shake as you pour another drink.

But at what point does it stop being a game? When do you decide to stop playing?

With a sigh you knock it back in one gulp before wandering between the bodies crowding the space.

The rest of the party is all skin and noise. It’s fluid and blurry and utterly debaucherous, the way you throw your arms around your friends, the way your body moves with each increasingly loud and repetitive song.

By the time the next few hours have passed, your feet start to ache as you make your way from the swath of strangers crowding the makeshift DJ booth at the front of the house.

Stumbling towards the back, a familiar voice calls your name.

“Where ya goin’, pretty?”

Sukuna is sprawled across one of the stained couches lining the walls, an unfamiliar girl hanging on his side. Her hands rest across his chest as her eyes cover you disapprovingly, nails digging into his shirt when you refuse to give her an ounce of attention.

“Lookin’ for somewhere to sit down,” you sigh, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

“Got a free seat right here,” he smirks, patting his thigh. This fucker.

An angry glare forms along the girl’s face as she stares at you with a displeased grunt. Crossing your arms, you let out a breathy chuckle. “I would, but I wouldn’t wanna interrupt anything.”

Sukuna never even turns towards the girl who now traces her fingertips down his chest. “Nothin’ to interrupt here, baby.”

Exchanging a quick glance at the increasingly unhappy stranger lounged across him, she lets out an annoyed scoff as she rolls her eyes, finally removing herself from Sukuna. Brushing past you, she tries to shove into your shoulder before she misses, tumbling forward and back onto the dance floor.

You can’t help but giggle at the failed show of dominance, your eyes now finding their way back to Sukuna. He pats his thighs again expectantly, eyebrows quirking as he awaits your response.

He’s fucking with you, of course.

But before you know it, you’re standing between his legs. With a small sigh, you seat yourself on his lap, bare legs straddling him. A whisper of mischief dances behind his eyes while his hands make their way to your hips, holding you firmly in place.

“See? Isn’t this much more comfortable?” he taunts.

Heat builds in your core at how low his voice is, the rumbling of thunder just before a storm.

“Mmm,” you hum, letting your dissatisfaction show as you click your tongue. Wrapping your arms easily around his neck, your fingertips absentmindedly trace the lines of his tattoos to where they end at the neckline of his t-shirt. “It’s a bit better, but something’s still missing.”

“Oh yeah?” When he smiles, the lines adorning his skin crease invitingly. “And what’s that, sweetheart?”

You can’t help but grin silently. Because you can fuck with him, too.

Rolling your hips forward, your clothed pussy drags along the outline of his cock. The firm denim of his jeans provides just enough friction to have you stifling a moan. He inhales sharply through his nose, the soft sound cutting through the static noise surrounding you.

“Isn’t that better?” you coo teasingly as his fingertips dig into your waist.

A choked groan leaves his throat, his inability to let you have the upperhand fighting against the sudden desire to pin you down on this shitty couch and fuck you right here. Attempting to shake the thought off, his head falls forward into your neck.

Of course he’s thought about you like that before - you’re gorgeous, fucking hilarious, and somehow just as stubborn as he is. You’re everything he’s ever wanted.

But some small part of him worries that the moment he pushes you too far, you’ll run, just like everyone else in his life. He was always too intense, too angry, too much. But not to you - you seemed to love him in spite of it, maybe even because of it.

Maybe that’s why he lets himself play this eternal game of cat and mouse, the push and pull.

But fuck, right now he wants to pull.

He wants to pull you against him, dragging you along the length of his hardening cock through his boxers. He wants to pull you up and down as he fucks into you, feeling your warm walls meld around him. He wants to pull your lips apart with his, tasting how sweet you are, whispering things he wouldn’t dare say to anyone else. Anyone but you.

The words feel heavy on the tip of his tongue. I want you. I want you. I want you. They’re too weighted, he worries. Instead, he settles for biting at your neck, hoping that your skin between his teeth will be enough to satiate his body’s need.

“S-shit,” you stammer at the sensations of his canines digging into your flesh. “Acting like a fuckin’ teething puppy, hm? Need someone to train some manners into you? Or do you want me to tell you to sit, stay, tell you you’re doing a good job?”

And he does. But of course, he’d never tell you that.

Instead, he bites harder, leaving dark bruises in his wake, a reminder of his mark on you.

As his lips trace up your neck, he pauses to nibble along your earlobe. “Just don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” he whispers, his breath hot. “Wouldn’t want anyone taking what’s mine.”

You nearly whimper at the words - his? - but you manage to hold back, instead letting your neediness out with another circle of your hips. He hopes you miss the way his breath catches in his throat at the movement.

“Oh? I’m yours now?” you tease, silently pleading he doesn’t notice the lingering waver in your voice. “Quite possessive, don’t you think, ‘Kuna?”

You feel him chuckle more than you hear it, the warm puffs of air gently blowing against your hair. “I’m only possessive of things I want,” he growls. God, you always loved that rasp in his voice, like a gravel road lining the way home.

At this point, you’re sure your panties are soaked through, the tip of his cock dragging along your clit through them. You’ve never gone this far with him before, never been so bold, so desperate.

And he fucking loves it.

“And what do you want?” Your voice is airy, breathless, as your pace seems to pick up. You’re grateful for the dim LEDs flashing distantly from the depths of the party for hiding the blush undoubtedly dusting your cheeks.

Trailing wet kisses along your jawline, his mouth comes to rest just in front of you. His lips are soft, barely brushing against yours, a few millimeters apart. So close. So fucking close.

“I think it’s rather obvious.” His breath smells like liquor and desire as he whispers, “I want you.”

a/n: getting out of my writing slump by going back to my roots (wanting to fuck sukuna)

[jinxthequeergirl]

The Ol Switcharoo (pt2)

Stan pines x reader /ford pines x reader

Summary: Your family vacation lasted longer than expected. When you return home to Stanford, you realize quickly something wrong.

Warning: NONE

Hey! Just some housekeeping before you read on

☆Thanks for all the love ya'll it means bunches

☆this part is shorter do to me wanting to pace this better, but I hope yall enjoy none the less!

☆a few of ya'll asked to be tagged so I'm starting a tag list if you'd like to be included don't hesitate to ask

☆additionally I did have a Playlist for this specific series and if ya'll would like me to post the songs for it also lemme know

Enjoy!

~~~~~☆~~~~~

"STANLEY HELP!"

Stan felt himself freeze up, his heart race and mind go blank, why couldn't he think? Why couldn't he move?

He watched in horror as his brother floated up backwards through the air into the gaping hole in space and time.

"Do something!"

"What...what do i do!?" He asked meekly, looking around for something to help.he watched as parts of his brother slowly disappeared, and as he reached into his coat pocket and tossed something at him. "Hide my research...CALLL Y/N ANYTHING-"

Stan shielded his eyes as a bright white light filled the room and knocked him back onto the floor. The room was suddenly quiet.

"Ford!?...Ford! Come back!" He wasted no time to get back up and bang on the machine, hoping it would start back up like an old appliance. "Please!"

He raced to the lever a few feet away, desperately pulling and yanking at it, but it didn't budge.

"Stanford!?...Ford!? Are you home yet!?" The small coo of an unfamiliar voice snapped Stan from his nightmare.

"Hello!?" The voice echoed out again. He quickly got up, reaching for his only form of security. A baseball bat.

The voice had gone silent, but he could still hear someone moving he took a long pause, then opened the door swinging his bad.

"FORD WAIT! WAIT, IT'S ME! ITS Y/N!!"

Y/n?

He stopped swinging the bat and stared down at you.

"Call y/n! Anything-"

"Y/n?"

"Yes, it's me, Ford! I haven't been gone that long have i?"

He cleared. "No not at all we have some catching up to do."

You could tell there was something ford...well stan (you'd have to get used to the sudden name change) wanted to tell you while you sat across from him. Like he wanted to give you bad news. But he seemed to be thinking of the right way to put it.

"So..stan...what made you want to change from Ford to stan? Did your family have that much of an impact on you?" You tried to joke to lighten the tension that seemed to linger in the air.

"Well...something like that...listen y/n-"

"Are you OK? You seem...different you seem nervous...more nervous then when I left.." You placed your hand over top of his and offered a reasuring smile.

"I..."

stan didn't know you...he had no right to lie to you. But Ford seemed to trust you and judging from the photo on his desk in the basement, how fondly he seemed to write about you in the journal...the scrapped drawings of you in the garbage you meant a whole lot more to him then stan could understand right now, you must have felt the same way about his brother.

He remembered how worried his brother had been in making sure he understood you were absolutely under no circumstances to not touch the journals or anything pertaining to it again.

"My closest friend y/n and I have been working on this project for months now...I should have listened to her but I didn't...I need you to get rid of this journal she can't be near any of this when she returns."

"Did something happen with the portal?...with that...creature? And what happened to your hands!" You said now, pulling both hands into yours to examine them.

Besides, you already seemed so worried. He couldn't be the one to break the news to you. Not now.

Besides, he had a plan.

Sort of.

So he did what he did best.

Lied.

"Well...uh while you were away, I had a little accident. I had to get surgery...yea surgery, and the accident you know was from the portal...so I said, Forget the whole thing! "

He Tried to say it in a way that would convince even himself.

"Stanford, what do you mean? What happened? Are you just going to give up on everything we worked for?"

"I have to, I just need some time."

Neither of you noticed at first that you were holding hands as you spoke. Stan was the first to notice the closeness. It was the first time in what felt like years that anyone had shown him this kind of affection, let alone the kindness you were demonstrating with your concern.

"I don't know what happened while I was away or when you even had time for something to go wrong or why you would even start working again without me!" He noticed the slight annoyance building up and squeezed your hand.

And you took a breath. "But I understand and I won't pretend to know what happened and if you aren't ready to tell me I can respect that...things got a little rocky between us before I left and I'm really just hoping things can go back to the way they used to be with us. If a longer break and time is what you need... then I am 100% behind your decision."

He felt a wave of relief wash over him at your words. Maybe it wasn't your words but the kind-hearted look in your eyes, or maybe it was the way you still held his hands in yours.

You'd be the first two admit two things about your current situation.

One, Nostalgia was a funny thing. You knew when something was off about your bestfriend, the man infront of you was was a changed man, while his story didn't add up he looked shaken and defeated...after all this was the man you trusted with half your life. And you wouldn't lie, you had clung so desperately to the memories of college and spring through winter, it was that glimmer of hope and a mix of Nostalgia for your good times together that made you believe him.

And two, You always knew better then to trust your heart you and Ford would joke about the idea of following your heart and not your brain, how silly a concept it was that the organ that pumped blood through your body had such a pull on your decision making it made your thought process stop.

Yet here you where.

Following your heart.

"How about a few drinks and I can tell you about my trip?" You offered standing and being the first to break the lock between your hands. "And I can tell you about the plans I have for this place!"

"Plans?"

"Sure! I mean, we aren't doing our science junk anymore, so we need to make money somehow, right?"

You set down two glasses.

"Ok?"

You sat down, you listened to him explain how he had already done a few tours displaying whatever you had already had laying around and how people where eating it up.

"Stanford you've never been one for the gimmicky tricks, you've always cared more about the real deal...WE'VE been about the real deal...why lie to people?"

"Trust me y/n do a tour with me tomorrow try to show the people a real life monster and whatchamacallit and put it up against my made up creature."

You laughed. This wasn't what you had expected Stanford pines to spend his break away from work doing. It was out of character for him. But refreshing somehow.

Just like that, the seasons changed, and it was spring again

You learned quickly people didn't like the truth.

Real monsters and ghouls seemed to only upset or bother people so you and stan collaborated a way to make attractions that seemed real enough but also gimmicky enough that tourists would eventually laugh at it.

You learned pretty quickly that you were not only a pretty crafty person but an excellent storyteller.

You and Stanford seemed to almost pick up where you left off bonding and cracking jokes. It was like he was more confident than when you left him, more relaxed and full of life. You two fit right back into place with eachother with out missing a beat.

It's exactly what you'd been missing.

Soon, you were renovating half the house to be a showroom and giftshop, and soon after you were selling and wearing t shirts, you began putting up a sign. By the following summer, you were basically an operational business.

The mystery shack felt more like a brain child of you and Stanford and you cared for it like such.

It was something fun.

Something that didn't seem to be running Stanford down like the science stuff did. You could see a genuine smile on his face as he showed some local kid the corni-corn.

It was silly. You couldn't remember the last time you'd done something silly and adventurous.

It felt good.

"Another day another dollar y/n my dear." Stan said, flipping the open sign to close and placing his little red fez cap on top of your head.

"Soon enough, we'll have people from all over the place coming to get a piece of the mystery shack." He said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, leading you back to the section of the Mystery shack that was still your shared home.

"Yea, we have a real Walt Disney start-up story, don't we stanford." He laughed loudly before suddenly getting serious.

"Listen. I wanted to say thank you for sticking with me through this. It means a lot."

"Of course, stanford." You reached up and planted a small peck on his cheeks. "We've been through everything together. I'm not going to stop now."

You could see stans face flush slightly as you stretched and yawned. "Anyways goodnight stanford."

"Uh yea...goodnight..." You heard him mumble as he touched his cheek where you kissed him.

Things where looking up.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

Tag list!:

@fanficcrow

@slay-thou-pookie

[ddejavvu]

pairing: james potter x reader

summary: your yule ball date goes south. James picks up the pieces

a/n: this is relatively close to a scene that's gonna be in a large marauders fic i've had as a WIP for forever so if you read that in a year and think hm that sounds vaguely familiar no it literally doesn't

You've never felt any strong kinship towards James Potter before, but now, shoulder to shoulder, equally stunned looks on your faces, you know you share an experience most don't.

"Well," James hums, dazedly, free from anger even if it should be present, "Alright then."

Neither of your should-be ball dates look up from where they're snogging each other in one of the utility closets covered up by paper streamers and an appetizer table, and you feel irritation begin blooming in your chest the way that they won't even look at you. Perhaps they can't hear you, perhaps there's fireworks in their heads and they're sharing one of those everything-else-melts-away moments.

Good for them.

You turn on your stiletto heel and head pointedly but casually towards the door to the balcony. You're eager for the cool night air on your skin- the crowd seems suffocating now. You snag a bottle of something you're sure was meant for the professors on the way out, keeping it tucked to your side to ensure no one sees you leave with it. It's amber in color and you'll figure out what it is later; right now your only concern is getting out.

You examine your feelings staring out over the grounds, moonlight bathing your skin and making the gems on your dress glimmer. You should be sad. Devastated, even, what with your date shacking up with some other girl when he should have been dancing with you. But you're not.

It's an unpleasant feeling, but it's betrayal more than heartbreak. You suppose you were never really head over heels for the boy you'd agreed to go with, it was just nice to be asked. To be wanted.

A wistful love song leaks out from the open doors to the ballroom, and you chew on its lyrics as you fit your mouth around the spout of your bottle. It warms you, your tongue suddenly heavy and tingling as you swallow a fair mouthful of the stuff.

"That was a sloppy grab," Someone calls from behind you, and you're surprisingly not tense when you recognize it as Potter's, "Someone could have seen you."

"We're not all mischief makers, Potter," You let the ghost of a smile cross your face as you stare out over the grounds, liquor residue leaving them sticky, "You should teach a class on smuggling things in and out of the school."

"I have thought about being a professor here," He admits, taking the place beside you and leaning out over the railing, "DADA if I could get it. Don't think Minnie's goin' anywhere or I'd go for Transfiguration."

"She'll be teaching our grandkids," You laugh, "And god save this school if you're ever hired."

"I'd be great." He assures you, a laugh in his eyes rather than his mouth, "So. Are you- ehm, okay?"

"Yeah." You shrug, your bare shoulders catching the slight breeze where your dress cuts them out, "It's- I'm fine. He wasn't the love of my life. Just sucks he lead me on is all."

"Right. Me too." James nods, "I- I wanted things to work with her. But I suppose in ten years I saw myself with someone else."

You attempt another sip of liquor after a bout of heavy silence, but James's hand holds the bottle away from your mouth, "Hey, slow down, killer! Liver failure is not a good method of revenge."

"Two sips won't kill me," You scoff, but you don't fight him when his large, warm hand takes the bottle from you, "You just want some for yourself."

"Yes and no." He grins, taking a swig of his own, "For courage, I s'pose. And dance moves."

You raise a brow at him, listening as the song changes from a ballad to a swinging one, something that makes you want to let loose and experiment with moves you've seen only middle-aged men showcase at weddings.

"Come on." He offers you a hand, setting the bottle aside and straightening off of the railing, "Come on, you've gotten dressed up to dance tonight, and there's no one else out on this balcony. Just you and me, let's do it."

"I got dressed up tonight to fuck," You clarify, but you're not sure if you really mean it- anything to ward away any good luck that comes to you before it sours like most things seem to be tonight.

"Well that can come after. I'm not fond of exhibitionism," James explains, hand still outstretched as you straighten your dress instead of taking it, "Come on. I'm about to lay out some truly heinous dance moves and I'll be making a fool out of myself if you don't join me."

The beat of the song really is tempting, an oldie but goodie that you'd danced to in your bedroom a thousand times before.

With a decisive huff you surge forwards, taking his hand and letting yourself relax into the rhythm the song sets for the pair of you. James is not wrong- he's a sight to behold while he's dancing, but you let him be your example and soon you're both choking on laughter as you swing each other across the balcony and dance circles around each other. The song dies down into another ballad and you let James press you politely against him, his hands never straying further than your waist as you hold his shoulders.

"I'm almost glad he ditched me," You muse, chest heaving slightly from exertion, "I don't think he would have danced with me like that."

"Mine was- uhm, she wasn't fantastic conversation." James admits, "I feel bad, but-"

"No, she's an airhead." You nod, knowing all too well that the girl James had escorted into the ballroom tonight did perhaps everything in her power to never have an intelligent thought, "It's harsh but it's true."

He nods, and your head comes to rest comfortably against his chest, cheek pressed into his dress robes.

"Thanks, James." You murmur, squeezing his shoulders gently. You feel more than hear his response, but the soft, suddenly tender, 'My pleasure, Y/N.' warms you more than the liquor had, the perfect antidote to the cool air out on the balcony as you sway in time with James.

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Finnish polka" - Ivar the Boneless x Reader

SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

Ivar is tired.

Of course he's glad that Jarl Thorstein came out victorious. And that his brothers are fine. Still, he feels weary as the adrenaline leaves his body. His legs start to ache. Ivar downs the rest of his mead in hopes it makes him a little more deaf to his mood.

The upbeat, bright music fills his mind like an obsessive thought. His heart beats to the rhythm tapped by the feet of dancing women. They spin, jump and run around with flower crowns sitting atop their heads. How the wreaths remain immovable, he can't quite say.

Ivar is also angry.

As the local tradition entails, when the song ends, all the dancing young maidens will throw their flower crowns to the crowd. Whoever catches it, is believed to be the girl's lover chosen by the gods. However, whether the couple indulges and trusts gods' judgement is a different story. But if the wreath falls to the floor, the girl is said to remain unmarried for the next five years.

Ivar knows the chance of him somehow catching one of those is near zero. He's sitting quite far from the dancers. Even if he did catch it, he's disillusioned about the imminent dissatisfaction of the flower crown's ownert. Not only is he disabled in a way that almost entirely excludes him from fighting but he's also infamous for his ruthless nature and vengeful heart. Hardly a man who invokes desire. Still, some naive piece of him remains hopeful that maybe he's wrong. Maybe he can be terrible and loved all the same.

He shakes those weak delusions away from himself before they sour his mood further.

His piercing eyes have been following one of the dancers for the better part of the song when he catches himself. Her movements look effortless even when the musicians pick up the tempo. Clearly, she's done this dance one too many times to have any doubts about what she's doing. Joy beams from her in a way that makes her appear almost shining. The wreath on the top of her head is mostly green with white and red flowers. It makes Ivar think of the woods surrounding Kattegat; it makes him think of home.

Ivar leans toward Oddleif, one of the Jarl's men, who's sitting next to him.

"Who is she?"

Oddleif looks at Ivar out of the corner of his eye. He scoffs, takes a large sip of his drink and only then decides to answer:

"If you're thinking of catching her flower crown, don't." His blond braids dance slightly as he shakes his head. There's a hint of laughter hiding in the back of Oddleif's throat. "Half of the surviving army wants it."

"I have no care for flowers," Ivar lies through his teeth. "They have no use. They wilt and die and soon no one remembers them. I am simply curious about her."

"Her father is the blacksmith. You might have seen him in the battle, swinging that damned sledgehammer." Ivar silently nods. He remembers that man - tall as a pine tree and wider than a stable. The blacksmith invokes respect even when he's not decimating enemies like a troll equipped with a tree trunk. "He said once that he'll let any man marry his daughter but only if he can lift an anvil. Tried it once myself. Not that I had any success as you can imagine." Oddleif laughs bitterly and continues drinking. His eyes are glued to the dancers but Ivar knows that right now, the two of them are admiring the very same girl with a flower crown like a forest.

The melody continues to quicken. Despite being out of breath, you don't want it to end. Your feet ache but they do not falter nor do they stumble. It seems that their muscles know the dance better than your mind. There are a dozen girls dancing with you but you do not see them. Not really. They appear worlds away from you and the song of bagpipes and strings.

And then appears he.

A slouched, dark figure flies before your eyes as you're doing another pirouette. The man simply sits there, in the corner, but his presence is overwhelming. Or so you think. He does nothing and yet he tears his way into your microcosm of quick footwork, turns and lively polka.

You recognize him. Of course you do. Many whispers, equally frightened and amazed, have spoken of him. You have believed in all of them until the moment you met his gaze for that split second. Right then, somewhere between blinks and breaths, you renounce every gossip you've ever heard about him. A voice in the back of your head, a trickster or an oracle, nags at you to learn the truth yourself.

When the lively, fast melody comes to a stop, you find yourself shaken awake from the thoughts about Ivar the Boneless. The end of the song seems somewhat abrupt to you as you've been letting your fantasy run wild without paying much attention to what's going on around you. Dancing the last part purely by the memory of your muscles. The moment musicians stop playing, a small crowd begins to form in front of you. Men of different class, age and ancestry reach out their hands. Each one of them is more determined than the other to catch your wreath. They start to yell something but considering that the inside of the long hall is awfully loud anyway, you can't make out any words. Reading their lips, you can only tell when they're exclaiming different variations of your name.

They're only pushing towards you, shoving each other away. You keep taking steps backwards but the distance you create with each step is quickly shortened with the men calling out to you. You knew there would be many of them in front of you but never assumed that many. Instead of somewhat flattering, the siege is terrifying and imposing.

Looking for help or advice, just something that will ease your tension, you silently look around the long hall. Your gaze falls on the same slouched, dark figure. Strange peacefulness washes over you when his eyes meet yours.

The dim candlelight seems to bend around Ivar, making his corner appear darker than anywhere else in the long hall. He's simply sitting there. Maybe he's not interested? But the way he's staring at you shows nothing if not burning curiosity. The sons of Ragnar aren't know for their patience. No, they're said to take whatever they want the moment their desire sparks. Despite that, the youngest of them, and arguably the most famous, appears to be waiting. But for what exactly?

The fresh pine needles prick your skin. You furrow your eyebrows. Your gaze falls to the wreath and then comes back to Ivar. Could it be...?

It isn't much of a throw, really. You toss the flower crown towards him without looking anywhere else but into Ivar's eyes. Without as much as blinking, he catches the wreath with ease as though he has been prepared for that. Low murmurs hit your ears but quickly the sounds of disappointment fall silent as it's made clear who caught your wreath. Despite their initial determination, the men who had been reaching out to you suddenly disperse like fog does in the early morning. They knew better than to get under the skin of a Lothbrok. Especially that one.

"I believe this belongs to you."

Ivar is holding up the wreath. Despite his words, he makes no effort to offer it back to you. His eyes are bright and glistening, the corner of his mouth is tugged ever-so-slightly upwards. He appears amused.

At first, it was nice to finally sit down after dancing for what seemed to be hours on end. But now, when you're facing the consequences of your spur-of-the-moment decision, the tension sets in once more. This time, however, it doesn't feel threatening. In turn, the nervousness is somewhat welcome like the jittery state before a surprise is revealed.

"If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have thrown it," you answer in a light tone.

"And why should I keep it?"

The blue eyes study you for a moment. It's a strange feeling - you can't help but think that the longer you are in Ivar's presence, talking or not, he's reading your mind and soul. He stares at you in a way that tells you he already holds all the answers but wants you to confirm them.

"It's said to bring good luck." You shrug your shoulders. "Until the wreath wilts and dies, Freya and Freyr will look after you."

Ivar looks at the flower crown again. Only now, when he's holding it, does he realize that for a flower crown, there aren't many flowers. A few sandworts and poppies, yes, but the wreath is made mostly of evergreen plants. It might take weeks until the crown wilts.

The microcosm seems closed again. Now it's not you and the bagpipes but you and him. It's strange and it's new but it's not threatening. It's not the kind of presence a man of his infamy should have. Or perhaps you've simply fallen for his honey trap.

"Why did you throw it to me?" Ivar tries to make the question seem unimportant, just curiosity brought to light. But he can't quite convince himself that he doesn't care. There's a hint of something vulnerable and genuine when the words roll off his tongue. It's easy to miss like a dandelion clock carried away by a gust of wind.

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

"I don't know really," you say honestly. "Perhaps it was one of the gods that threw the flower crown for me." You make a pause. Ivar's face is unreadable. "Or perhaps I have no interest in urgent, desperate men."

Ivar chuckles. A deep shadow is covering part of his face, making him appear kind of sinister. For a moment, you question whether he's laughing with you or at you.

"And what exactly makes you think I'm not urgent or desperate?" he continues. You notice his smile is growing wider. That glint of amusement in his blue eyes has changed in mischief. "What if I'm worse than all of them? You surely know who I am."

"Of course I do, Ivar the Boneless," you drone the words. In a barely noticeable fashion, he clenches his jaw when you say his name. It makes him feel a strange, burning sensation in his stomach but Ivar is left unsure whether he likes it or detests. "The whispers of your ruthless character are unending."

"But you're not afraid?" he asks with both disbelief and suspicion. A girl with a flower crown doesn't necessarily strike him as fearless in any way. Or this whole strange situation is a little too good, too dream-like, for him to accept it at face-value.

Ivar's smile falters when your face takes on a confident, maybe even arrogant, expression. He's taken aback.

"I'm a woman of the North," you say while leaning towards him on the table. The distance between your faces shortnes. "The only person I fear is my own reflection."

The sudden closeness makes Ivar inhale sharply. The strong smell of pine needles fills his nostrils. For a moment, his imagination runs wild but it's not his fault - he has no grasp on it:

How those big eyes glistened in the semi-dark of the long hall as you were staring at him. Your smirk, somewhat challenging and beckoning him to push on. Then, the smell of conifer that shakes all senses awake. His fantasy leaves the northern snows and travelles to forests, to him brushing pine needles from your hair and your naked, flushes skin smelling of evergreen trees.

But quickly his shaken awake, to his utmost displeasure, by you:

"Well, if you don't want it, I suppose I should take it back, no?"

Your hand unsurely reaches out for the wreath in Ivar's hand. He's quick to pull his arm back.

"It's bad luck to take back gifts," he states plainly. In an act of nonchalance, Ivar is playing with the wreath, spinning it around his finger. "I should like to keep it."

Sometimes you come back to the night you've met the infamous Viking, when you're rendered sleepless while he's calmly breathing next to you, getting the rest he desperately needs. How funny all of it seems - that a flower crown in bloodied, merciless hands could lead to having a genuine crown on your head. Maybe you were right, after all, and it really was the hand of one of the gods that threw the wreath for you.

[imagintheworldaway]

Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye

this song is stuck in my head and i just had to

Requests Open

The blaring neon light of the digital clock in the lavish hotel room seemed completely out of place. 02:42 flashed in my eyes. I turned over, being met by the slumbering face of my lover. I studied his face intently. His rough stubble and messy hair look almost soft and peaceful as his large eyes stay lightly shut. A soft snore escaped his lips as he laid there sleeping. I pull the soft sheets over my naked body, my head sinking further into the pillow. I must have been staring for a while because a slight twitch of Harry's lip caused me to close my eyes, trying to pretend to be asleep. I felt the bed next to me move a little, the weight of the bed shifting as I felt Harry move out of the bed. I watch, peeking out of my eye as he shimmies on some boxers and pads towards the ensuite bathroom. 

I lay there for a few more minutes, before feeling the bed sink next to me again, and a large arm lazily lying over my waist. I fight to suppress the smile that graces my lips before hearing Harry's soft snores again. Falling back to sleep in his embrace. 

I'm awoken again by the bright alarm clock. 07:23, it now reads. I bite my lip, Harry's arm still encasing me, knowing I should go. I slowly peel Harry's arm off of me, the sheets had fallen down leaving me bare, the light morning air nipping at my body. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed I let my feet rest on the cool laminate flooring. I look over my shoulder at Harry's sleeping body again before deciding to stand and gather my clothing. Picking up my white dress I lightly push it over my body, covering my once naked form. Grabbing my bag and stuffing my belongings that had been thrown all over the room, doing a mental inventory as I go. 

“What are you doing?” Harry's gravely morning voice causes me to turn suddenly and face him. He was now leaning against the headboard. His bare form covered by the plush duvet, the same one which had just been keeping me warm minutes prior. “Going home” I shrug, picking up a lipstick I saw in the middle of the rug. “I’m not doing this again” Harry says. We had started a little bit of a routine. We see each other, anywhere, anytime, have a light conversation and then I always end up, naked, straddling his waist and moaning his name, making a swift exit the next morning. The first few times Harry would beg me to stay, ask what's wrong, why am I leaving so soon when we both want me to stay. But now, he's used to the way I don't want to get attached, especially not to a man like him. 

Harry sighs, standing from the bed and treading over to me lightly, like I'm some rare animal. Through the dim light the morning sun is providing through the blinds I can see the little purple marks that have now formed on Harry's chest, the same ones I leave every time we do this. “Take off your dress, stay for a while” he murmurs as his eyes rake down my body and a gentle hand grasps the string strap on my shoulder lazily. “You know i can't” my voice cracks lightly as i bite my lip. My eyes gaze up to meet Harry's own intense gaze. “Who we are outside of this room just doesn't work” my voice strains at the words. Harry's fingers tap lightly on my shoulder as he entraps the strap of my dress between my shoulder and his hand. 

“I wish you’d give us a chance” Harry's voice is hoarse as he makes the confession to me, his hand and my strap falling down my bicep. I glance at the movement before letting my gaze meet Harrys once more. A deep breath releases from my mouth, one I didn't know I was holding. “You need to move on” I whisper, studying his face. “How can I, when you always come back?” He says, lowering his head so our foreheads are now touching. Harry laces his arms around my waist, his hands resting on the small of my back. “One last time” I utter the same words I utter every single time we do this.

Harrys soft smile graces his face as his arms hook under my legs, lifting me before placing me gently back down on the edge of the bed. I lay back, letting my head rest down on the soft duvet, my eyes never leaving Harrys as he climbs on top of me, caging me between his large arms, his bare chest hovering mere inches above my own. I take in the moment, drinking in his face like it's a drug I can't stop myself from taking. He stops, our noses brushing “you say that everytime” his voice low and seductive, before he softly presses his lips against mine.

[taesanrot]

[heavy] sunghoon x f!reader | 2.1k words exes to lovers, second chance, angst syn. ever since you broke up with your long term boyfriend, park sunghoon, he's been heavy on your mind. foolishly, you try to move on, but seeing him at a party reminds you why you can't let him go. note. i've been wanting to start a series based on songs i've been listening to recently! this is the second and hopefully not last fic in this collection lol. also this was kinda supposed to be a implied college au but im now realizing the setting is kinda vague so imagine it as you like :)

now playing: heavy by the marías

"cause i don't wanna be in love with another, even in another life."

sipping your drink, you wished so dearly to drown out the memories that played in your head like a broken record.

you were fine. everything was fine. you told yourself what you told everyone.

you were done with park sunghoon. it was for the better.

but even the loud drunken screams from your friends and the even louder music at this party couldn't make the words in your head stop playing over and over. you closed your eyes and tilted your face to the ceiling.

...

"let's go our separate ways." your emotionless voice contrasted with your tear streaked cheeks.

"y/n, what? what do you mean?" sunghoon's voice shook with confusion.

"i mean, let's break up."

"break up? baby i'm not breaking up with you over this." he stepped forward to grab your hand but you just crossed them in front of your chest.

"i'm tired of fighting! we're clearly not right for each other." your voice almost broke at the end, making sunghoon want to cry.

"couples fight all the time, you know we've both been really stressed lately, let's talk about this another time. when we're both feeling better." he tried and tried to reason with you, but your mind was set, and both of you knew that.

...

you felt stupid, then and now. it had been one month since you'd last seen your ex boyfriend, and you were a wreck. foolishly, you'd blamed everything going wrong on him, thinking that getting rid of your relationship would alleviate your stress. but sunghoon left a gaping hole in you, and suddenly it was like you were frozen.

the pain was unbearable, bu you were stubborn. you kept your head up, moving through night and day. you were a shell of yourself, but you were still standing.

you began to go out, your friends dragging you out of your apartment in an effort to cheer you up.

you tried and tried to move on. but talking to other guys made you feel sick. they didn't have his fluffy hair, his cute and pointy smile, or his pretty voice.

tonight was the same, you nursed a drink in your arms as you tried to forget everything.

"what are you thinking about, pretty?" you opened your eyes, nearly dropping your drink in shock as you turned towards the voice. you were face to face with a taller boy. he had dark hair and even darker eyes.

"nothing." you weren't going to get into your ex with a random guy at a party.

"i'm jisung, by the way." you smiled slightly as he introduced himself, trying to be polite. he seemed sweet enough, but you wished you were doing anything but talking to a flirty guy right now.

"i'm y/n." you replied, struggling to maintain your sanity and composure with the alcohol flowing in your veins. you kept up conversation for a bit longer, making an excuse that your friend was sick so you could finally make your escape.

finding your best friend, yunah, you tapped her shoulder to get her attention away from the music.

"y/n? what's up?" she grabbed your hand as she spoke, swinging it back and forth drunkenly. you smiled, gesturing to the back door.

"gonna go sit outside, need some air." she nodded and waved as you walked away.

what neither of you saw was sunghoon. he'd arrived not more than 15 minutes ago, with his friends jake and heeseung.

"dude, is that who i think it is?" jake blurted the moment they walked through the door. the 3 boys watched you talk to some taller guy with dark blue hair. sunghoon wished he didn't care, but truthfully he couldn't look away.

you were beautiful, wrapped in a black dress. you always looked angelic to him, always making his stomach burst with butterflies.

looking at you right now, his stomach was burning with a different emotion. he was green with envy watching another guy flirt with you when you should've been with him. the only thing that quelled his dread was the look on your face. he could see from miles away how uncomfortable you were, arms crossed tensely and face painted with a fake smile, one that didn't reach your eyes.

sunghoon wanted to be a respectful ex-boyfriend. he didn't contact you. he gave you your space after your breakup, even though he knew how stupid your fight was. he loved you, enough to respect what you wanted.

but watching you duck away from the blue haired boy and walk out the back door, sunghoon couldn't stop himself. he downed the rest of his drink, wincing at the burning feeling his throat before pushing through the crowd to get to the back door.

the night air soothed the growing dread within you a bit, but you were still left with a nauseating feeling. the same one you always felt when you talked to guys that weren't him.

slumping against the fence, you held your head in your hands, combing your fingers through your hair roughly. dizzily, you crouched on the ground, wishing you could just disappear. or even better, teleport to your bed.

“y/n?” your reaction was delayed as you slowly searched for the source of the voice.

in all his glory, park sunghoon stood before you, looking down at your crouched figure with concern.

“god, sunghoon. what are you doing here?” you groaned, sincerely wishing you were just hallucinating all of this. wishing that the first time you were seeing your ex boyfriend since the breakup wasn’t when you were a drunken mess.

god, today was seriously the worst.

crouching next to you, he reached out a hand to move some of your hair from your face. he leaned in front of you so he could see your face, while you stubbornly trained your eyes at the ground.

you were scared that if you even made eye contact with him for too long, everything would fall apart.

“are you okay? how much did you drink?” he spoke softly, his voice melting in your ears and warming your chest.

you wanted to cry, throat tightening at the feeling of him doting on you. you didn’t say anything, just nodding.

sunghoon could tell you didn’t want to be there just as much as he didn’t. normally, on a night like this, the two of you would be watching a movie together or baking or just laying in his bed and scrolling through one of your phones.

“do you wanna leave?” he asked, hand falling onto your shoulder and rubbing small circles. you nodded again, pushing your hands on the ground to stand up. you didn’t let sunghoon help you as he stood up, stumbling slightly as you stood up fully.

as the two of your walked out the back entrance, you looked at the boy in confusion as he began walking in the same direction as you.

“i’m not leaving you alone out here, let me make sure you get home.” you looked back at the ground, mumbling back a small okay and thank you, trying to ignore the words threatening to spill from your lips.

the walk to your apartment was filled with a thick silence, the only audible noises being the hum of the streetlights. A rough gust of wind caused your skin to fill with goosebumps, the cold breeze hugging your frame.

sunghoon noticed, almost quicker than you did. wordlessly, he dropped his leather jacket over your shoulders. you knew you should protest, but to be truthful, you missed him more now than ever.

when you didn't say anything or move at all, sunghoon stepped in front of you, gently unwrapping your arms and putting them into the sleeves of his jacket for you.

you stared at the cracked sidewalk, heavy tears threatening to fall from your eyes. his jacket was warm, and so big that you were practically swimming in it. his hands were warm too. and so was his voice, as he softly asked you if you were feeling less chilly.

you still refused to utter a word, not out of stubbornness but out of fear that your voice would betray you. after everything you did, after how bad you hurt him, sunghoon was still here, walking you home and taking care of you like he always did. like nothing had changed.

"y/n." sunghoon spoke a little louder, tilting your chin up so you looked him in the eye. "i said are you cold?"

the end of his question died in the back of his throat as your teary eyes came into view. he dropped his hand, eyebrows furrowing with worry.

"hey, hey, what happened?" his voice instantly softened. you couldn't do anything but shake your head, the tears finally trailing down your cheeks. sunghoon's thumb made contact with your cold cheek, wiping away the tears as the fell.

"y/n, please, tell me what's wrong." he almost sounded defeated, voice laced with concern that made you want the earth to swallow you whole. your chest ached.

"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, hoon." his head tilted in confusion at your apologies. he opened his mouth to respond.

"why are you apologizing?" you sniffled, tears still wetting your pink cheeks.

"im so stupid. i pushed you away because i just hated fighting and i thought that was the only way to make things better. but i can't-" you voice broke slightly and you took a second to breathe in. your eyes were screwed shut, refusing to look at sunghoon.

"i can't see myself with anyone else. i don't want to see myself with anyone else. any guy i talk to i just compare to you and it makes me feel sick. i know i can't but i've been trying so hard to move on because i'm scared that you hate me for hurting you and being so dumb." when you slowly opened your eyes, sunghoon pulled you into his chest.

your cheek was pressed against his white shirt, tears wetting the fabric as he held you tightly. he shoved his face into your hair, breathing in and relishing the feeling of you in his arms again.

"sunghoon?" you asked, voice muffled by his chest.

"i could never hate you." he mumbled into your hair. he pulled away and you saw him smiling, eyes crinkling as he tucked a strand of your hair away and wiped the last of your tears. your nose and cheeks were red both from the cold and from crying; sunghoon thought you looked adorable.

"for the past month haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. about us. how i should’ve fought harder to make you stay.” he laughed dryly as he spoke. “the only reason i even went to that party was because i might get to see you again.”

more than anything, it warmed sunghoon’s heart to see how much you still cared for him. all this time he was scared he was the only one still hung up on your relationship.

“i love you so much, i don’t care if we fight or if we go through a few rough patches. i only want you.” his voice softened slightly and he looked at you like you were the only two people in the world.

“you’re not mad at me?” you mumbled, hand crinkling the fabric of his tshirt as you clutched his side. shaking his head, he grinned.

“why would i be? you came back to me.” you smiled for what felt like the first time that night, hand instinctively covering your face. sunghoon pulled your hand down, wanting to see your shy smile. he loved when you were like this, shy and bashful. it made his heart nearly explode in his chest.

“can i kiss you?” he asked, intertwining your hands. you nodded gently, closing your eyes as sunghoon leant closer to you.

his lips were warm and soft, just like you remembered. your mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, molding to each other perfectly. sunghoon’s arms slipped under his jacket that you were still wearing, hands wrapping around your waist.

you were flush against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your skin and his teeth sink into your bottom lip. as your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, you swore to yourself that you’d never let park sunghoon go again.

[jibunbosh]

Mesmerizer is a satire of TikTok, YouTube Shorts, and the rest of the modern short-form vertical video format

A brief thematic analysis.

I'm sure there are countless people already interpreting the imagery and details in this wonderful song & MV, like here and here, so I won't spend too much time retreading that ground. Miku and Teto are dancing. Miku gets hypnotized. Teto signals for help, but gets hypnotized at the end as well.

That part is obvious enough, but that's still pretty surface-level. What is this seemingly hyperspatial horror scenario supposed to mean to us?

While checking to see if anyone before me's already come to the same conclusions as I did and if I should bother not writing this text post at all (lol), I came across udin's great analysis video. She comes to the conclusion that the song tackles themes of disillusionment with reality and the ways we indulge in escapism to relieve ourselves of the pains of the world.

I agree with that reading! From practically the very beginning, we have Miku call to us - the viewer - to push away our true feelings. Teto comes in to peddle a solution, inviting us to surrender and empty our minds - in her words, "pretending to know nothing."

You, the viewer, are a critical character in this masquerade. For nearly the entire video, Miku and Teto's eyes are unfailingly trained on you. Or, well... perhaps they can't actually see you, but they can see a camera, or whatever other aperture the point of view is supposed to be from. And they know they're being watched. (Who else would Teto be sending distress signals to?)

Let's put a pin on that for later.

udin notes very early on that Miku and Teto are, conspicuously, kept in vertical frames - very similar to the video formats of TikTok (and Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts, and whatever other clones of the format exist.) You know, just like the animator Caststation's Rabbit Hole fan MV that went viral some months ago.

Hey wouldn't it be crazy if the song's producer, 32ki, released Mesmerizer shorts too haha. Wouldn't that be crazy.

Wow, wild.

These short-term vertical videos are captivating & alluring. If you're reading this, it's more likely than not that you've also found yourself caught up in them at least once, scrolling through the infinite algorithmic slurry and forgetting about the real-life issues you have at hand. Would you say, then, that you felt hypnotized? Mesmerized, even?

And so these two invite us to join their world and focus on the... uh... rectangle.

Their dances are repetitive, following the same loop. Their outfits are distinct, but their choreography isn't. They're copying the same formula, repeating it ad nauseam to the best of their ability.

They're doing a fucking TikTok dance.

Back to the pin I told you about earlier, with Miku and Teto looking at a camera.

Miku sways with the camera, eyes looking directly at it like a swinging pocket watch. She's been looking at it the entire time, after all. We've been seeing her via our screen this entire time, but, again, she doesn't necessarily see us. She's beholden to the camera, which she dances for day after day, caught up in its spell. She's hypnotized by it. Eventually, she breaks.

Teto, on the other hand, resists. For a while, anyway.

Despite her being the one jumping to us with the "solution" at the beginning of the MV, there's very quickly good reason to question how much agency she has in this. She dances for the camera as well, but she doesn't want to. She's signalling for help. She wants out.

Many content creators (as much as I personally loathe the non-specificity and soullessness of the term) have struggled with the adaptation to the short-form video format, and the preference the algorithm has had for these captivating, bite-sized videos. They're catchy, and easily drive up metrics. Practically anyone who's publishing their work via video format online needs to learn to adapt or fall behind, even if that means whittling their content down to fit the frame, the time, and people's shortening attention spans. Sometimes, that means compromising on specificity and completeness... or, in other words, the true representation of a full work.

The song's writer, 32ki, has been releasing songs on YouTube for several years. Their first YouTube Short, however, was posted only a year ago: a short, whittled-down segment of their previous song, CIRCUS PANIC!!!, hoping for it to win the ProsekaNEXT song contest. It was their first song to achieve widespread popularity and hit a million views.

The shorts, however, aren't the "true" versions of the song. The full song just won't fit.

We're being mesmerized as consumers of this endless stream of content, rather than appreciators of music and art. However, that relationship isn't completely symmetrical across the plane that is the 4th wall. Miku and Teto are trapped not by their attention spans, but by a compulsion to project their "truthful acting" and peddle that window into a colorful, problem-free world.

We, as the collective audience, need not dwell on any one thing for too long - we need only swipe, and move on to the next video. However, Miku and Teto are trapped behind the screen for eternity, day after day.

They're the only characters we get to see, of course. There's no evil 3rd voice synth character that's plotting to keep them trapped in there. We can't put a face to whatever force is hypnotizing them and trapping them behind the screen. It's faceless - like the inscrutable algorithms of YouTube recommendations or the TikTok For You page, or the impersonal corporations that develop & maintain those aforementioned apps. Miku and Teto's likenesses, on the other hand, are being exploited and extracted from for their entertainment value, being strung along by that metaphorical hypnotizing force like puppets on a string.

Many people, represented by Miku, enjoy their success on such platforms. It's freeing and liberating to throw oneself wholeheartedly into such an endeavor, of course! Others, represented by Teto, harbor their doubts of the emotional veracity of such a medium, but know they have little choice lest they face destruction... perhaps not literally as a person, but as an idea.

Wouldn't it be easier just to let oneself be swept away by it and give in?

[mellowmusings]

Blessed mistakes | Prologue Azriel x Reader

part 1

A/N- This is just a drabble for now and its been sitting in my drafts for a while so i decided to post it. Not sure if i'm gonna continue on this though.

summary- After over 5 centuries of waiting Azriel hasn't found his mate, given up all hope of any chance of finding her he decides to start pursuing Elain, not seeing what was in front of him all along.

This was miserable, He was miserable.

The stale tavern air reeked of unwashed bodies, alcohol and bile. Men and women sang bawdy songs in offtune tones drowning out the music, in a corner a brawl went on, men punching one another over a rigged game of poker, women flirted with him, and none took to his liking.

How the mighty had fallen, he mused. He gulped down his whiskey, the burn in his throat grounding him. A few centuries ago he would have been drinking himself to his limit with his brothers and bedding whatever pretty female came his way, but that wasn't the case anymore. Somewhere along the path he'd fallen in love and started caring for females who could never love him the way he loved them. Now his heart was a stupid, broken mess of emotions and feelings he didn't like, and so he spent his days working himself trying to forget his feelings, now he spent his nights training because even sleep had abandoned hom. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been happy, genuinely happy and felt Loved

*2 centuries ago*

The cool summer breeze ruffled his hair, the birds sang in the background, almost harmonizing with one another. He could make out the call of the Mockingjay, A cuckoo bird, and maybe a peacock too. He sat besides y/n, his who was like a younger sister to him. She'd practically grown up with him, Cass and Rhys since they were teenagers. "Hey Az, can i ask you something?" She carefully unfolded the petals of a half bloomed daffodil. "Sure what is it?" "If you had to choose between Mor, your mate and me who would you choose, to love I mean." She asked, a slight hint of nervousness in her voice. Her question caught Azriel off-guard, he loved her but not in a romantic manner, he loved his mate more, no matter who she was, after all, she was his other half. Mor on the other hand was everything he yearned for, she was simply...perfect. He admired and respected her a lot, but more than that he loved her a lot. He thought for a moment before responding "It's tricky, on one hand, there's Mor and on the other, there's my mate. I'd say, my mate" He said carefully, not sure where this was going. Y/n's face fell just the slightest, if he didn't know her well, he wouldn't have noticed, but he did. "What's the matter, princess?" He asked softly, "What about me?" y/n asked softly He huffed out a laugh before responding, "I love you a lot, I really do princess, but you're like a younger sister to me, plus my mate always comes first." "right, of course they do." she said dejectedly, swinging her legs back and forth holding back tears. "Whats the matter princess?" 'The thing is Az you could slit my throat and with my one last gasping breath, I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt, gods why can't you see it? I love you, and I love you more than you could ever imagine.'

She didn't say those words but gods did she want to, she wanted to tell Az how stupid he was for giving his heart to some females who were just gonna stomp on it and leave but she didn't because Azriel loved Mor and some mate he didn't know more than he loved her. She was always going to be a friend to him, nothing more, nothing less. So she continued swinging her legs and lied to his face with a simple 'I'm fine, I swear'. He didn't believe her, they both knew each other well enough to know that much, still he didn't pry any further. So they sat in silence, and stared at the setting sun while the world around them went quite, she averted her gaze away from Azriel as tears fell and landed on the broken yellow petals. if y'all wanna be tagged, just let me know :) @starlightazriel @scorpioriesling @velarisdusk @siriuslystyle1989

[scarletwinterxx]

cheeks are red like cherries in the spring - choi seungcheol imagine

hellllooooo yes back to back post😅 one thought, why is diet pepsi so cheol coded ??????? cherry???? cross gold chain???!?!?!?! LIKE OKAY MS ADDISON RAE THANK U FOR THE NEW CHEOL ANTHEM

and with that song in mind, here's a cheol scenario HAHA hope you like it!

if anyone want to be mutuals on X, i'm using the same un there😊

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"Cheol, I swear to god get the fuck out of my shirt"

"Your shirt? This is my shirt"

The audacity of this man to argue back, you thought. Who knew a big buff man like Choi Seungcheol would be like a clingy koala, the answer would be you and only you. You're the only one who gets him like this.

Your fiancé knew exactly which buttons to push and when to push them. Like right now, you told him you were catching up on some work you missed while the two of you went on a quick weekend trip but ofcourse he would find a way to be involved somehow.

So here he is, half of his body inside your(his) shirt while you sit on his lap.

You're close to getting your work done but Cheol's being difficult, littering kisses and a few playful bites here and there on your chest.

"Cheolie, please give me five minutes to finish this then I'm all yours. If you don't stop, I'm sleeping in the guest bedroom"

You feel him move out of your shirt, now he's fully facing you. One brow raised and a sulky pout already placed on his lips "You're mean"

"5 minutes or no cuddles tonight"

He scowls before helping you off his lap so he can get off the seat. "I'm setting a timer, done or not I'm coming in here" And you believe him. He's petty like you, maybe because you're both Leos.

He kisses you on the cheek before walking away, closing the door behind him.

You finish the last three emails you had to send before doing a final run through. You look at the clock to see you're cutting it close. Testing to see if Cheol will really come in the room, you wait instead of going out to the living room.

When the clock turns, you hear the door swing open. Everything happening all too fast, Seungcheol already throwing you over his shoulder before you can protest. He walks to the other room where he throws you (gently) on the bed, hands on his hips as he watch you laugh

"You're so petty" you laugh

"And you're so pretty, you know just how to drive me mad huh" he tells you, climbing over the bed until he's on top of you. He slots himself between your legs, tangling them around his hips as he rests his body on you but not fully putting all of body weight on you

"You better not have left hickies on my neck again" you poke him on the cheek

"And if I did? It's not like somebody will come and check" he retorts, then leans down to start kissing your neck again as if to prove a point.

"Cheol, seriously. I can never wear low cut now" your words differ from your actions, tilting your head to the side to give him more room. He smirks against your skin, kissing the same spot over and over again.

He pauses to look at you, eyes looking back at him with so much love and lust it goes straight through him. "You know you have a few moles like from your neck down here" he trails his finger from your neck down the valley of your chest, leaving goosebumps on it's trail.

"Do I?"

"Mhm, and you know what they say about moles? They say that's where you were kissed the most in your past life"

You smile, already seeing where this conversation is going. "Jealous?" you tease him

"Pshhh me? Yes. Actually sometimes it pisses me off thinking someone loved you this much, someone who isn't me"

"But what if it was you?"

"Then good. It should be me. I can't even fathom any other guy loving you more than I do" he tells you, ever so sure and confident of his commitment to you.

"You're cute when you're jealous"

"I'm gonna kiss you here too, over and over again so when we're reborn you get all these moles again I'll be sure it would be because of me"

You stare up at your man, imagining a universe where you're not with him is simply impossible. Pulling him down to crash his lips against yours, he reciprocates the kiss with just as much passion. Like you're the air he's breathing.

When you pull away he speaks again, "I really hope it's me in every universe"

You smile at his words, giving him a more gentle kiss this time. The two of you share a smile and few more kisses before you tell him,

"Love me like this and I'll make sure of it"

[olsenmyolsen]

imgonnagetyouback

master list . dark master list

If I said best song on TTPD, then what???

MCU (Female Reader X Wanda Maximoff)

Summary: You and Wanda Maximoff used to be something, but now that you're with Natasha Romanoff, Wanda can't stand by and let it happen.

Word Count: 1.4K

Content: Pissed Off Wanda, Manipulation, Cheating(?)

Wanda hated seeing you with Natasha.

She hated how the redhead whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you cooked dinner. She hated seeing how Natasha's arms held you tight after a mission. Wanda mostly hated how she looked at you. When Wanda truly looked at you. Wanda could see the pain hidden behind the glare.

Wanda hates how you treated her and how she treated you in return.

On top of that, she regrets calling it off too early. But now she hates the idea of you with someone else.

The images of you and Natasha are driving her crazy.

So, as she stands in front of her mirror in a white shirt and a lilac short skirt that fits her like skin, she smiles.

She's gonna get you back.

You're no better than a man when you see the way Wanda glides into the kitchen for breakfast. The body-hugging skirt leaves little to the imagination while making your mouth dry.

Wanda feels your gaze on her as she keeps her back to you. Using her magic to grab a bowl and spoon for cereal, keeping a laugh inside as she hears your thoughts.

You look away when she turns around but look right back up with a spoon clatters against the hardwood. You go red when you see Wanda bent over, picking up the spoon.

The color of her panties matches the skirt.

"Hey!" Natasha's voice makes you jump as she enters the kitchen with a smile. Wanda finishes gathering her cereal in the meantime. She knows this part of her plan worked just by how hard you're trying to keep your focus on Natasha and not Wanda and her body. "You woke up before me. That never happens!" Natasha makes a casual joke that you give a half-hearted chuckle at. "Yeah, just wanted an early start today, I guess."

Wanda takes one last look at you before she leaves the room. Your eyes catch her green ones, and you just about stop breathing when she winks at you.

"You're mine."

The following week, Stark is throwing a party for god knows what the occasion was, but it doesn't matter. You need something like this for one reason or another.

(Wanda and Wanda.)

So, as you walk with your arms linked with Natasha's, you find all eyes on the two of you. Natasha is dressed in a strapless thigh-high slit silver dress. You opted for an all-black tux that Natasha couldn't wait to tear off you later.

And you with her dress.

You smiled and kissed her cheek while she made small talk with colleagues, and you felt the burn of green eyes on you.

Wanda was stewing across the party, in a tight black dress that complimented your tux better than Natasha did. You and Natasha looked stunning.

She hated it.

So, with her mind on autopilot, Wanda downed the remainder of her glass and kept her burning desire trained on you.

After days of teasing, Wanda didn't feel close to accomplishing her goal. So, with misguided judgment, she rolled her tongue over her lips and found herself standing in the garage.

A golf club in her hand.

Luxury cars that Tony spent too much money on never to drive were the first pieces of machinery Wanda saw before she walked further and further down that aisle.

A loud click bounced off the walls with every step of her heels. Until. Wanda finally stopped in front of your bike.

Wanda remembers times when you'd spend all day with this stupid junk—fixing it up and taking it for a spin, being too loud and careless. God, Wanda hated it. But she also loved it because it made you happy.

But Wanda did at some point, too.

A memory of her arms wrapped around you while you sped around the compound plays out.

Wanda unconsciously screams and takes a swing, hitting the headlight right in the middle of the bike. Glass spraying around her. With a gasp, Wanda takes a step back, surprised by her actions, before she grips the club harder and swings for the fences.

39 times.

Wanda had a date a few weeks after Starks party. Your bike was totaled, and Wanda had another date.

You couldn't fucking believe it.

You felt like you had been going crazy with Wanda lately. She was gone one minute and was always around the next, in short skirts or revealing tops. Wanda was there. She acted friendly, and then, in a second, she couldn't stand you.

You couldn't make heads or tails of what was happening.

Was she getting me back?

One way or another?

You sighed as you sat down on your bed at the compound. Natasha was gone on a mission, and even if you wanted to talk to her, you couldn't really do it about Wanda.

You would be lying if you said you didn't miss Wanda at times when Natasha wouldn't get your jokes or how her and Wanda's idea of nights in were different.

On top of that, you missed Wanda's touch. You hate to say it, but you miss feeling her skin under your hand or hearing her whispered sighs escape through her lips.

You groan and lift up from the bed. You head down to the gym to distract yourself. It's empty when you get there and by the time you're finishing up. Yet, with your headphones in and your back to the door. You don't hear Wanda enter the room.

Wanda had listened to your thoughts repeatedly for the last two hours. She had smiled wide and touched herself briefly as your frustrated moans left you. She knew how close she was to getting you back.

So, as you hummed to your music, Wanda gently walked towards you.

You stopped and turned around when red magic surrounded the equipment you were using. "Wanda?" You questioned as you paused your music. She was wearing a black sports bra and bike shorts.

But god, did they stick to her like glue.

"Hi Y/n." Wanda moved closer. "What are you doing here?" You asked after swallowing your nerves and trying to keep your eyes from roaming her body. "Just thought I'd get a workout in before my date," Wanda said with a wide smile that upset you. Wanda's words were making you think twice about what happened between the two of you.

But one thing was for certain.

Her date could never do the things I could.

Wanda raised an eyebrow at that and stepped closer to you. "You've told your friends you hate me, but you love me just the same." You remained stoic even if your lips moved slightly. "Come on. Y/n.." Wanda practically moaned as she stepped closer again with a smirk. Bringing her hand up to your body and dragging her index finger from your chin to your breast.

Only stopping when you grabbed her.

"We tried the whole bygones will be bygones thing," Wanda said as she lifted her eyes from your sweaty and toned body to your beautiful eyes. Eyes she missed, looking at her with softness and lust. "I've tried harder than you." You said, making Wanda roll her eyes.

She was playing a game.

"I don't see what if done wrong," Wanda questioned. "I see the whispers in your eyes, baby. You want me." You dropped Wanda's hand and shook your head. Your thoughts descending into actions of you taking Wanda right here and now mixed with Natasha and her broken heart. "You're poison." You speak with your face inches from Wanda's. "I'm poison either way." Wanda's words cut through you easily.

She'll always be around whether she taints your thoughts and actions or keeps to herself. Wanda will always be there.

"You have someone." You say, but Wanda laughs. "You have someone, too."

You should leave, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

Wanda smiles before she pulls you forward and collides your lips with hers. A simple thing turns into a heated make-out session that leaves both breathless.

And yet Wanda pushes you away when you reach for her shorts. "I need to get started on my workout." She says with a breath between each third word. You shake your head and try again, but Wanda stops you. "Oh, honey..." Wanda coos. "You didn't think it would be that easy. Did you?" You stare at Wanda as she clicks her tongue. "I always have the upper hand, Y/n."

Wanda then looks outside as a Quinjet flies by. You're too busy scanning Wanda's face.

"Looks like she's home," Wanda says as she turns back to you. "And don't worry, I won't say anything." Wanda shrugs before turning away, leaving you standing still as your fingers touch your lips. Still a taste of Wanda. "Oh, and Y/n."

You pull your eyes to her.

"I'm gonna get you back."

dividers by @/benkeibear

[ephie-om]

Pure Mammon x reader fluff to make up for yesterday :))

Song: From the Start - Good Kid

CW: None

Day 2: Mammon

“I don't get what's so great about the sun.” Your guardian demon grumbled, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?”

“The sun. All you humans whine and complain about how the Devildom doesn't have it. Well, I don't want a big ball of light telling me when to wake up and when to go to bed. Anything your sun does, we can do fine.”

You cock your head, confused by the fights this demon picks. “Well, it lights up everything for most of the day.”

“We have lightbulbs too. Way easier to turn off.”

“It gives important vitamins to humans we need to live.

“Yeah, we have food.”

“It warms up the whole planet, otherwise we'd freeze to death.”

“Oh wow, I've never even thought of that. Except- oh wait- a heater.” He scoffs at you. “See? Nothin’ special about the stupid sun.”

You walk through a busy Devildom market, towing your boyfriend along behind you. Mammon's arms were laden in bags he had insisted he carry, despite you offering to share the burden. You and Mammon had grown close quickly, even after your rough start at the beginning of the exchange program. The two of you fit together so perfectly that his brothers had teased the two of you about being a couple long before either of you had even brought it up. But it's undeniable how happy he makes you.

He finally catches up to you, momentarily distracted by something at a stall behind him. “I thought we were here for groceries.”

You stick out your tongue at him playfully. “Doesn't mean I can't have some fun while we're out.” You grab his hand and swing it back and forth as you walk.

A small jewelry stand up ahead catches your eye. Were you mistaken, or were those real human world stones? “I wanna look at those!” you exclaim, tugging on his hand.

“Hey, don't go runnin’ off like that!” He stumbles behind you. “What was that for?” You reach the stand, keeping a tight grip on his hand as you inspect the jewelry.

“Look Mams, they're real! Real human world jewels! This one is turquoise, this one is topaz, and I don't know what this one is but it's pretty!”

He finds himself with a stupid grin plastered on his face, the one that always finds him whenever you get happy like this. Seeing you smile makes him feel like it's just you and him. He swears it lights up the whole Devildom, makes him feel all warm inside. He doesn't think he could go a day without it.

“You remember what I said about the sun that one time?” he asks, rapidly changing the subject.

You laugh, remembering the moment. “You said it was stupid.”

“Well, I take it back.”

“You don't think it's useless any more?”

“Nah. It took me a long time, but I figured out what you were sayin’.”

You buy a few pieces, wasting no time in putting them on and modeling for him. He takes a couple pictures on his D. D. D. He sends one to the house group chat of you striking a flashy pose to show off a necklace with a purple stone. He holds your hand in the other picture, with a simple golden band on your finger studded with tiny opals. That one he saves to a personal album on his phone, marked only with a heart. He thinks for a moment, then goes to rename the album with a simple emoji of a sun.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

hey queen i love ur writing!!! i was just wondering if you’d be down to write anymore dad!sam monroe stuff? i read ur last one and i loved it! it’s so rare to find sam stuff, let alone him as a dad el oh el 🙋‍♀️ if not it’s rlly cool ! i’m a big fan of u diva 💜

Author's note: now that's a really sweet message. I HAVE FANS OH MY AND I AM A DIVAAAAAA (instantly have Beyonce song in mind that existence i found out from tik tok)

TW: sam being a dad (lmao)

Dad!Sam who definitely got at least (and at frist) being yelled at by his mother after she found out you're pregnant and sam's going to be a father! But from the beginning she was all supportive and willing to help you

Dad!Sam who got that hardened, sometimes distant look, but when it comes to his kid? Pure, over-the-top, protective dad mode. He might be rough around the edges but the second his baby is involved, you and everyone can see this warmth in his eyes.

Dad!Sam who's definitely the kind of dad to insult every other kid but not his cute angel. He'd also give this pure 'dad look' whenever someone wants to mess with his kid

Dad!Sam who's the type to stay up late, laying on his son's bed, the little one cuddled to his side and (depends on the age) babbling/lisping about his day or anything he has in mind. Although Sam is not great with giving adive, hell, he often doesn't want to do this (out of his experience in life - or his lack of confidence to be in position to give such) yet he'll try to be honest, in the kidness way possible for SAM MONROE, saying something like - "life's tough, but you're tougher than anything out there" in such gentle whisper

Dad!Sam who became such a cuddly bear with his son. Often he'll just scoop him up and hug him close, inhaling the toddler's soft hair and pressing a light kiss there. Or sometimes he forgets to tuck his baby boy in his bed because bed time is already over and his mother (or you) have to wake him up, the teenager that's all cudled under a blanket with his twin, only for sam to blink blindly as curse under his nose without thinking

Dad!Sam who, after building a house with his father, started loving those little projects for his kid - whenever it was fixing a bike, or building a treehouse, a swing in the garden, he cherished it.

Dad!Sam who definitely called his son "kid"/"kiddo"/"buddy"/"little man"/"little guy"/"sam junior" (although your son was far from being named sam)

Dad!Sam who may seem like a guy who won't take responsibilty for his child, especially in that young age and with problems he had dealt with, but sam wasn't such bastard. He was extremely present in his son's life and wouldn't miss any of his big or little achievements, So, your pregnancy really did mature him

Dad!Sam who has no idea how to cook but tries his damn best, especially when his mother tried to teach him some recipes. But, Sam being Sam, burns most of the food - especially pancakes that your son loves. "this can't be that hard, right?" he'll mumble under his breath when yet another pancake turned out to be crispy

Dad!Sam who's not exactly 'the father of the year' material but he swears he's doing his best. He might not know how to do all the "kid" stuff, but he'll squat down to his son's eye level, ruffle his hair and try to figure things out on the spot. There's this tough softness to him, the way he tries to talk to his son seriously, like the little guy gets it all, even if half the time he's just babbling back at him

Dad!Sam who isn't one for lullabies, but he'll sit by his son's bed in the middle of the night and again sam being sam, humming soft rock tunes while letting the boy hold onto his hand if he can't sleep or had a nightmare

Dad!Sam who doesn't mind his boy clinging to his leg or, when sam's sitting on the floor, the little guy clambering all over him, especially pushing himself under sam's arm so he'd hug him

Dad!Sam who tries to hide this gentlesness he has but it's clear it doesn't work whenever he'll fix the boy's shirt, or very gently dress him up, softly talking to the boy random things or when he brushes crumbs off his son's chubby cheeks

Dad!Sam who's obviously having this proud dad face when he sees his boy taking first steps with you. And when the giggling toddler will land on him, he'll just catch him, murmuring "now look at you, becoming a big guy already..wow"

Dad!Sam who's natural when it comes to showing his son simple things, like picking up sticks or skipping rocks. It's quiet, no big lessons needed, just Sam kneeling down, guiding his son's tiny hands and watching with that rare grin when he actually gets it right "just like that buddy" he'll say, pride in his voice as he watches his kid grope all over the tecture of rock. It's just two of them sitting by the lake like it's the most important thing in the world, while you are in the background with both his family and yours

Dad!Sam who every night, does that little routine, where he tucks his boy in, his big hands gently patting the blanket down. He'll smooth back his kid's hair, fingers lingering just a second longer, and whisper "goodnight, pal" his son reaches up, as usually, fingers trying to grab at his dad's shirt. So sam stays till those cute little fingers go slack, and when the little guy is all asleep, sam will kiss his forehead a few times

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Make Me Beg

Ghost x Reader

Ghost had been curious to see if you could be the one to make him beg for a change, in which to both his pleasure and dismay, you oblige.

NSFW 18+, Shameless Smut, Porn w/ little Plot, Explicit Description, Graphic Language, AFAB Reader, P in V Sex, Teasing, Sexual Tension, Flirting, Slight build-up, A lot of edging, slight Nipple-Play, Tit-Fucking, Handjobs, Kissing, Blowjobs, Fingering, somewhat Touch Starved!Ghost, Dom!Reader (in essence), One Shot, Somewhat proofread

WC: 3.4k~

A/N: I haven't written anything since November. Trying to dust off the old bones. I hope you enjoy~

Masterlist

"Go on then," Ghost challenged you, this towering mass of man now looming in the doorway to your apartment like an impending shadow. "Make me beg for it."

You scoff, the remaining space between you two growing smaller by the second. You had been joking earlier (and a bit tipsy) when you claimed you could make him beg for you if you tried hard enough; a fast-growing habit, teasing him ever since you learned of his interest in you. To be fair, he'd been rather shy about it. But it seems it only took a few drinks and some jeering from the others tonight for him to finally do something.

He closes the door behind himself, still masked and in his boots, as he saunters towards you, his height and size growing more massive at every lost inch of space. His olive eyes, near black in the muted lights of your living room, seem to be devouring the entirety of your form before him, standing idle with your heart thumping within your throat. The smirk on your face can only hide it so well.

"Make you beg?" You cross your arms and start to lean on your hip rather provocatively. "Why? Do you want to beg for me, Simon?"

Ghost chuckles, his eyes dipping between your lips and collarbone, and noticing how you swallow at the sight, as your skin calls to him like a siren's song. In reality, it wouldn't be a hard thing at all having him beg for you, but did you know that? It's what's got him so curious to find out.

"I want to see if you can make me," he says. "Since you seemed so confident earlier. Or was it just talk?"

The way his voice rolls from his tongue like a husky growl has you near weak in the knees. Making him beg you seemed more daunting at every second, but you always loved a challenge. You lick your lips and step even closer, leaving your body just barely out of reach. You can tell he wants to lean in just from how his head is ducked down at you, eyes having been locked on yours since stepping in. Like a predator in every way, wanting to work for his meal.

“How exactly do I make you beg?” you ask him.

“I can't give you all the ideas,” he teases.

You pout. “And I'm guessing you're not gonna make it easy for me then.”

“Where's the fun in that, love?”

You cross your arms and think, tilting your head to the side and looking him up and down. All the while you felt his body heat radiating before you, his rainy pine-like scent from outside filling your nostrils. He keeps his hands at his sides, however much he wants to let them rest at your hips and pull you in, having you begging him instead.

And then it hits you.

“I know just the thing.”

By the fifteenth-minute mark of Ghost not-so-patiently waiting alone for you to emerge from your restroom, he’d begun wondering what it could be that you were cooking up for him tonight. No doubt, it had something to do with this little idea that had suddenly popped into your head.

“How much longer?” He calls to you from by your dresser, having just started curiously looking at all the little souvenirs stacked there.

More thumping erupts from your side of the door, as though you were hopping about. “Just… give me a few more seconds...”

The bathroom door swings open, sweet scents and perfume pooling out behind you as you slowly step out. Once Ghost has laid his eyes on you, however, all the blood in his body damn near rushes to the lower halves of himself, his skin catching aflame like napalm. He knew you would give him your best shot, but he hadn't expected you to be so prepared.

You'd put on lingerie, a pair you'd been saving for a night special like this. It fits your form more perfectly than Ghost felt he deserved to bear witness to, from the way the lace meshes with the most supple parts of your breast, rising and falling at every breath you make, all the way to how your panties hug your hips, just screaming to be tugged away. How you could have been hiding a body as fine as this from him for so long would be a mystery forever lost in time.

Watching his eyes bounce up and down on your body makes you damn near want to burst into laughter. Maybe this will be easier than you initially thought.

“Was it worth the wait?” you ask.

Ghost slowly steps forward, looming, as his eyes haven't wavered once. “It’s about to be.”

And then you smirk. “Good. Now for the rules.”

Ghost pauses. “Rules?”

“That’s right,” you nod. “Since you want to challenge me. We have rules now.”

Ghost stands there slack-jawed beneath his mask, all the ideas he had running in his mind translating into a less-than-excited glare. The rules couldn't be all too bad, he imagined. And it wasn't like you were turning him away either. So he'll bite.

“A’right, let’s hear ‘em.”

“No touching.”

“Wha’?”

“No touching.”

“What’s so ever?”

“No, no. I get to touch you.” As you speak, letting your words ooze off your lips like honey, you close that last little bit of space you two had, finally letting a single hand rest on his boulderous chest. It's enough to make the man ready to tear your clothes off right then and there. “I get to touch you all I like,” you say. “However I like, for however long I like. But you… no touching. Not unless you beg me. And if you don’t listen, you'll have to beg me to forgive you.”

Ghost gives you a more lustful stare, feeling how your fingers curve over his broad muscles even through his coat. You look up at him, having bit your lips and exhaled ever so dauntingly, silently telling him how much you were about to enjoy yourself with him.

So he can't touch you? Very well then, bring it. Let's see what tricks you had under your sleeve.

“Such a tricky woman you are,” he all but purrs. “Very well then, I’ll play your game.”

“I thought you might.”

Gently, you guide the man back until his large legs had brushed your bed, where he willingly sat before you. Your hands then slowly slide across his body, his eyes not being able to help but take in the fullness of your own. But it wasn't until he'd felt this itching urge to reach out and feel your skin for himself that he began realizing just how difficult this challenge might be. It wouldn't help that his pants were growing uncomfortably tight, just begging for your touch of relief.

You would oblige him, somewhat slowly, however. You get down to your knees and work your way towards undressing him. First removed are his boots, then his coat, his pants, soon to be followed by his shirt. It's at this point you take a small step back to look at your new plaything for the night.

Ghost's body already looks good even in uniform, so seeing this muscular and scarred mass of man before you, all tatted and warm-blooded, felt just as surreal and awe-inducing as it had in your dreams. It didn't make you any less wet seeing him like this either.

“You want the mask on?” he asks you, breaking that little trance you were in. The man already couldn't touch you, he wasn't sure if he could sit through these temptations much longer.

You begin your answer by resting both your hands on his knees, letting yourself lean further in. It almost makes you laugh when you feel the hairs on his thighs begin rising from your touch, his body reacting against this cool demeanor you continued masquerading. “I'll take it off when I feel like it.”

“As you wish,” he teases. “I'm at your full disposal tonight, love. Both mind and body.”

“That you are.” You gently separate the man's legs, leaving before you a massive canyon of muscle leading toward an almost distractingly large bulge. It practically throbs beneath the fabric, already hard and aching for you. The longer your eyes linger there, the longer Ghost feels his breath trapped in his throat. Your sudden smile brings him back to, nonetheless, if rather anxiously so. “Now, be a good boy and keep your hands at your sides. That's something you can manage, yes?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

It's the way he doesn't argue with you, following your command as obediently as he would on the job that has you so excited to get started. You just couldn't wait to finally break that unshakable composure of his; making a play-toy out of him was just the added bonus.

Your hand reaches between his legs, cupping over his cock and taking a hefty but gentle handful, as the entire mass of it all was already too much for a single hand. His breathing comes low and shaky like small huffs from the nose, biting back moans as you slowly pull him free of his trousers, his cock spilling out large and ready. It was taking all of him not to have his eyes already rolling back behind his skull from your touch, and even more so not to lift a finger and join you.

“Goodness gracious,” you say teasingly. “How long have you been hiding this?”

Ghost begins to quip, only to have the words catch in his throat as you let your two fingers trace up his shaft, brushing against the soft, throbbing skin of his cock like feathers. You let your touch teeter between teasing and pleasing him, your index finger playing with his tip and smearing slick across the head of his cock and your thumb. Your other hand soon joins, before gently taking the base and dancing your fingers over him. It makes his entire body shiver, a moan trapping itself in his throat.

Of course, you do everything in your power to try and force those moans out of him; it had been the best part of this. You wanted the sound of his lust-drunk voice to soothe the back of your mind for all your future days to come. But even now, you knew he was holding some part of himself back, if not to challenge you in return.

"Don't be shy now, Si'," you said. "Let me hear you."

"You'll have to make me," he said back. "If you can manage that."

"I'm just warming up, in fact."

You begin jerking him off, only you do it so lightly, with gentle tugs and swipes of your finger, that it wouldn't be enough to finish the job, instead overstimulating the man and sending his body into an impatient frenzy. Despite his continued refusal to let his lips part and moan for you, the low hums he released and the heavy breathing of his chest let you know well enough that it had been taking everything in him not to. And seeing him start to squirm only makes you giggle devilishly.

You go at this inconsistent and playful rhythm for about seven minutes, though for Ghost that had felt equivalent to a half hour of pure sexual torture. And the worst part of all of this had been his hands, balling the sheets within his fists at his sides so as to not reach over and take hold of you.

No touching, you told him. He should have guessed it wouldn't be so easy.

“We'll be ‘ere all night at this rate,” he quips, though his words come out so stifled they're nearly at a whisper.

You giggle in response. “You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“Maybe not for you,” he says. “You're the one having all the fun.”

“Aw, this isn't fun, Si’?”

Ghost gives you the most deadpan look when he speaks, his voice low and filled with hunger. “Fun would be me throwing you on this bed ‘ere behind me and fucking you ‘til the sun rises.”

Ghost leans in now, letting his masked lips get so close to you that you could practically feel his breath in your ear. “You know you like the sound of that,” he growls. “Having me fuck you all night. Just bouncing up and down on my cock while I rail you good and deep. You want that, don't you love?”

You push him back against the bed, giving him a smug look as your grip on his cock grows more firm. Suddenly you've used your other hand to reach behind yourself, letting your bra unclasp and spill to the floor. Your breasts, now naked to him, look so moldable to the touch, the light curving off your skin so mouth-wateringly; Ghost wanted to do more than just touch you at this point. And even beneath a mask, you could tell. You could see it in his doe-like gaze.

“Just say the magic words then,” you smile. “Beg me.”

“What should I say?”

“I can't give you all the ideas.”

Not letting up your teasing, you finally take your hands away from him, your fingers now wet with spit and slick, rubbing over your breasts. Your fingers dance across your nipples before hugging your tits together and squeezing them with a light hum. You then lean forward and let the head of his cock gently press at your nipple, pre-cum webbing between you two as your hands to continue making a mess of yourself.

If he stared at you playing with him any longer, then the aching pain in his groan may just drive him insane. He hadn't cared any longer that your toying had his knuckles near white gripping the sheets, nor that the heat from your body had his toes curling, words barely able to process without coming out in a breathy grunt. He could watch you at his knees playing with him all day, if only this unbridled arousal could finally be released.

A bright idea crosses his mind, and then he closes his eyes. Your actions wouldn't go but the sensations wouldn't be as crazy if he weren't looking into your seductive gaze as you did them. For a few seconds that worked… until he felt something warm and wet engulf him, sucking lightly and making his hips begin to buck.

He opens his eyes and sure enough your mouth had gone over him, but only over the tip, as you let your drooling tongue circle about his cock like ice cream.

Your eyes meet his, and then you take your mouth away, replacing your look with a cheeky smile. You aren't about to let him off the hook so easily.

“I was just checking to make sure you were still awake,” you say.

“Fuckin’ evil, you are,” he grunts through another moan. “Not even a hint?”

“Say please.”

Please? It felt like such a simple thing to say now, though the more he thought about it the more he could feel his pride getting punched. You continuing to let your tits rub against his shaft made for a nice way to mend that pain, however, your breasts doing a better job at jerking him off than any hand he's ever felt before. 

“...Please.”

You gasp playfully. “Please what?”

“Please let me touch you,” he said.

“Is that all?”

You never did like to make it simple. Ghost shakes his head and grunts. “‘Tis not all...”

“I'm listening.”

Ghost sits up again, towering over you once more as he looks you in your eyes, skin damn near burning with heat.

“Let me fuck you,” he said. “I wanna make you feel as good as you’re doin’ me now. I want to have your body shaking-- aching for me. I want to hear your voice cryin’ out my name ‘til it gives out and it's nothin’ but gasps and hiccups. Need I say more?”

You sit there motionless for a moment just taking in the words, as Ghost's eyes all but devoured you, waiting feverishly for your reply. You'd been smiling all night, but this had really brought the shine to your lips.

You lift your hand and reach out, until you've clasped the top of his mask, before finally unveiling the blond and facing a hardened and scarred face flushed with lust. The second his mouth was bare you finally let your lips taste his, as you pulled him into a sloppy kiss still slurred by your earlier drinking. A few pecks are left before parting ways, letting your legs straddle him as you nibbled at his bottom lip on the way out. For a moment he had seemed hesitant to kiss you back, if only for two seconds, before his kisses grew so overpowering that you’d almost forgotten who’d initiated this in the first place.

With one final smirk, you say, “OK.” And like a starved beast, he takes hold of you, quickly reversing the roles and placing you onto your back. As he was now towering over you, suddenly you feel as though you might regret all the teasing from earlier.

Ghost takes a moment to himself just to look at you, his eyes slowly traveling up and down your body, and his heart rate increasing. He then lifts a hand and reaches out; you half expected him to touch you in the obvious areas, however, he surprises you when his hand cups your cheek, simply bringing your gaze to his.

“Now,” he lets his thumbs gently caress you. “I was thinking on giving you a taste of your own medicine… at first.” His thumb now glides across your lip as he speaks, slowly trailing down your body, past your collarbone, and then your naval, before finally forcing their way past the seam of your panties, large fingers now teetering at the edge of your clit. He holds himself there, just knowing his hand being only inches from your pussy was already driving you mad, your little lip-bite proving as such.

“You could do that, yes,” you nod.

“I could,” he agreed, his two fingers now curving over your cunt and teasing at your dripping hole, making a soaking mess of his fingers almost immediately. There was nothing more you wanted than for him to bring those fingers over your clit and go to town, yet he kept his hand still, his eyes remaining firmly on yours. “I'd have you beg me now; you wouldn't last a minute I reckon.”

“You want to bet?”

Ghost brings those same wet fingers back to his cock, where he slicks the mess you'd made over his pulsating erection, letting his large, rough thumb swipe at your dripping slit for more lubricant every so often, until his skin was damp with you.

His hands grip your thighs like play-doh as he gives them a light squeeze, pushing your legs back until your knees were at your ears and your cunt was spread bare to him like a juicy, pink desert. He can't keep himself away after witnessing such a maddening sight between your legs, pulling himself closer and letting his cock rest heavily below your navel. The sheer mass of it made the weight against your belly unavoidably heavy, your lower halves throbbing in ways you're sure he'd grown recently familiar with.

“I already told you what I want to do,” he says, while just as casually taking hold of himself and rubbing the tip of his head roughly against your clit, flicking and massaging it teasingly. You've barely any time to let your lip quiver in delightful anticipation before the walls of your pussy are suddenly and slowly penetrated. Ghost has already started a brutally long thrusting in and out of you the second that wet heat cups over his cock, making sure you felt every girthy inch of him on the way in. With a final shaky breath, before he puts his full efforts into making a mess of your body, Ghost brings his lips to your ear, letting his teeth and warm breath tickle and graze at your earlobe, wanting you to hear him clearly as he tells you, “I’m gonna fuck you ‘til my name comes out your mouth like hiccups.”

And he does just that.

Between the sound of his name bubbling out your throat at every deep thrust he made in you, and the harsh smacking of his lower half against yours, giving you that pleasurably rough grind with each impact, you’d been drooling with tears falling down your cheeks by the tenth consecutive minute. All the while, Ghost took advantage of his newfound ability to feel you, his large hands cupping and pawing at your breasts like stress balls, kneading at your flesh, and imprinting the very shape of you into his palms. When he grew bored with one position, he’d only flip you over and let you ride him next, watching you bounce on top and take all of him in like you’d been born to do so.

Your body quivers and shakes above him with pleasure as you feel his hands slide up your torso, taking another handful of your tits. You begin to fold above him, your face burying itself in his chest from the overwhelming sensation another orgasm had brought you.

Now it had been his turn to laugh. “Don’t tire out now, love,” he teases. “There’s still a few more hours ‘til the mornin’.”

(^3^) it's good to be back~