#i think i ended up with good but slightly stiff which is good enough for me

[j-jinxee]

[ ⟡​ ] — PULL OVER,,

NSFW under the cut! ⊹ Sim Jaeyun x Reader

✦ [warnings – head (receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink, cumming inside, swearing]

─────

Being Jake's passenger princess was the best job ever. One of his hands resting on your thigh while the other controls the vehicle, and all you had to was your sit there and look pretty, occasionally telling him which way to go. Your eyes mostly landed on him throughout these drives, much more interested in his gorgeous side profile than the road ahead. His beautifully sculpted hands gliding across the wheel, taking good care of you, keeping you safe. Snapping you out of your thoughts, you noticed his hand almost stuttering, becoming as stiff as a board. Jake felt the urgent need to get closer to you, to take you right this second, but the road ahead prevented him from doing so. Hearing his breathing get heavier, you pretended not to notice. However, you were slightly concerned when Jake took a wrong turn, did he do that on purpose?. You were meant to head onto the freeway, instead you're headed out to a more secluded, rural area. Was he really that lost in thought? You actually couldn't tell if he just made a honest mistake, or if he was thinking with his dick. You'd soon find out, it was the latter.

'Jake?' you said quietly.

Before you knew it, both of you were cramped in the back seat, Jake's face buried in your cunt. 'mm-mmh!' You squirmed, your hands tugging at his hair to steady yourself. Jake ended up going halfway up a curb and not even turning the car off, so desperate to feel you. He rushed to climb into the back seat, and you followed, how could you say no to this pleading boy? He looked like a lost puppy, so needy for you all the time. Practically drooling at the sight of you, he ripped your tights at the crotch, along with your underwear. You'd gotten used to Jake's animalistic traits when he got like this, the first couple times he ripped your clothes you were worried they were gone for good, but he'd always buy you new pairs of whatever he destroyed.

'mm-m fuck!' You cried louder than ever, as you were finally in a place where no one could hear you. Jake's tongue felt so fucking good when he sucked your clit, he somehow never needed his fingers to bring you to the edge, his tongue knew everything you needed. He pulled away right before you reached your high, of course he can't have you cumming already. Moving upwards to connect his lips to yours, tasting yourself on his tongue.

He removed his jacket and shirt, only disconnecting your lips to pull it over his head. His hands new exactly where to go, gliding down your body and haulting at your hips. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans, reaching down to stroke him through the fabric. His desperation was contagious, making you all hot and needy for him aswell, rubbing your already stimulated clit on his clothed bulge. Not long after, Jake was frantically unbuckling his belt, pulling down his jeans and boxers just enough to free his aching member. Fuck he looked so good like this, all drunk and desperate for you, his hair messy yet still framing his face perfectly, and the cute little whines he let out when you so much as grazed him. 'm sorry baby, I just needed you- right now' he panted though your lips.

'Awh, pretty boy couldn't wait till we got home? So desperate' you teased.

'fuckkk- don't call me that' your voice hypnotised him, intoxicating him with every octave.

His cock glided up and down your folds, threatening to split you open at any second. He stroked himself a few times before gently slapping his length on your clit, only making more of your slick leak down to the car seat below. Your already very stimulated bud now had a pretty coat of Jake's pre all over it, glistening in his eyes.

Jake didn't even glance back down before he slowly pushed himself deep into your folds. Loving the sight of your pupils dilating as you felt his tip kiss your cervix.

'fuckkkk' you whined as he bottomed you out instantly, his usually strong eye contact immediately faltered. His eyes rolling back and his posture falling forward. Adding the sensation of his hot breath on your neck followed by his whiny little moans right at your ear, you were experiencing nothing short of pure ecstasy.

He looked up from the gorgeous sight to be met with one even more so, your eyes. He adored making eye contact while he buried himself in you, practically imprinting his shape into your walls. It didn't matter how rough or how gentle he'd be going, his eyes would always find their way back to yours.

It's like he was programmed to pleasure you, the way the smallest touches made your body feel like it was on fire. The way his cock filled you so well, the way his tip kissed your cervix so delicately until you'd come undone for him over and over and over again. As much as you weren't in the mood like he was, you thanked his weak will for taking you like this in the middle of nowhere, you could never let out moans like this in your shared apartment. Your mixed noises only made it more erotic, sounding so incredibly pornographic you barely recognised your own voice.

'Fuckk baby 'm– 'm gonna cum already ah!'

His rough strokes always hit so fucking deep, even just thinking about it would have you hot and bothered any day. You felt a twitch inside you before thick ropes of his hot, white seed painted your walls so delicately. You tensed, sucking him in even more if that was possible. The warm, filling sensation tipped you over the edge, just like it always did. Jaeyun's words became almost ineligible, his pussy drunk mind all foggy from his release. His words were pure sin, all of it so shameless, and you fucking adored it.

'ffuck baby so fucking good for me, ah! mm fuck you feel so good. Feel me? Feel my cum so fucking deep- a-ah!'

His lips laced your neck, threatening to mark you as he made his way back to sitting upright. Catching his breath, it was truly your favourite part. His hair messy and damp, face highlighted by the dim light glistening off his sweat, abs tensed as he still remained inside you. You felt so full, and warm, wishing you could stay like this forever.

This was however, Jake's least favourite part. He hated seeing his cum leak out of you, inevitably it was impossible to keep it all in, but god dammit Jaeyun will try. Pulling out at a stupidly slow pace, quickly replacing his cock with his fingers at the first sight of the white syrup. 'Let's try n leave it for a bit, right baby?'

Fuck, he was so cute. As much as you both knew it wasn't possible, and it was no where near the right time, you knew he dreamt about you having his children. Didn't matter the circumstance, he'd subtly fill his fantasy in someway everytime you had sex, and it was adorable. 'Ok baby' you smiled.

─────

Do I like this? No it's shit,, has it been in my drafts for about 5 months? Yeah,, I just want it gone so take it lmao ( ´-ω-) I'll write smt better for Jake soon cuz my god I love this man sm ok bye.

[moonsaver]

Iris family!reader back at it again! Here's part 2 of this, which was VERY incomplete because tumblr decided to bust on me and upload it while i was still drafting!! I think this part might be more confusing, so feel free to ask about it right away!

Taglist is at the end of the fic hehe

-

Aventurine has an eye for craftsmanship. And very good ears.

You recall vividly. That's the first thing he mentioned about himself when he first introduced himself to you.

You know it's not a coincidence he's reaching out to you. Especially after a meeting with Mr. Sunday, which is his direct, formal contact with the Oak Family. You, on the other hand, were a direct, informal contact. The fact you were barely a notable singer in the plethora of talents Penacony held wasn't what mattered to Aventurine. Neither did it matter that you were from the Iris Family. Because to him, you were a one-way ticket to Sunday's mind. 

It's also no coincidence he's decided to drop by after he sees the wide open door of your room.

“I've heard well about your station, friend.”

He makes himself comfortable on the stiff couch of the hotel room, the fabric wrinkling and the frame creaking from the shift in weight.

“I.. don't need your help. I’m fine.”

“Can't hurt to always have connections, keeps you afloat, birdie.”

“Don't tell me that. I don't need any more. I've had enough.”

Aventurine smiles, and leans back into the couch, one of his arms lazily resting on the couch's and the finger of his hand tapping the top of his knee.

“Your earrings are the talk of the town, y'know?”

Your hand instinctively shoots up, and your fingers ghost the lobe of your ear. You're not wearing any at the moment.

“Is that so..?”

Your body language is jittery. Your hands keep fidgeting. Your lips hurt from the constant chewing, your finger rubs your earlobe.

Aventurine fiddles with his own, and gets up. He walks over to you with slow, easing steps.

“There's a cute little section in a few tabloids about those earrings. There's also a little fact that your ears burn red when you lie.”

Aventurine stands in front of you.

“That can't be right. It's totally bullshit.”

He chuckles at your response. He leans in, slowly, his breath ghosts the shell of your ears. The oddly sweet scent of expensive, exotic wine line his cool breath over your skin.

“There's also been that whole buzz about The Watchmaker's Legacy.”

The close proximity renders you paralyzed – many thoughts run through your head; should you push him away? Should you step away instead? Snap back at him?

You feel his gloved finger busy itself with your ear. A snap resounds loudly through your ear, and his hand retracts. So does he.

Your agitated gaze lingers on his smug face, and wanders over to his ears. They're red.

“I'll give you some advice – you should try and take advantage of chaos.”

His hand raises slightly, and his fingers barely kiss the skin of your elbows. It snaps something in you, and you immediately move to step back.

His other hand shoots up and grabs your arm in response.

“We can help each other, can't we, little sparrow? A glimpse of that man's mind is enough for me. I'll help you keep your family all safe and sound.”

“I– don't care what you have to offer. I am not taking that risk! This crap about The Watchmaker, I'm not having it! Find someone else to bother!”

Aventurine's smile widens, his eyes stare down at you. The concentric colours are almost hypnotising.

“Relax. The game's only started, I'm sure there's enough time for you to analyse the situation and pick a side. And things will fall into place all in due time.”

A knock.

Both you and Aventurine snap your heads to the source. The door creaks open.

Sunday stands, composed. His knuckles linger on the polished wood of the door for a few more seconds, before his hand falls to his side. His other hand holds a black, velvet bag.

You forgot to take that back.

“It seems we meet again.”

Aventurine hums.

‐

“Are you perhaps.. unhappy with your current circumstances?”

“No, I'm.. quite pleased with it. Please, don't take anything to heart. I was fervently denying all of his offers.”

Sunday chuckles softly.

“I understand. Please, be at ease.”

-

Sunday knew what lied in store for him when he became a part of the Family.

As their long-burdened history, all of them were to join and form an impenetrable force, decorating the Dreamscape lavishly for those who had the privilege to deny reality. 

Which was ironic.

It was comically ironic.

Such was their torment.

As eagles rip and gnaw the liver of human emotion, such was the painful symbolization of human strive. And this was a neverending story. A neverending performance of a traitor, prisoners and a false dream. A Death that surely extracts the price for all that has been done. A price that grows thick over the bones of each generation, for daring to dream together, for daring to yearn for freedom.

Some knew of this history. Most were not privy to it.

Sunday tells you in passing, as his gloved fingers gently drop the velvet bag in your hand. You suppose it was simple small talk.

A beat of silence passes.

“Ah, I may have fed a false fact to that Tabloid.”

You look up at Sunday.

“Im sorry?”

“I wasn't aware of whether or not your ears turn red. They were eager for a harmless fact, and I conjured up something on the spot.”

“Oh, they.. approached you directly?”

“They first approached Robin, to be exact. I arrived just in time to answer a small question. My apologies for making a hasty decision at a presented opportunity.”

You blink a few times.

“Ah, well.. not like it can be helped now but.. please be careful. One thing tends to lead to another.”

“I've taken note of that.” his eyes focus on the lobe of your ear.

What's he looking at..?

Your hand cautiously reaches up to your ear. Aventurine's earring?

“Oh, um.”

You break out in a sweat, and your shaky hands immediately remove it. You look at the flashy, teal accessory. Then you look at Sunday, gauging his reaction.

He smiles. Perhaps that fact wasn't false.

“I suggest not striking a deal with Aventurine. I can assure your family's security.”

“Oh, I know I just–”

“The Family does not take dealings with the IPC lightly.”

You stay silent.

He sighs, and his gaze seems to soften for a moment. His gloved hand reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Apologies. The Charmony festival is coming soon. Extra measures have been established. Please, approach me instead.”

His voice softens at the end.

“I.. understand.”

‐

Sunday thinks a change of your career is in order.

A brand new start, a better title, a better colleague.

Somewhere along the way, most of Penacony's more enthusiastic visitors were in the know about you. Your popularity settled comfortably on event lists, and Sunday was steadfast in his promise.

However, there's now an increase in work. Particularly, working late at night with Sunday.

Your job now had strict parameters you didn't have in your former station. Deadlines, reports, even hearsay playing an important role. Although, for once your rusty luck has come into play, and Sunday is much more fair to you than any other manager that you could have been working under, if it weren't for your decision to become a singer.

That being said, the public now saw less of you, which instead soared rumours about you and increased your popularity more. You aren't sure how to thank Sunday – he only gives you a closed eye smile whenever you decide to at least verbalise your gratitude.

‐

“Ah, you should take a look at this.”

Sunday beckons you to come closer, pointing and curling his index finger towards you. You oblige wordlessly, and with a few swift clicks of your shoes, you stand right beside Sunday, leaning a bit to take a better look.

His finger points to several figures in the document, and you hum, eyes scanning through the neatly organised words.

“Does this mean I'll get significantly busier?”

“You best prepare, as per my suggestion.”

You sigh, a bit dramatically, and Sunday chuckles.

“My apologies. I know I've already asked for a lot from your end. I shall support you equally.”

“That's.. well, alright. I was just worried about something else.”

You avoid his eyes, discomfort creeping up on you, as those rumours swirl in your head. 

“Be at ease, tell me.”

“It's.. the rumours surrounding me. They're not serious but, recently they've taken a strange turn of events.”

Sunday hums. He gets up, and walks towards a bookshelf, his fingers slide over their spines, and stop at a specific book. You continue,

“It's– um.. quite strange.”

Sunday pulls out the book, and opens it, sifting through the pages with familiarity.

“It was just about the earrings at first but they took a bit of a bizarre turn.. they–”

Sunday snaps the book shut,

“About us. Yes. I've heard.”

You blink a few times.

“They're..”

His fingers trace over the book's cover, before sliding it back into its place.

“Rumoured relationships between us, the debate about work ethics, and the whole lot. Yes, I'm well-informed.”

He turns to you. His all too familiar smile still on his face. His golden eyes seem much more intimidating than they used to.

“They'll die down. I can assure you they are of no importance. However, it helps with your exposure doesn't it?”

He turns his back to you, continuing to look at you over his shoulder.

“They will fizzle out in due time.”

You suppose Sunday is familiar with rumours. But this time, it is only particularly because he created them.

‐

The robin chirps and twits inside its golden cage.

“What's this?”

You smile, a finger gently tapping a bar of the delicate cage,

“It's a robin. I hoped it would guide you during practice.”

You chuckle, and Sunday smiles, both of your eyes fixated on the bird that's chirping and curiously tilting its head at you.

Sunday's encouraged you to practice singing more often inside the office. You've gotten off of your formal duties very late, and as of recent you've scarcely had time to practice. Sunday's insistence led to you often humming and practicing in front of your dressing table. It took a while, but you eased into it fairly well. 

Sunday, on the other hand, enjoys your singing more than he lets on. He finds himself humming to your tune every so often, once you've left and no other ambience fills the room. Perhaps that's also one of the reasons he's brought a robin bird to you.

You sing a simple tune, and the robin follows. It chirps happily, and you giggle at its strange antics. And thus, whenever you aren't present, the bird sings in your stead.

It's not soon before the robin loses its vitality, however. A gilded cage is a cage nonetheless.

Your voice was dampened that day. But Sunday had a plethora of ideas rush to his head.

‐

Something's been wrong with your voice as of recent.

You've avoided any strange drinks, even foregoing any kinds of juices, only opting for water. You avoid even spicy foods, settling for blander dishes. Sunday assures you it's nothing to worry about – even Robin faces challenges with her voice sometimes.

You're at your best, only in Sunday's office.

Everytime you sing, your voice flows smoothly, and you hit every note perfectly. It's wonderful, if it weren't for the fact your voice didn't seem to hold this effect outside of his office. You came to this realisation late at night when you tried singing in the bathroom to yourself, your voice kept tapering, and even stopped at some points. The doctors all assured you things were fine, and at best only prescribed some throat medicine. You wonder what's been going wrong.

Sunday isn't ignorant of your recent concerns, either. He seems to be taking it in stride.

The golden cage is on your dressing table, empty. You stare at it, thoughts swirling in your head. What went wrong? Where? Why? What did you do? 

Sunday's familiar gloved hands place themselves upon your shoulders again. It's a shame. He says. What is a robin without its voice? He says. It echoes in your mind for days. 

“Take a break.” one of his gloved hands make it's way to yours, folded in your lap. He brings your knuckles up to his lips, whispering assurances into it.

“It'll be fine. I'll take care of it.” He kisses between the valley of your knuckles,

“Don't worry. Help me out with the rest of the documents, and we can take a look at your voice after.”

You don't say anything. Maybe because you can't.

-

“Hmm.. your voice tapers too much at the chorus.”

You sigh. You've lost count of how many times you've had to repeat this song, your voice simply cannot seem to hold true to the chorus that's planned. Sunday flips another page of a long-winded document, and sets it down gently on the table, looking up at you when you sigh and only hold onto the mic with disappointment glazing your eyes.

“Have a seat. Perhaps a break may help you.”

You hesitantly oblige, but sigh again, deeply, as the muscles of your throat ache with the strain and relaxation. You sit down at the makeshift dressing table Sunday managed to prepare for you. His courtesy, of course.

You shuffle around it – your dressing table isn't actually much different than Sunday's office desk. It's littered with event planners, schedules, and all sorts of graphs and figures. Your hands lazily pick up a sheet and scan over it, choosing to at least distract yourself while you give your raw throat a rest.

You hear a muffled creak behind you, followed by a few, small footsteps. Sunday stands behind you in the reflection. His hands gently come up to your hair, fingers running through it and fixing it.

“Some members of the Family – particularly the Nightingale Family, wanted to extend their gratitude to you. You've been arduously managing the crowd and shifting their gazes away from the construction work.”

You hum slightly, your eyes unfocused on the words. Sunday's touch seems to leave you dazed, or rather conflicted, these days. 

His fingers leave your hair, and rest on your shoulders. He leans down, his lips graze the shell of your ear. His soft breath tickles your skin, and forms goosebumps.

“And I am.. personally grateful to have you working alongside me.”

Your eyes wander on your table. They avoid his gaze through the mirror's reflection.

“I also.. intend to help you, further than before.”

His voice grows softer and lower, descending into a whisper. One of his hands move from your should to the middle of your collarbone, a lone finger drags up to the middle of your neck. Your breath hitches.

“Mr. Sunday..?”

“It's alright. We needn't be so formal.”

Suddenly, a splotch of colours blur your vision from the corners. You hiss, and groan, immediately burying your head into your hands, striking pain pulses through your head. You close your eyes in efforts to relieve yourself, but it doesn't cease.

“Perfect Harmony.. Order.. it doesn't come easily. Allow me to assist you in reaching that.”

You breathe heavily, the pulsing ache in your head slowly subsides, but the colours remain persistent.

“Sunday..?”

“My dear, let us rejoice. A new chapter of your life has begun. Your family can find ease. We- no, I, can take care of them. Of you.”

You swallow thickly, dread pooling in your stomach. The finger on your neck trails up your neck and pushes your chin upwards, forcing you to face your reflection. The side of Sunday's face is pressed to yours, your eyes are dazed, but his have never been so clear, and bright.

“Just do as you've always done. This is simply to bolt your loyalty, my dear.”

Sunday kisses your cheek, his wings gently flutter on the other side of your face. You close your eyes. The pain subsides into something more blissful, calming. Your body relaxes almost against your will.

‐

Your voice has been perfect as of late. As long as you don't sing for anyone.

Which is to say – you're rendered useless in the grand scheme of Penacony. This terrifies you.

Your family has never been more vulnerable.

What is a robin without her voice? It echoes irrevocably in your mind, the question awaiting an answer. Nothing responds. Nothing, responds.

Empty ballads accompany the marble walls of the hallway leading to Sunday's office. His back is turned to you, his fingers sifting through the spines of familiar books on his shelf. His wings slightly flutter every time your voice hits a high note. Your voice was pitch perfect whenever you sang in his office. Anywhere else? It was a bust. Robin also tried her hand at comforting you, but the tapering edge of her voice only concerned you. An emanator of harmony relied completely on just that to sustain her voice. She'd lost it completely otherwise.

Your lips are raw from the constant biting. Your family tries assuring you they can also pull together scraps and bits to keep themselves afloat; that you've worked hard enough, and you need your rest. Sunday assures their security as always. He's stopped commenting on your concerns with your voice.

“Sunday, my voice..”

“Perfect, my dear.”

He's grown more familiar with using pet names instead of your name. You don't remember exactly when the transition took place.

“No, it's.. I can't sing anymore. I can't perform.”

“Ah, is that so?”

Sunday's deft fingers write something down on a scrap of paper, holding the book open in another hand.

“Not to fret, darling. The public awaits your performance in due time. Take a break for now, and focus on paperwork.”

It does more to discourage you, really.

“I don't know.”

“I know.”

Sunday places the book down gently on his table. He looks at your seated figure, illuminated by the warm light of his office.

Sunday wanted the best for Penacony. But when it came to you, he couldn't help but be greedy. Your voice was beautiful to him. He feels bad, raining on your parade like this. But there's endless amounts of performers who can take your place. There's only one of you who can catch his eye, however.

An empty cage is reminiscent of a happy bird. But a chirping robin is reminiscent of a happy man. Your lost voice still echoes well through the halls, resounding through the marble structures.

A gilded cage is a cage nonetheless. A happier bird is one that does not realise its cage. Sing to your heart's desire in it, he thinks. 

Your head falls to your hands again, blurring splotches of colour blaze through your vision and head again – a familiar, aching pulse resonates in your head. Your voice feels trapped. Sunday walks to you, and places a hand on your back, rubbing gently to soothe you. The colours disappear, leaving you in a daze. Sunday leans down to kiss your forehead, relaxing your furrowed brows.

It's true. You've proven it. A bird that does not realise it's true confines. You may be unhappy, but you sing your throat raw, and Sunday is your only audience. Parameters will only get stricter, but it's for your own good. He assures you endlessly, leaving out that one piece of information.

A robin without a voice is nothing but a dull bird. You, without yours, are just his.

-

Taglist: @sharkiethrts @sarcastic-cookie

[elvensixpm]

"Death Is Calling" [A Date With Death ]

IM IN LOVE WITH HIM ALSO errmm take this small fanfic ?!? I HAVE NEVER WRITTEN FANFICS BEFORE SO PLEASE FORGIVE ME 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ MY HEART IS SO FULL OF HIM omg

// spoiler warnings for Ending 3 //

‎ ‎ ‎ When you first kiss Casper, you are pleasantly surprised by how receptive he is.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Your lips press against his, soft and gentle as he lays on your bed, caged by your arms. With his chest pressed against yours, you could feel his heartbeat thumping against his chest, strong— alive. Life thrums in his veins, evident more when you press a kiss upon his neck; to which he lets out a soft moan, and his pulse quickens significantly.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Not too much now,” he gasps, a gloved hand covering his mouth as he averts his gaze, almost like he is shy to your affections. “Oh, shit. Wow.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ A laugh escapes you as you give him a final peck on his cheek, curiously flush but lacking warmth. His skin is cold. No matter. You have enough heat in you to warm him up.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “You like it?” you ask, tilting your head, feeling a smile tug at your lips. You roll to the side, plopping yourself next to him. “Was I a good first kiss, Grimmy?”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He snorts. “Yes, of course you were.” He slides an arm over your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. You comply, nestling your head in the crook of his shoulder— breathing in his clean scent. “...And an excellent second kiss. And the six others that followed it were great, too.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Great! I'll make sure to add that to my resume.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He rolls his eyes but it's affection plastered onto his face— and he seemingly has no more energy to think of a clever remark to your sarcasm. He wraps his arms around you, chin resting against the crown of your head, your face flush against his chest as his eyelids flutter shut. You feel a pang of jealousy towards Azrael; was this what it was like to be cuddled in bed?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Sleep,” you murmur. “Get used to the bed, Casper. Get used to me.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Mmh.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Wait. Take off your clothes.” His eyes shoot open and he raises an eyebrow, opening his mouth to say something. You cut him off before he can, sitting up. “I have a spare t-shirt you can wear.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Oh.” You swear disappointment flashes over his beautiful features. He catches your t-shirt when you toss it over to him, his mouth tightening into a small frown as he inspects the well-worn red and black thing— the print faded and slightly peeling. You avert your gaze as he strips himself, listening to the rustle of the fabric as he slides the t-shirt over his head. “You listen to System of A Down? Wasn't expecting that, sunshine.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Eh. Helps me sleep at night.” You shrug as you keep your eyes trained on the bouquet of stolen sunflowers Casper gave you yesterday, warmth and affection blooming in your chest. You play with the fraying edges of your blanket as you wait for him to finish changing. “Keep it. Matches your whole red-and-black aesthetic, no?”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He laughs, it sounds almost like a snort. “Thanks, sunshine. I can't wait to see what other merch I can steal from you next.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ You turn back, pleasantly surprised at how well the t-shirt fits him— slightly oversized so that you could see a tease of porcelain skin from the way the neckline drapes along his exposed shoulder. Your gaze drops down to his lap, where he has taken hostage of one of your pillows— likely a temporary placeholder for Azrael.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ You settle back into bed with him, taking your preferred side of the bed, removing the pillow from his arms and tucking yourself back into his arms. He doesn't complain.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ It's a wonder how you both feel so comfortable with each other. You wrap him in an embrace, and he doesn't pull away; his arms slot perfectly between yours, and his touch is tender, not bearing the stiffness of unfamiliarity. It's almost as if you've known him your entire life.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Given the fact death has followed you since you were a child, maybe you have. Maybe Casper has grown alongside you, even if it isn't possible given reapers don't exactly ‘grow’. It's a pleasant thought. Sort of like a guardian angel, in a way.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Perhaps that is why you feel so comfortable around death— around him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ His eyelashes rest upon his cheeks while he sleeps, and his breathing comes and goes in slow, steady breaths. You can't help but stare at him. He's pretty. And he's all yours.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Sleep,” he murmurs, as if sensing your alertness. His eyes open, and you feel a slight pang of regret at waking him— but that all melts away when you feel him run his fingers through your hair soothingly. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your shoulder. “I won't kill you in your sleep, you know. I'm a changed man.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “I know, I know, thank you for that,” you chuckle, kissing the crown of his head. “I love you, Casper.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ “Mm.” His fingers rub soothing circles on your back, as if coaxing you to sleep, and his voice is tender with affection. “Love you too, sunshine.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ You listen to the steady breathing of Casper as he sleeps— a rhythmic melody that threatens to lull you off to sleep as well. You close your eyes and surrender. He snores rather softly, you come to find. You don't mind. Not at all.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ In the midst of life's chaos, you fall asleep in the arms of Death himself.

[shotoh]

❝ SO... ASS, T!TS, OR THIGHS? ❞ feat. nagi seishiro

— what’s his preference?

cw + tw. smut, 18+, minors dni, fem!reader, aged-up!characters, extensive amounts of foreplay, titplay, nipple sucking, nagi is a spoiled boy but we love him 

notes. i think about this cutie patootie often and how he must be so nice to cuddle with... then i remember he’s huge and i just want him to ruin me <3

if you were to ask him this question straight up, he’d likely say something along the lines of, “eh… i like all of you.” which is pretty typical, but not inherently wrong.

in nagi’s case, he believes that if he can lay his head on it, then that’s more than enough for him.

your ass? a cushion for when he’s lazily slumped over your bed, phone in hand as you’re busy cramming your assignments and writing essays, propped up on your elbows in front of your laptop.

your thighs? his well-deserved reprieve after a long day at practice. he loves arriving home and finding you on the couch, patting your lap and inviting him to alleviate stress. as your fingers tousle through his white fluffy locks, a sleepy yawn escapes his lips, cheek pressed against your soft pillowy thighs as he waits for his dreams to take him.

your tits, however, make him rethink his entire outlook on life. i mean, how could he ever forget the sensation of being squished between your soft mounds as you’re going through your usual ministrations—absentmindedly massaging the nape of his neck and playing with tufts of his messy hair, making him hum in content. he doesn’t even think before using them as his personal stress balls, always subconsciously running a hand to cup a breast through your shirt no matter what he’s doing while laid against you.

whether intending to arouse you or not, this always leads to a breathy whimper escaping in the air, gray eyes looking up to see your lips slightly parted and gaze half-lidded. to nagi’s benefit, your tits are also extra sensitive, especially in his big ol’ hands which cover your chest perfectly no matter the size. they make you shiver as his thumbs press your nipples through the fabric, quickly pebbling at his touch. seeing them harden and poke through the sheer material of your top makes the striker’s mouth water.

“just a taste…” is what he tells you as he lifts your shirt above your chest, but nagi’s greedy. he never takes just what he needs, only caring about wanting more. he spends a good hour simply running his tongue around the stiff peaks, alternating breasts by laving at the valley between them before returning the same attention to the other one. his hands like to knead the tender flesh, even clamp them in his hold and push them together for easier access for his tongue to flick the aroused tips of your nipples.

“your tits are so perfect, angel, i wanna suffocate in them…”

it’s constantly a struggle to sit still when he’s adamantly fondling you. you shudder every time he flattens the wet muscle over your areola before wrapping his lips around the bud. your body clings to his, gripping his shoulders and occasionally pulling on the roots of his hair when he suckles on them like a baby. except unlike a baby, you feel the whole weight of him on top of you, heavy and desiring to sink you deeper in the sheets. the hard mast in his sweats ruts against your thigh.

with the drawn out foreplay, you’re nearly on the end of your rope. you need him to plunge his thick cock in your gooey insides already. you’re surely wet enough for him to slide right in—he’s made sure of that from his languid ministrations.

“sei, please, fuck me already…” you drawl prettily, hiking your knee to coax the hard throb in his pants. he bucks his hips on top of you, groaning low and hoarse, and teetering on the tightrope of self-control.

nagi, whether he realizes it or not, is cruel as he is greedy. he savors your reactions, enamored by the glassy look on your soft features that crinkle every time his mouth meets your beautiful skin. he’s practically on cloud nine, and you must be following him since you’re on the verge of falling apart, and he hasn’t even touched the aching, slick spot sticking to your panties yet.

“c’mon, beautiful, just a lil longer,” he coos, his words all wispy that you’re starting to grow lightheaded. he blows on the shiny trail of his spit along the sensitive expanse of your skin, feeling you squirm under him. lazily resting his cheek on your tits, innocent silver eyes find your teary ones.

“i still need to mark you all up for me, angel. stay still and i’ll make sure you feel so good later when you’re sitting on my cock, okay?” his lips tenderly press the swell of your breasts one last time before branding those dreamy promises into your skin.

copyright 2023 shotoh, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated anywhere else so please do not repost this or share my content on tiktok.

[nats-revival]

ditto — e. williams

!! PLEASE READ BEFORE INTERACTING !! - Its still imperative that you do anything you can to support Palestine. You can help by doing your daily click, or reviewing this masterlist. You can also help by not buying TLOU, and here’s why.

aestras notes: WOOOOO GUESS WHO FINALLY DROPPED??? THIS GUY!!!!!! 😝😝😝 tried something new for the banner this time, i think it looks okay. 🙂‍↕️ anyways!!! everyone thank @softlysunrays for encouraging me yawp yawp!!!!

tags: loser!ellie, theatre kid!dina agenda, modern au sorta?, i suck at tagging a year later, ellie is a nervous wreck, italics indicate internal monologue (most of the time), fluff(?), one small use of y/n, okay that’s it i think

Ellie might’ve had a little thing for you — probably more than just a little thing, because you’d occupy most of the space in her brain 99% of the time. And she was, unceremoniously, an incredibly big loser. She never speaks to you directly, instead stealing glances at you during passing periods or watching you from afar whenever you’d been hanging out with your other friends. 

The hallways always seemed to be cramped and crowded, but not crowded enough that she couldn’t see you. Something about you made her always recognize it was you. 

Standing at her locker, she’d been joined by Dina as she’d been grabbing some things from her backpack. The hallways were bustling with chatter and bodies, but it seemed to only be them right now.

Dina looks at Ellie as her locker shuts with a small smirk. “I saw you staring at her again.” She teases. “You’ve got it bad!” Dina pokes her softly. She sings a cheesy love song, to which Ellie groans and puts a hand on her forehead. “You’re gonna make me die of embarrassment.” She mumbles.

Dina laughs at her, putting an arm over her shoulders. “Look at you, all grown up and having a little crush.” She says theatrically, wiping fake tears. Ellie chuckles to herself as she looks down at her canvas sneakers. 

“Yknow, I could introduce you to her.” Dina mentions without much thought. If Ellie had water in her mouth, she would’ve spit it out dramatically. She stands as stiff as a board as she turns to look at Dina. “Really? I mean — you’re serious? Like 100%?” Ellie seemed excited, but god was she nervous at the thought. 

“Yeah, totally! You can sprinkle your little loser dust on her in hopes that you absolutely woo her.” Dina throws her head back dramatically with the back of her hand on her forehead. The pair chuckle slightly at Dina’s antics.

Ellie still couldn’t believe that Dina knew her. Like, a majorly pretty girl? “Pinch me.” Ellie says, clearly in some state of disbelief. “I think I’m dreaming.” Dina pinches her on the cheek and she smiles. “You’re awake, Ellie! It’s me — Dina in the flesh!” Dina smiles at her.

“Dina, I’ve been like, dreaming of this since school started. I will come to your house later. Just please don’t be lying about this.” Ellie did dream about you a lot, and she always wished she didn’t wake up before the good parts. But she always did, so she woke up sulking all morning.

Even when the passing period had ended, she couldn’t stop creating scenarios about the two of you in her head. Well, the two of you and Dina. Cause she’d be there too. Ellie would feel bad to leave her out.

She knew that this was super cliche but she liked how cliche it was in some odd way. 

She was staring out of a window with her earphone in, tapping her gnawed up pencil against a wooden desk as she listened to songs that reminded her of you.

Which was, obviously, most of the music she’d ever listen to now because she was just that in love with you. She had it bad. Super bad. Actually, no word could describe it.

Once she started dreaming about you, she knew she was doomed. Even more so now that she’ll actually talk to you.

The anxiety of meeting a pretty girl like you sets in. What if she thinks I’m too weird? But she’s friends with Dina.. maybe it’ll be okay. This is so stupid. God, just focus on her! Her internal monologue was a flurry of ‘you got this’ and ‘don’t be a total loser’.

All of that literally goes out the window the second she makes it to Dina’s house.

As usual, Dina’s home was cluttered but homey, and the walls were covered with Dina in various grades performing in school musicals. Ride The Cyclone, Heathers, all that kinda stuff that she has little to no knowledge of.

“She’s waiting in my room — and stand up straight or something. Body language is important.” Dina says, leading her up the creaky stairs. Ellie almost didn’t hear what Dina was saying as they got closer to her room.

She’s in there! Right there! She thought, a smile creeping onto her face. The door of Dina’s room swings open and there you were, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“This is who I was telling you about! Y/N, this is Ellie. Ellie, Y/N.” Dina smiles at both of you brightly. “Hi!” Ellie blurts out, her voice cracking slightly. She instantly feels embarrassed and clears her throat. “Hello. How are you?” She attempts to reapproach the conversation, but when she saw that you’d been already chuckling and smiling, all her affirmations were lost to her.

“I’m fine. And you?” You asked, smiling at her. “I’m.. I’m good. Totally chilling right now, yeah.” Ellie rambles nervously. 

She kinda just stands there awkwardly until she thinks about another question. “How’d you uh, meet Dina?” She asks, rocking back and forth awkwardly on her heels. “We’re in the same theater class. And you,” 

You point at her. “You’ve known her since like, forever, right?” She says to Dina, eliciting a soft hum from the girl. You smile at Dina. “I’ll leave you two alone for a while.” 

Upon hearing that, Ellie snaps her head around to look at Dina. Her eyes scream “don’t leave me here”. Dina smiles remorsefully before leaving the room.

So now it was just Ellie and you. Staring at eachother while birds chirped softly in the distance. Ellie smiles awkwardly. You chuckle at her. “Are you usually this nervous?” You ask, tilting your head to the side slightly.

“..Yes, but not really?” Ellie would never in a million years admit the big fat crush she had on you, not now that you were sitting infront of her. “Well, I’m not gonna like, eat you or anything. You don’t have to be so nervous.”

“That’s easier said than done when you’re that pretty.” Ellie mumbled to herself. “What was that you said? You think I’m pretty?” You ask, smiling brightly. When she realizes you’d heard that part, she becomes incredibly flustered. She smashes her face into the palms of her hands as her cheeks become flushed. 

“I’m truly flattered! It means a lot coming from another pretty girl.” Ellie stood breathing for a moment. She thinks I’m pretty? She thinks I’m pretty?! She truly wants to jump for joy but she doesn’t. Instead she just stares at you.

Once you stand up and start walking towards her, she gets even more nervous because you smell like heaven. “I think we should get to know eachother more.” You suggest as you look at her. “I’ll give you my number.”

“Your number?” She blurts, excitement underlying her tone. “Yeah! It’s no biggie.” You say as you reach for your phone that was previously on the charger.

When you both eventually exchanged numbers, Ellie was staring at your contact in awe. Maybe you were talking to her but she was in her own little world.

She’d finally done it — talked to the girl she’d had a crush on literally all year. And somehow pulled it off enough to get her number.

Has Ellie wooed you? She didn’t know. Were you definitely looking forward to talking to her? Hell yeah you were.

“So I guess I’ll talk to you very soon then?” You raise an eyebrow at her with a smile on your face. Very soon? That could mean tonight! “Yeah, yeah totally. Call me whenever. I’m always free, yknow, never busy.” Ellie said, forming an awkward smile.

I basically just told her I have no hobbies or many friends! How charming is that? Way to go, Ellie. She internally cringes at herself. “Good to know. Bye Ellie.” You wave at her before leaving Dina’s room.

The door shuts and Dina runs up the stairs. “Oh she’s definitely into you.” She exclaims, holding Ellie’s hands. “I’m proud of you for putting your big girl pants on.” Ellie looks at Dina with a stupid smile. “She’s into me.” She mumbled with a starstruck expression. “She’s into me!” She repeats, smiling. I really hope that’s true. She thinks excitedly, squeezing Dina’s hands while looking at her.

[malleusfucker]

private study session

i have a shit ton of uni work but is writing smut of this man more important i think so

i live and breathe for asshole malleus y’all don’t even understand that man is a smug bastard

synopsis: your grades have been plummeting. bad. so much so that if you don’t improve, you might have to end up retaking the yearーwhich you definitely don’t want. no matter how hard you study and revise by yourself, nothing seems to stick. that was until you built up the courage to ask your close friend, malleus, if he could tutor you.

warnings: smut/nsfw, degrading, choking, lowkey hate sex, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mating press, reader is afab but no gender or pronouns are explicitly specified

word count: 2.8k

“oh-ho? and what makes you believe that my time will not be wasted?"

“it won’t, i swear! …please, malleus, just this once. i might have to retake the year if i don’t improve.” you shifted your feet nervously, continuing your embarrassing attempt at trying to convince the dragon fae to lend you just a slither of his intelligence. you weren’t one to beg, but at this pointーyou had to. of course, being the only non-magic student to have miraculously enrolled into NRC, it was a given your grades would be subparーbut not to this extent.

"and we certainly don't want that, do we?"

malleus's tone was condescending, apparently relishing the sight of you pleading for his help in front of him. his lips curved into a grin, and he cocked his head to one side. “i mean… that would be unfortunate if you needed to repeat the year. i do enjoy the lessons i have with you, child of man.”

your eyes widened as if he were finally giving in to your wish, like a puppy seeing a treat for the first time. “then? then…!? will you help me, malleus?”

malleus seemed thoughtfully contemplative for a few seconds. you were sure you saw a glimpse of something in his eyes for a single second. something menacing.

“fine. i’ll accept your request, child of man. you’re quite the lucky one, you know? not everyone can say that they’ve had me as their personal tutor.”

personal tutor, huh? it didn’t sound bad when he put it like that.

it was 6 p.m. malleus agreed to assist you back at your own dormーwhich surprised you slightly, but you didn’t mind. if anything, it only meant that evening was about to be spent without any disturbances.

…

it became clear that malleus was going to spend hours tutoring you like he stated he would. you sat pitifully looking at the pages in front of you as he poured information into your ears that amounted to little more than background noise. he was in the seat next to you. his body, though, was stiff. with one leg over the other and his arms crossed, it felt like being lectured about how dumb you are. 

maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

but it was probably too late to back out of it now.

snap

“are you ignoring me, child of man?”

as you heard his fingers snap at you, you quickly brought your eyes back into focus to see a face brimming with frustration and irritation.

“were you even paying attention to a single word i said?”

malleus was furious. with a tone laced with something much more than frustration, you knew you messed up big. the words that came out of his mouth only made the hairs on your arms prick up, feeling your mouth get dry as he leaned in close to your face, seeing the rage in his expression ever more clearly.

he was close. too close. you were so uneasy that you were certain he would smite you on the spot if you said something stupid.

“yes..! i swear i was malleus!”

you felt his stare burn right through you, feeling as though he’d bite off your head any second. all that you could hope was that if you said “yes” enough, maybe he’d let you off easier.

that wasn’t the case.

“am i boring you? is a human’s time for daydreaming more important than mine?”

you started to shake in your seat, your heart in your throat.

“you have a lot of nerve, child of man. taking my generosity for granted, really, you are bold.”

he drew even nearer until his face was almost brushing yours. all you could do was tremble and pray that he wouldn't actually murder you at this very moment. suddenly feeling paralysed, you couldn't even gather the energy to defend yourself.

he pressed a finger on your foreheadーhardーwatching you practically unravel in front of him.

“what will it take, child of manーfor you to listen? how can we make the time left today not utterly pointless?”

he remained far too close to your face for your liking. whilst your body was about to give way any second, you couldn’t help but feel your face heat up for some strange reason. you’ve never seen malleus so close up before, it was almost an honour. you wanted to shake these stupid, borderline dangerous thoughts away, but you almost felt in awe at the anger he was expressing to youーas bad as that was.

“hoh? got nothing to say? heh, it’s almost as if you’re trying to anger me. you’re certainly the first to do such a thing, child of man.”

he moved his finger from off your forehead to your jaw, resting it under your chin as he slowly tilted your head up to look at him. you gave him a glazed-over look. it was as if every single thought in your head suddenly turned off, rendering you speechless and still. feeling his finger touch underneath your chin, you couldn’t help but sweat, your face becoming more flushed by the second.

“hmm, your face is heating up. am i embarrassing you, child of man?”

malleus was. 

but even with all that embarrassment that was thoroughly washing through your entire body, you could sense a faint sensation of excitement starting to bubble. were you the masochistic type? did you actually enjoy getting humiliated by him? perhaps not, but seeing him get so riled up over youーhis face inches away from your ownーhey, maybe dying at the hands of someone like him wouldn’t be…too bad.

though, in the end, you could never hide things from malleus. if he couldn't detect your excitement from your face, something else revealed it for you. the slits in his eyes thinned, he glared at you. he could smell, ever so slightly, a hint of your arousal.

“...my. do you have a death wish?”

as soon as those words left his lipsーyou blinkedーsuddenly finding yourself having been thrown onto your desk, your back slamming onto the hardwood.

you gasped as you abruptly came out of your trance and felt him securely hold your legs as he towered over you. malleus wasted no time in entertaining those lewd thoughts your body was so clearly showingーwith a simple snap of his fingers, your clothes vanished and fell beside you. to say you were shocked to see this sudden change in him would be an understatement. you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, with how fast everything was moving, you could say he was eager butーwith that expression…

it looked as if your mere presence disgusted him.

malleus slid his hand up over your neck, wrapping his long fingers around it before slowly squeezing as he spoke.

“heh. child of man, give me one good reason why i shouldn’t kill you right here.”

your body was shaken to its core. that voiceーthat sentence alone made you feel faint. you pathetically flailed your arms around, weakly trying to release the grip he was slowly tightening on your neck. the pressure around your throat distracted you from how vulnerable you looked under him right now. naked and shiveringーmalleus started to grin and leaned close to you, gently planting a kiss on your forehead. it was strange. the kiss felt so soft on you, yet the pain you felt merely inches away couldn’t have been more different.

he laid tiny wet kisses down your forehead and jaw before snatching his other hand and slipping it between your legs, gently teasing your wet folds. something about the contrast between his touch and his kisses made you melt; you felt yourself slump lower and lower onto the desk as you embarrassedly leaked all over it. “...malleus- i’m- i’m sorry-” you wheeze, still trying to release the vicious hold he had on your neck.

his face stayed close to you, and he suddenly licked a long stripe up your neck and jaw. the sudden sensation made you twitch, moaning slightly at how warm and wet his forked tongue felt against your bare flesh.

“it’s all too late to apologise now.”

“tutoring you was an utter waste of time. now, i’d much rather try something else.”

before you could even attempt to reply, he let his hand from your neck free. you gaspedーsuddenly feeling your naked, trembling body be dragged to the edge of the desk. your mind was racing so much that you failed to hear the sound of his belt suddenly slamming against the ground. you stared off at the ceiling, your lip quivering. the whole thing seemed like a dream, albeit a strange one. your rational mind refused to accept the reality of the situationーbut your body...had never felt so hot before. it felt unbearable; you needed to be relieved. and luckily, malleus was there, leaning over with his gaze searing through you evermore.

he forcefully propped your shaking legs up against his waist with one hand, immediately snatching your face to make you look at him. however, for a moment, it looked as if he had forgotten what had led you two to be in such a predicament and simply loomed over you, staring at you. his gaze almost switched to a softer one, feeling the urge to gently caress your cheek. though that was quickly discarded, and immediately that familiar look of disgust soon reappeared on his face.

malleus moved his hips closer to yoursーfinally feeling his hard erection brush against your twitching core; you wincedーwishing you could throw your arms around him and bring him even closer to you.

malleus, however, was not in the mood to be so courteous to you and certainly didn't want to take up any more time than had already been lost.

without any preparation, you suddenly felt malleus drive one of his cocks into you. you screamed out, feeling him sliding and bottoming out of you with just one thrust. swiftly, with three of his fingers then violently thrust into your mouth, you gagged and choked, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks, 

“bite down. good students know not to be noisy.”

you tried to pathetically choke out to malleus that it was too muchーyour body shook and convulsed from the agonising splitting pain of his long, hard cock bullying its way into you, poking and prodding at your cervix. you sank your nails into the desk, biting down hard on his fingers as he pushed and slammed his hips into you, your cries for help becoming louder by the second. within minutes of him thrusting into you, you felt pressure rapidly build in your stomach, causing you to clench and squeeze against him. 

“oh? what’s this? don’t tell me you’re going to cum already?”

you wailed, but his insulting remarks just made you feel worse about your own increasing arousal. still choking on his fingers, you nodded frantically when you then felt sharp cramping throughout your body as if you were about to cum. he swiftly slipped his fingers out while he was still thrusting into you just so he could hear your pitiful cries. 

you felt your body shudder against the desk as a wave of scorching hot pleasure swept over you, pouring and seeping down onto the hardwood under you. you tried to catch your breath, gagging and choking as you already felt so sore and painful from just one orgasm. but it was obvious that malleus wasn't through with you just yet. it was, if anything, just the start.

he gave you time to calm down, your breath slowly easing as you shut your eyes, thinking this torture had reached its end. 

of course, malleus would not let you off that lightly. his rage persisted and seeing you believe that this punishment was over just made him more spiteful.

he leaned in, his breath hot, “i’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself. now put your arms around me.” his tone was once again mocking, but this time it felt more serious, like everything you did would simply enrage him more.

he suddenly forced you into a mating press, your legs wedged up against your chest as you struggled to wrap your trembling arms around his head. you cried out and started to think that your body wouldn’t be able to handle thisーthat he might actually break you.

as he started to softly drive into you, drawing more weak and muffled groans from your lips, your hands connected to the base of his horns, clutching and scraping your nails across them. he started off slow, almost giving a relaxing quality to his thrusts as he softly kissed your forehead and smiled sweetly against your face, much to your surprise. your body relaxed as a result of his sudden shift in attitude, enjoying the fleeting moments of him lovingly moving his hips against yours, which were only going to abruptly come to an end.

your eyes were closed, not being able to see the horrific smile malleus suddenly had across his face. you assumed that the strange sadistic side of him had long since vanished, as evident by your voice becoming moans of pure pleasure rather than of pain. regardless of his disposition, he enjoyed seeing you this way. seeing how you moaned so quietly and softly only made the urge to completely ruin you that much stronger.

“are you enjoying this?”

you slowly opened your eyes, malleus still gently pushing into you as you lazily nodded, whimpering as the pleasure inside you continued to become greater. “mmm…malleus. it feels so good…don’t stop.” 

“heh. so you think you can tell me what to do? your disrespect truly knows no bounds.”

your growing sense of pleasure abruptly gave way to a dreadful fear as he pushed your legs higher onto your chest and over his shoulders, making it clear that he was absolutely certain you couldn't get away. not understanding what he meant, your lip began to quiver, only for him to rid you of your confusion by suddenly thrusting into you aggressively. you screamed out, tears soon welling in your eyes again as he gave you no time to acclimate to the sudden pace. he licked his lips, savouring the view of you struggling and wailing underneath him as he gradually began to envelop your neck with his fingers. he hovered his face close to yours, sticking his long, forked tongue out before sloppily kissing your lips, still continuing his ruthless pace. you groaned under him, feeling yourself beginning to choke from both his tongue and his fingers, which were slowly beginning to squeeze your throat once again.

it was all far too muchーyour vision starting to blur, and all of your senses drowning and bleeding into one another as he kept pounding his thick cock into you, causing you to harshly grip and pull his hair. 

he immediately drew his face back and tutted at you, but seeing the way your eyes began to roll into the back of your head only made him want to quicken his paceーif it was even possible. 

“haha…perfect. so perfect…”

the words coming out of his mouth didn’t make sense. he was praising you yet abusing you with every thrust and squeeze of your body, not even giving you a chance to cry out as your head slowly began to feel faint. all of the pain and pleasure made you lose your mind, feeling your orgasm approaching rapidly as he started to lick and nip at your ears. 

he throbbed and twitched inside of you and felt his own climax begin to rise, eventually making the decision to be generous enough and remove his vice-like grasp from around your neck. you gasped and cried out, finally able to breathe and mewling as a result of his cruel touch. 

“malleus...ーpleaseーit’s too…ーmuch... ’m gonna-” he smiled at your pleas, pressing your legs harder against your chest, allowing him to thrust even deeper into you.

“heh, are you going to cum? haha…then do it. cum for me.”

it seemed as if he had put you under a spell with how immediate and intense your orgasm was, your walls clenching down on his throbbing cock with tears dripping down your chin. you felt the sensation of hot, burning pleasure wrack through your body once again, not even hearing your own screams from how strong it was.

malleus didn't even allow you to come down from your high. instead, he kept pushing to reach his own climax, feeling his body start to shudder and throb as he kissed you. “i’m…close…you’ll allow me to cum inside of you, won’t you? i know you will.” 

you didn’t even care anymoreーyour legs continued to shake and tremble as you feebly nodded with your eyelids flickering. it seemed like malleus would fulfil his word, for a few seconds later, he let out a moan as he unleashed and pumped copious loads of white cum into you, causing you to whimper as you felt him completely fill you up.

his breathing evened almost immediately. wiping the sweat from off your face, he delicately slid his cock out from inside of you to admire his work, gazing at the way your body jerked with his cum spilling and gushing out of your abused hole.

…

“heh. maybe tutoring you every week won’t be so bad after all.”

[goblinontour]

The Mephistopheles Of Los Angeles

dracula’s hungry

warnings: soft!dom!alex (ish), smut, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m receiving), rimming (m receiving), period stuff

word count: 5.4k

He never really understood why he threw himself into the whole Halloween thing with such intensity every year. Maybe it was the spectacle of it all, the chance to be someone else for a night. He’d spend weeks, months even, obsessing over his costume, as if it really mattered. It never did, though. By the end of the night, he’d always regret it.

Like tonight. 

He trailed about ten steps behind you, limping slightly because his boots were rubbing his feet raw. The oversized, stiff leather had seemed like a good idea when he first planned the outfit, but now every step was a painful reminder of his poor choices. His wig, which had been an itchy, tangled mess of cheap black hair meant to give him some rockstar edge, Alice Cooper, or something close enough, was clutched in his fist. It had been driving him mad since he put it on, and he finally gave up. Now he just looked ridiculous, like some half-done version of a Halloween cliché, with smeared eyeliner and the remnants of his costume hanging in tatters around him. 

He glanced down at the wig and considered chucking it into one of the bins lining the street. It would be satisfying in the moment, but what was the point? It was a shit party anyway. 

You hadn’t even stayed long. The music was too loud, the crowd too chaotic. He’d barely gotten a drink down before you turned to him, your eyes saying everything you didn’t have to. “Can we just go home?” you asked. He didn’t even need a reason, he was more than down for it. The second you mentioned leaving, he didn’t ask why. He didn’t care. If anything, he was relieved. 

He followed you now, watching the way your costume moved with the sway of your hips, feeling a little guilty for not telling you how great you looked tonight. But the weight of his own annoyance hung over him, making it hard to say much of anything.

The night was cool, the air damp with the scent of wet pavement. You led the way, a ghost of a smile flickering at the corner of your lips as you glanced over your shoulder, slowing just enough for him to catch up. Even though you’d left the party early, you didn’t seem disappointed at all. Maybe you knew he wasn’t having fun. Maybe you just wanted him all to yourself tonight.

Either way, he didn’t mind. The costume could rot in a corner somewhere for all he cared. He just wanted to get home, peel off the rest of this nightmare outfit, and collapse with you.

He quickened his pace, falling in step beside you, his hand brushing against yours. “That bad, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you looked him over, taking in his state.

“Worse.” he muttered, letting out a breath. “I think I’m done with Halloween for good.”

You laughed softly, and the sound of it warmed him in a way the night air couldn’t. “You say that every year, Alex.”

“And I mean it every year.”

“Sure you do.” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

When you two finally got home, the sound of the door clicking shut behind you seemed to echo in the quiet space. You sighed, bending down to take off your shoes, relieved to be free of them after a night of walking. The costume was starting to feel as cumbersome as Alex’s, but you were more than ready to unwind and put the night behind you.

Just as you balanced on one foot, pulling off your second shoe, you felt it. A light slap on your ass, followed by a familiar, playful pressure as Alex’s hips thrust into you from behind. His hands snaked around your waist, firm and insistent, pulling you back against him. His front bent down to align with your back, lips hovering just above your neck.

“Alex!” you gasped, not sure whether to be annoyed or laugh at how predictable he was.

“We should have sex.” he murmured against your bare shoulder, his voice low, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His teeth grazed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You sat up, leaning back against his chest, but you didn’t pull away from his hold. “No.”

“Yes.” he countered, not missing a beat, his breath warm against your neck.

“Can’t.” you replied simply, though your resolve was already starting to crumble with the way his hands slid across your waist, tracing the curve of your hips.

Alex’s lips curled into a smirk as he pressed himself closer, his hands slipping lower. “I think I’m very capable of having sex with you.” he muttered, voice thick, his body already moving against yours like he was ready to prove it.

You let out a soft laugh, finally turning around in his arms to face him. “Period, you horny bitch. That’s why I wanted to leave.” you said, giving him a pointed look.

He blinked, a spark of realisation crossing his face before a grin spread slowly across his lips. “Fits the occasion.” he said, completely unbothered, shrugging like it was the most logical thing he could think of. “What’s so bad about getting a little bloody?”

Your jaw dropped in mock horror as he bit down on your neck, playfully channelling his best Dracula impression, already looking like a 21st century reincarnation of him.

“That’s gross, Alex.” you said, half-laughing, half-sighing, though the sensation of his teeth on your skin made it hard to push him away.

“Don’t care.” he said with a wicked grin, his grip on you tightening as he started to take small, clumsy steps forward, guiding you with him. You stumbled together, his hands never leaving your body, your legs tangling up as you nearly toppled over, catching yourself against his chest.

“Consider me the Mephistopheles of Los Angeles.” he continued, lips brushing your ear. “Who’s trying out for a band, obviously.”

“Obviously.” you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips as his words got more ridiculous by the second. “You are unbelievable.”

“And irresistible.” he added, clearly pleased with himself as he pressed his forehead to yours, locking his gaze with yours. The room seemed to tilt for a moment, the tension between you electric, fueled by his playful persistence and the heat still buzzing from the party.

Despite everything, you could feel yourself melting against him, your body responding to the warmth of his touch and the way his lips hovered so close to yours, daring you to give in. You knew you weren’t going to win this one, but you let him have his moment anyway, because his relentless charm was working its magic on you, as always.

As Alex’s mouth moved against yours, the remnants of his smudged face paint became a mess between you, slick and greasy as it smeared over your chin, probably even mingling between your mouths. You could taste it, a hint of something synthetic and oily, but it was quickly overshadowed by the familiar taste of him, warm, intoxicating, and the way his kiss pulled you deeper into him.

His lips trailed to your jaw, teeth grazing lightly as he murmured, voice low and rough, “I want you down…”

Your breath hitched at the way his words came out, thick with need.

“On your knees.”

“Mhm…” you barely managed to respond, the heat of his body pressed so close to yours, the pressure of his hands on your hips already making you lightheaded. His lips returned to yours, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t giving you enough, not with the way his hands were already moving lower, searching, hungry.

“So I can eat you out.” he growled, each word punctuated with the way his lips ghosted over yours, as if he couldn’t get close enough.

Your heart raced, the pulse between your legs almost unbearable at his words, at the way his voice dipped lower. “Yeah?”

“Yeah…fuck-” he groaned, his mouth crashing back to yours briefly before he pulled away, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. He was already palming himself through his jeans, his hand rubbing against the thick outline of his erection, his control slipping with every passing second. “I can’t wait, babe.”

The way his hands roamed over your body, desperate, impatient, made your stomach flip. You could feel his fingers digging into your waist, pulling you closer to him, his need practically vibrating through his grip. He kissed you once more, this time sloppier, hurried, before breaking away entirely.

By the time you reached the bedroom, it was a blur of hasty touches and stumbled steps, the both of you too far gone to care about being graceful. The second you crossed the threshold, he wasted no time. He spun you around and nearly threw you down onto the bed, the weight of your body sinking into the mattress beneath you. His hands followed, tracing up the backs of your thighs with rough, insistent strokes, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress as he pushed it up, exposing the curve of your ass and the damp fabric of your underwear.

He paused for just a second, his breath catching as his gaze fixed on you. 

“You stained your panties.” he muttered, voice tight with restrained desire. His fingers grazed the edge of the fabric, teasingly tugging at the hem, just enough to make you shiver under his touch.

You turned your head to glance back at him, voice barely more than a breath as you answered, “I know. That’s why I wanted to get home.”

His reaction was instant, a deep, guttural sound that came from low in his throat as he leaned down, his lips brushing against the small of your back. His hands slid further up your thighs, grabbing fistfuls of the fabric of your dress, bunching it up higher until it was resting around your waist. He needed to feel you, to have you all to himself.

You didn’t need any more encouragement. Slowly, you let yourself lean forward, your chest pressing into the mattress as you arched your back, your ass lifted high for him. You could feel his eyes on you, practically burning holes into your skin with the intensity of his gaze.

“Fuck.” he groaned again. You felt his hands knead the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you open as he took in the sight of you. He dipped his head down, and the warmth of his breath sent a shiver up your spine, anticipation pooling low in your belly.

“You’re fucking perfect.” he murmured, like he couldn’t believe you were here, like this, just for him. His hands roamed over your body. His lips followed, brushing against the sensitive skin of your thighs before pressing soft kisses against your ass, teasing and torturous.

“Al-” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, trembling with anticipation as your fingers curled tighter into the sheets. The warmth of his breath drifted lower, teasing you, making your skin burn with every second he lingered. You were already soaked, could feel the slick wetness between your thighs. The weight of his stare as he pulled the fabric to the side made it even worse.

But just as the fabric stretched tight against your hips, Alex hesitated for only a fraction of a second before a low, frustrated growl rumbled from his throat. Without warning, his hands tightened, fingers gripping the delicate waistband of your panties, and with one swift motion he tore the frail material right off your body. The sound of it, sharp, unmistakable, ripped through the quiet of the room, the sudden snap making your pulse race.

The air hit your bare skin, cool against the heat of your body, and your breath caught in your throat as the remnants of your panties dangled from his fingers for a split second before he tossed them aside. They were ruined, completely shredded, but you didn’t care. Neither did he.

“They were done for anyway.” he muttered, his breath hot against the back of your thigh. His hands slid back up your legs, rough and impatient, fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t stand to be away from you any longer. “Couldn’t help it.”

The sound of the fabric tearing was still echoing in your mind, but all you could focus on now was him. The way his grip tightened, his hands unrelenting as he spread you open. His breath hovered over your most sensitive spot, and you could feel his lips grazing the inside of your thighs, kissing his way up.

“God, you’re so wet.” he breathed as his thumb teased along your slick folds, tracing you, making you gasp. “Been like this all night, haven’t you?”

You couldn’t answer, could only nod as your hips moved instinctively, pushing back toward him, desperate for his touch. The anticipation was unbearable, every second that passed without his mouth on you felt like torture.

“Poor thing.” Alex chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as his fingers parted you gently, exposing you more to the cool air and his hungry gaze. His lips brushed your ass again for a second, before he finally, finally, dipped his head lower.

In an instant, his mouth was on you, hot and wet, and the sensation was electric, lighting up every nerve in your body. You let out a soft moan, fingers clutching the sheets even tighter as he worked his tongue against you, slow at first, savouring the taste of you like he’d been starving for it.

He groaned against your skin, the vibration of it sending shocks of pleasure through you, and the roughness of his slight stubble grazed your inner thighs as his tongue delved deeper, his grip tightening on your hips as he pulled you closer.

You let out a soft, desperate whimper, your hips rolling against his face as his tongue moved with a rhythm that left you breathless. The heat was overwhelming, your body burning from the inside out as Alex devoured you, lost in the taste and the feel of you. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you spread open and steady as he licked and sucked, his tongue swirling around your clit, dragging out every ounce of pleasure he could pull from you.

“Fuck...you taste so fucking good.” Alex growled against you, his voice rough and muffled as his mouth moved between your thighs, lips and tongue working together to drag you closer and closer to the edge. 

He paused for just a moment, pulling his mouth away to look at your face, turned to watch him, his lips glistening with your slickness, eyes dark and blown with lust. “Almost sweet.” he murmured, “I can’t get enough.”

You whimpered softly at his words, already missing the feel of his tongue on you, your body aching for him to continue. But before you could even ask, he was moving, this time with a different kind of urgency.

He shifted back slightly, his hands still gripping your thighs, but now his fingers moved to the front of his jeans. You could hear the metallic sound of his zipper being dragged down, the noise cutting through the heat of the moment like a shot of adrenaline. He couldn’t take it anymore. 

With a groan, he freed himself, pulling his cock out with one hand, the other still gripping your thigh tightly. His breath hitched as he stroked himself, the slick glide of his hand moving in the same rhythm that his tongue had just been fucking into you.

“Look at you.” he murmured, more to himself than to you, his voice dripping with desire.

The tension was unbearable. You arched your back further, pushing yourself toward him, desperate for his touch. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Impatient, aren’t you?” he teased, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns over your thighs.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words never came. In an instant, his mouth was on you again, hot and demanding, his tongue dragging over your folds with a groan so deep it found its way through your entire body. Your hips bucked instinctively, a gasp ripping from your throat.

His tongue pushed inside you again, moving with the same pace as his hand on his cock, each stroke of his tongue matched by the slow pump of his fist.

Every time his tongue dipped into your hole, it felt like your body was being torn apart, pleasure shooting up your spine in sharp, dizzying waves. And every time his hand moved over his cock, you could feel the way his body was straining for release, just as desperate as you were. 

You couldn’t stop the moan that spilled from your lips, hips pushing back against his face as your body chased the overwhelming sensation. You were both a mess of limbs, sweat, and heat, tangled up in each other, his mouth relentless against you as his fist moved faster, his groans vibrating against your skin.

He wasn’t holding back, wasn’t teasing anymore. He was all in, and it was driving you wild. The way his hands held you open, the wet heat of his mouth, it was too much and not enough all at once.

Your fingers clenched tighter in the sheets, your body already trembling as he buried his face deeper between your legs. 

And he was loving it. You could hear the way he was groaning, the way he was losing himself in the taste of you, each sound driving you closer to the edge. His hands slid up, one gripping your waist as the other found its way to your clit, circling it with slow strokes that made your knees weak.

“Fuck…” you gasped, barely able to get the word out as your body tensed, everything tightening under the pressure of what he was doing to you. He had you right on the edge, his mouth and fingers working together with an unrelenting rhythm, pulling you apart bit by bit until you were nothing but raw nerves and the overwhelming need to let go.

“That’s it.” he murmured against you, muffled by the way his mouth stayed pressed against your soaked folds. “I want you to come for me, babe.”

And with the way his tongue flicked over your clit, the wet, perfect pressure of his fingers dipping inside of you, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. The heat coiling deep in your belly suddenly snapped, your body going rigid as the orgasm ripped through you, a white-hot wave of pleasure that had you crying out, hips bucking wildly against his mouth.

Your hips dropped, shaking uncontrollably as your body gave in, but Alex didn’t stop. His hands gripped you tighter, refusing to let you go as he followed your movement, craning his neck down to keep his mouth attached to you. His tongue still worked against your clit, dragging out every last tremor until you were a trembling mess beneath him.

“Alex.” you whimpered, trying to pull away, the overstimulation too much to handle, but he didn’t let up. He kept his mouth on you relentlessly, until you were practically shaking, until you had no choice but to push him away, the pleasure bordering on too much.

Finally, he gave up, pulling back with a groan. He turned you over onto your back, and you could see the evidence of everything you’d just been through all over him. Blood smeared across his mouth and chin, mixing with the wet sheen from his lips, and god, it was so fucking hot you didn’t care how weird it might’ve been.

“You look like a vampire.” you said, your breath still coming in shallow gasps.

Alex raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Mhm?”

“Sexiest Dracula I’ve ever seen.” you told him, your voice shaky but teasing, the heat between you still electric as he sat back on his knees on the bed, towering over you.

He was still pumping his cock in his hand, his gaze never leaving yours. The sight of him like that, dark hair tousled, face smeared with your blood, his hand wrapped around himself as he watched you with pure hunger in his eyes, made your heart race all over again.

“Let me make you come.” you said, voice soft but insistent as you sat up.

He paused for a moment, his hand stilling, fingers sliding over the tip of his cock slowly as he sucked in a sharp breath. “Fuck, okay.” he breathed, voice strained.

He lay back on the bed, and you didn’t waste any time. You crawled toward him, your knees pressing into the mattress as you leaned over his body. The way he was still fully clothed, his jeans unbuttoned just enough to free his cock, the rest of him completely untouched, made you go crazy. There was something about the contrast of his clothed body against the raw need in his eyes that made your pulse race.

You reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his cock, taking over from where his hand had been. He groaned the moment you touched him, hips lifting off the bed slightly as you gave him a firm stroke. You could feel how hard he was, the weight of him thick and heavy in your hand, and it sent a rush of heat through you all over again.

“Fuck…” Alex moaned, his head falling back against the pillows as he watched you through half-lidded eyes, completely at your mercy now.

Alex’s groan echoed in the room as he suddenly shifted, moving you off him with a sense of urgency, getting up from the bed just to pull his jeans down. You watched, your gaze locked on his every movement as he turned his back to you, his body still caught in the dim, hazy light of the room. The waistband of his jeans slid down his hips, and you couldn’t help but stare as his ass bounced slightly, his underwear slipping down as well in one smooth motion. His shirt hung just low enough to almost cover him, but not quite, leaving enough for you to see, and for your imagination to go wild.

“You’re so hot.” you murmured, your voice dripping with desire.

“I know.” he shot back with that signature smirk, turning to face you with his cock hanging heavy between his thighs, the eyeliner around his eyes making his gaze look even darker, more dangerous. He pulled a cigarette from the pack he’d stuffed in his back pocket earlier, flicking it up to his lips. Slumping back onto the bed, he reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the lighter he always kept there. With a flick of his wrist, the flame sparked, and soon the cigarette was lit, smoke curling lazily from his lips.

“Where were we?” he asked, exhaling smoke through his nose as his free hand lazily threaded through your hair.

“I was about to suck your cock.” you replied, your voice thick with hunger as you moved closer to him, leaning down.

“Really?” His eyes gleamed through the haze of smoke.

“Mhm.” you hummed as your lips brushed against the length of him, trailing soft kisses down to his balls, your hand wrapping around the base of his cock. Just as you were about to take him into your mouth, Alex’s hand on your head tightened slightly, guiding you further down with a low, throaty chuckle. 

“Nah, I don’t think so.” he said, his voice dark and commanding, pushing your head lower until your lips dragged against the sensitive skin beneath his balls. He was taking control, making you follow the path he wanted.

Your tongue flicked out, tracing along that soft, delicate skin, and you could feel him shudder beneath your touch, his legs twitching slightly as you moved lower. He guided you down until your mouth was pressed between his thighs, your tongue now lapping at his hole, and you felt his body stiffen, his hips arching up slightly as you began to work your tongue deeper.

“Oh, fuck…that’s good.” Alex moaned, his voice low and thick as he tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded as he took another slow drag from his cigarette. His legs spread wider, giving you better access, and you buried your face between his thighs, licking at him with slow strokes, your chin brushing against the sheets beneath him as you adjusted to the not-so-comfortable angle. But the way he reacted, the low groans, the way his hips rocked up, the tension in his thighs, made it all worth it.

His hand left your hair after a moment, drifting down to his own cock. He didn’t grab it, didn’t stroke himself like you expected. His fingers only danced lightly over the tip, just barely brushing against that sensitive patch of skin right where the head met the shaft. His movements were soft, teasing, focusing on that delicate spot as your tongue worked him lower.

He groaned again, his body going taut under your touch, smoke curling from his lips as his free hand brought the cigarette back up for another lazy drag. The sight of him, smoke swirling around him, his hand moving lightly over his cock, his head tilted back in pure pleasure, was almost enough to undo you completely.

The room was filled with the quiet sounds of his pleasure, soft moans, the wet drag of your tongue, the faint crackle of his cigarette, and you knew you had him exactly where he wanted to be.

His body tensed, his breath coming out in short, shallow gasps as he took another drag from his cigarette, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the sensation of your tongue working against him deepened. He could feel the slow burn building, not just in his chest from the nicotine but lower, much lower, where you were focused. The need was overwhelming, coursing through his veins like fire.

Without an ashtray in reach, he glanced down at the cigarette between his fingers. His free hand moved instinctively, smushing the lit end between his fingertips, snuffing it out. The brief sting of the burn barely registered compared to the other burn, the one spreading hot and fast in his groin. The smouldering heat inside him made everything else fade into the background.

He groaned, his hips shifting slightly, the frustration building. He needed more. His hand finally moved to his cock, wrapping tightly around the base of it with a desperation that made him shudder. The moment his fingers closed around his shaft, he started stroking, slow at first but with an urgency that quickly picked up. The slick glide of his hand, combined with your tongue working him, had him right on the edge in seconds.

“Ah-” he moaned, the sound breaking in his throat as his hips jerked up. His hand pumped faster now, fingers curling around the thickness of his cock, stroking himself with that perfect rhythm that matched the tension tightening in his body. The burn was overwhelming, pleasure searing through him as he fucked his fist, every nerve alight with sensation.

His head fell back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut as he lost himself to it, the low sound of his moans filling the room. You could feel him trembling beneath you, his thighs twitching with each stroke of your tongue, his hips lifting off the bed as he chased his release, completely undone.

“Fuck…” Alex groaned, the word dragging out as his body seized, the tension finally snapping as he came hard, his hand freezing mid-stroke. His hips jerked, his muscles tightening beneath your touch as the wave of release crashed over him. His breath hitched, his mouth falling open in a silent moan as his cock pulsed in his hand, spilling over.

But you didn’t stop.

Your tongue kept working him, soft and slow, dragging through the sensitive skin, tracing the shape of him, coaxing out every last tremor. You could feel how he was still twitching beneath you, his body tense with the intensity of it all, but you stayed on him, guiding him through the aftershocks with gentle strokes of your tongue.

“Fuck, babe…” he panted, his voice ragged and hoarse, hips shaking as he tried to come down from it. His hand dropped from his cock, fingers curling weakly into the sheets, surrendering to the pleasure you were still drawing out of him. His entire body shuddered, helpless against the lingering sensation, the overstimulation bordering on too much, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you to stop.

You felt him go limp beneath you, his breath coming in ragged gasps, chest heaving. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, and he looked utterly wrecked, like he’d been pulled apart and put back together. 

But the faint, satisfied smile on his lips told you he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

He wasn’t even sure how it happened, but another wave started building, this time weaker, more drawn out. His cock twitched, untouched, his overstimulated nerves firing in ways he couldn’t explain.  

His hand weakly gripped the sheets, knuckles going white as he fought to stay in control. “Fuck, I’m coming again-” he choked out, his voice barely audible, broken by the overwhelming sensation washing over him. His hips rocked forward, and you could see the weak pulse of his cock as he came again, almost dry this time, but the release was there, shuddering through him, softer but just as intense in its own way.

He groaned low and deep, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest as he tried to ride out the last of it, but it was too much. His thighs trembled, everything twitching inside of him as you kept working him, your tongue relentless even as his body gave out beneath you.

Finally, with a shaky breath, he reached down, fingers tangling in your hair. “Enough…fuck- stop.” he gasped, his voice hoarse, almost pleading as he gently pushed your head away. His thighs squeezed together instinctively, the overstimulation becoming unbearable, every nerve firing at once. 

His body curled slightly as his thighs closed, legs trembling as he tried to recover, his breath ragged and uneven. His head fell back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut as he let out one last deep, satisfied groan. 

You crawled over him slowly, your body aching but buzzing with satisfaction, the heat between you both still thick in the air. Your hand reached up, fingers raking through his dark hair, now slick and wet from the sweat and heat of everything that had just transpired. His chest rose and fell under you, his breath still uneven, but his eyes, even though almost closed, were soft, almost tender. Even with the black eyeliner smeared around his eyes, and the dried blood smeared across his chin, he looked impossibly perfect. 

He glanced up at you, his lips curling into a tired smirk as his hand slid up your side, gently pulling you down to him. “Come here.” he murmured, his voice rough from all the moaning and the exhaustion that was starting to creep in.

You leaned in, his grip on your waist guiding you as you pressed your lips to his. The kiss was soft, surprisingly so. Almost innocent, if that was even possible after everything you’d just done together. His mouth moved gently against yours, tasting of smoke, sweat, and the faintest hint of what had passed between you. His hand wandered lazily, stroking your back as he kissed you with a sweetness that felt entirely out of place but perfectly right.

Your fingers stayed tangled in his hair, still damp as you kissed him back, enjoying the soft pull of his lips, the quiet intimacy of the moment. 

He sighed into it, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes half-open, the smirk now replaced with something softer. “You wrecked me.” he muttered with a chuckle, his thumb lazily tracing a line down your spine under the dress you still had on. 

You smiled, your heart still pounding as you kissed him again, lighter this time, just a brush of lips. “You loved it.” you whispered back, feeling how utterly spent he was beneath you.

a/n: ehhhhhh…i only like the second part that’s more about him but yeahhh…

tags: @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @aacheinthejaw @zayndrider @humbuginmybones @tedioepica

[linorachas]

morning was made. | bang chan

ᦈ pairing — bang chan x reader

ᦈ genre — fluff, established relationship

ᦈ word count — 1.6k

ᦈ this was posted on ao3 loooong ago and i forgot i never posted it here lol. wrote this in 30 mins as a warm-up to get back into writing so it might be a lil over the place sorry ㅠㅠ no plot whatsoever just vibes in chan's arms

♬ now playing: morning was made (hush kids)

When you wake up, there’s a koala by the name of Bang Chan hanging off you.

The sun has barely risen, but the sky is painted a light blue which tells you that the morning was about to come. You blink blearily, barely even awake, but the puffs of Chan’s warm breath on your neck tickled and the grip he had on your waist was getting just a tad bit too tight.

“Chan,” you groan quietly, wiggling, but his hold on you doesn’t budge. If anything, it just tightens.

Chan grunts at your constant prodding, lips already pursed into a pout even though his eyes are still squeezed shut. His curls brush against your cheeks when he moves even closer.

“Chan, oh my god,” you laugh, slightly more awake now. You rub the sleep off your eyes, mentally planning how to escape from your boyfriend’s death clutch. “Baby, you gotta let me breathe.”

You manage to wiggle an arm free, using it to slide your hand through Chan’s hair and scratch at his scalp while continuing your calls. You were hoping this was enough to gently wake him up, but it seemed to do the opposite, because Chan just snores. Loudly.

So with no other option left, you tug. Hard.

“Ah!” Chan yelps, jerking his face away from your neck, yet his arms still don’t move an inch. He whines, eyes squinted. “Ow, Y/N, what was that for?”

You bite back a smile at his puffy face. “Let me move, please. I’m sure we’re both stiff from being in the same position for so long.”

You had both passed out early in the evening last night, exhausted after a day’s worth of activities. It was rare that the boys had a day off, much rarer when they could spend it with you, so you all made the most of it and jam-packed your day yesterday.

And as much as you all wanted to stay awake, the boys had a schedule today, and you were kind of dead on your feet. So by 9 pm, the lights were out, and you and Chan had crawled into each other’s arms and slept like babies.

But your early bedtime didn’t seem to be enough, because Chan stubbornly refused to open his eyes, even as he pushed his head into your palm. You soothe the pain in his scalp with the pads of your fingers when he whines again, and you apologize quietly with a kiss to his cheek.

This finally gets him to move though. Chan lies on his back, arms slipping away from your waist so he could stretch. You copy his movements too, mostly stretching your now free limbs, but you yelp when Chan pulls you back in his arms with a simple tug to the wrist.

He slides an arm under your neck this time, pulling you close by the shoulder. Weak as ever, you melt into his embrace easily.

Chan sighs after a while, eyes still closed. “W’time issit?”

“Early.” You lean up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, to which he makes a noise at and snuggles closer. “Back to sleep.”

Chan makes an incoherent noise as a reply, and you watch fondly as his breath evens out in just a few minutes. Soon enough, he was back to snoring.

You envied that a bit, though. Once you were up, it was hard to get back to sleep. Even when sleep begged to pull you back to dreamland, your eyes still droopy, you didn’t want to waste the day, especially right now when getting a moment alone with Chan felt like it could only happen once in a blue moon.

So you were content to watch the rise and fall of your boyfriend’s bare chest, his steady heartbeat heard clearly from where your head was resting against his pec.

This, you think faintly, will always be better than a good dream.

But in the end, you still doze off. Chan’s warmth was lulling you to sleep, and you were helpless to the comfort that he provided. Your body was too relaxed to not succumb to the shackles of sleep, because you knew that here, in Chan’s arms, you were safe. There was nothing in the world that could hurt you and take you away from him right now.

When you wake up again, the sky is yellow, and you are still in Bang Chan’s arms.

You sigh, too content and warm and happy in your position. But you could hear some bustling outside— most likely Minho who tended to wake up early on days with a schedule— so you knew it was time to get up, no matter how much you wanted to stay in bed.

Chan’s grip on you was looser than it was last time, but it was you who didn’t want to move. You were far too comfortable and the kitchen was too many steps away and preparing food was going to take too long, but then-

Pots bang outside. Silence, then a muffled argument. You hide a snort in Chan’s collarbone.

Yeah. It was time to get up.

Speaking of Chan, he continues to snore away, legs tangled in yours as he clutches you to his chest. With a sigh, you gently squirm out of his hold, pressing a kiss to his chest as you begin to sit up. You stretch your legs with a groan, mentally preparing yourself for the cold now that you didn’t have Chan basically burritoed around you. You set a foot down on the floor, ready to leave-

-but then an arm wraps tight around your waist, dragging you back down on the bed with a tug.

Chan huffs against your neck. “Where’re you goin?”

You startle. “Have you been awake this whole time?”

“Nah.” Chan mumbles, but then pulls back to look at you suspiciously, puffy eyes narrowed. “Why? Were you doing something suspicious?”

“Yes,” you snort, but don’t elaborate further. Chan squawks when you try to get out of his hold again, and you half-groan and half-laugh when he refuses to budge. “Yah, let me go. I need to cook breakfast. Our kids are gonna wake up and start throwing tantrums soon.”

It’s silent for a moment, and you would have thought Chan had fallen back asleep if it wasn’t for the smile you felt pressed against your skin.

You blink. “What?”

“Our kids?” Chan repeats, and you flush a bright red.

“Yeah, well-“ You splutter, caught off guard. “Ou-our kids are gonna starve soon if you don’t let me out of this bed.”

Chan just shakes his head, messy hair flying everywhere. “Minho’s old enough to cook now.”

“And Minho’s going to break down this door and drag you both out of bed to help him cook if you don’t get up in the next minute!”

You and Chan startle at the voice just outside the door, unmistakably Minho’s. You both gape at the door.

“Were you just standing there and listening to us, you creep?!” Chan exclaims, and Minho scoffs.

“I was on my way to wake you so we can eat, but I had to stop and listen first lest I open this door to see your cock and balls-“

“Okay!” You scream, interrupting Minho before he could go on any farther.

“Two minutes!” Minho shouts from outside the door, banging it on twice for good measure. “And no funny business! Keep your dick in your boxers, Bang Chan!”

You feel your face heat up as you hear scandalized shouts from outside— a sharp “it’s six am! Six! ” from Jeongin, a cut-off “He’s getting some this earl-“ from Hyunjin— and protests from the others who have woken up as well.

Chan buries his squeaky laugh against your neck, shoulders shaking with laughter. You shove at his chest with a groan, though the corners of your lips are quirked.

He barely budges from your shove, but he pulls you close again like you’ve been separated. “Our kids are awake, it seems.”

“Awake and already this annoying. Let me go, Bang. I need to shove some food in their mouths to shut them up.”

Chan surprisingly relents at that, turning around abruptly and clutching the blankets to his bare chest. Cold air crawls up your arms, and you miss his warmth almost immediately.

“Fine.” You feel and hear Chan’s pout despite not seeing it, and you try in vain to suppress a grin. “Leave me here. Cold. And alone. I could die, you know. I guess you want me to die.”

You laugh, curling behind Chan’s back and sliding your hand up his chest, relishing in his shiver. “Come on, you big baby. Get up in five minutes and wake your other kids up. Long day ahead of you.”

You slip away after a prolonged kiss to Chan’s cheek, squeezing his bicep as you get up. You’re just opening the door when Chan says something unintelligible, making you halt.

“What was that?”

“Ours.” Chan repeats, and your heart skips. “Our kids.”

Though you knew he was teasing you for the slip, you still see the tips of his ears redden. The smile that blooms across your face this time can’t be stopped, and you’re positive your face is just as the same shade of tomato as his is, but you still tap the doorway, teasing.

“Five minutes then, daddy. Our kids are waiting.”

And like any unfortunate event, Hyunjin chooses to pass by at that exact moment, freezing in his tracks when he processes what he just heard. Your mouth snaps shut, and you close your eyes as you pretend the Earth swallows you whole. Chan peeks from behind the blanket and starts laughing.

“Oh my god. She does have a daddy kink!”

[awoogayanderes]

SLOW DANCING WITH THEM

➪ requests : “Slow dance with tecchou and anyone else you wants please ^^” - anonymous

➪ characters : Tecchou Suehiro, Osamu Dazai, Chuuya Nakahara, Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, Fyodor Dostoevsky

➪ other notes : i love this prompt so i added a bunch of characters, some characters may be ooc, apologies

Tecchou Suehiro :

- tecchou isn’t really a dancer per se, he just doesn’t have the time for it

- but when you asked him to dance with you at a wedding, he couldn’t refuse you

- despite what i said before, he’s not that bad of a dancer

- he stepped on your toes a bit but other than that, he went with the flow

- he can’t help but look at you in awe, a small blush spreading though his face

- “ow tecchou,” you wince as he stepped on you

- “i’m sorry honey,” he apologizes, pulling you closer to him

- “i didn’t think you’d say yes,” you say as you touch the three spots under his eye

- “i’ll always say yes to you,” he mumbles and you smile

- this is probably one of the only times where he’s completely focused on you and not small details around the world

Osamu Dazai :

- what doesn’t this bastard know what to do

- something deep in my soul tells me that he likes to salsa dance

- anyways, this was after the ada defeated the guild, during the boat party

- when a romantic song started playing, dazai grabbed your hand lifting you up

- he loves having these soft and quiet moments with you despite his chaotic personality

- “i didn’t know you were such a good dancer,” you tease as he twirls you around

- “i couldn’t help myself with how ravishing you look tonight,” he flirts

- “thank you ‘samu, for everything,” you say getting slightly sentimental

- he hums smiling as he gives you a soft kiss as the song ends

- he’s honored to have you in his arms, twirling you, even if these moments are rare, he’s always willing to show you he cares even if its through odd ways

Chuuya Nakahara :

- he has two left feet when he’s sober, but when he’s drunk he can dance for hours

- my god this man sweats when he dances

- the port mafia decided to throw a celebration after a successful difficult mission

- after a few (many) glasses of wine, he asks you to dance with him, more like forces you to dance with him

- you’re pulled closer to him as a slow song starts playing, “hmph” he hiccups

- “i can tell you’re having fun,” you take his hat and put it on your own head

- he clicks his tongue at the action before saying “i’m just loosening up, since you always tell me i’m being uptight or stiff”

- “well i’m not wrong am i?” his cheeks turn into a bright pink when you peck him on the lips

- as the song ends, he carefully dips you, giving you a proper drunken kiss

- even when he’s drunk, he just wants to sweep you off your feet, his mind only being clouded with you as your body radiates heat to him

Ryūnosuke Akutagawa :

- if you think this man can dance, you’re fooling yourself silly

- he has no rhythm, even if its slow dancing

- he was very hesitant accepting your idea of dancing, even in the privacy of your own home with all the curtains shut

- you’d think he’d want some type of music, wrong, he tells you he wouldn’t be able to concentrate which leads both of you to dance in silence

- “you can breathe you know,” you quietly say as you notice your boyfriend’s awkward stance

- “i don’t know what joy you find in this,” he says but now he’s more relaxed

- “i just like doing things with you,” you say smiling as you touch his hair lightly

- “the hell you put me through,” he says despite his hands tightening on you

- “thank you ryū,” you smile as you pull him closer to you, enough to hear his fast heart

- he wants to try new things for you, he tries to be a better boyfriend and even if it’s just dancing, if it makes you happy, he’s satisfied

Fyodor Dostoevsky :

- surprisingly this man knows a thing or two about dancing, he’s not completely clueless

- i feel like this would be one of the few things he does to show he still cares about you

- sometimes passing the time in a closed off place is hard for you, and fyodor knows that so why not humor both of you

- “milaya?” he offers his hand when tchaikovsky starts playing

- “fedya, i don’t think we can slow dance to this,” you say as the music starts getting more intense

- “anything is possible when you put your mind to it my dear,” he says, spinning you

- “you’re awfully romantic today fedya,” you say as he dips you to the after climax of the song

- “am i?” he says in a teasing tone questioning you but smiling

- once you pull him closer to you, his face can’t help but feel hot, not used to this feeling

- fyodor loves you, he does, he just sucks at expressing it, so he resorts to actions like dancing that feels intimate

[luveline]

hotch baby blurb! can we pls have some domestic hotch... breakfast on the kitchsn counter just the two of them (i imagine this is in a world where they're married w/ more kids after Jack so like. run down tired parents vibes)

thank you for your request! ♥︎ fem!mom!reader 1k

The problem that morning is that the kitchen table is covered one end to the other. Toys, coats, Aaron's briefcase, your laptop, your notebook and pencil case, Jack's AP history project. So despite your good intentions of wanting to sit down with Aaron and have a romantic Sunday breakfast, there's nowhere for you to sit. 

"You should've waited for me," he says, as if summoned by your troubled thoughts. He's good at that. 

"I wanted to do it before Janey wakes up." 

Jane is three years old, which is currently your favourite age she's ever been, but makes breakfast hard. 

Aaron nods and holds out his hands. You brace yourself on instinct and try not to squeal too loudly when he starts to lift you, hopping so he can set you on the counter.

"What are you doing?" you ask through laughter. 

"The table's a mess," he says. 

"I'm sorry–" 

"You will be if you apologise for something that isn't your fault," he threatens. 

Aaron is unsurprisingly an amazing partner. He always carries his weight. And though his job gets in the way sometimes, you can't lie: he's a dreamboat, and he makes being married with two kids feel as easy as it can. 

Which, regretfully, isn't easy at all. But still. Go Aaron. 

You wrap your arms around his neck and almost give him whiplash pulling him back. 

"I'm just grabbing plates," he says, confused. 

"No, sorry, can I have you for two seconds? Sorry." 

He stands between your legs, waiting patiently for you to do whatever it is you're planning. He's used to your over apologising and your sudden fits of affection. They drive him insane for different reasons. He looks content now if slightly flummoxed, his unkempt hair bordering his brow, his sleep shirt rolled at the neckline from a deep sleep. You should know, you'd spent the night nestled against it. 

"You can have me as long as you want me." 

"We both know that's not true." 

He smells like toothpaste. You pull his face to yours, resting your cheek against the side of his chin. Your arms curl around the nape of his neck, trying to hide him from everything.  

"I wish I could make the world stop spinning," you confess. "For me and you." 

"I can definitely arrange that, honey," Aaron says. You love his at-home voice. He talks to you in a register that's sweet and soft and low, like there's nowhere else in the world he'd rather be, and nobody in it he'd rather speak with. "You know I'd do anything you wanted." 

"You wouldn't let me give you a massage last night," you complain. 

He laughs, almost giggles in your ear. "Listen to me. You think I don't know you, but I do. I know exactly what kind of massage you wanted to give me." 

"Then why'd you say no?" you whine, not truly offended.

He's of course entitled to reject your advances for any reason at all, but you already know why he'd said no. Jack had likely been awake down the hall. You wouldn't have really done anything so salacious for that exact reason yourself, but it's fun to joke with Aaron like this, and hear his words broken up by a scandalised laugh. 

"Because you're a minx," he says, fingers pressing hard into your side. You love the pressure of a good squeeze and he knows that. "My neck's a little stiff right now, if you're still offering." 

You end up with a plate of French toast in your lap, Aaron's hips between your knees. You press at the notches in his neck and he feeds you bites of sugared fruit. It's not the romantic breakfast you'd envisioned, but you like this better, anyways. 

"There?" you ask, listening for a rift in his breathing. 

"You're really good at this." 

"I've given you enough of them, Hotchner," you say, digging your fingertips into the knot that's giving him trouble. He leans forward into your touch, and for a while everything's quiet.

When you feel like the knot's been defeated you start the cool down, rubbing your hands over his abused skin slowly. This part doesn't really do anything. It's an excuse to be close to him and nothing more. 

"How's that?" you ask gently. 

He drags a hand over your face. Heavy-handed but with kind intentions. His thumb slides from the skin beside your nose to the delicate skin under your eye, where he strokes a lazy back and forth. 

"I love you." 

You lean into his hand. "I love you, too." 

"Oh, gross," Jack says. 

Aaron steps away from you and you smile at your baby. Jack isn't yours but you'll always love him like he is, more and more for every impossible inch that he grows, and you're delighted to see Janey hugged to his chest.

"Hi, my loves," you say. "Sorry, your dad's just harassing me again. You know how it is." 

Aaron snorts, shovelling French toast and fruit onto a new plate for Jack. "You know how it is," he echoes. 

"Did you sleep okay?" you ask Jack. 

You've been asking him the same question every morning for years. Every morning, he says, "The same as yesterday." 

You assume it to be a good thing. 

"Swap with me, buddy," Aaron says, offering Jack breakfast to steal a floppy looking Janey in exchange. 

They swap, though Jack isn't eager. He's cool now he's in middle school, too cool to hug his dad most of the time, and nearly too cool to tell you he loves you when you drop him off, but he's never too cool to dote on his baby sister. 

"She's worth more than a plate of toast, dad, come on." 

You smile around a mouthful as they argue for your girl. She tips her head back and gives a small, happy smile that's a hundred percent Aaron when she sees you. You decide you love breakfast time. 

[tj-dragonblade]

[FLUFFBRUARY FIC] A Sweet Romance Beginning In a Queue

Rated: T Word Count: 4551 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, human AU, rain, writer!Dream, professor!Hob, song-based meet-cute, clumsy metaphors

Notes: This is springboarding entirely from Bus Stop by The Hollies; shoutout to @valeriianz for suggesting this song would make a great Dreamling fic many many months ago. I thought Fluffbruary Day 3 would be a good opportunity to bang it out real quick but uh. It didn't want to flow, so I've just been rolling additional days into it all month. Also went a wee bit off-script from the song but. I'm pleased enough with what it's turned out to be. Prompts listed at the end.

Summary: Bus stop, wet day, he's there, I say, 'Please share my umbrella'

On AO3

It's the first day of the new term and the sky is overcast, threatening rain as Hob steps off the bus at his connecting stop. He's got his umbrella and his overcoat and his bag is water-resistant; his stop on the other end is very near the college and he's feeling well-prepared should the weather follow through on its threat.

Which of course it does, not half a minute later, and Hob deploys his umbrella with a sigh. There are a handful of other people waiting at the stop who do the same.

And one who does not.

He's pale and pretty, and tall, and dark—dark trousers, dark peacoat, dark hair, which is well on its way to getting thoroughly soaked as the skies open up in earnest. He appears to be lacking an umbrella entirely. Hob, who these days makes conscious effort to be a Good Samaritan whenever he can, and who also maybe thinks that attractively-pale men dressed in black who forget their umbrellas are worth at least a 'hello', moves quickly.

"Share my umbrella? Please." He's holding it over the guy as he speaks, but they'll have to squish up a bit to get maximum benefit for either of them.

"…Thank you," the guy says, shuffling closer; their shoulders touch. He is stiff, awkward, and yeah okay Hob can understand; courtesy in rainy weather or not, they're still complete strangers.

"Hell of a day to forget your umbrella, yeah?" Hob rolls his shoulders and shifts, putting himself more or less back-to-back with the guy so they fit better.

"Quite," comes the answer. His voice is low and rumbly, pleasantly dark without being bass-deep; it's oddly appealing.

Hob shrugs. "We've all been there. And hey, I'm glad to share."

"Again. Thank you." There's a touch more warmth this time, and Hob smiles to himself.

They pass a moment in silence, save for the drumming of rain against the umbrella and the splashing of cars in the street, and then the bus is pulling up to the stop. The guy steps toward it, first in line, and Hob follows with the umbrella, then lets the other three people board ahead of him.

Which means, once he's boarded and tapped in, the only open seat is serendipitously next to his slightly-soggy goth stranger. Who makes eye contact and holds it as Hob approaches, scoots just that little bit closer to the window to make clear he doesn't mind Hob taking the seat beside him, and Hob is quietly thrilled at the subtle welcome.

"Are you a conversationalist, or a ride-in-silence enthusiast?" he asks, as the bus lurches into motion.

"Ordinarily, the latter," the guy admits, glancing briefly at Hob. "But, as I stormed out with neither book nor earbuds, and I find myself with a chivalrous seat partner, perhaps I could be persuaded to the former just this once."

"Very kind, thank you," Hob says, with a smile. "'Stormed out' doesn't sound promising; feel like unburdening to a friendly ear? I'd be happy to listen, if so. Or find something else entirely to talk about if not."

His stranger turns to the window, watching the rivulets of rain trailing over the glass; there is a brief lull before he speaks. "I find myself creatively blocked, and my sister's attempts to be helpful. Were not." He sighs. "I left the house to clear my head, before saying anything truly unkind."

"Smart," Hob agrees. He could listen to this guy talk all day, his rumbly words and his dark-velvety voice.

"'Smart' would have been making certain to grab more than just my phone and wallet." There's a pretty little scowl accompanying the words, that rosy mouth plumped out in the faintest pout visible in his reflection in the window, and Hob is smitten.

"That may be, but then I'd hardly have had reason to say hello, and we'd both be sitting here reading our books politely ignoring one another. Silver lining?"

"Perhaps," the guy says, but it sounds agreeable enough. Hob likes to think he's a decent judge of unspoken communication and that he could tell if he was being a bother. Currently his stranger is glancing over Hob's bag and his attire with a curious and observant eye, posture reserved but not closed off, and Hob figures he's doing alright.

"Where are you headed, then—work?" the guy asks.

"Yeah, I teach at the college, medieval history, now and then a class in medieval lit too."

The guy's attention goes from merely polite to genuinely interested. "Oh?"

"Yep!" Hob's heart rate bumps up a notch at the light in those (gorgeous) blue eyes; the sudden intensity of this stranger's focus is heady.

He's turned in his seat, angled to somewhat face Hob, gaze bright, expression open. "I imagine that is a difficult sell to many students."

"Oh my friend, you have no idea!" Delighted with his good fortune, Hob launches into tales of his most recalcitrant classes and the victories he's won in inciting and maintaining student interest. He's good at talking, and enjoys doing it, and this pretty stranger is paying genuine attention to him, and so Hob prattles on enthusiastically as the bus trundles steadily through the rain.

~ "This is me," Hob says, as the bus pulls up to the college stop. "It was delightful chatting with you, and I hope your day improves from here!"

"It already has, thank you."

The tiny smile that the stranger offers in parting buoys Hob's spirits all the way to his office.

~ Tuesday is miserably wet again and Hob checks for his stranger at the bus stop, hopeful (yes alright, perhaps he's got a bit of a crush), but there's no sign of him. It's earlier than it was yesterday though, on account of his 8 a.m. lecture this morning, so there's no reason to think he'd be there again. Plus he'd talked about 'storming out' and 'clearing his head'; it wasn't like this stop was a daily transfer point the way it was for Hob.

Chances were good they'd never cross paths again.

~ Wednesday it's less a downpour and more a light shower, but it's still enough that an umbrella is practical.

And Hob is absolutely delighted as he steps off his first bus to see that Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Emo is there again, and again without an umbrella, hunched ineffectually into the collar of his coat and resembling nothing so much as a disgruntled wet cat. He perks up distinctly as Hob approaches with his umbrella angled forward in offering.

"You gallantly come to my rescue yet again." He tilts his head and glances up through lush black lashes, just this side of coy. "I thank you, sincerely, Mr…?"

"Hob, I'm Hob. Just Hob. You can call me Hob." Not his most suave, certainly, but this blatantly-flirtatious greeting atop his own delight has somewhat stolen his functioning brain cells.

"Hob," the guy repeats, unhurried, like he's savoring the taste of the name in his mouth, and smiles just a little bit. "You may call me Dream."

"Pleased to run into you again, Dream." Hob dimples brightly, delighted with the turn his day has taken, delighted that they've made proper introductions. "How was the head-clearing, the other day?"

"Effective." The guy—Dream—crowds close under the umbrella (Hob's largest, which he had pulled out yesterday just in case) and smooths the clinging water from his hair with one hand. His (damp) shoulder is firmly pressed against Hob's and his profile is absolutely beautiful, this close. Hob tries not to stare.

"Got your creativity flowing again, did it?"

"I managed to finish a very troublesome chapter Monday evening, yes."

Hob perks up at this new tidbit of information. "You're a writer, then?"

He gives a short nod, staring out into the rain, then glances sideways at Hob. "I have you to thank for my progress, also."

"Me?"

"The stories you shared…you inspired a direction for the scene that was plaguing me. I came out yesterday, with intent to thank you, but you were not here…?"

His voice lilts up just a touch on the end of his sentence, curiosity expressed without actually voicing the question, and Hob just smiles. "Yeah, Tuesday's my early-morning class. Sorry I missed you."

"No matter. I have now left the house three days in a row and my sister is distressingly pleased about it. She says it is good for my mental health."

"And what do you think?"

He sighs, heavily. "She is not incorrect." He glances sideways at Hob again, eyes narrowed prettily. "But I am not going to admit it to her."

Hob laughs; he can't help it. "You are so completely valid for that," he says, and when Dream smiles in return his spirits soar.

~ "Remembered your umbrella this time, I see!" Hob ignores the little pang of disappointment; just because he doesn't need to share his umbrella with Dream this time doesn't mean they can't still have a conversation.

"My sister reminded me, yes," Dream answers, and then to Hob's great surprise he lowers and closes the umbrella. "But I would prefer to share yours, if you're amenable." His eyes flick up, just a hint of hopeful uncertainty showing there.

"Of course." Hob moves close, brings his umbrella over Dream's head, heart thudding in his chest with delight. He hopes the great spreading grin on his face doesn't put Dream off; he can't quite get it under control.

If Dream notices, he gives no indication. "This routine is working well for me," he says, and it takes Hob a second to cotton on to what he means.

"What, catching the bus in the rain every morning?"

"Yes," Dream says serenely. "The company is. Refreshing." The corners of his mouth tilt up the smallest bit.

"Nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Hob says, making a valiant effort to sound normal while something warm blooms in the vicinity of his heart. He shifts the umbrella, making sure they're both still sheltered.

"Writing flows more easily when I return home after our morning conversations," Dream says, as if this is something they've been doing for weeks instead of just days. "I shall have to credit you in my author's notes."

Hob laughs, absolutely delighted. "That is extremely flattering, my friend, but wholly unnecessary. But if I'm at all helpful? I'm glad."

One day maybe he'll ask if he can see Dream's writing, when they've been acquainted for more than a week; one day further, perhaps, he'll ask him on a date. It certainly seems he'd be amenable, but Hob knows himself and his tendency to rush in full-tilt and tells himself there's no harm in just. Seeing what happens, for a little while.

~ "Share my umbrella?"

Dream looks askance at him, hair fluttering prettily across his forehead in the breeze. "It is not raining, Hob."

"Well no, but. Bit windy, isn't it? Wouldn't want you to suffer any windburn. Umbrella makes a decent wind-break." He has oh-so-smoothly said 'wind' three times in ten seconds, and it is the flimsiest of excuses to begin with, but Dream only smiles as if he's said something profoundly wise.

"Indeed. Truly, I am fortunate to receive your continued chivalry." He crowds in close to Hob, who angles the umbrella behind them to keep the wind off, and smiles.

~ The other patrons at the bus stop are giving Hob weird looks as he opens his umbrella, but there's only one person here whose opinion matters.

Dream tilts one eyebrow up, amused. "The sun is shining today, Hob Gadling. Yet still you offer your umbrella?"

"It's tradition, at this point. And besides—got a very fair complexion, haven't you? Bit of shade will do you good."

"…As you say." His smile is radiant as the sunshine, and Hob's heart thumps happily. "Thank you."

~ It's been about a month since that first meeting when Hob leaves campus for the afternoon and finds Dream waiting at the college bus stop. The morning's rain has cleared throughout the day but now rises again as a light drizzly mist; Dream is huddled into the meager shelter offered over the bench while pulling out his umbrella. Hob hurries over with his own already deployed, playing into their established pattern.

"Fancy meeting you here?" he greets, smiling. He's delighted to run into Dream outside their developed routine, and the way that Dream kind of blooms to see him is very satisfying.

"Hob. At last," Dream smiles, ducking under Hob's broad umbrella.

"Been waiting long?"

"…Somewhat. You see. I have. A question, I would like to ask you. An important one." The gravity in his tone is clear, and Hob might be worried if it wasn't so plainly obvious that Dream was nervous. "But I do not know your schedule, beyond your morning commute, and so…"

"Have you just been hanging around half the day waiting for me to show up?" Hob is equal parts appalled and delighted.

Dream meets his eyes briefly, glance flicking away again too quickly to interpret as anything other than confirmation. "Perhaps."

Hob laughs, aware he should possibly be alarmed by what any normal person would read as stalking behavior but utterly charmed by it instead. "Your patience has its reward, then. What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"I…ah." Dream colors prettily, the faintest pink flush across his cheeks as he stumbles over actually speaking his question, and Hob is rapidly escalating from 'charmed' to 'enamoured'. "I am not. Good, at—at—"

"Obviously it was important enough to identify my most likely location and wait hours for me to show up, right?" Hob cuts in gently. "Go ahead. I promise I won't judge you." He can hear the fondness seeping into his own voice, and apparently so can Dream. He lifts wide eyes to Hob, lips pressed together resolutely, and heaves a fortifying breath out through his nose.

"I wish to ask. Would you like to have dinner sometime. Or. Or coffee, perhaps."

The bus pulls up at that exact moment, disgorging a single passenger; Hob barely hesitates before waving the driver on.

"That was our bus?" Dream states, lilting up in such a way that it's clear he means Why did we not board, why are we still standing here?

"Well, yes," Hob agrees, very aware of the size of the dopey grin on his face. "But you see, a very dear friend of mine has just asked if I might like a bite to eat with him, and I know the most amazing little spot right around the corner."

"That. That is 'yes', then? Now?" Dream seems delightedly flummoxed, and it ratchets Hob straight up to 'besotted'. How could Dream think he'd ever say anything else? Although it occurs to him belatedly Dream might have other obligations for the evening.

"Well 'now' is certainly 'sometime', yes? If you're free, that is. If you've something else you have to do—"

"No. Nothing else," Dream cuts him off, and the warm smile spreading over his face makes Hob's heart skip a beat. "There is nowhere I should like to be more, just now."

Of course not, not when he'd dedicated the bulk of his day to waiting for Hob just to ask him out. "Wonderful. Shall we?" He offers his arm, angling the umbrella to keep the misty sprinkle off them still.

Dream tucks a hand into his elbow and falls into step beside him.

~ "Wanna try mine?" Hob offers, plucking a crispy slab of cheese from his plate with a bit of everything on it and holding it out, other hand cupped underneath. They are talking over plates of halloumi fries; Hob had gone for his favorite—smothered in pomegranate molasses and za'atar yoghurt with pomegranate arils and fresh mint garnish—and Dream had taken his drizzled in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

"Thank you, I am fine," Dream says, rote politeness in his voice but curiosity in his eyes, and Hob arches a brow.

"Worried you'll have to spend a month stuck with me for each pomegranate seed?"

"That would hardly dissuade me," Dream replies, with a sweet little smile that hits Hob straight in the gut. "Very well, since you offer so generously." He leans forward, grasps Hob's wrist instead of the proffered food, and bites through the warm-crusted cheese while Hob's still holding it, lips brushing Hob's fingers as he pulls back.

He chews, making a contemplative face, and gently plucks the rest of it from Hob's hand while Hob is still scrambling to reboot his poor blue-screening brain and not make a fool of himself.

"Do you know," Hob blurts, grasping for anything, "whatever Persephone might have eaten in the underworld, it would've bound her there the same? It wasn't just because it was a pomegranate?"

"I did know that, yes," Dream replies, and Hob feels the flush of having said something fairly stupid rising into his face. "The pomegranate is a tidy choice for enumerating the months she stays below, I think, with the countable seeds." He plucks one of the ruby-red arils from the cheese that Hob had given him between two delicate fingertips and places it in his mouth, eyes on Hob in a way that makes him lose his brain again.

"Yes that's. Good point," Hob tries, and thankfully Dream pops the rest of the halloumi fry into his mouth without any fanfare or continued eye contact.

"I can see why you like this," Dream says, once his mouth is empty. "It is a wonderful blend of flavors. But the honey-sesame remains my favorite." He takes a bite from his own plate, and Hob tries not to fixate on the casual way he licks the honey off his rose-petal lips.

"I wrote an alternate version of Persephone's story, once," Dream says then, eyes not exactly meeting Hob's or even on his face, darting between his shoulder and his sternum and dropping back to his plate. "I made it her choice; they met and fell in love long before the abduction, which was closer to an elopement. She ate the pomegranate seeds deliberately so as not to be taken away from the partner she had chosen. In my version, it was the pomegranate specifically that would bind her."

"That sounds brilliant," Hob says, feeling a little starry-eyed; Dream has never really talked specifics about his writing before. "I'd love to read it sometime."

"It. Was many many years ago, before I ever considered publication," Dream admits, barely glancing up at Hob, still a little skittish. "I thought it a unique idea at the time, but there are dozens of Persephone remixes to be had and I have never felt it warranted the effort of reworking it from my current skill level or attempting to publish."

"Well for what it's worth, your version is the remix I'd be most interested in reading," Hob says, utterly sincere, smiling from ear to ear. "If you ever wanted to share, that is." He bites into another halloumi fry and speaks around it. "I would never pressure you to let me read your stuff if you don't want to. But I'm always interested."

"…Thank you." Dream covers his awkwardness with another dainty bite from his own plate, a hint of pink dusting across his cheekbones. When his mouth is empty again, he offers, "Mostly I have written. Romance."

"Oh?"

"Not under my own name. But yes."

"See it's fascinating that pseudonyms are so prevalent through the ages, and for so many reasons," Hob starts, and as the conversation turns in this new direction Hob does not miss how Dream relaxes to have the focus shifted from the vulnerable personal glimpse of himself he'd offered.

And Hob maybe falls a little bit deeper.

~ It's still lightly raining three hours later; they've talked about so many things, they've had dessert and then had coffee since neither of them were ready to leave yet. It's dark by the time they finally head back to the bus stop; Dream presses up against Hob's side beneath the umbrella and Hob thrills at the warmth, the closeness, the graceful slide of Dream's hand into his and the way he doesn't let go until the bus shows up.

~ It's raining again the first time Hob kisses Dream, pulling him close beneath the umbrella outside the theater, one finger tipped beneath Dream's chin; the kiss is tentative, but Dream's mouth is warm and the way he lists gently forward has Hob coming back again, soft and sweet and smiling helplessly.

~ Three straight days of rain are clearing on the afternoon that Dream takes Hob to the bookstore and leads him to the romance section, points him to a shelf in the 'M's where there are a dozen or so titles by Morpheus, mononymous. Hob doesn't make the connection for a second, and then he does.

"Is this you?" he asks, reaching for one of the hardbacks, and sure enough there's Dream's photo inside the dust jacket, solemn and styled and somehow less authentic than the Dream standing nervously next to him.

"Yes," Dream confirms, and soft warmth floods Hob's chest. Dream has been very reserved about his writing—"It is one thing to publish for strangers, but I find it…much more difficult to share, when it is someone whose opinon matters to me personally," he'd said once, and being trusted, opened up to like this—Hob is not oblivious to the privilege of it.

"You've certainly written a lot," he says, warmth and fondness curling in his chest. "And you're okay with me reading any of these?"

"Yes; however—" he reaches into the messenger bag slung over his hip, withdraws a large clear envelope with what looks like a manuscript inside. "If you wish to read my writing, I would have you begin with this." He hands it to Hob.

Hades and Persephone: The Morpheus Remix the paper proclaims through the plastic, and Hob looks up at Dream, delighted. "Is this—?"

"It needs a proper title." Dream shrugs, hunches into his coat a little bit. "I would like—perhaps you might help me come up with one, as it was you who inspired me to revisit and update it."

Hob cannot for the life of him stop the broad smile that overtakes his face, is not even trying. "I would be honored."

~ It is raining buckets the night that Dream comes home with Hob, and even the umbrella is not enough to prevent their getting a bit wet. But that's alright, Hob thinks, with Dream's eager mouth warm and hungry on his as they move in the direction of his bedroom, it's not like their clothes were staying on anyway.

He lays Dream gently in his bed, covers him with his own body, makes love to him with slow and ardent urgency while the rain lashes against his window. Later, after, when the winds have calmed and thunder rumbles soothingly in the distance, he holds Dream curled against him, asleep, and he thinks. He thinks about umbrellas, and shielding, and guardedness, and how Dream has slowly gifted so many of his vulnerabilities to Hob; he thinks about the duality of potential in that realization, the power it gives him to either harm or protect, and vows to himself that he will always be Dream's metaphorical umbrella when it's within his capabilities.

~ It's sprinkling just a little when Hob realizes that he's going to marry Dream.

It's early Autumn and they're at the park; Dream is under his own umbrella (look, sometimes sharing just isn't practical, as much as Hob still loves faithfully carrying on their schtick), scattering peas and grapes for the ducks and Hob is hanging back, watching him with an aching fondness in his heart.

Dream is beautiful, and thoughtful, and engaging. He is guarded and private, but so warm and emotional and giving once he has let you in. He is smart, and witty, with the driest sense of humor and the most endearingly terrible laugh and Hob has fallen desperately in love with him along the way.

He watches as a particularly bold duck comes close and snaps up the pea that had fallen directly at the toe of Dream's boot; watches the soft delight that steals over Dream's face, and he knows.

~ It is the following Spring before he asks. They are at the bus stop where they first met and it's a bright sunny day; Hob's got the umbrella up and they're shoulder-to-shoulder beneath it. Dream is animated, excited, talking about his editor's latest feedback on his Persephone remix (The Seeds of Fate, they had decided to call it), and Hob is listening, very much interested but so so nervous. The little velvet box on his pocket is weighty, not physically of course but he can't stop touching it, hoping Dream will say yes, believing Dream will say yes.

At last, Dream turns to him, a little wrinkle of concern between his brows. "You feel…distracted; is everything alright?"

Hob smiles at him, entirely and wholeheartedly in love. He hooks the hand holding the umbrella with Dream's so their fingers are tangled together around it; he leans his forehead against Dream's, closes his eyes. "I have a question, I'd like to ask you. An important one." It's a deliberate echo of how Dream had asked him out more than a year ago; Hob can picture the way Dream smiles to recognize it, can feel one eyebrow lifting against his own.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the little box from his pocket and clicks the lid open. "Will you marry me?"

It's a quiet request, pitched low so the other couple people at the bus stop don't overhear, so that if Dream does wish to say no, he won't be under the public pressure of strangers to say yes for appearances' sake. Not that Hob expects him to say no.

He hopes he doesn't say no.

Dream pulls back and Hob opens his eyes, meeting the surprise and delight and disbelief in Dream's. Dream looks down at the ring in the open box in Hob's hand, touches a fingertip to the velvet-covered lid delicately, looks back up at Hob with joy blossoming in his face.

"Do you mean it? Truly?"

Hob swallows down the nervous lump in his throat, squeezes gently where his hand is tangled with Dream's around the handle of the umbrella. "More than anything," he murmurs, entranced by the gathering shine of happy tears in Dream's eyes. "Marry me. Please."

Dream makes a joyful little noise, wrenches his hand free and throws both arms around Hob's neck, kissing him soundly. Hob manages to snap the ring box closed and swing the umbrella low, wraps both arms around Dream's waist and kisses him back.

"Yes," Dream breathes wetly when they part a moment later. "Yes, of course yes, a thousand times, yes."

~ They marry in the park in August, the clouds high and the breeze warm. Hob puts up the umbrella when they reach the crux of the ceremony; he holds its history over them while they say their vows, while they slip rings on one another's fingers, and then they seal their marriage with a tender heartfelt kiss beneath its promise of care and protection.

= Started: 2/3/24 Drafted: 2/24/24 Posted: 2/25/24

Fluffbruary 2024 Prompts Day 3: umbrella seashore mist Day 4: camera lush beau Day 5: rescue inertia lullaby Day 6: tie embarrassment* dessert Day 7: potatoes blue glass Day 8: shower blessed layer Day 9: urgency kneel rural Day 10: flush angel owl Day 11: reflection water apology Day 12: graceful volcano blanket Day 18: suave cologne gradual* Day 19: teacakes flood feature Day 20: smooth glitters queen Day 23: rhythm chalk humor Day 24: spring fuzzy silky

*The word did not get used but the concept is very much in there

✨✨✨ Sequel: Love Rain Down On Me ✨✨✨

[alwerakoo]

no shape for driving

Tales of the TMNT Leo & Raph word count: 2k CW: amputation, injury recovery, PTSD (aka: Raph does lose that finger - the fic)

AO3

---

“I'm trying to help,” Leo tells him.

“It fucking hurts,” Raph bites back, because he's a bad brother.

And an even worse patient.

He holds his hand close to his chest, the other closed around his wrist. As if Leo was going to sit up, reach across the bed, and physically pull his arms back in.

He won't, or at least Raph hopes so, but there's a certain look on his face, that he can't quite decipher.

That makes him anxious.

Lots of things do nowadays.

He thinks that might be the worst part of it all. There's a new twitchiness to him, something that wasn't there before. Something that pulls at his chest, that takes the air out of his lunges, that digs sharp needles into every part of his brain.

It's observant. It notices things he never did before; normal, innocent things that always passed through him without a second thought.

It hears the mechanical turn of a machine, something distant and quiet, so silent he would've thought he imagined it – and Raph spends the rest of the night staring at the bottom of Mikey's bed, body frozen and stiff.

(He did imagine it – maybe. Or at least Mikey didn't seem to recall anything like it in the morning, and then there was that look on his face again, and Raph hadn't dared to ask again.)

It feels someone brush behind his back, a hand on the back of his shell, and he's turning before he can think about it, feet clumsily stumbling back, one after the other.

(“'It's just me,” Donnie told him then, with something sad hidden between the words.

“Yeah, I know,” Raph lied.)

It spots a knife in someone's hand as they're making dinner, the way their fingers curve around the blade, and Raph has to leave the room, breath twice as fast, and a heart in his throat.

(That one pissed him off the most. It wasn't even a knife that did it, after all.)

He hates it.

He hates a lot of things now – Purple Dragons the most.

He hates when his limbs go numb but his mind turns sharp, thoughts turning into a mess of tangles and knots – all fired up, always for nothing.

And then it's over, and his eyes feel wet and hot, and there's a heaviness to his jaw, like cotton stuck under his tongue, and he wants to scream at every person he sees.

He does, sometimes. And then he lets it simmer out, lets his mind and body grow numb, till he can finally gather enough of himself to apologize.

They never hold it against him, and that makes him want to scream all over again.

Leo doesn't look mad right now, either.

He tilts his head slightly, hands rested flat on his thighs, and the ends of his mask curl around his shoulder.

There was always something so perceptive about his eyes, like he could see right past everything Raph wanted to be – straight into everything he truly was.

It's a scary thought, especially now.

“Raph,” Leo tries again.

He sounds low and hushed, but there's a nervous edge to his tone.

Raph can't read his mind, but he sees the way he flexes his fingers against the skin, the sudden twitch of his shoulder.

Leo always seemed to be living on the edge, his mind always faster than his body – too fast for his own good.

Now, it only feels like his edge has grown some new eggshells.

(Raph thinks he can say he understands now. He wishes he didn't.)

“It's... I'm...” He stumbles over his own words, clumsy and uncertain, like cotton in his mouth. “It's fine. I'll do it myself.”

He says it without second-guessing, without giving it too much thought – all impulse, like he has done all his life. Which means that now, something new inside him stirs up, and he hesitates.

He thinks it's a good idea, because if Leo touches him again right now, his skin will burn clean off.

He thinks it's an awful idea, because it means he'll have to look at his hand.

Leo told him it's a process. That it'll take time to get used to.

Mikey told him to take it slow, let his body heal and "chillax" – whatever he meant by that.

Donnie told him not to touch the sewer water with his hand.

Dad didn't say anything. He only held him.

Their advice was honest, most likely true, and never fucking enough.

Because no one told him about this part.

There are moments where he puts his hand behind his thigh, just enough to make it seem absentminded, or he holds it's under his pillow, tucked away for the whole night. Moments where even the thought of it fills his stomach with air and his lungs with acid.

And then there are moments where he can't help but to stare at it. At the jagged skin, pulled together by a nasty, pink scar.

He puts his hand on a table and watches the empty space between his two fingers. He flexes them against the wood, and it's walking down the stairs and missing a step – even if he's looking right at his own feet.

Both moments make him feel like clawing his own brain out.

In front of him, Leo fidgets, first with the bowl of rice sat between them, then with the ends of his mask, twisting them around his finger.

It's an old habit that Raph never thought he'd pick up from him, until he caught himself trying to do it once, and flinched when his mask only met air.

“You look like you're gonna have a heart attack,” Raph says, looking at him.

Leo stops in place, before shifting a little in place, not helping his case.

“I don't,” he says.

“You don't know what you look like,” Raph retorts.

Leo frows, and there's something petulant and childishly annoyed breaking onto his face. Raph had missed it.

“Yes, I do?”

Bickering with his brothers is familiar, and he hates the way everyone around him stirs clear of anything that goes beyond a pleasant grocery small talk. It's been two months, and they still act like he would shatter at any minute.

“You're an idiot.”

Looking at Leo also grants him the perfect excuse to not look at his hand.

He puts his left palm forward, sinking it into the bowl in front of him.

The sensation hits him immediately.

He shivers, arms raising up, and he almost pulls his arm back. He would've, maybe, if Leo didn't reach forward, cradling his elbow.

“It's okay!” He says, far too quickly. “I know it feels weird.”

He doesn't, and 'weird' doesn't cover it.

It's sharp needles digging into his flesh; it's bugs crawling under his skin; it's buzzing static, shooting electricity through his every nerve, and the spot where Leo holds him aches.

He feels the rice sink into the space where his finger used to be, and he feels it grow itchy in a spot he will never again be able to scratch.

Leo looks at him again, with those big, sad eyes of his, and fuck – does Raph hate that look.

It's pity.

He knows it is, he knows it under layers and layers of worry and love and care. He hates it, and he hates himself for not being to appreciate all those other parts.

“I'm fine,” he spits out, jaw tense, looking down.

“Are you?” Leo says, suddenly more serious.

His voice goes a little high, like he's going to choke on his own tongue at any minute.

Raph doesn't raise his head, but he looks up – the image of his brother blurry out of the corners of his vision.

“What?”

“I'm asking: Are you?”

Raph works his jaw.

He knows this part. It feels like half of their conversations end like this nowadays.

‘Yes, I’m fine. No, it’s okay. Yes. No’, rinse and repat, rinse and repeat.

“Do we have to talk about this now?” He sighs.

“I mean, it's like...” Leo pulls back, rubbing his hands together nervously. Raph wishes he hadn't. “I can see it, you know? You're so on the edge, all time, and I know it must be hard, but you never want to talk about it, and I just-” Leo raises his gaze and their eyes meet. His brother's jaw tightens. “I know you've been avoiding your sai.”

Raph tenses.

The muscles in his hand spasm, and he finally pulls his back, the air hitting the scar on it like a harsh gust of wind. He cradles it close to his chest again, breathing out a little too fast.

He thinks he should lie.

Or change the topic, at least. Let Leo have his doubts, his hopes, his little theories.

He doesn't want to crush him, any of them, under the same weight that's been resting on his shoulders for the past two months.

But he also thinks that new, rotten thing inside him wants him to lie, too.

He's tired of letting it win.

“It's...” He looks down, then quickly up, when he spots his left hand. “It doesn't feel right anymore.”

The words sting, sharp in his mouth like chewing glass.

He takes a breath. His eyes feel hot, and he quickly breaths in again, before he has a chance to do something stupid, like cry.

Leo's shoulders sag.

“Oh, Raphie...” He says, voice wobbly.

“Don't call me that,” Raph huffs.

But the half of it gets lost in Leo's collarbone, when he suddenly sits up, throwing his arms around Raph with enough strength to knock the wind out of him.

Raph raises his arms, and his left hand shakes as he places it on Leo's shell.

“It doesn't feel right,” he repeats, right into Leo's arm, hiding in his brother's hold like a little kid. “I don't know what to do. They're- It's- It's my thing, you know? What am I supposed to do now?”

Leo hums. He pushes the bowl aside with his knee, scooting closer. He sits up on his heels, so he's just a little taller than Raph.

“Your sai are not going anywhere,” Leo tells him.

He sounds weirdly on a verge of tears, and that almost makes Raph laugh, because Leo has always been a sympathetic crier, and it’s just so like him, that it makes Raph want to hold him even tighter.

He wants to hold onto any sense of familiarity he has left.

“I'll be okay. You'll see, you're gonna learn how to use them again. You've done it once before, right? And we were toddlers, can't be that much harder now.” Leo rambles.

He has a tendency to do that. On a regular, but especially in hard moments.

“Yeah,” Raph breathes, because in hard moments, he tends to quiet.

“What is that thing Mikey always says?” Raph can't see his face, but he can imagine the way his face scrunches up. He sniffles. “Learn, adjust, overcome?”

“That's not how the meme goes,” Raph laughs, and it comes out a little wet.

“It's close enough,” Leo hums.

“Are you crying?” Raph asks, just to make sure.

Leo sniffles.

“... No?”

Raph doesn’t say anything to that, but Leo must sense his amusement, because he huffs, pulling gently at Raph’s mask tails.

“Shut up, we’re having a moment.”

Raph doesn’t try to argue.

His hand aches, raw and sensitive. He runs it over Leo's shell, and he's expecting his finger to catch on his belts, and then it doesn't.

But he's still holding him.

There's just a little less of him now, in more than one way.

But he will pick himself back up. He knows he will.

He'll fill every void with something new and kind, and everything he can't – with spite alone.

And maybe that new, scared thing inside him will never fully go away. But he can make it wither, just a little bit.

Leo squeezes him, just a little tighter, and Raph doesn't let go.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

things friends do

pairing: bsaa circle jerk - chris, jill, piers, rebecca, reader (ends up being nivanfield and reader/jill/becca)

tags/cws: everyone is gay, mutual masturbation, oral m! receiving, sex toys

summary: reader walks in on a totally regular event for the bsaa crew

a/n: this permeates my mind constantly. ik no one asked for this. this was for me

div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

wc: 1.7k

tags: @rigorwhoring @leonfucker3000 @withonly-sweetheart

There’s no such thing as home anymore, not right now. You’ve got your own bunk and your own bag. Everything else is shared. You’ve got one roommate which is better than some can say, but the extra space means nothing when she snores loud enough that you can still hear her through your earplugs. At some point, you just pass out, you always do, but it’s not too late and you’re not too tired yet. A little walk might do you some good, you figure. 

You don’t dare leave the building, you stay in your lane, as always. But, at the end of the corridor, you hear chatter, a light streaming into the hall. Curiosity has you in a vise grip, and it drags you to the door, slightly ajar. You get the sense that you’re not supposed to be here. 

Out of all the things you’ve seen in the short time you’ve been working for the BSAA, this is the most surprising yet. It’s like an opposite nightmare – you’re usually the one naked in front of your coworkers, but tonight it’s the opposite. Chris, Rebecca, Jill, and Piers all in varied states of undress, gathered around a TV that currently displays a couple – a woman with big fluffy blonde curls sitting at the edge of a bed, wearing nothing but her stockings, legs spread in front of a man sporting a typical 70s pornstache and a pair of bell-bottoms. 

But you’re more focused on Rebecca’s t-shirt that’s not long enough to cover her white panties; Chris’ chest fully bare, one arm across the back of the loveseat and the other hand slipping beneath the denim of his jeans; Jill’s tits spilling out of her bra that match her panties in color; and Piers’ t-shirt lifted just above his abs, letting his cock sit stiff against his skin. 

Maybe you could’ve slipped out unnoticed if you hadn’t taken a self-indulgent survey of the room. 

Still, you back away with an apology. “I’m sorry, I had no idea –I’ll just get going…”

But Chris stops you. “Hey, wait–”

“I won’t tell, don’t worry.”

You may not have read the rulebook thoroughly, but this has to violate at least one clause in there. 

“No, it’s okay. You can come in, if you want.”

Should you? Probably not. Are you nervous? Probably. Is your heartbeat speeding up as you slip inside the room, slowly shutting the door behind you? 

Yes. 

The hardest decision is where you should sit. There is a space between Jill and Piers, as they sit on opposite ends of the couch, but it’d be a tight squeeze. Luckily, Piers eagerly moves to sit next to Chris and Jill smiles when she pats the spot next to her. 

Everyone aside from the couple on TV stops touching themselves as a welcoming gesture. 

Chris and Jill explain that this is something they've been doing for ages. You get used to it when you're in the military, and neither of them are into each other so, it's just a casual friendly activity. Piers and Rebecca joined the group in later years, and now, it seems, they've gotten a fifth member.

"You don't have to do anything if you don't want to," Rebecca notes. "Sometimes I don't."

You’d always known Rebecca to be empathetic, but her voyeuristic tendencies are a new discovery. 

"But, if you want to, you can borrow this," Jill says, holding up a small vibrator. 

“Oh, I um…”

“It’s clean, don’t worry,” she says. 

“I wouldn’t want to take it from you.”

“I always keep an extra,” she says, pulling a similar one from her bag that sits beside the couch. 

In that case, you think, I’ll take it. 

But the smile you share says all you need to convey your thanks when you accept the gift she holds out to you. 

In an attempt to avert everyone’s gaze from your hands fiddling with your belt, you ask, pointing to the TV, "what are you guys watching?"

"Porn," Chris says.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Barry gave us a whole stack of tapes — ancient stuff, but he found it all in a box in the basement when they were moving and decided he wanted to get rid of them, and why let them go to waste?" Jill explains.

"Does he do this too?" you ask. 

"Jerk off? Probably," Piers says.

"Statistically, yes," Rebecca agrees.

"No, I meant this, as in, this," you say, gesturing to the room, the gathering, the situation.

"Oh. No, that'd be weird.” Piers has a flash of disgust cross his face at the thought which is amusing considering the fact that he’s pining after another one of his superiors – the one next to him on the loveseat. 

But you’re too new to the group to poke fun, you decide, and moreover, befuddled, so you continue the same line of inquiry."But he knows about this?"

"Yes. It'd be kinda weird if he was giving us pornos randomly," Piers says in a tone that almost makes Chris’ constant irritation towards him make sense. 

It's still a little weird, you think.

"Shh!" Chris says. "I can't hear what they're saying, and I'm not putting the goddamn subtitles on."

"Does it matter what they're saying?" Jill laughs a little when she speaks. "Here, let me recap for you," she sits up straighter in her seat like she's about to perform – because she is – before dramatically moaning, "oh, baby, your cock is so big," and in a second, manlier voice, "oh yeah, baby? you like that?"

Chris, unfazed while the others chuckle, clarifies, "They're not even fucking yet, Jill. He was saying—"

"No one cares about the plot."

"I care about the plot."

"We'll be quiet, okay?" you say to diffuse the tension which is already high considering everyone in the room is visibly aroused, likely to the point of frustration. 

"Thank you," Chris says with a sigh that sounds different when his hand is around his dick.

The sounds of his hand, covered in spit, pumping his cock barely covers up the buzzing of the vibrator as you place it against your clit on the lowest setting. 

You can’t help but feel embarrassed by the moan you let out despite how tiny it is, insignificant among the other lewd noises around you. 

You don’t even realize that your gaze has settled on Jill’s tits as they bounce slightly with each heavy breath. She notices, though. 

“I’m not a museum. You don’t have to just look,” she says. “You can touch them.”

She unclasps her bra with one hand and reaches out her other palm to guide your unoccupied hand, knowing you’re new to this whole thing. Her eyes meet yours and you nod before she places your hand on her breast. 

“Shit,” Chris mutters, “that’s hot.” 

And he’s not talking about the TV. 

It’s the thought in everyone’s mind, he’s the only one brave enough to say it aloud. 

Knowing Chris’ eyes are no longer fixated on the TV, Rebecca takes the opportunity to cross in front of it and sit beside you. 

“Tit for tat?” she asks. 

“Tit for tit, you mean?” Jill says.

The joke is stupid but it earns a laugh from you nonetheless. 

And, of course, you agree to the bargain. You take your shirt off and so does Rebecca. 

The vibrator buzzes aimlessly against the fabric of the couch, but you no longer need the artificial stimulation. 

Rebecca's touch is gentle when she rubs your thigh, asking for permission to touch you. In response, you open your legs, allowing her access. She keeps one hand between your thighs and the other between her own, working them in tandem, making you moan in time with her.

Surprising and arousing enough to make you gasp, Jill’s lips meet your neck, and it makes you moan. You're too distracted to hold anything back. Too distracted by the show Piers and Chris put on across the room. The constant sexual tension finally bubbling over in front of your eyes is a miracle. They've been head over heels for each other for years, but neither one of them was willing to admit it. They're still not admitting it per se, they'll say they're just giving each other a hand, being a good friend in a time of need. At least, that’s what they’ll say if you bring it up tomorrow. 

Piers' eyes flit back and forth from Chris' hand around his cock and his around Chris'. He's in shock, awe, and bliss all at once. Chris, is looking directly at you, smug about something.

"Forgot to mention," he says, "whoever cums first is on cleanup duty."

"That's not fair!" you whine. "You should've told me that beforehand."

The worst part is that watching Chris get sucked off is one of the hottest things you've seen (aside from Jill and Rebecca leaning over you to kiss each other).

Your jumbled up mind is still sharp enough to come up with a plan, one good enough to win, you hope. 

“Piers,” you say – your voice coming out a bit shaky, a bit desperate –pointing to the scene on TV – a brunette woman with the most obviously fake boobs you've ever seen is sucking the life out of a man whose barely-trimmed bush is the only thing visible.

You don’t have the strength to say anything else, but he knows what you mean: copy her technique.

While your focus is on Rebecca and Jill, on putting your fingers to good use, on listening to them moan in tandem, you can hear the faint sounds of gagging, presumably from Piers, though they're nearly covered up by Chris groaning in a manner that you'd never expect from someone so stoic.

You can feel Rebecca's thighs begin to tremble and hear Jill's breath hitch while the slick sounds of Chris' hand around Piers' cock get louder as his pace speeds up. But in time with the porno, like it's fated to happen, Chris says in sync with the man, "Shit. I'm fucking cumming."

The woman says something stupid, but Piers just coughs as he tries to catch his breath before letting himself fall over the edge.

Knowing that you've already won, you surrender to the pleasure of Jill and Rebecca's combined assault on your pussy, your tits, and your neck with fingers, lips, tongue, and teeth. And you return the favor with equal determination and fervor.

The tape ends and the screen turns to static (and your mind seems to mirror it). You are snapped out of your daze by Jill, nudging you with her shoulder, "So, same time next week?"

[floralcavern]

Ship Alphabet

Aidlyn

Affection:

Both of them aren’t super, overly affectionate. They tend to just like to hold hands or rest their heads on each other’s shoulders. Aiden probably is the most affectionate, though, nuzzling hard into her shoulder and squeezing her arms tight.

Bashful:

Aiden is not bashful in the slightest, saying the cheesiest crap to Ashlyn imaginable. Ashlyn just kind of cringes at the idea of saying stuff like that.

Cuddle:

Aiden rarely is able to sit still long enough to cuddle and Ashlyn tends to feel awkward during cuddles because they make her feel trapped. But, when they are both able to be in the mood for cuddles, they tend to spoon each other at the same time.

Dancing:

Aiden likes to dance crazy, shaking his butt and doing the wave. Ashlyn, who is a trained dancer, just stands there watching him like 🧍‍♀️ (but she thinks it’s endearing)

Ending:

If they were to ever break up, it would be Ashlyn to break it off. It would probably be after a big fight, probably one sided because Aiden’s not the type to argue, and once they cool off, she says, “I think we need to split..” Aiden would probably just shut down completely if this were to happen.

Fiancé:

Aiden would be the one to propose. But Ashlyn would not be the kind of person who’d want it to be in public or even as a surprise. I think they’d kind of discuss it a little and one day, they’re all hanging out as a group and he proposed to her just with the others there.

Gentle:

Aiden is not super gentle instinctively. He has to be mindful to be gentle with Ashlyn. He just wants to grab people by the shoulders and shake them around. Ashlyn, as you can imagine, hates this and finds it way too overstimulating. She’s pretty gentle, bur also strong, yknow? Like, she puts a hand on Aiden’s shoulder and it’s soft, but her hand is stiff.

Hugs:

Aiden loves hugs! It has all the good qualities of cuddles, and he doesn’t have to lay still for a long while! Ashlyn is fine with hugs every now and then. Mainly side hugs, since regular hugs make her feel trapped.

I love you:

Aiden says it all the time. Like, ALL the time. It may seem like that since he says it to Ashlyn all the time, it starts to lose its meaning, but he means it with his full heart every single time. Ashlyn only uses it sparingly, once in a blue moon. She’s bad at expressing her feelings and she feels like “I love you” is so weirdly intimate, which she’s just not used to and slightly made uncomfortable by.

Jealousy:

Aiden gets jealous the most. But, unlike what most people probably think, he does not go yandere mode or whatever. When Aiden is jealous, he just kind of.. freezes in place. He does not know how to process it at all and his abandonment issues activate and he’s out in fight, flight, or freeze mode. Ashlyn rarely gets jealous. She trusts Aiden completely to not do anything idiotic.

Kiss:

They rarely ever kiss on the mouth. They get way too flustered for it and neither knows what they’re doing when they do it. Aiden likes to do little pecks all over her face. Ashlyn rarely ever initiates kisses, but when Aiden is showering her with kisses, she may give him a little kiss at the top of his head.

Love language:

Aiden’s love language is 70% physical touch and 30% quality time. Ashlyn’s is 99% quality time and 1% physical touch.

Marriage:

It would be a very small wedding. Like, 20 people max. Aiden would actually do most of the planning because Ashlyn just really had no ideas for what to do.

Normalcy:

Their sense of normalcy is just hanging out, playing videogames together, maybe watch some tv, go on a walk, that kind of stuff.

Open:

Neither of them are open. At all. Aiden doesn’t like to talk about his past or being neglected, so when his abandonment issues come out, Ashlyn is just left confused because she doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. Ashlyn doesn’t like talking about her feelings, so they just end up boiling over in an explosion of frustration that usually end with her angry crying.

Past relationships:

Both have never dated anyone ever nor had a crush before, so they’re both very clueless about what they’re doing lmao

Quiver:

Aiden is the kind of guy who finds it extremely attractive when their girlfriend puts their hair up. He gets all flustered and whatnot when he sees Ashlyn braiding her hair or putting it up or anything like that. Ashlyn gets all flustered and shaky when Aiden runs his fingers through her hair. She just finds it so comfortably intimate and relaxing.

Realize:

Ashlyn first realized her feelings for Aiden after he was crushed by rubble in the Phantom World. Aiden realized his feelings for Ashlyn at the arcade when she flirted with him.

Sick:

Aiden rarely ever gets sick, but when he does, he does everything in his power to ignore it and still do fun stuff. Ashlyn has to force him to rest, calling him stupid and reckless. But, when Ashlyn gets sick, though, she’s almost the exact same way, ignoring it and still trying to do work stuff and whatnot and Aiden has to force her to rest.

Talk:

Aiden does all the talking. Ashlyn will go with some “Mhmm”s in response, but she really is listening.

Ugly:

Ashlyn thinks the most ‘unattractive’ trait of Aiden’s is a tie between the fact that he doesn’t listen to her wants a lot of the time or the fact that he chews with his mouth open. Aiden thinks Ashlyn most ‘unattractive’ trait of Ashlyn’s is her lack of a filter sometimes, where she’ll say something that genuinely kind of hurts his feelings.

Vanished:

Oh boy, if Ashlyn vanished out of nowhere, you do not want to stand in Aiden’s way. He will rip apart the entire world to find her. And if Aiden disappeared, Ashlyn would go completely quiet and John Wick assassin type level of deadly.

Whole:

Ashlyn doesn’t feel like she needs Aiden to complete her. She wants to be her own person and whatnot. But Aiden? The neglect trauma is STRONG, he does not feel whole at all without Ashlyn.

Xtra:

Ashlyn often deals with panic attacks and the fastest way for her to calm down is for Aiden to lay on her chest. No one knows WHY this works, since in any other situation, she would HATE this because it makes her feel confined. But she likes the pressure and warmth on her body when she’s having a panic attack.

Y me?:

Ashlyn often wonders “why does Aiden like me?” She has some sort of imposter syndrome as his girlfriend. And Aiden is just like “how the heck did I get Ashlyn to become my girlfriend???”

Zzzz:

Aiden never sleeps. Ever. He just can’t seem to shut his brain up to fall asleep. Yknow what does manage to make him fall asleep though? Rambling to Ashlyn. Something about getting all the thoughts out of his head and verbalized allows them to shut up for a while and make him fall asleep. Ashlyn gets sleepy super easily. Like, she tries to stay up late but just ends up falling asleep at 10 at the latest.

[uhdrienne]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

08. rumour mill

🌼warnings: wonwoo is sick, you almost burn down the house!

🌼 word count: ~2k

Wonwoo

The story has changed. Now it's a tale about how he's been in love with you for a while and that you got together after the car accident.

Miss Hwang and all the members of the chat group have spiraled the rumours out of control, and he feels... awkward, to say the least. The villagers don't whisper very conspicuously when you walk past, and sometimes when you see him going about town on his part-time jobs, fixing people's sinks and building them new shelves, you say hi and end it there to stop the rumour mill.

Wonwoo knows it too, because he's now decided to keep his chats slightly shorter before excusing himself. Which is why he's currently standing outside Grandma Lee's house quietly, watching as Park Chanyeol chats you up.

"This house is gorgeous," He hears Chanyeol enthuse. "The traditional feel, you know -- and with that yard! Nostalgic, and it would look insane on the show thumbnail--"

As Chanyeol yaps on about the 180-degree rule and the height of the boom mics he plans to use, Wonwoo stifles a yawn behind his palm. Not understanding any bit of film lingo is so boring, and he doesn't know how you haven't already dozed off. Well, perks of the very person being your longtime crush, he supposes.

Actually he's not sure why he thought of that.

Anyway, he skips over that part, he has work to do. He's promised to get a tarp for Chanyeol, set up accommodation, and ensure the film crew doesn't end up homeless for the next few weeks.

He walks off, but he glances back.

Park Chanyeol really is very noisy.

Wonwoo

Okay, this is getting a little ridiculous.

Delia hasn't seen much of you after work. Seungkwan and Joshua haven't seen you either, except at the weekend cleaning when you're on sweeping duty, and sometimes at village meetings when you ask them if the apples you bought are of good enough quality. He watches as Joshua explains how to tell the difference between good apples and mediocre ones.

He hasn't seen you much either. He hasn't seen you come into the coffee shop for your daily coffee run on the way to the clinic, or walking around with Delia near the lighthouse that he knows you sometimes do around 9pm.

If he wanted to guess (which he doesn't, honestly), you were probably at the team dinners which Chanyeol is apparently very generous with, or with the producer himself, hanging out at a streetside stall or something. Which is ridiculous, because with the amount you could drink, he knew you were probably not one to turn down a party when you weren't being stiff and awkward.

Which was also ridiculous in itself, because--

Wonwoo stops himself. Everything about you is ridiculous. Everything he's feeling and thinking is absolutely bat-shit crazy.

Wonwoo's never been a crazy person. He's always been perfectly rational and cheerful, a nothing-can-get-me-down kind of guy.

He is.

That night, he makes sure to completely fill up his days ahead. Back to back. And no going to the clinic.

You

"Ah, I forgot my umbrella is with Delia," You mutter as the first heavy drops of the storm start to pelt down. "I just ordered this top -- agh---"

You decide to just make a run for it when the redness of the night sky indicates that the rain won't stop anytime soon. At least, you aren't driving this time around.

"Wait! Y/N!"

"Chanyeol?"

"What're you doing out -- you hate the rain. Get under here."

"Uh... thanks! It's late, shouldn't you get ready for filming in a couple days?"

"Last-minute checks on Grandma's house to make sure all's good." He grins. "But it's good that the weather is cooling a bit. Easier for us to film."

He shelters you with the umbrella as he takes you to your door.

"Oh, you're back -- hey, Producer." Wonwoo's leaning against the wall near your door, with no umbrella, and water starting to drip off his backpack.

"Chief Jeon!" You call over the sound of the rain as you near him. "Get under here, you told me you're more prone to colds --"

"It's okay," Wonwoo refuses, his face changing a little bit as he looks at you two. "I just wanted to drop this off." He ducks his head under the umbrella and hands you a brown paper bag which you accept, absolutely bewildered.

"What's this?"

"Fruits!" He has to raise his voice to be heard over the rain now. "Grandma Lee said to pass you some clementines since she said you liked them during the village meeting."

"Oh!" You lean in to take a look, but look up to shoot him a stern gaze. "Why'd you stay in the rain? You'll fall sick."

He snickers. "It's just a little rain. I have to patrol the roads up ahead to make sure all's good anyway. The rain here gets bad, and we can't have any more accidents happening."

"Wait!" Chanyeol calls as Wonwoo makes to leave. "I can go with you, we can share the umbrella. Don't fall sick trying to work so hard, Chief. Y/N, can you go on in--"

"Yeah, of course, don't worry about me -- Wonwoo, go with him, you'll be sheltered at least--"

"Hey," Wonwoo interjects, a half-smile appearing on his face. "Thanks for asking. I'll be fine, really. Producer, get Miss Doctor safely in the house, okay?" He raises his hand in farewell and darts off before you can say anything else.

"Chief Jeon--"

You look up the way he's going, a frown on your face.

"Happy first day of filming," You smile slightly as Chanyeol startles and turns to face you, his signature grin on full display.

"Hey there, thanks!" He says happily. "You'll stick around for the day?"

"Can't," You grimace. "I have work. But let me know how it goes, yeah?"

"Sure!" he waves. "Have a good day. Right I was about to ask, do you, by chance, want to --"

A loud cough and a clear of the throat interrupts and you both turn. It's Wonwoo trudging in your direction. Well, if the man underneath a pale complexion and eye bags is Wonwoo, at least.

"Damn, Chief Jeon," Chanyeol gapes. "Are you...good?"

"Splendid. The weather's good," Wonwoo replies, trying to nod but slowing it down, no doubt because of his throbbing head.

You march to him and press your hand on his forehead. "Hey. You're burning up!"

"Shhh, softer." He mutters. "My head hurts."

"Hey, man, take a day off," Chanyeol says, clearly distressed that his newfound right-hand man is ill. "We can deal with stuff over here. Uh, I can't send you home, but--"

"I can." You sling his arm over your shoulder, clicking your tongue as Wonwoo grumbles no. "No complaints. House call. We'll get going, Chanyeol."

"Yeah-- yeah!" Chanyeol pats Wonwoo on the shoulder. "Rest. Get well soon, okay?"

Wonwoo mutters something intelligible in response as you try to heave him away as gently as possible. The villagers are already staring, but it's the last thing on your mind.

"Hey, Chief Jeon?" You ask cautiously as you move. "Can you tell me roughly how to get to your house?"

His voice is all droopy and quiet, but you make out a few vague directions of "You're insufferable... left, up...ahead, and to the right..."

After the trip to his house takes double the time it usually would, given that he's already shaky on his own two legs and you have to move slowly, you try your best to tuck him entirely onto his sofa and look around for a comforter.

As you take his temperature, you survey his house. It's the first time you've ever been in his home, and it's the stark opposite of yours: the books are neatly shelved, his belongings exactly where they should be. There's a cozy, worn feeling to it like it's been lived in for a long time. Photo frames decorate the shelves, with books and small decorations, seemingly made of wood, arranged neatly.

You hear a groan, and you turn to see Wonwoo wincing as he tries to sit up. You sigh. "Don't get up. You took meds or ate today?"

"No," He grumbles, clearly put out by his current situation.

"Right, okay," You reply. "Can Mrs Woo send porridge over, or should I go buy some from her?"

"No chance," He mumbles, still trying to detangle his feet from the comforter you threw over him. "Jiwoo has a school play, she shut up shop for the day to see it."

You pause for a moment. "Okay...you've got rice in here?"

"Yeah....why..?"

"I'll make you something to eat with your meds. Back to sleep. Give me a while."

He sighs. "Don't bother. It's fine. I'll eat later with my meds. Off you go, shoo."

"Doctor's orders," You retort, and he groans in frustration, which almost makes you chuckle. "Rice is in the second drawer. Please don't burn my house down."

You almost (?) don't make edible porridge.

In your defence, the pot was small and the fire on the stove wasn't supposed to be that big. You're not sure if rice can be burnt, and can only hope that the salt and sauces you put in there at least salvage it a little.

Wonwoo is completely knocked out when you reach the living room, and you decide not to wake him up since he clearly needs the rest. You tuck the comforter under his chin again and get a tray of porridge ready, along with the meds you find.

After you put it on the table, you scribble a note and stick it to the table, and then turn to look at him.

He looks....cute. His hair is ruffled, his face soft in slumber, and he looks peaceful and undisturbed.

You sigh. "So you are a little cute when you have to be, huh?"

You lean over and brush the hair out of his eyes, and he lets out a soft sound and leans into your touch, like a cat.

Quietly, you stroke his hair, and after a few moments, he seems satisfied and stills again, evidently falling back into deep sleep.

A small pang comes to your heart, because he seems so small, curled up on his couch and sleeping off his fever.

Before you know what you're doing, you lean over and kiss his forehead.

And you then proceed to grab your things and run out of the house, in utter shock.

Fuck.

You just kissed Jeon Wonwoo.

Wonwoo

When he stirs, the house is quiet.

Wonwoo gets out of his comforter, yawning and massaging his neck from the awkward position he just came out of.

He spots the tray on the table, and he chuckles before reaching for the bowl. "She really did make food."

He spoons some out and takes a bite. "Oh, wow."

Then swallows it and muses, "How do you mess porridge up so badly?"

He picks up the Post-it note. "Eat it and then have your meds. Get well soon and don't skip meals. Call if you need anything."

Despite his drowsiness and the horrendous porridge, he finds it in him to smile.

Well, he thinks later as he stands to bring his empty bowl to the kitchen, at least you washed the dishes.

BONUS

"The clementines are fresh today," Grandma Lee tells him. "You take some home, got it?"

"Ah, got it, Grandma," Wonwoo says, before grinning at her. "Save more for yourself. I can always get more later."

She smiles back at him. "Don't forget to get more, then. They go stale really quickly. Right. That reminds me, I should ask Y/N to get some. She liked them during the village meeting, right?"

Wonwoo feels a little more alert at the mention of you. "Hm? Did she?"

"Yeah," Grandma Lee says. "Hm, maybe I should bring a bag to her house? She's busy nowadays."

"Ah, I'll do it," Wonwoo says, helping to pick some out and pack them. "It's tiring to make the trip, I've got it covered."

Grandma Lee beams at him in thanks, and Wonwoo applauds himself for seeming normal enough.

It's not like he's there to do anything more than be a friend anyway. It's not like he's going to have a chat with you, make sure you're not too busy with that noisy producer.

Definitely not.

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

🌼 summary: going back to the countryside where you grew up was at the bottom of your list. unexpectedly, your life changes course, and you eventually find your home in weekly village cleaning, the sound of the waves, and with the local jack-of-all-trades, jeon wonwoo.

🌼 pairing: wonwoo x reader fic (written, fluff, angst, hometown chachacha!inspired)

🌼 genre(s): fluff, mild angst, yn can be mean sometimes at the start (this is inspired by the kdrama hometown cha-cha-cha, so some parts of the plot and characters are similar), wonwoo is an overall sweetheart

ch.08: rumour mill

prev. masterlist. next.

🌼 taglist: @gaslysainz @lev1hei1chou @mingycr

writer's note: ok so i was originally planning to make her mad about the rumours BUT 👆 i decided that it wouldn't fit in anymore since number one: she's getting along better with wonwoo and everyone else, and number two: it's high time she had a bit of character development cos there is a fine line between being snappish and being an ass! thank you for readinggg~

btw i love chanyeol and everything exo too and i just felt chanyeol was perfect for the golden retriever film producer role :"

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Sorry but I think I lost your plot kiss WHEN (/silly)

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 27

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 4075

Embarrassing things always happen right before good things.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, Reader’s POV, Hiccup’s POV

<Previous - Next>

You didn’t pause in your quick scramble away, boots tapping against the wooden planks, though you kept your hands on your face, which felt as if it was on fire.

You were so embarrassed. You had no idea where you were going. 

You yanked your hands away from your eyes as you stumbled.

The sound of hurried footsteps over wood quickly became the sound of padded soles against grass as you reached the outskirts of the village, slightly crouching as you made to half jump half slide off a short ledge made by an outcropping of rocks, hand braced against the top of it. 

You heard the sound of the wind whistling a bit too late.

 Instead of the feel of solid ground underfoot, your stomach lept as you felt something enclose on you, gripping like a vice around your upper arms as you were tugged into the sky.

You let out a yell, half out of embarrassment, partly out of surprise as your feet left the ground, kicking in the air as if you’d still been running.

You glanced up quickly, in a way which hurt your eyes as they strained in their sockets, up towards the big black, scaly chest of a dragon. 

Claws curled and adjusted themselves securely around your arms in a way that was nearly uncomfortable, like if you were a sheep about to be scolded.

You heard what might have been a sorry get lost in the wind.

You knew you were screwed the moment you were pulled over the ocean, legs flailing soundlessly. 

You’d stopped putting as much effort into your wiggling as you’d gotten halfway from the island to the sea stacks on one end of Berk, wind blowing into your face so hard your eyes were almost squinted forcefully shut.

Your arms were stiff and unable to move because of the way Toothless was holding you and the force of his vault through the sky. He wasn’t clenching as hard as he could have been, still light enough that you could feel the drag of the air against your sleeves.

You flew dangerously close to the tops of the stacks and you yelped as he let go, leaving you to stumble and nearly fall off the other end as Toothless circled backs, turning incredibly sharply and loudly, clumsily hopping to his feet behind you.

The sea far, far below bobbed and crashed against the side of the sea stack, which felt much too thin for you to be comfortable.

You felt blown through, that same sharp feeling rising and shivering sharply through all your limbs as if you were falling through the air already as your vision zoomed in and out comedically, like you were watching a distance shot in a cartoon.

You shivered in a way that was cold and tingly and unsettling in the way shivers were only when you had a fever.

You could hear Hiccup ‘Woah-ing’ and asking his dragon, “What the hel was that for?” as you pinwheeled your arms by the edge, the toes of your boots tipping dangerously against the place sunny green moss became smooth stone.

He  quickly rushed up behind you, tipping you back as the wind let out a particularly rough gust against your back.

You felt the collar of your tunic pull, tugging you back presumably by the gentle drawn force of Hiccup's fingers.

“Be careful-”

You landed on your butt against the hard-ish rock, making a sour noise in the back of your throat, nearly falling backwards.

“Sor-sorry,” You glanced up vaguely to see the apologetic, hurried expression pasted on Hiccup’s face as you scooted back clumsily.

You didn’t stop scooting until you were on ground you deemed was safe, which was a hard guess given the sparse distance the top of this sea stack covered. It only spanned maybe three lengths of your height.

You were just a few feet away from the edge, Hiccup backing up behind you in order to make space.

Your heart picked up at the thought, drumming in your chest like hands on a small bongo.

You weren’t sure how you were going to explain just about… Anything, to Hiccup.

A further ways away, meaning only about a yard or two, Toothless was perked and crouched as if to rush after the two of you -both you and Hiccup- if you fell, scrunched up uncomfortably to make up for the little room by the other edge of the stack.

After some grumpy grawping and the extending of his wings as you turned, which made you want to lean away, he jumped to another sea stack, flapping his wings clumsily in an effort to propel himself over.

“What was that- back there?” Hiccup dropped to his knees in front of you as you made a clumsy effort to scoot back around.

“What do you mean?” You squeaked, though you knew a hundred percent what he was talking about, your shoulders so stiff they were nearly at your ears.

The thin dusting of grass and moss under your hands was damp with dew and other sea things, water gathering around your fingers as you shifted from where you leaned back on your arms.

 Hiccup furrowed his brows.

“Do you… I mean-!” His face looked a bit reddish as if he’d been sunburned.

“I don’t-I don’t know?” You responded, stuttering.

“But-”

“You were going to kiss-” His face was a thick puce color now and you weren’t sure if it was because of you or if he was going to have a stroke, “Why did you run away?”

“I-I-”

“Are you-you're shy-?!” Hiccup asked, leaning forwards on his hands and knees. He probably hadn’t met anyone who’d been shy in a moment ever in his life besides Fishlegs, maybe. Did he know that was a thing you could do? “So is it fine if I-?”

“No! I mean, yes? But there-” You inhaled a large, shaky breath, “I mean, you can, but-”

With mild frustration, Hiccup leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

It happened too quickly for you to liken it back to anything. He moved suddenly and it was nothing more than a press, clumsy and a bit uncomfortable as in one instant one of his front teeth mashed against your lip.

The hairs on the back of your neck pricked and you couldn't tell if it was from unease or something else but you could feel your face heating even further anyways, even as his hand shook, thin fingers falling sort of uneasily over yours.

You weren’t sure if it was a flattering kiss or not. You would definitely thing about it and wonder later, retrospectively.

You sat there, your eyes still open, neck scrunched slightly back in a way that definitely gave you a slight double chin.

Your jaw and shoulders were stiff though you couldn’t think of much else besides that fact that you were there and so was Hiccup.

You couldn’t register anything else, not with any sort of permanence, besides the fact that his lips were dry, probably from flying all the time and letting the forge smoke dehydrate them. But you couldn’t help but to find that charming.

You could feel his arms standing unsteady too as you pulled our hand out and reached forwards, grabbing onto his sleeves, stiff and twitching and firm through trying to be nothing but malleable.

You didn’t push him away.

You closed your eyes and with what you knew, you tried your best to make it something good.

It was a simple thing but it strung something sharp and thin and incredibly raw, sending odd tingles up your legs like sharp growing pains, a feeling you’d become quite familiar with on Berk, though you weren't sure if that was good or bad.

It was definitely weird being so out in the open. The breeze was strong against your back, making you feel sort of translucent and hollow.

You both parted naturally, separating with wide eyes.

You were enamored. 

There was nothing else you focused on but you and Hiccup on the sea stack, and vaguely a quietly displacement of air from somewhere around, a whistled flapping that could have just been the sound of the wind whistling through the narrow crevices in the stacks or Toothless having his fun jumping around and laughing at the two of you.

“I-I- uh,” Hiccup stammered.

You flushed a dusty something, heat dancing over the upper part of your cheeks.

And it was you who initiated another light press like butterfly kisses, a bit too forceful as you threw too much weight behind your hands, still shakily holding onto his arms.

In an effort to balance, the two of you fumbled, Hiccup grabbing onto your arms maybe a bit too hard, pushing you backwards.

You fell onto your back, bumping your foreheads. It was slightly jarring.

You pulled back quickly and with shut eyes, you managed a press of lips to his crown, slightly damp skin and hair pressing against yours.

“Hiccup!”

You both startled, your eyes going wide as Hiccup’s brows furrowed, head turning sharply.

The voice came from- You looked around, though Hiccup seemed to find where his Dad was before you.

 “Dad- What-?” He spoke eventually, voice prickly.

The Chief was on his dragon. Thornado. …And then there was  Gobber.

He was on a purple dragon -a Nightmare- with a large wingspan, definitely borrowed because you knew he didn’t have a dragon. He and it were bobbing and nearly ramming into Thornado as the sour-looking mount dealt with Gobber’s clumsy waving, his arm on its horn and the rapid shifting of his weight as he spoke and gestured.

They were too far away for you to feel anything but a gentle breeze from the beat of their dragons’ wings, though what they had in distance, they more than made up for in vocal range.

You broke out into nervous laughter, letting your head fall back against the grass, wincing when you felt your skull hit stone, “ow.”

“-Well, we go’ nothin’ to worry about then, eh Stoick?” Gobber chortled. You hadn’t caught the first part of that sentence but you could definitely guess at what he had been talking about. You didn’t want to, though.

Hiccup got off of you, sitting up and quickly pulling away the arms by your head as if he’d been burned, nervously rubbing them off on his fur coat, which had you quirking your lips at him with a skeptical frown.

“I’ll leave yeh to it!” Gobber cheered gruffly before kicking his dragon in the chest with his prosthetic. 

The dragon looked as if it was on its last straw, glaring and grumbling up at him in deep, reverberating, raspy growls, yet it turned anyways, nearly whacking the Chief in the head. 

And then after a few moments of silence and listening to Gobber wrestle and argue with his temporary dragon, it was just you and Hiccup and Stoick and the dew dampening the back of your shirt.

“Son,” Stoick seemed incredibly uncomfortable, glancing towards you. His shoulders were slightly hunched, arms closer to the base of Thornado’s neck than his sides, which was awkward as there wasn’t much he could do to be smaller.

You felt incredibly self conscious, aware now that there was nothing keeping you to the floor while the Chief was hovering right in front of you.

It was then that you found it pertinent to sit up, dusting off your sleeves and sort of shivering and shaking your shirt, holding it out at the base, in an effort to clear anything you could off the back.

You didn’t think it was soaked through, just damp enough for you to feel a slight chill when you were laid down, so whatever was there would evaporate on its own in its own time.

You wondered how something so high up could be so wet.

You didn’t look anyone in the eyes.

“I will see you back at the village,” You heard Stoick confirm gruffly to his son before you heard the obvious sounds of him leaving on his dragon, “...It’s about time.”

“Oh, Gods,” Hiccup said, finally, as you turned your attention away from your tunic and the grass and the slight burning of your neck, “My Dad-”

You saw him out of the corner of your eye and heard him clearly- Toothless seemed to have been laughing at him a ways away, chortling in deep inhuman tones. Something about the whole situation seemed to tickle his lizard brain.

“-I can’t believe it,” Hiccup finished, hand on his face. 

You wanted to squeak or curl up into a ball right there in the stack, knees up to your chin, or something. You weren’t sure when the last time was that you’d been a part of something so embarrassing.

“What-?”

“I mean, for the past few years I’ve been trying to-” He turned quickly to you then, as if realizing something, “Did you know that I-?” 

“What-?” You wanted to ask what he meant but you knew. 

The clamoring for attention from something was impossible to miss- the fact that you’d just always seemed to be in its general vicinity, now that you had hindsight, was indubitably harder.

“That I-You,” You knew what he was trying to say- really, your thoughts were going a mile a minute and you guessed his were too. 

“I kind of knew but I kind of didn’t? I don’t know,” You burst out, squalling, “But why- me?”

“I think you’re really- Great?” Hiccup said, “I think you’re great.”

You were slightly confused by that, but it sounded like it meant something to him. 

It would mean something to you. If there was anyone you were going to date, then it would be him.

“I- are you sure?” You asked quickly.

He was the most normal guy on the island- average and smart and snarky when he didn’t think you were looking in ways that made you feel at home sometimes.

He was your closest friend- the closest friend that you had in your age group, anyways.

You weren’t sure whether angry fishermen or bulky older women counted.

“What?”

What were you worth to him? Could he even date you? Really?

It was a jarring thought- mostly jitters that had come to interrupt your quick back-and-forth stutter fest. 

You’d been over it a million times already.

Hiccup was so much- He went from a character to a person to someone you might want to spend beach days with and go on picnics with and help out in the forge with small things.

Was it fair, when parts of his life were laid so plain out for you to see? 

Sure, a few pieces ad been missing and a few things hadn’t really gone the way you’d expected but you knew things about his past and future you, under normal circumstances, would have had no right to know

“You don’t know where I’m from, and I can’t- I’m not sure if I can tell you?” You said pitifully, as Hiccup furrowed his brows, “I don’t know how. I mean- If we’re… I want to be honest.”

He was confused.

You would be freaked out if he wasn’t.

You were crazy, compared to everyone else on the island. This alone was enough to make you crazy, if you didn’t consider any of the other things you’d brought back from the future.

You knew the Viking equivalent of the looney bin was Outcast island, thrown into chaos definitely, now that Alvin was missing. They tended not to be kind to girls, you heard.

If they had any, they were never in good enough shape to show face during war. You had a hard time believing they weren’t all dead, with the way the other Vikings talked about it.

“We can… Work on that,” Hiccup said finally, looking a bit confused, hands pressed flat on the grass in front of him.

Yeah, you could do that.

You hoped he didn’t wonder about why you couldn’t tell him. If he kb=new, he’d think you were insane. Thankfully he didn’t seem to mind too much- he brushed it off pretty quick.

He seemed fine, but he didn’t understand. He wouldn’t.

What would he do, if he ever found out?

You knew what was going to happen with the Red Death -what was going to happen with him- beforehand and you did nothing. Was this something you were going to have to die with?

You supposed things didn’t need to happen now, there was always an eventually. You were going to have a hard time breaking a few things to him, though, when that time came.

You would be dropping hints, though. You owed him and yourself that.

Things didn’t need to be the same, either. If sameness was any sort of real metric, then you would have thrown off its geiger like a bag of salt to the pH of a pool.

He wasn’t supposed to be here at this moment with you, and yet he was.

“So,” Hiccup suggested with a dumb, slightly guilty look, shrugging as you tugged your feet underneath your knees in criss-cross position, “Pick up where we left off?”

“I-” You paused, and raised your eyebrow at him.

Were you really just going to pick up where you’d left off? Right after his Dad left. Wow.

Hiccup looked almost guilty, mostly eager.

You pursed your lips and thought about it for a moment longer, then you laughed hysterically with nerves, cheeks flushing, nearly biting on your nails, nodding, “I guess so.”

You leaned forwards and Hiccup followed suit before you paused for just a second, heart pounding, thinking back to the moment you shared down by the plaza. Did you really have the courage to try this again?

You would definitely be crossing a line, walking straight and completely face-first into crazy the way you had been trying to avoid most of the time you’d spent on Berk, not that you’d succeeded in that front in the first place.

If this was your life now, was it worth it?

You had to say it was.

You clenched your eyes shut and leaned further before you could be deterred by either your own nerves or Hiccups wide-eyed stare. Then you yelped as something small and very, very hot hit your back.

You startled as you were uninterrupted again, hooking your arms under Hiccup’s as you fell forwards. 

You were fifty percent sure you’d heard a sizzle and a pat as whatever it was fell off, tumbling against the sea stack.

You made sure he fell down on the wide side of the stack, the two of you sliding back slightly on damp moss, all elbows and noses on sharp bones.

Hiccup grabbed at your elbows and you nearly slipped as you tried to sit up, turning and scooting around, pulling your knees up to your face as you reached a clumsy hand back to vaguely pat at where it had hit you.

It didn’t sting or burn or anything else so you hoped there wasn’t anything you needed to care for there.

It was glowy and orange and very, very tiny, uncurling itself and hopping around wherever it could find dry moss and grass, singing it underfoot.

This small glowy thing was recognizable to you like a sentence you read briefly once from a passage in a book, though you hadn’t known it -laid eyes on it, had time to become more familiar with it- for very long.

It was the tiny Fireworm from Fireworm island. The first one, as you’d remembered, who’d come to you to retrieve some sandwich. The one who reminded you of Hiccup. Sandwich was too good a boon not to run after, you supposed.

“Is that….?” You asked, anyway.

“What,” Hiccup started, before trailing off, having sat up behind you. You had glanced backwards at him as if to confirm, though there was no one else on the sea stack but you, so it was a kind of stupid thing for you to do.

In front of you, he -the Fireworm- was quivering and skittering and... Dancing? It was sort of like how he had done it before, many small arms waving in enthusiastic greeting, even as it’s eyes stayed wide and unmoving,

The little guy squirmed and danced around in front of you, waving many arms like a small bee trying to communicate hellos and celebrations. 

That could have been it. He was from a hive.

The little guy looked like he’d had a long journey, sort of patchy in his glowingess, and you wanted to pick him up but you knew he’d burn your hands.

You wondered if he’d really flown all the way across the ocean to you guys. It couldn’t have been too harrowing. Many of the other Fireworms made it over and back regularly.

Still, though. He looked like he needed a few sandwiches.

Hiccup shook off his coat besides yours, bringing the leathery inside down, scooping the Fireworm up, carefully wrapping it in his furs in a way that kept most of the dry, fluffiest parts away from its glowing.

“Is it going to burn?” You asked. It would be bad if his furs turned to kindling.

Hiccup looked over at you uneasily, “I hope not. I did try and fireproof it before, but… We’ll just have to see.”

You didn’t know he did that. You hadn’t been spending as much time around the forge- driven away by nerves and other shy things.

If you were standing, you would have scuffed your feet into the grass. You pulled your knees higher up under your chin instead, listening to the deep swoosh of air under leathery wings as Toothless gilded back behind you

You hadn’t been paying as much attention to the big dragon, probably off laughing on his own and staring off into the distance, admiring the world in ways animals sometimes did.

He leaned his large, scaly head over the both of you and sniffed at the little Fireworm.

Hiccup looked at you out of the corner of his eye, an expression that came off as sly even as Toothless threatened to droop over his head, trying to get a closer look at the worm.

Hiccup held the Fireworm out further, away from Toothless.

Your heart calmed and the adrenaline pounding in your ears faded, though you were still on high alert.

“What does he eat?” You asked anxiously, though Hiccup’s attention was still on Toothless and the Fireworm, he didn’t answer, so you said, slightly petty, “... I should probably ask someone, later.”

Things had nearly come to what felt like a nice emotional diminuendo.

Hiccup frowned slightly, resisting the urge to grumble pettily in the back of his throat as he handed the Fireworm in the coat over to you.

He wasn’t as great at categorizing and taking down notes on dragons. He knew a lot, but he was sure he wasn’t the one you meant to ask later. He was right there, after all.

He knew who you meant to ask.

Fishlegs.

He knew on some level that Fishlegs wasn’t into you, but he was always anticipating a change, or something from the large boy. It didn’t help that he had no idea how you felt about him at all.

“Fishlegs is really into Ruffnut,” You suggested.

You picked the Fireworm up carefully, with large eyes as it squirmed slightly in your hold.

Hiccupfelt pretty pleased with that answer, sitting a bit straighter.

“Really?”

“Yeah, he spends all his time thinking about her. When he’s not thinking about Dragons. His mother complains about it a lot.”

Like the end credit scene of a movie, you sat next to each other, looking out over the empty ocean side of the sea stack, the only thing in front of you being a short cropping or rocks sticking out from the ocean and a large-looking stone arch also dusted with moss and whatever plant could have somehow made it over here from Berk.

You held the little Fireworm in your hands in Hiccup’s vest jacket.

“I guess maybe he isn’t so bad after all.”

You hummed in agreement, though your voice was tinged with slight confusion.

It seemed you were still in denial about a few things, after all. 

Hiccup still really wanted to kiss you.