#i was like pressed against my pillows in the sheer amount of “OH MY GODS SHIP” that screamed in my head man | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shootybangbang · 3 years ago

Note

Can i request an Arthur/sadistic female reader please？i really want to see him all messed up because of...you know🥺

(btw, pls check out the requester's art. her arthur content is 😩👌)

[Oneshot]: In which you still don't know how to tie an overhand knot

[Rating]: Explicit

[Note]: this is so fucking horny that i feel i have to apologize in advance. unedited and a little rough around the edges, feel free to point out errors or give criticism

———

“Huh,” you muse aloud. “Looks like the gallery’s putting up a new exhibition this weekend.”

With one hand, you spread the newspaper across the bed and skip to page three. With the other, you continue to stroke Arthur’s cock, twisting your wrist a little to smooth your palm against its dripping tip. The man himself groans as you touch him, and the frame of his body trembles beneath where you’ve straddled yourself over his thighs.

His breaths are quickening again. “Please,” Arthur rasps, his voice hoarse with exertion and desperation alike. You indulge him with another slow, teasing pump of your fist as you continue to pick through the St Denis Tribune, humming thoughtfully as you peruse the newspaper’s Arts and Entertainment section.

“I’m beggin’ you, girl.” He sounds as though he’s teetering on the very edge of agony and ecstasy, and venturing perilously close to the latter. “C’mon. Please.”

“Looks like it’s mostly Impressionists this time. Let’s see here… a selection of Seurats and Monets… a couple Renoirs… oh, some Degas too?” With a mild expression that belies the depth of torture you’ve been putting him through, you slow your hand to a stop. He makes a choked, unhappy noise in the back of his throat that you heartily ignore. “That’s pretty bold of them, considering the reception they gave that Chatenay fellow you told me about.”

Growling, Arthur starts fumbling with the (admittedly badly tied) restraints securing his arms behind his back, twisting his wrists in an attempt to find a loose end.

“Easy there.” You run the pad of your thumb along the ridge delineating the head of his cock, slicking against the precum beaded at its tip. “I’ll give you what you want soon enough.”

“Been hearin’ you say that for almost half an hour now,” he replies, glaring. “You enjoyin’ yourself?”

“Immensely.”

“Better savor it while you can, because I promise you — I’m gonna remember this the next time I get you beneath me.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? What‘re you gonna do then?”

“Untie me and I’ll show you,” he says.

“No,” you reply with a beatific smile.

He narrows his eyes and lowers his voice to something smooth and dangerous: the sort of tone you’ve known him to use for threats he actually intends to follow through on. “When it’s my turn,” he says. “I ain’t gonna tie you up. Won’t need to. Because with you, all I need is my hands.”

A shiver runs down your spine. The man’s wrists may be bound, but you’re still very much at his mercy. In all actuality, your authority here amounts to only a length of rope and his own good humor.

You let out a soft, involuntary whimper at the very thought of it.

“Gonna pin you down when I fuck you,” he continues. He’s smirking now, clearly enjoying the demonstrable effect his words have on you. “Lay you down on your stomach and keep you under me, where you belong.”

You’re half-tempted to loose the rope and let him do just that. Instead, you grab the hem of your shift with both hands and pull the garment over your head in a single fluid motion. It’s 1899, after all. High time for a woman to take charge of her own pleasure.

The dim glow of the oil lamp bathes your bare skin in a wash of gold and amber as you settle yourself against him, pressing the wet line of your slit along the length of his cock. “Go on,” you tell him. “What else?”

Arthur swallows hard and licks his lips, then draws in a sharp intake of breath as you roll your hips forward — just a brief stir of movement, but more than enough to make him twitch beneath you. “Drive you to the brink the same way you’re doin’ to me now,” he says weakly. “Take my time with you, nice and slow. Make you really beg for it.”

“Mm-hmm.” Another roll of your hips, this time with just enough pressure to grant him a touch of warmth.

Finally, he breaks. And it’s truly a sight to behold: Arthur Morgan, a man who you’d thought would break your spine like a toothpick the first time you’d met, openly begging for the simple privilege of being allowed between your thighs.

“God, please,” he groans. “You can’t do this to me. Can’t let me feel how wet you are and just leave me like this.”

“Of course I can.” You relent. “But I won’t. So be a good boy and stay still for me, alright?”

His cock weighs heavy in your hand as you guide him between your thighs. Arthur lets out a harsh gasp and instinctively thrusts upwards — but you immediately withdraw, and he finds nothing but the cruel emptiness of absence waiting to receive him.

“Thought I told you to stay still,” you repeat sternly.

He nods with the frantic desperation of a badly-trained dog begging for a meal. Hungry and eager, but standing to attention with as much obedience he can muster. Which isn’t much, even on the best of days, but he is trying. And for that, he deserves something in return.

You take him in slowly, both out of principle and necessity. Just a taste of him first, then the gradual descent, a long and drawn out consumption that he has barely the means to endure.

His gaze still hasn’t left you. There is an intensity in it that once might have frightened you, an azure bright as broken glass and twice as sharp. The purity of emotion in them strikes you to the bone, makes your throat tighten and your dominance waver — there is a depth of devotion there that borders on the absolute.

When you move against him, he squeezes his eyes shut against the sheer force of sensation that floods through. Arthur makes a low, pained noise in the back of his throat and confesses, “I ain’t gonna last long.”

You lean forward and kiss him, then start a slow, rocking motion with your hips that spurs him to whimper your name against your lips, a small cry of warning before you feel the first twitches of his cock. Arthur bucks up once, twice, then shudders beneath you as his seed pulses deep, blooms hot and slick inside your core.

“Goddammit,” he hisses. “Didn’t think I’d— ah, fuck…”

You ride on, grinding through the last, weakening throbs of his orgasm and until he lets out a final, heavy sigh. Arthur regards you with loose-limbed exhaustion, lolling his head against your pillows as he flashes you a drained, weary grin. “Alright,” he says. “Untie me and get up here so I can—”

“No need,” you say brightly, then lift your hips in a brief mockery of release before sheathing him again and sending him reeling into oversensitivity.

Arthur’s eyes roll back in his head. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he gasps, wincing. “What’re you—”

“Too much?”

“Didn’t say that,” he says. His jaw is clenched tight and his voice is faint, but the look on his face is one of stubborn determination.

You test him with another slow, sinuous slide of your hips. This time, he meets you with a shallow thrust of his own. He’s breathing hard, each exhale shivery with exertion. “Keep goin’,” he urges. “I can take it.”

The added lubrication of his come eases the friction of him, soothes the inevitable ache of penetration. You settle for an unhurried, leisurely rhythm that allows you to fully appreciate the slickness of each stroke, the accompanying warmth of his seed still spread through your core.

Arthur’s gaze darts downwards to the base of his shaft, where the drip of his come has begun to pool. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Just beautiful.”

He snakes his right arm free from his bonds and abruptly flips you onto your back with a well-timed shove.

“What— how did you…?”

“Sweetheart,” Arthur says, his voice warm and affectionately condescending. “You still can’t tie an overhand knot for shit.”

“But I double-checked this time!”

“Not very well, apparently.” He hitches your thighs around his waist and cages you in beneath him, then lowers his mouth to the slope of your neck. A brief, gentle nip — not hard enough to hurt, but more than enough to convey his renewed authority. “God, but you’re a greedy little thing, ain’t you?” he growls against your skin. “Just one load of my spend ain’t enough?”

“Thought you’d appreciate the challenge, since you’re always so— oh, shit,” you gasp, clutching at his shoulders when he drives himself downwards with a sharp, savage thrust.

“Go on.” Arthur says. He’s panting now, his dark blond hair slicked against his forehead with sweat. “Weren’t you sayin’ somethin’ about me?”

You let out an indecipherable whine that bears only a passing resemblance to human language.

“My poor girl,” he murmurs, low and tender. Arthur cups the side of your face against his palm and traces his thumb over your cheekbone, then presses a chaste kiss to your brow. “Can’t even talk right when I’m fucking her proper.”

He’ll no doubt be insufferably smug about this later, but you can’t quite bring yourself to care, distracted as you are by the view of him rutting against you, his shaft still streaked with his previous release. He’s fucking his own come back into me, you think to yourself, and that thought alone blinds out all else and leaves you blank with pleasure.

Arthur takes you hard and fast. Far rougher than his usual handling, which can sometimes be almost excruciatingly cautious. He kisses you clumsily, then lowers his mouth to the junction of your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting until the first, faint traces of tomorrow’s bruises begin to darken.

And with this, it’s not long before the first delirious ripples of your own orgasm begin to crest.

Every muscle drawn and tensed, dissolving into an inward ache of arousal that spurs you to grip him tight and whimper, eyelids fluttering as you struggle to keep his face in view. With a fierce satisfaction, you savor the sudden weakness in his expression when he feels you contract against him, then his harsh groan and the stutter of his hips as he follows, spilling what seed he has left.

Arthur keeps himself hilted until the very last shivers of exhilaration fade, then pulls away with a reluctance usually reserved for long farewells. The overflow of his come is thick and heavy as it drips from between your thighs, and the look on his face as he beholds it is one of tired appreciation.

Then he flops onto his side, totally spent. “You’re a real demon,” he sighs. “You know that?”

“A real demon would go for round three,” you reply faintly, staring dreamy-eyed up at the ceiling.

Arthur groans at the mere suggestion of it. “I think that’d actually kill me.”

When you curl up against him, he automatically throws an arm over your side, the action at this point an instinct secondary only to breathing, and brushes his mouth over the back of your neck.

As you ebb towards sleep, you murmur as an afterthought, “Didn’t you say you were gonna make me beg?”

He lets out a weary chuckle. “Well,” he says, “There’s always tomorrow.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #rdr2 #red dead redemption #fic #smut #my work #this makes my kinks so apparent that i want to crawl into a hole and die #sorry for being gross :’^)

239 notes · View notes

danniburgh · 4 years ago

Text

Rushingly Bittersweet (Javier Peña x f!reader) part 25

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel’s operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn’t seem to stop any of that.

Word count: +3.5k

Chapter warnings: smut, (unprotected p in v), a bit of mutual masturbation, a lot of exposition lol, brief mention of drugs

A/N: This chapter is set after season three. // So, last chapter my dudes; im so happy but sad that the main series is ending but so satisfied of everything we’ve done together, i have a fuckton of people to be grateful for but honestly i rather do that in private. I just wanna say that im so happy for the attention this fic has gotten and im so grateful for everyone that has read, liked, commented and reblogged this piece of my heart; i owe you <3. And its not the end of this universe, we’re still gonna see slices of Flor and Javi along the years after this story. I love them and i love you.

ao3 // fic index // Masterlist // fic playlist

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓 let me know if you wanna be tagged

←previous //

gif: @pescopadral

A big breath of air left your lungs and the already known sinking of the light that woke you up almost every morning made your brain half conscious; Summer sunrises in Texas made you open your eyes earlier than you wanted, you didn’t know if it had something to do with the position of the house, that the sun entered the room through the beige sheer curtains and nagged at your eyelids as if it was eager for you to see it or the overall fact that you weren’t able to sleep with light.

You whined softly when you opened your eyes and covered them with your forearm as the amount of light that hit your face directly hurt you; you had been living in that town and waking up in that bed for almost a year and you couldn’t seem to get used to the amount of light that entered the rooms almost all day.

You opened your eyes slowly and rubbed the sleep off them, making a mental note to buy another sleeping mask whenever you went downtown, as Pepe had destroyed the one you had.

You stretched on the bed and let your arms drop to the sides, your right arm falling on a warm lump that let out a muffled groan at the hit.

“Mornin’.” you muttered, shifting to your side, putting a hand under the pillow to face him, he was on his belly, hands under his pillow, his eyes were closed but you knew he was already awake. A small smile grew on your face at his half asleep face and the messy case of wavy bed hair he so easily pulled off.

“No.” he mumbled in that hoarse voice of his you only got to hear in the mornings and shoved his face in the pillow, you bit your lip and eyed the bit of the skin of his back you could see before the sheet that covered both your bodies began.

“Javi, I’m hungry.” you whispered, reaching to his naked shoulder and sliding your hand to his nape, he sighed.

“Go to my dad’s,” he mumbled, the pillow muffling his voice, “today he’s making pancakes.” you snorted at him, your fingers scratched at his nape and you shifted to get closer to him.

“I’m not walking to his house to steal his food, Javier,” you chastised him in a low voice and left a small kiss on his shoulder. “and I have a different kind of hunger.” you murmured on the skin of his arm.

Javier lifted his face out of the pillow just enough for you to see his grin, he raised an eyebrow and you nodded once.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” he said, making you chuckle, he slid off his hand from under the pillow and reached out for you, shifting on the bed to lie on his side, you stirred closer to him and cupped his face to take his lips on a kiss.

“What an excellent way to go.” you teased against his lips, Javier chuckled and licked your bottom lip to nibble at it between his, his hand slid to your naked back and his warm fingers made their way to the bottom of it, the sheet going down with them, leaving your top half uncovered and at his mercy.

Javier’s kisses traveled down to your jaw and your neck, leaving sloppy nibbles at the skin and he smiled at the smell of your body; a mix of your coconut soap, laundry detergent from the bedding and his cologne, that had a habit of clinging to you since the first day you slept next to him on your house.

One of your hands wrapped around his neck and you brought him closer to you, your breasts brushing the skin of his chest and you shivered when your nipples hardened because of the contact, your other hand sneaked from his shoulder to his chest, all the way down his tummy and then to his half-hardened cock; Javier shivered slightly when you took him in your hand and started giving him lazy strokes to get him ready for you.

Javier sighed and the warm air that left his mouth collided against the wet skin of your neck and a wave of arousal came out of your core and slid slowly to your naked thighs; he moved his hand from your back to your thigh and down to your mound, brushing his fingertips softly on your covered clit until you folded one leg and opened up for him, his fingers found your slick escaping out of you and he eased his index and middle finger inside you, making you gasp.

“You’re always so wet.” he whispered against your skin and his tongue tasted the essence of your flesh as his fingers curled inside you, hitting several times that spongy part of you that made your legs tremble, your hand gripped his cock at the sudden shock of his pressure inside you and the hand that was keeping him close to you moved to his shoulder, and you pushed him to lie down on his back, his fingers sliding out of you and the hand on his cock never leaving him; you loved to feel him grow in your hand, only for you.

The sheet that covered you when you were sleeping was slowly kicked down the bed as you rouse from your side of the bed and straddled him, one knee on each side of his hips; his hands clasped immediately with yours, one dry and one wet with your arousal and you leaned down to cup his face with both hands and take his lips again with your own, his thumbs were making small circles around the skin of your hips and he moaned softly when you bit his lower lip.

“Get inside.” you whispered against his mouth and one of his hands left your body to grip his length, you lifted your hips and he played the tip of his cock on your wet slit, making you shiver when he made it press on your already swollen clit and found his way into you.

You sat on him slowly and you both sighed in relief once he was fully inside you; you slid your hands from his face to his chest and circled your hips slowly, Javier brought his hand to your jaw and pulled you to him, kissing you again and trying to let you know with his lips how much he needed you.

His hand helped you move on top of him as you started a tantalizing rhythm that was making you both gasp on each other's mouth, you smelled his morning breath and let out a soft chuckle at yourself; you didn’t mind it one bit.

“What?” he whispered when he heard you, moving his hand to your hips to help you circle faster.

“I like you very much.” you replied, he smirked in response and leaned up to give you a soft kiss; you slid your hands to his sides and under him, wrapping them around and gripping his shoulders to gain leverage and start moving on top of him, Javier moaned when your started bouncing your hips on him making his cock slide in and out almost entirely and his tip was already grazing at that soft spot inside you that made you whine his name.

“Fuck, baby.” Javier gasped when you hid your face inside his neck, moaning his name, he tightened the grip on your hips and folded his legs, planting his feet on the bed and meeting your movements half way, you gasped at the already known brushing of his cock with your g-spot and smiled when he made you stop your bouncing to pound into you.

“Fu–‌fuck, Javi jus–‌just like that.” you whispered in his ear and he let out a soft grunt when you clenched your walls around him, almost strangling him inside. Javier slid one hand to your upper back and pressed you tighter on his body, his lips and mustache brushing the skin of your shoulder as he and his thrust and the graze of his pubic hair on your clit brought you to pleasure.

You whined his name a couple more times as his warm breath on your skin along with his cock inside you helped build that knot in your lower belly; he started panting and you knew he was close to burst inside of you; so you moved your hand slowly towards the union of your bodies and started circling your clit at the rhythm of his thrusts; you started panting as well at the same time as him and you felt your orgasm come softly, your toes curled and your breath hitched as the knot inside your belly released at once and Javier drove into you a few more times, he moaned when you shoved your slick covered fingers on his mouth, and he sucked, the taste of you and him mixed made him cum and fill your pussy with that warmness of his you really loved feeling spread in and escape out.

“Oh, god,” you panted out, he let out a spent chuckle and hummed, agreeing with you, you tilted your head to his shoulder and kissed the warm skin “I love you.”

Your low voice against his skin made him smile and his hands started drawing shapeless patterns on the skin of your back and hips, he moved his face to your cheek and licked a thin stripe of sweat that ran from your ear to your jaw.

“I love you more.” he muttered.

“I wanna pee.” you said after a few seconds of panting and recovering from your own orgasms, Javier chuckled and disentangled his arms and legs from you.

“Now I’m hungry.” he let out after another spent sigh, making you laugh.

After a cold, shared shower and Javier trying to get inside you again but failing because of his stomach growling in need of food, a packed breakfast courtesy of your non-husband insisting on going to his dad’s and eat the pancakes he made and your usual hour of catching up with the news, Javier brought the truck to the entrance of the house and between the both of you packed the bed with a small cooler and some blankets.

Pepe was walking next to you, and Javier huffed at the dog when he licked your hand after you had offered him an ice cube from the cooler..

“Y’know…” you let out, patting the black dog’s head with your wet, icy hand, “the only thing I miss about Colombia is the weather.” Javier snorted.

“Yeah,” he replied, shoving Pepe to the side softly to close the truck’s bed’s lid “I had forgotten how hot Texas can be.”

“Where are you two chamacos going?” Chucho’s voice came from behind and both of you turned around at the same time, seeing him on his horse, with the hat you gifted him for Christmas perched on his head, Chucho smiled at the mirrored gesture you two made and you smiled at him with a hand on your forehead to cover your eyes from the sun.

“For a ride, pop.” Javier replied, putting his tinted sunglasses on. Chucho hummed in affirmation.

“Check the paddock’s fence while you’re there.” he let out and you smirked at him.

He knew exactly where you were going; he knew both of you like the palm of his hand, surprisingly to you he had learned to read you so well in so little time and while you appreciated it, it was also somewhat exasperating, but you loved him as if he were your own father already, so there was nothing you wanted to do to stop him.

Chucho had modified a saying after you and Javier’s escapades to the piece of land that adjoined with the Río Bravo, saying that it fit you two best; you can take the agents out of the DEA, but you can’t take the DEA out of the agents.

“¿Van a venir a comer?” (are you coming for lunch?) he asked, whistling at Pepe so the dog turned to him.

“Yeah, pero usted no haga nada,” (you don’t do anything) you replied, eyeing Javier over the corner of your eyes “Javi’s cooking.” you let out, making the old man chuckle.

“So we’re not eating.” he let out and you shared a laugh, Javier frowned and took off his sunglasses.

“No hablen de mí como si no estuviera,” (don’t talk about me like I’m not here) he said in a growl “stop ganging up on me.” you let out a loud laugh when he turned around to walk to the driver’s door and hop in the truck and you raised your eyebrows at Chucho.

“Don’t be late, Florecita,” he said, guiding the horse to the side “vente Pepe.” he called out to the dog and he followed the horse as Chucho led it to the opposite side of the land, to the stockyard.

You turned around as well, Javier had opened the door for you from the inside and you hoped in, he turned on the ignition as you closed the door and started driving to the farthest part of the ranch; the ride to the south part was quiet and quick, Javier didn’t say much and the comfortable silence filled the cabin until he parked the truck in the middle of the paddock.

“Oh, I lied just now.” you said while opening the door and getting out of the truck.

“What?” Javier frowned a bit because of the sun and you walked parallelly to him towards the back of the truck.

“There’s another thing I miss about Colombia.” you let out as he walked to the edge’s fence and tugged at two of the posts before walking back towards you.

“What’s that?” he asked, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them from his shirt.

“Real arepas.” you let out, Javier chuckled and reached for you, his hand found its spot on your waist and he pulled you to him, leaving a kiss on your cheekbone.

“I finished another chapter last night.” he whispered against your skin before stepping away and pulling down the truck’s bed’s door.

You raised your eyebrows at him, he was writing a lot for the book you and Connie had suggested him and Steve should write, just to help process everything they lived while in Colombia.

“Is that why you came to bed so late?” you asked, reaching for one of the blankets you had packed and unfolding it to spread it on the open door, Javier hummed in affirmation.

“Want you to read it before I send it to Steve.” he said, grabbing your hips and helping you sit on the truck, stepping closer while you opened your legs for him to stand between them and wrap his hands around your waist.

“Why?” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him even closer, he smirked.

“Just because.” he replied and shrugged softly, making you huff a silent laugh at him as you leaned towards his face and took his lips in yours; Javier hummed at the soft, dry contact of your lips with his and fisted the fabric of your shirt. You knew how hard it was being for him to remember all the things that happened down there, so sometimes he would end up with huge chunks of information missing that then he’d have to fix, so he was using you as his proofreader and you were more than happy to help, learning in depth things he didn’t dare to say out loud.

He opened his mouth after you brushed his lower lip with your tongue and you invaded him, tasting the minty flavor of the toothpaste.

He broke the kiss and you moved one of your hands to scratch at the short hair on his nape, Javier sighed softly and you took in his features; he looked like the man you had fallen in love, his deep, brown, expressive eyes were the same, his lips were too, the aquiline nose that you loved to kiss hadn't changed but you knew he was a slightly different man than the one you had met almost two years before in a foreign country.

That man was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders; traumatized and tired, his own spirit was hanging from a thin thread that was so tense it threatened with snapping at the smallest blow of the wind. But the man standing in front of you wasn’t that man, you could see some glimpses of his old self behind his eyes or when the day had been long; after all, years of being that Javier Peña had clung to him and became a custom; but he was fading into his own self, you were slowly meeting the man he was and the man he wanted to be, and you couldn’t be more in love with him.

Your hands brushed his brown waves and you smiled at him.

“You’re really pretty.” you muttered to him, Javier huffed and gazed at you.

“Am I?” he teased, you nodded twice.

“Very,” he caught when you whispered, “and handsome, too,” he let himself smile at your compliment, “and sometimes you’re funny.” you added and he huffed a laugh before closing the short distance between your faces.

The fact that he could have you so close to him, available to touch and kiss and hug and wrap his arms around made Javier feel like he couldn’t ask for anything else; he still didn’t think he deserved it, but he had learned to be selfish and to appreciate what he had in you and with you. Even if the feelings of what happened with you still hid inside his body when he saw you in your hardest days, even if his brain still whispered to him you would do the same if the opportunity came; he knew you better.

He had seen you stripe yourself naked to him and he had helped you rebuild yourself slowly.

He still was. As were you with him.

Javier knew who he was with and knew your strengths and your weaknesses, he had learned slowly to read you as you read him and he understood that your past, as hard as it was, was the thing that led you to him.

He would run through the same fire again if that meant he would have the chance to wake up next to you for as long as you two wanted. And he wanted to do it for the rest of his life.

You frowned when he broke the kiss.

“Are these gray hairs? you said in a feigned gasp, he rolled his eyes and smirked at you.

“Well, I’m old.” he obviated, stepping away from you and reaching for the cooler, dragging it closer.

“I don’t think you’re that old.” you said, he let out a chuckle as he opened the cooler and took out two beers, handing one to you.

“You don’t say the same when I ask you to rub my back after three hours sitting on the desk.” he teased, sitting next to you, you laughed and scooted closer to him, leaning on his shoulder and opening the can of beer.

“I’m definitely buying you that lumbar pillow.” you said, he let out a wheeze and turned his head to leave a kiss on the crown of your head, he opened his beer and you sipped at yours, seeing a small boat make its way through the water. You grinned and sat straight.

“This is the same one from last week,” you muttered, he hummed in affirmation “I think it’s the first one that has the same rower.”

“Maybe they’re running out.” Javier said, drinking from his beer.

“Wonder when migration is gonna start patrolling around here.” you leaned back onto his shoulder.

“Do you think old man Peña’s gonna let them enter?” he rhetored, and you looked at him.

“You mean you or your dad?” you teased, Javier grunted playfully, “he asked me when I’m giving him a grandkid again.” you said, returning your eyes to the small boat that made its way slowly through the river, not wanting to think about kids or the lack of them.

“Ese hombre no entiende.” (that man doesn’t understand) Javier let out softly, huffing at his father’s wishes.

“Maybe we can call Steve and Connie,” you suggested, brushing the odd feeling off your mind that talking about you having kids always made you feel “they can bring the girls down and maybe ease your dad’s baby fever.” Javier snorted.

“Maybe,” he muttered, downing the rest of his beer and pointing at the river with the hand that held the empty can “there goes another one.”

“That one’s new,” you said, drinking from your can and then handing it to him, “baby.” you called him.

“Mhm.” he took the beer from your hand.

“Do you think we’re still gonna be sitting here watching drugs being smuggled into the country when we’re gray and wrinkled as raisins?” you asked him, Javier chuckled at the question.

“Yeah,” he shifted to wrap his arm around your shoulders “why?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered “maybe we need to build a porch or a gazebo around here. I can’t push you into the paddock if you’re in a wheelchair.” you teased, and Javier let out a soft cackle.

“C’mon, amor, don’t be an ass.”

←previous //

let me know if you wanna be removed :)

pedrito's perma list: @northernpunk @pascalesque @sleep-tight1 @cheekygeek05 @bii-aan-ckaa @letaliabane @starlightmornings @mouthymandalorianalso @supernaturalgirl @metalarmsandmanbuns @purplepascal042 @asta-lily @greeneyedblondie44 @missswriter @juletheghoul @pedro-pastel @agirllovespancakes @maharani-radha

Javi's babies: @pulplorrd

RushBit tag list: @shestillwrites1 @absurdthirst @alliterative-albatross @thoughtfulpandawasteland @wifeofdindjarin @lank-sextburg @helloannbananalove @diogodxlot @pascalslittlebrat @sarahjkl82-blog @pedritobalmando @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @mamacitapascal @dobbyjen @callsigncatfish @feminist-violinist @jasmincita @pascalove @eury-dice3 @gingaahhhh @athalien @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics

#javier peña #Javier Pena #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fanfic #narcos #narcos netflix #narcos fanfic #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal #pedro pascal characters #rushingly bittersweet tag

186 notes · View notes

insufferablelust · 4 years ago

Note

mgg request: snuggling on the couch and getting bored. so u start playing with fingers, and then u just decide to suck them. u feel him slowly start to grow hard, so u suck harder and grind into him. next thing u know u are straddling his thigh. he makes u get off on his thigh a few times before he will let u ride him. once u start riding him he switches the hand from ur mouth to ur clit, thinking youre done sucking his fingers. however u grab his other hand and start sucking. im a WHORE (SORRY)

what do you do when one of your fav person in the whole world send a blurb idea? you give them your all of course, seriously i went into town for this one and i hope you like it love! shsjsk as always thank you for requesting and being my fellow mgg whore! enjoy!

WARNINGS : um.. SMUT! filthy detailed smut, its literally pwp, oral fixations, daddy kink, name callings (degradation), condescension, orgasm control, over stimulation, thigh riding, Dom!Mgg x Sub!Reader, mention of wedding, slight breeding kink, mention of exhibitionism, just whole lotta filth y’all no joke, mgg got me feel some type of ways by that i mean constantly whoreknee.

MASTERLIST OF ALL MY WORK.

It was a particularly sunny day, right from the moment you woke up this morning, you could feel how terribly hot it was but you quickly diverted your thoughts as soon as your eyes landed on the sleeping figure next to you, and you instantly felt the need to grip your pillow tighter, biting your lip at the sight.

Quarantine days is both a blessing and a curse for you and Matthew, the amount of time you get to spend together pleased you both to no end, the endless talk about certain things, the late night food deliveries, cooking together, even making stuffed animals together which is one of your favorite things to do with him because you love them cuties so much. But what’s so great about quarantine is of course the sex, the endless amount of sex all over the house, You’ve done it in the shower, bedroom, kitchen counter, dining table, on your living room, even the car multiple times after grocery runs— time doesn’t really matter either, it could be at night, mornings, afternoons, even god damn 3 am. If Matthew is up for it then i’m up for it, the same goes for Matthew too, if You’re up for it then he’s there in an instant. So lets just say that you’ve been needy all the time.

There he was, laying down on our bed, with only a flimsy boxer that barely covers half of his thighs— the sweat glisten across his chest and you can see the purplish marks you’ve managed to gave them last night are still prominent, the longer you’re looking at him, the more you want to wake him up and just fuck like rabbits all day.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Matthew chuckled as he opened his eyes to meet yours, licking his lips and press his palm on top of your cheeks . “Good morning too creepy stalker, how long have you been awake?” he said as he caressed your skin gently, you can feel his thumb pressing over your soft skin.

Before you were about to answer, your eyes catches a glimpse of his long fingers— now Y/n has always been fascinated with his fingers, there’s just something about it that gets her going, the memories of what it can do always floods her thoughts, like that one time where he fingered her in the middle of his annual family dinner, or that one time he had to make sure you were stayed quiet where he fucks you on a trailer with his cast mates all around, or the random times when he choke you, or stuff his fingers down your throat, or curled them up inside your cunt, everything about that man— your man is perfect down to the last detail.

“Someone’s thinking about something hm? care to share baby?” He keeps his thumb on the edge of your lips knowing damn well that if it inch closer upwards, you’ll surely suckle on the digits— and he won’t have that, not yet.

“definitely not thinking about you old man...” now that, that pushes his buttons like nothing else, your age gap is something very.. peculiar about you two, not far enough that its illegal but far enough for people to raise an eyebrow when they found out— not that you care about stereotypes, neither does he, you both love each other and you’re not breaking any law that’s enough. It even fuels up your relationship, makes everything much hotter, when it feels slightly wrong in the eyes of others.

“ah.. so if i push my fingers down your pretty little cunt, i won’t find you soaked through for me?” she clenched her walls around nothing at that, feeling her wetness dampening the small panties she’s wearing— god she wants him right now but its so good to push his buttons like this. So you rolled your eyes at him, sticking your tongue out before getting up and went to the shower.

You expected him to come chase you, but to your half disappointment half excitement— he went downstairs, sitting on the couch, and enjoying his morning tea. You knew what that meant, he’s mad, mad and turned on. Perfect. After you finished showering, you went downstairs to where he’s at, dressed in one of his oversize thin sheer t-shirt with no panties or bra underneath.

You instantly straddle his hips as you sat down on his lap— directly on the bulge in his boxers before you purr in Matthew’s ear “I’m sorry daddy, i didn’t mean to be such a tease, i just! want you!” you whined, tone bratty as you huff and pout your lips.

God Matthew is a patient man, but when it comes to you looking fuckable and needing to be taught a lesson like this, he has no fucking choice but to give you one.

“You knew better than to push me like that, little girl. Such a mindless baby.” he scoffed, his tone sending warmth down your cunt and you whimpered, before grabbing his wrist to press his thumb on top of your lips and suckle on it— its both calming and exhilarating.

“you and your oral fixations, what an innocent looking baby— but you’re not aren’t you? knowing full well how to get daddy going, so you came down the stairs wearing my shirt and nothing else. Act like a big girl but when i get my hands on you, you’ll just squirm and purr like a dirty little whore.” He can’t blame you- he surely can’t blame you that you begin to grind your bare cunt on his lap as you suck his thumb harder after he said those things.

He lets out a laugh as he sees how desperate you’re for him, grinding your cunt on his thigh practically riding it, as your cute little mouth almost gag on his thumb. Perfect little thing. Your eyes shot up to see his when his fingers goes up to pinch your nipples alternating between the two, pinching and tweaking it knowing how sensitive you are.

“Mmm! daddy!” You moaned through his lips, arching your back and move your hips faster, feeling him bounce his thigh couple of times just to hear you yelp. “Here’s what we’re going to do, you’re going to ride my thigh until i tell you to stop and maybe just maybe i’ll let you ride my cock, we have all day baby, this is what you’ve wanted isnt it?”

You whined out loud as your eyes brimmed with tears in clear desperation, you and Matthew have done this long enough to know that Matthew has a patience that goes on for miles. He could wait even though his cock is practically bursting, he could wait until he sees you all limp and overstimulated— and being a sensitive girl that you are, you know that you’ll be a mess once he’s done with you.

“oh and baby, you can cum whenever you want to..” He said, pressing a kiss on your forehead as he unlocked his phone and scroll down, not paying attention to where you’re literally riding his thigh and sucking on his thumb like a bitch in heat.

The dismissive attitude should offend you, but if it does anything, it riles you up even more— the way he can stay calm when you’re a mess that has come over and over again just by grinding against his thigh turns you on to no end. You continued doing as he commanded and you’ve been doing it for more than 45 minutes (you could swear its actually an hour) when he decided he’s seen enough, pulling out his thumb from your lips before using it to found your clit and give it a slap, rubbing the over sensitive button fastly. “Oh! oh Matthew! mm- ah i’m please need your cock!” Your body shake on his thighs as you let out your 5th orgasms this morning, your toes curl and your head slumped against his shoulder as he praises you “That’s it, my good girl Y/N, i love you.”

As much as you love your daddy, your Fiancé is the one who truly owns your heart and soul, so you droopily gaze your eyes at his underneath your lashes, grabbing his other hand and suckle on his other thumb earning yourself a chuckle from Gube. “Your mouth always needs something to fill it up, doesnt it kitten? greedy little thing” He shakes his head as he use his other hand to pull out his cock, you never knew that cock could be pretty until you met him, His cock always makes you want to cockwarm him all the time— the skin is veiny, its not too long but its big.. stretches you out so good that has you limping the next day, and the tip is ruddy red- pre cum spurting from the top. Fuck, you want him to pound your throat then and there.

“Shh shh, sweet girl, let me do all the work this time yeah? just suck sit pretty and suckle, be my good doll.” He whispered before pushing his cock into your warm wet tight cunt, causing you to jolt at the over sensitivity and moans out loud, “Thats it, take it little girl, being such a good girl for me.” He rasped before laying you down on the couch and pound his cock into you in a fast pace.

“You’re so tight, Y/N” at hearing that your walls clenched around him as you starting to feel the familiar tight knot on your belly, you’re so overstimulated that it doesnt take you long at all to cum all over his cock, letting out choked out whimper and sobs “That’s it, keep coming pretty girl, gonna be good and let me finish inside- fuck right?”

You nodded your head drowsily, holding onto his wrist for dear life as you get fucked with a brutal pace, his thumb falls out your mouth and you begins to whimper, “M-matthew! please”

“I know, i’m close baby, just take it a bit more yeah? cum for me one more time, Y/N c’mon” his voice is strained, signaling that he’s close. you whimpered out that “cant- cant too much!” and Matthew’s thumb instantly went to rub your clit sending you over the edge quickly. “i know you have it in you, pretty girl. come on more— fuck thats it, thats it baby good gi— Ah fuck!” You cum all over his cock, him following not long after, releasing himself inside of you, filling you up as you shake and try to catch your breath.

“I love you— so fucking much Y/N” he whispered as he begins to pull out slowly and watch the cum drip out of her cunt, making him go feral and push his cum back in. “gotta stay full okay? who knows.. maybe i can knock you up before our wedding.”

Oh.. and you thought he won’t be up for round two.

———————

Thank you for reading, please leave a like comment and reblog! Blurb request is open so send some! give me feedback or constructive criticisms by simply leave your trace on my blog. Thanks❤️

#mgg smut #matthew gray gubler imagines #matthew gray gubler smut #spencer reid smut #insufferableblurb #mgg fluff #dom!mgg #daddy!mgg #slutforthegubes

1K notes · View notes

colossal-fallout · 4 years ago

Note

Historia and male bodied reader. Breeding kink. I'm making you go further down this hoe you dug

The Farmhand Father 🌾

Male bodied reader X Historia

Momma Sarah is feeding you male bodied readers well with this one...

Warnings: 18+ NSFW smut. Breeding kink. Size kink. innocence tainting. Seducing. Orgasm denial. Slight pillow Princess Historia.

Seriously... This is filth. You've been warned.

You remember mere hours ago that cute face of Historia blushing deeply, squirming in such a shy way, you thought it was absolutely adorable. Her huge, sky blues' glancing away nervously, her hands behind her back a sure sign of her feeling uncomfortable as she confessed her desires for you.

This powerful, high queen dressed now in normal clothes as she came to your farm escorted by her two most trusted guards.

You blink, her words melting into a blur as if you were receiving some awful news.

Yet, it couldn't be further from the truth.

Queen Historia. In all her royal glory. Someone who had visited your farm a fair few occasions. Nothing special. Royal duties and all that. You had been in awe at her beauty - as were most. She was straight from a fairy tale. Innocent, pure and sweet.

No.

She wasn't like she were from a fairy tale. Historia was the physical manefestation of inspiration to write the most gorgeous queen in the land. The most dangerous calling siren; her luring beauty so hazardously tempting.

You had to admit it, you were more than surprised to see her at your door, still looking devine even in nicely pressed civilian clothes.

"And so, due to royal duties I must produce an heir, to keep the Riess bloodline and - "

You were sure you'd heard her but your mind just wasn't accepting it. This had to be a dream. There was no way this was actually happening.

Perhaps you'd fallen and hit you head on the horse plough again and this was some weird coma dream. You were sure to wake up to those two Colten boys from the next farm over annoying you by trespassing. The usual, fantasy free life.

"Of course, I understand if you don't want to. Please don't feel forced because I am your queen. It's just... You are my first choice. I've wanted you for some time." Her crimson face glances away.

You already felt your cock twitch at the mere words of her suggesting what she was.

It was torture every single time she's visited to boost morale of the farmworkers. Her graceful form would float in, her delicate frame surprisingly strong as she even helped out with certain tasks, her kindness overflowing, pouring into the hearts of her citizens.

God what you wouldn't give just to smell her...

The amount of times you'd tugged yourself stupid, panting her name and imagineing her little pussy stretching around your colossal cock.

Boy was she in for a shock.

You hold yourself steady, your mouth watering with excitement. You did well to hide it. Surely if she knew how desperate you were for her, the extent of the yearning for her would surely make her rethink her decision.

You sit tense - still not really allowing yourself to believe this was real.

"What about your guards?" You ask, trying your hardest to keep your words steady.

She glanced back out of your living room window, the guards waiting by her carriage at the bottom of your large yard.

"They've been told to stay put. But, I don't mean we do this right now. I want you, I do. But shouldn't we get to know each other a bit more?"

Shit.

Now she was within your grasp, you couldn't risk her changing her mind. This was an opportunity of a life time. And you'd be damned if she gave up her innocence to some soldier.

But what could you do?

You most certainly were not going to force yourself upon her. You weren't a monster. Also, even if you were, you would probably be executed for such a thing.

And rightly so.

Your mind races as she stands up to excuse herself.

"It'll allow you some time to think. I'll be back here in one month from now."

A whole month?!

30 whole days of knowing she wanted you, was wet for you and might change her mind at any given time?! No way were you about to let that happen.

You spring to your feet, throat now suddenly dry.

"Historia. If I may...?" You hold out your hand feigning patience.

You're thrilled when her satin soft palm lands within yours, a touch you'd craved for the longest time. A gasp escapes her as you sit back down and pull her comfortably onto your lap. Her heart hammering with excitement as this strapping farmer she had been wanting for a while now pulls her down with such bold strength.

Her lips stay parted and that cute magenta tone etches her cheeks.

"Of course. Let's get to know one another better." You sneer. "There's something I must warn you about."

"Oh?" She sings in surprise as you allow yourself to finally inhale her scent. Her warm form on your lap was enough - your monster cock growing, yawing and stretching itself awake.

You swivel her around so she's now straddling you as you lean back further into the chair, your hands firmly caressing her thighs as her crotch sits on your solid errection.

Her eyes widen, nails slightly dig into your skin reflexively when she feels the sheer size and girth of you. Her thighs subconsciously squeeze together as that Magenta colour deepens into more of a crimson hue.

"Oh... I..." She stammers, squirming uncomfortably.

She didn't think it would be possible to want you more. You'd certainly caught her eye and she'd thought about you often, wondering how you were doing and wether or not you saw her the way she did you. And now, feeling your huge beast beneath her ceased all of her cognitive functions.

"Would that be okay, my sweetheart?" You coo, brushing her hair from her face and holding back a sneer.

You needed this to work.

You. A mere farmer about to fuck the queen. The innocent, pure queen who no one else had fucked (male anyway). You didn't mind the rumours that she had dated a fellow female soldier in her cadet days. She's still untainted by sinful cock.

Beneath your cool exterior was a panicked inferno of hazed lust. There was no possible way she was walking out of that door without being fucked by you, now you felt the warmth of her pussy rolling through the cloth of her panties under that skirt as her legs splayed across you.

Historia's blood ran hot and she was close to crumbling.

"I need to go." She muttered yet didn't make a move. Her eyes were still wide - her mind telling her to leave but her body refusing to let her.

Your fingers snake up to her waist before you begin you push her back and forth, her slit rubbing against your large buldge.

"I just wanted to make sure." You mutter, your soft facade quickly falling away as you have her warmth massaging you, moving her small form with such ease. "Before you go. I need you to be sure. I need you to really feel me. To know what you're going to be having."

Her face deepens in colour as warm, beautiful sensations caress her clit and folds as you rock her up and down against your length what was now throbbing; aching to be released and inside of her.

Wit great restraint, you prevent yourself from running your hands all over her. If you come on any stronger it would surely break the spell. You had to wait for the right moment.

"y-yes. Of course." She swallows hard, her chest rising and falling as you push her down a little harder, your groan being held back.

"You're so beautiful." You marvel, as if it was your first time noticing it.

Her hands suddenly and quickly run up your chest as she leans forward with a moan and crashes her lips against yours, her hips now grinding against you on their own accord, your hands now free to roam up her back as her hands run through your hair with desperation.

You sneer into her mouth, her lust too far gone for her to notice as this beautiful woman rubs against you frantically like a cat in heat, moaning into your mouth.

"I need you." She breathes, rubbing her head anywhere she could against you. "Please don't let me go. I need you now. Please have me... Oh please..."

With a grunt you get to your feet, her body wrapped around you as you carry her towards your bedroom. Your tongue swirled around her sweet little mouth, devouring her as you lock your door behind you and lower her down onto your bed.

"Jesus, Historia..." You gasp when you see a wet patch on your trousers where she'd been sitting.

"I'm sorry!" She squeaks, mortified. You didn't think there were a deeper shade of red on the colour spectrum as she slithers in embaressment.

"Don't be." You breathe, removing your damp pants and springing your cock free.

She gasps at the sight of your huge dick, it's fat head gleaming with malice as it almost angrily pulses and throbs, demanding entrence inside of her.

Pushing her legs up harshly, you put your face close to her soaked crotch, finally inhaling her scent before you encase your mouth around her, sucking the moisture from the material - your hot breath feeling heavenly as her head throws back.

She'd never wanted a man so much in her life. Nor had she been so turned on in all of her twenty one years.

You continue to suck and hum, your wish finally coming true. You couldn't wait to ruin her tiny frame, your fingers hooking at the cloth and pulling them down her legs.

"Please, don't stop." She pleads.

You glance down at her bloom that sat neatly between her legs.

Thick ropes of slick covered her small pink lips, her hunger making it twitch and clench, her insides spasming and trying to grab onto anything it could to ingest.

"fuck..." You sigh before leaning down and running your tongue up, moaning at her taste.

"Ah~!" She cries out in Hysteria, her back bending and hands gripping your sheets as you run your tongue painfully slow over her clit.

You had to give her the best orgasm of her life. You would go insane having her then not being able to again.

You take a fingertips and push it against her warm hole. You weren't sure how your were going to fit inside of her.

You'd make it fit.

Your name leaves her lips over and over as you insert your index, her insides instantly pulling you inside with glee.

Suddenly you pull away, leaving her starving as you make her way up her stomach, removing her shirt.

"You can't cum yet..." You explain as your trembling fingers removes her coverings. "It needs to be huge and at the same time as me. Best chance of becoming pregnant."

She nods, pained but understanding.

"Gonna fill your pretty pussy with my hot cum..." You groan into her as her now freed breasts are caressed by your mouth. "Get you nice and full with me. Gonna breed you like a pedigree bitch."

She whines at your words, your name repeating over and over as you kiss her breasts as if they were her mouth; tongue lapping and swirling around her pink nubs, lips smacking loudly against her soft, clean skin.

You lean back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Queen Historia, a flustered quivering and pleading mess - naked and splayed on your bed.

"Let's get you a little used to my size, huh?" You grunt, pupils dilated with a predatory hunger, pushing her arms up by her head and hovering above her chest removing your shirt with one hand.

You push your leaking head to her mouth.

"Kiss it." You command.

She does so immediately, her mouth pouting as she presses it against you, smearing your messy liquids around her lips. Rocking your hips you grab her hair with one hand pushing her mouth down. Her jaw is wide and you can only get her lips just past your huge head.

Hissing loudly you push her as far as she'll go, her eyes tragically beautiful as they water at your size her warm mouth sealed tightly around you; her tongue flat as you rock her head by her hair, her stifled moans loud and hysteric.

"Shi~~~t..." You sigh, as she gags and chokes, the back of her throat spasming around you, pulling her faster as you thrust into her, now with two hands as you push yourself up higher onto your knees.

"You've never had your mouth around a dick before, huh?" You ask.

She shakes her head, wet lashes fluttering with blinks before they roll with another loud choke.

You pull out, allowing her some air, ropes of her saliva sticking to you, keeping you connected to her mouth.

She whines your name after her gasp of oxygen before you push yourself back in, thrusting harder than before, your grip on her hair nice and tight as you skull fuck your queen.

"By the time I'm done with you, you'll only ever want my cock." You hum, sneering as her eyes roll furher, the squelching noises like music to your ears. One final deep thrust and you pull out, your orgasm brewing at a dangerously high speed.

"Take me, please!" She begs. "I need you inside of me! I'll do anything... Please!"

Panting you spread her legs, the arousal of you fucking her mouth now a wet patch on your bedsheets. Taking the bottom of your shaft you line up to her heat. You can already feel her walls trying to pull you in from within her. You sluggishly rub your thumb againt her external g spot, pushing yourself forward.

She cries out loudly, her spine folding backwards and head tilting as your head squishes into her tiny hole.

"It's s'so big... Ah~! I'm so full!"

"Oh baby..." You frown. "My head isnt even fully in you yet."

She whines in response as you slowly rock yourself, your angry errection tainting her with its poison, her purity ebbing away with each push, each millimetre that slides inside.

"So fuckin' tight." Your moan is desperate, hungry and predatory.

Glancing down you see her lips splitting apart at your girth, the pink colour washing out into a faded white as they attempt to swallow you.

"y/n!" She warns. "I can't. It's too good!"

You were inside of her now. You were too far gone to care as her entrance begins to spasm at the delicious full feeling of you, her orgasm hitting her hard as she silent screams, her eyes rolling.

"Fuck..." Your mouth waters as she gets even wetter, her ridged tunnel attempting to pull you in deeper. You take this opportunity, harshly thrusting into her while her mind was swirling in the void. You jut forward as your head finally passed her entrance, just as she comes back around.

You can't believe your eyes as you see the bump of your head pushing up against the flesh of her lower stomach - the sight alone almost making blow your thick load.

Historia is now extremely needy, her hands pulling you down and her lips taking yours faithfully as she sobs.

"S'so... Good. Ah~! Don't ever s'stop. Baby..."

"Never." You grunt pushing further into her.

"I can't... I'm going... Again...!"

Your eyebrows fly up in surprise as her nails sink into your back as she clings to you for dear life, holding you as close to her as possible as she cums once more around you.

Your eyes furrow closed. It was getting harder and harder not to cum and you hadn't even thrusted yet. You still weren't fully sheathed. Maybe you shouldn't have gotten cocky and fucked her sweet mouth.

You finally push yourself fully into her as her tongue lolls from her mouth.

"s'so full ah~! Y/n."

You begin to slowly dip into her, her snug insides so warm and tight, embracing your length lovingly, clamping and dancing around you in joy.

"I can't... Go back " she suddenly groans. "Not without you. Without this. Come back with me. Fuck me whenever I please. Your queen commands it."

Had you died and gone to heaven?

You nod. "Sure."

"Fuck me like this every night. I'll just lie here and your size alone can just... Ah~! Again~!"

Your dick is squeezed again, as she cums for a third time without much effort on your part.

"Fuck me over and over. Keep impregnating me. Only your cock is good enough, y/n. Yes! YES!"

Those words pushed you over the edge as well as her greedy tiny cunt sucking out your essence.

"Historia. I'm gonna cum."

"Give me it all." She sobs. "I want every last drop!"

Your pace quickens your hand grabbing and tugging her hair once more.

"Your dick is the only one I've had. And only one I ever will. It's too good not to own. It's mine now. Fuck me, please!" She cries out as she cums yet again.

You roar as your thick, hot cream splurges out of you, colliding with her cervix as she milks you dry. It sure as hell felt like she was taking every last drop - your orgasm going on and on. Your cum is leaking out of her stretched lips by the time you've filled her to the brim - her eyes in the back of her head and mouth open.

She'd ment it too. You didn't even have time to pack your stuff after you'd recovered as she whisked you away to her carriage. Admittedly, she was walking a little weird for a few days after.

Part 2 coming soon....?

#snk #attack on titan #snk imagines #snk season 4 #snk fandom #attack on titan x you #aot historia #historia reiss #historia x reader #snk historia #historia #snk smut

167 notes · View notes

stuckonstarker · 4 years ago

Text

vanilla and cherries

A/B/O AU, Intersex Omegas, Feminization, Slight Breeding Kink, Read on AO3

Tony smiles at the sight before him as he enters his bedroom.

Peter is stretched out on the bed. His hands are raised above his head and his legs, which are just barely covered by the frilly robe he’s wearing, are slightly raised. He gives Tony a coquettish look, somehow radiating with innocence.

Peter purrs, “Hello.”

Tony laughs. He climbs onto the bed and hovers over Peter’s face, casting a heavy shadow down on him.

He says, “You look so pretty today, honey.”

“You like it?” Peter asks as he fiddles with the fabric of the robe.

Tony says, “Oh, I love it.”

He presses his face into the crook of Peter’s neck. His scent is a distinct mix of vanilla and cherries, it’s so delicious. Peter giggles, it’s such a sweet noise. He weakly pushes against Tony, twisting and turning in the older man’s hold.

“You’re tickling me, Alpha,” Peter complains, though he smiles despite himself.

Tony says, “Sorry, babe.”

And then he proceeds to lick Peter’s neck, provoking a sharp gasp from Peter. He tastes just as sweet as he smells. Tony then peppers a few kisses onto Peter’s mating mark. He giggles in response.

“Do you want me to fuck you, honey?” Tony asks as he presses a sloppily wet kiss against Peter’s neck.

Peter releases a tight breath and nods. There’s a cloudy, almost absent, look in his eye and his face is flushed a sweet rose color. He’s the picture of purity.

Tony says, “Ask nicely.”

Peter covers his face with his hands and shields himself from Tony’s view to which Tony only laughs. Peter, even after all this time, acts as if he is merely a shy virgin.

“Go on,” Tony says, blowing some air next to the shell of Peter’s ear.

Peter whispers, “Will you please fuck me, Alpha?”

Tony laughs as he grabs Peter’s wrist in a firm grasp, moving it so that Peter cannot hide his face. He looks so sweet, so delicate. Tony wants it all for himself.

“You are so precious,” He says.

He places a gentle hand to Peter’s face and Peter purrs, leaning into the touch. His skin is soft and smooth like the finest satins and silks.

Tony can’t resist. He presses a kiss to Peter’s lips, who graciously accepts. They spend a moment with their lips locked together. It’s not a rough kiss, but there is a unique hunger in the way they cling and move against each other.

Peter is still clumsily moving along with Tony, but it’s more endearing than anything. Their teeth knock together occasionally. Tony pulls from the kiss and proceeds to remove Peter’s robe.

Peter looks so sweet. His eyes are hazy and unfocused, his lips are swollen and red. He’s panting and spreading his legs.

His skin is ivory and dusted pink, spotted with faint freckles. Tony takes great pleasure in feeling every inch of it; running his hands along every curve, everything available to him. He soaks it up and revels in it. Even more, he revels in the slight shivers and gasps that come from Peter. He squirms underneath Tony’s touch and moves upward into it. So sensitive, it makes Tony’s cock stir.

Tony then presses a series of kisses from Peter’s neck down to the flat expanse of his lower abdomen. Peter obviously enjoys it, evident by the desperate noises spilling from him and by the way his body bucks up and shifts with every movement.

Slowly, Tony continues downward and stops next to Peter’s covered cock and cunt. He’s wearing a pair of silk, pink panties. Pink panties that Tony bought for him.

He presses his tongue against the fabric, where he knows Peter’s wet pussy is. Immediately Peter lets out a breathy whine and his hips rock against Tony’s face. He continues, licking and sucking Peter through the barrier of silk and lace.

Even through the fabric, Tony can still taste the sweet slick of his Omega. His Omega who is panting and whining and on the verge of tears almost.

“Alpha,” Peter whines, “stop teasing me.”

Tony makes a noise from deep within his throat, allowing Peter to feel it on his sensitive sex.

He smiles, wicked almost as he revels in the torture he brings Peter, “I will do as I please.”

Though, he decides to take Peter’s advice and move the process on a bit. His fingers pull at the sides of the panties and he pulls them down, Peter shifting upward to assist with it. They’re not removed all the way however, both of them in too much of a haste to bother with it. The underwear rests loosely around Peter’s ankle, which is held in the air by Tony - who has his hand on Peter’s inner knee.

Tony presses a firm fingerpad to Peter’s clit. Peter gasps for a moment, but doesn’t seem too impressed. The look he gives Tony is almost challenging, as if silently asking, Is that all?

Accepting the challenge, Tony adds two more fingers and rubs in precise, rhythmic circular motions. It has Peter moving along, rocking his hips desperately, within only a few seconds. Tony, deciding that alone is not enough, begins using his tongue against the sensitive spot as well.

Using his other hand, he rubs the head of Peter’s hard cock. It’s flushed, a drop of precum leaking from the tip. The room is filled with the potent smell of Peter’s arousal and the sound of his pleading moans.

The taste of Peter’s wet arousal sends a flurry of primal feelings through Tony. It tastes pungent, not sweet but almost, and not in a bad way. He can’t help how he groans near the sensitive nub, sending a series of shivers through Peter.

Tony then removes his hand from Peter’s clit and slips two fingers into his cunt. Due to the obscene amounts of slick, Tony’s fingers easily press through the delicate, flowery folds of Peter’s pussy. He takes to fingering Peter’s cunt, pushing his fingers in and out.

He starts off slowly. Finger-fucking Peter steadily at first, then slowly increasing the speed. All the while, continuing to lap, suck, and gently nip at Peter’s clit. It doesn’t take long before Tony adds a third finger into Peter’s wet pussy.

Noises leave Peter, even as he bites his lips and presses them tightly together. It seems he’s lost all control of his body, his hips rock against Tony’s ministrations, his head moves from side-to-side and it all is clearly involuntary. He shakes and shivers and his breath comes out in uneven pants. His eyes are almost entirely in the back of his skull, and there’s an absent, dazed look in them.

“Tony! Alpha, I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum, I-” His cries are broken off into a series of desperate noises.

Tony can feel the contracting muscles of his cunt against his fingers and tongue. It’s then proceeded by the gushing wet of his orgasm, the fluid tasting divine to Tony. Peter is lost in his pleasure, body quivering and convulsing from his climax. His breath comes out in small, shallow pants while a series of small whimpers leave his lips and it all does not stop until a moment has passed.

And once Tony is sure Peter is back to a more sober frame of mind, he hoists Peter’s legs up over his shoulders. Peter makes a sluggishly amused noise in response.

He frees his cock in record time, allowing a moment for Peter to admire it. Despite the many times they’ve fucked, Peter still looks at Tony’s cock with a virginal excitement each time.

Peter whimpers, “Tony.”

“I’m going to fuck you senseless,” Tony says close to Peter’s ear, “and then I’m going to fill your womb with my cum. I’m going to breed you, baby.”

Peter nods, the motion weak and heavy, and he says, “Yes, Alpha.”

Tony makes sure to take his time filling Peter’s cunt with his cock. He watches in perverse fascination as his dick slides into Peter’s tight, warm pussy. It slowly contracts and tightens around Tony’s shaft.

Peter’s mouth is open, though he makes no sound, and his eyes are shut. His muscles tighten and taut and he spreads his legs.

Tony groans as he slowly reaches his hilt inside of Peter. The pleasure overcomes him in waves, but he restrains himself. He doesn’t want to hurt Peter.

“Is this okay?” He asks.

Peter gives a small nod.

It’s all the approval Tony needs. He starts moving inside of Peter, gentle and shallow thrusts to start with but it isn’t long until they become more forceful. Tony groans, the sheer relief of being able to press into Peter’s sweet cunt nearly too much for him to bear.

He can feel himself losing control, the urge to slam into Peter’s tight pussy growing stronger. Peter truly is his prized possession; his cunt is silky, sweet, and dripping wet from his arousal and previous orgasm.

Peter’s eyes are shut tight and his body moves in time with Tony’s thrusts. His mouth is open and broken, desperate noises leave his lips. His hands dig into the duvet, clawing at it and it appears like he is trying to ground himself. It’s a futile effort, though.

It doesn’t take long until Tony’s fucking into Peter. His movements are hard and deep. It has Peter mewling and throwing his head back. The room is full of the loud, lewd noises of their bodies.

Peter gasps, “Yes! Right there- Oh, God! Yes!”

“Here?” Tony says in a gruff voice as he continues fucking into that spot. He lifts Peter’s leg just so that there is more room to plough into him.

Peter nods frantically and his face tenses up. His eyes are shut tight and he is biting his lip. His back is arching off the bed and his arms are splayed out across the bed.

He starts repeating, “Yes, yes, yes, yes-”

Tony laughs, raspy from his own desire, “You want my cock that bad, baby?”

“Yes! I do!” Peter nods and his voice bleeds with desperation.

He’s so pitifully desperate. It’s perfect. It only motivates Tony to fuck into him harder, fucking into him as deeply and thoroughly as possible. Each time, making sure to hit that precious spot within Peter; the spot that sends Peter reeling with want and arousal.

Peter’s hands fly to Tony’s shoulders and his head falls backward against the pillows. His eyes are shut tight and his lips are wide open, cracked gasps leaving him. He moves in time with Tony’s cock slamming into him. His fingers tighten into Tony’s shirt.

He cries, “I’m going to cum!”

Tony continues spearing his cock into Peter, making sure to fuck into him as deeply as possible. Peter’s noises get more desperate, his movements become more frenzied.

“Cumming-! I’m cumming!” He yells it, his voice broken and weak.

His entire body seizes. A series of colorful swears tumble from his mouth as his eyes roll into the back of his head. Tremors go through his entire body. And Tony can feel Peter's pussy tightening and contracting around his cock. It's almost enough to make him cum.

Tony slows, but does not stop entirely. Peter's fucked out. His eyes are half-lidded and he's fallen limp against the bed.

"May I continue, love?" Tony asks.

It takes a moment for Peter to respond, but he nods weakly when he does.

Tony presses a gentle kiss to the side of Peter's face. He begins pushing back into the tight heat of Peter's cunt.

Tony relishes in the feeling, in how close he is to his climax. He then strips away the last bit of his self-restraint, giving in entirely to the lust. He fucks in and out of Peter at a brutal pace and relishes in it.

"Who do you belong to?" Tony asks.

Peter whines, "You!"

Tony groans and slams into Peter, his pace growing unsteady in his hurry to finish. Everything is teetering on the edge of just too much. Peter's pathetic little whimpers of pleasure.

There's a tight, fervent need growing in Tony. He can only describe it as animalistic. He needs so much.

“I’m going to come inside you, baby, I’m going to fill you with my cum,” Tony says, words tumbling out of his mouth. “I’m going to make you mine forever. You belong to me. You will always belong to me, baby. I’m going to put a whole litter of pups in you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Peter’s only response is to moan. Tony growls and feels himself come to his completion. He slams inside Peter and, making good on his promise, cums as deeply as possible into the omega. His orgasm is so plentiful that it already begins leaking out of Peter’s thoroughly abused pussy.

It takes them a moment to come down from their high. They stay connected to each other for a moment; basking in the pleasant noises of their breaths mingling.

Peter is a panting, whimpering mess. His lips, his entire body, is quivering and there’s this unfocused look in his eye.

“You’re so pretty, babe,” Tony coos as he pets Peter’s hair out of his face.

Peter purrs and leans into the touch. Tony continues petting Peter, both to soothe him and because he enjoys the feeling of Peter’s hair. It doesn’t take long before Peter’s out like a light, dead to the world and asleep - so pretty - in Tony’s arms.

Tony briefly leaves to run a warm bath and, when he returns, Peter is barely conscious, though he is whining. He’s rubbing his face in Tony’s pillow and making loud noises of despair.

Tony rushes to his side immediately and starts cooing reassurances.

“I’m right here, baby, I didn’t leave you. I would never leave you. I’m right here. I love you,” He says.

Peter mumbles, “Where did you go?”

“I filled the tub so we can clean off,” Tony says.

Peter whines and hides his face in the unkempt blankets and pillows.

Tony chides, “Don’t be like that, babe, you have to take a bath. I’ll do all the work. How does that sound?”

“Don’t wanna get up,” Peter says.

Tony asks, “Do you want me to carry you then?”

Peter nods and Tony obliges. He picks Peter up with limited effort and carries him to the master bathroom. He kicks the door closed behind them.

He goes to place Peter in the bathtub, but Peter whines and shakes his head, clinging to Tony tighter.

“Baby,” Tony says, mostly amused, “you have to get into the tub.”

Peter shakes his head, but allows himself to be placed in the tub this time anyways. Tony pets his hair and says, “Good boy.”

Peter chirps in response.

Tony pours out some shampoo and rubs it into Peter’s hair. Peter purrs into the touch and closes his eyes. He looks so beautiful, so pretty.

“Tilt your head back, darling,” Tony says.

Peter obeys and looks up at the ceiling as Tony begins washing the soap out of his hair.

Tony says, “Alright” once he’s gotten all of the soap out of Peter’s hair.

Tony continues soaping up and washing off a preoccupied Peter. Tony himself slowly starts to get preoccupied. The feeling of Peter’s wet skin beneath his fingertips starts to stir something up in his pesky Alpha instincts.

His hand slowly sinks beneath the water. He finds his way in between Peter’s legs and presses a finger against the small nub of Peter’s clit. He adds another finger and begins rubbing small, circular motions.

Peter’s legs rise above the water and spread as wide as the tub will allow. His head lolls back and his mouth opens. His lower body begins moving slightly upward in order to meet Tony’s fingers.

“Do you like this, baby?” Tony asks with a smile.

Peter only responds by gasping softly and nodding weakly.

Tony continues to stimulate Peter’s clit, slowly increasing the speed of his movements and delighting in how Peter whines and gasps. His pretty lips are open wide and his body is tensed taut as a bowstring.

He has a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the tub and his head is all the way back. He keeps letting out small, strained noises.

Tony inserts one of his finger’s into Peter’s cunt. Peter gasps and bucks up into it. His face is red, eyes closed and mouth open - with breathless, whiny noises leaving him every other second.

“Are you gonna cum for me again, baby?” Tony asks.

Peter nods frantically. Tony picks up the pace and devotes all he has to Peter’s sensitive clit. It provokes a raw, desperate noise from Peter. Peter who’s entire body is tensed up, who appears to be holding his breath, who has his eyebrows furrowed together.

Peter says, “Ah, it’s so good-”

He’s cut off by his own desperate noises as he finishes on Tony’s fingers alone. His eyes refuse to open and shivers rock through his body as he comes down from his high. He steadily eases the tension in his body as he slowly regains control of his motor functions.

“Did you enjoy yourself, baby?” Tony asks after a moment.

Peter’s boneless and limp in the tub and Tony basically has to hold him up. He continues to let out small, desperate noises even as Tony continues to wash him off.

After Tony deems Peter sufficiently cleaned, he drains the tub and begins drying Peter off. Peter purrs and coos at the feeling of the soft towel.

“I love you, my precious boy,” Tony says with a fond smile.

Peter murmurs, “I love you too.” It’s barely intelligible through his slurred words, but Tony understands it enough.

Tony hoists Peter up from the tub and into his arms. He carries Peter back into the bedroom and places him on the bed.

“I’m going to get you a cup of water,” Tony says.

Peter shakes his head, “Stay with me.”

“I’ll be right back,” Tony says, “and you need to stay hydrated, honey.”

Peter pouts.

“Babe,” Tony says, “I promise you I will be right back. Not even a minute.”

Peter sighs, “Fine. I’ll be counting.”

By the time Tony returns, Peter is already sound asleep on the bed. Tony only laughs fondly. He readjusts Peter in a more comfortable position and places a soft, snuggly blanket onto the blissful omega. He sets the drink on the nightstand beside him for when Peter eventually does wake.

Tony slips under the covers with Peter, petting his auburn curls and tracing the soft blemishes of his angelic face. Peter cuddles into Tony with a blissfully unaware smile on his face and Tony’s sure he’ll never be as happy as he is right in this moment ever again.

#starker #a/b/o dynamics #intersex omegas #max writes #yuh

101 notes · View notes

uhgood-dooghu · 4 years ago

Text

Dichotomy [M]

Author uhgood-dooghu

Pairing Underground Fighter!Namjoon x Reader

Summary He doesn’t want this life. But it’s the hand he’s been dealt. He is falling, but you are his safety net.

Genre Smut, angst, fluff, marriage!au, very loosely inspired by the film Southpaw, porn with a splash of plot

Warnings Unprotected marital sex, nipple play, nipple orgasm, oral (male and brief female), consensual possessiveness, Namjoon has tattoos, mentions of violence, lots of love, lots of angst, some cracky fluff if you squint, they’re very in love, they have a kid, they’re dealing with a lot of shit

Word Count 4.1k

a/n Banner by @xjoonchildx who singlehandedly gave me more confidence in my writing in 10 minutes than anyone has given me in like...10 years (so yeah, not to be dramatic but I kind of love you 🙈)

Dichotomy . . Trouvaille . . Redemancy

Cross-posted to AO3

“You still up for me, tiger?”

From his spot reclined against the pillows, Namjoon cocks his head, tired eyes narrowing into a smirk when he finds you leaning against the closet door frame. Sky blue silk hangs loosely off your shoulder, revealing the sheer bodysuit gracing your curves. You quirk an eyebrow and grin as your husband’s darkened eyes roam your body and linger on the deep v between your breasts, cream tulle contoured seamlessly to your hardened nipples. With a lick of his lips, he folds his arms behind his head.

“I don’t know, baby. Why don’t you come find out?”

His smirk never wavers as you push off the frame and saunter towards him, a quick shrug pooling your robe around your elbows.

You pause at the edge of the bed to admire the sight of him laid out in nothing but his ink and black boxer-briefs. Unable to resist, your eyes wander, tracing the swell of his biceps, the cut of his chest, the sharp lines of his hips, before you drop your robe to the floor. Namjoon’s lips nearly twitch into a snarl when you throw a leg over his lap, sitting back on his taut thighs with a sigh.

Your hands run over his chiseled torso to feel the uneven flesh beneath your fingertips. Years of training, of fights both won and lost, of facing opponents with a lust for blood, have hardened him, left a mosaic of scars in their wake to mark and maim the bronze canvas. He hides them behind a mural of art. Blots out the ever-present reminders of the choices he’s made in a storm of black and grey.

He is ashamed.

But to you, he is beautiful.

His hands find your thighs, the cool metal of his wedding band digging into your skin as you bend and press your lips to a line of raised flesh blanketed by the curves of a whale below his collarbone. You kiss the length of the scar, his body a map you’ve long since memorized. When you flick over his nipples, he hums, and you trail the column of his throat with your nose before nipping the underside of his jaw.

He is tense beneath your lips, but he always is, carrying his burdens on broken bones.

Cupping his face, you capture his lips with yours, tongues falling into a seamless dance as his hands begin to wander. They slip to your ass, palming the flesh, and you break away with a hum as he rocks you against his semi-hard cock.

“You feeling ok?” Your eyes lock on the deep cut slowly healing on his brow bone. A parting gift from his most recent opponent.

The sight isn’t foreign, but you always ask.

Leaning in, he drags his lips over your pulse. “Never better.”

With a click of your tongue, you tug him back and frown. He grunts in displeasure, but allows you to thumb over the faded bruise on his cheekbone and the fresh scar on his lip, his eyes following yours as they take in his slightly crooked nose and sunken dark circles.

He’s not ok, a fact you both know. He hasn’t slept much since his last match, a brutal victory against a vengeful competitor. That night, you had nursed his wounds with steady hands, whispered words of reassurance into his ear, stripped his emotions bare until he was sobbing into your chest.

He’s not a monster. He’s not evil. He’s just surviving. But barely. And that’s why you always ask.

“I’ll be alright, baby,” he mutters, gripping your wrist and gently pulling it from his face. He laces your fingers together and kisses the back of your hand softly. “Don’t worry about me.”

Your lips twist into a thin smile. “I always worry about you.”

For a moment, his eyes flood with sadness.

They flood with his hatred of the underground. His weariness of breaking himself and others to provide for you and your son sleeping soundly in the next room. His ache to do something–anything–else that will put an end to the dead-eyed reflection he sees in the mirror.

But the underground is lawless, and you know he doesn’t have a choice. Debts, loyalties, threats… all cruel dictators of the life Namjoon’s been forced to lead. And lead it he will, as long as you are living and breathing beside him. As long as you are there to rebuild him when he crumbles.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, and you shake your head, smoothing out the lines between his eyebrows.

“No,” you murmur, fingertips tracing his face. “It’s just my job as your wife.”

A wry smile twists on his lips, one you quickly seek to remove with several soft pecks to the flesh.

“And as your wife,” you muse between kisses, voice turning playful, “I wanna see what damage you can do.”

His smirk returns with full force, and he resumes his exploration of your ass. “Oh yeah?”

Arms looping over his shoulders, you catch your tongue between your teeth. “Mhmm, think you can handle me, big guy?”

“What, you think I can’t go a couple rounds with you?”

With a matching smirk, you lean forward, rocking against his growing erection as you slant your lips to his.

“I think you can try,” you breathe.

He growls deep in his throat before reaching up and threading his fingers in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck. Your gasp melts into a moan as he marks his way across your skin, flesh turning crimson in his wake. When he closes his lips over your most sensitive spot, just below your pulse, you shudder.

In your years with Namjoon, you’ve discovered the bridging dichotomy between the fighter and the man you love. It’s in the way he claims you, paints you into a galaxy with his teeth and lips, etches his signature into your skin, as if bruising you with his love will erase the bruises he’s left in the ring.

You wear each one proudly, a constant reminder of the choice you made to call him yours.

“Joon,” you gasp, eyelids fluttering.

“Yeah, baby?” He nibbles at your collarbone before laving it with his tongue.

You don’t reply, instead shifting so your barely covered clit presses directly onto his cock, thick and defined beneath soft fabric. A small rut of your hips sparks an inferno in your veins, vocalized through a quivering whimper. His chuckles melt into groans as you grind against him, and he ducks to pull a nipple between his lips.

The sensation shudders through your bones, arousal flooding your cunt when he swirls his tongue over your bud through the barely-there fabric. A moment later, he has your bodysuit pooled at your waist and pauses to hiss a curse at the sight.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers, chest heaving slightly, before diving back in.

“Baby.” You are clutching the nape of his neck, shivering helplessly as he traces the pebbled skin in relentless circles, teeth coming out to tug and release over and over until your head spins. A hand leaves your ass, and you feel his fingers pinching and twisting, palm cupping your breast with a tantalizing pressure.

He works you up, teases you breathless, pools the slickness soaking your body suit with each passing minute, and the pleasure is relentless. A constant vibration pulsing between your legs, through your fingers, down to your toes, rendering you a shuddering, whimpering mess in arms that flex to hold you upright.

Through the delirium, you realize he will have you falling apart just like this.

He confirms this when he purses his lips over your swollen bud, sucking with the right amount of force to have you riding that edge with a wanton moan. The sensation crescendos as he switches rapidly between your nipples, kissing and nibbling until it becomes too much, too fast, and you writhe above him.

“Oh fuck! Namjoon, I–oh shit shit shit, I’m gonna come,” you wail, and he growls against your chest.

Stomach clenching, hips rocking, hands vice-like around his bulging biceps, you surrender to your climax, babbling incoherently as it shudders through your body in pulsing waves.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you whimper, aftershocks drumming up your bones, leaving you winded and feverish.

Namjoon pulls away with a triumphant grin, eyes locked on where your thighs meet. “You made a mess, baby,” he purrs, and you follow his gaze to see your arousal has leaked through the fabric of your bodysuit and hopelessly stained the outline of his cock.

Another whimper leaves you as he growls, “I fucking love your tits,” punctuating the statement with a kiss to each nipple.

Still panting, you reach down and snap the waistband of his Calvins. “Off. Now.”

Ignoring the amusement in his eye, you rise to your knees so he can slide them off, not even bothering to hide the needy breath that slips out when his cock springs free, slapping heavily against his stomach.

As soon as his underwear hits the floor, you shift between his legs to press wet kisses around his navel.

On nights after a winning match, Namjoon often takes his adrenaline home, releasing it in a tight grip of your hair and deep thrusts down your throat. After a loss, he lets you take the lead, drowning in the warmth of your tongue, cunt, whatever you want to give him, as long as he can cum.

But on nights like tonight, between matches, in the wake of training, he likes to be teased. Likes you to drag out his pleasure, because it reminds him he is still alive. Still capable of feeling something good. Still worthy of something good, even with a line of broken bodies trailing his own battered soul.

He’s told you as much in hushed words breathed into the darkness of your bedroom when he cannot sleep.

And, god, do you want to remind him he is worthy.

Your tongue dips into the curves of his abs, hands caressing the tops of his thighs as you trace over the v of his hips. He brushes your hair back and you catch his eye, heart blooming at the unfiltered desire pouring from his parted lips in bated breaths.

You don’t look away as you explore him with your mouth, nibbling a mark into his hipbone. His gaze is heavy, searing straight to your core, as you wrap your hand around him, swiping his precum off the tip with your thumb. It smears down his cock with each drawn out pump of your fist, and he grunts when you lick a slow stripe up the prominent vein framing the underside.

“Y/n…” His voice strains in his throat, fingers threading firmly in your hair, but you refuse to take him fully, instead running your tongue over every inch of his length, kissing from the base to the tip before sucking firmly on the head.

Swirling over the sensitive flesh, you dip lower, only to pull back immediately, teasing him with the warmth you know he craves but refuses to take. He needs the chase, and you’re all too willing to provide.

When you finally grant him a brief thrust into your throat, he moans with a buck of his hips, stuttering out pleas and words of praise, his fingers shaky against your cheek.

“Fuck, y/n, baby,” he pants, leg jerking when you swirl your tongue around his balls, drawing one into your mouth.

You drink in the way his chest rises and falls, flush visible even under his tan and tattoos, nipples pebbled, abs flexing with each labored breath. You love when he loses himself. When he allows the world to fade to black, until all he can feel, see, and breathe is you.

When he lets you in to gather the pieces of himself he’s chipped away.

You smile when he whimpers, thighs quivering around your shoulders, and pull back.

“What?” He groans, bumping his head against the headboard as you thumb over his slit.

With a kiss to his pelvis, you sigh. “You sound so pretty when you’re needy.”

Gently twisting your hair into a ponytail, he guides you up and drags your lower lip through his teeth. “I’m always needy for you.”

A contented hum fills the space between you as he moves you back into his lap. “I like that.” Hand still wrapped loosely around his cock, you give him another agonizingly slow stroke.

“Mmm, I know you do.” Namjoon palms over your ass and thighs, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your bodysuit. “Get naked, please?”

You tilt your head back, neck going limp as you slump forward and kiss his lips. “Mkay.”

Dropping his cock against his abs, you rise to stand over him on the mattress and spin around under his dark gaze. He gets a front row seat to the wetness stringing from your nether-lips, glistening as it is revealed in the muted lamp lighting. His groan makes you giggle, and you have barely stepped out of the bodysuit before he shifts.

You feel his tongue latch onto your cunt with a delayed jolt of pleasure, nearly falling forward as you gasp. His strong arms hold you still, lips descending to close around your clit, suckling the bud, and your knees tremble.

“J-j-joon, w-what–” you stutter, breaking off with a whine and a strained rock of your hips.

His grunt is muffled against your wetness, tongue dipping into your entrance. “Can’t help myself.” He slurps obscenely, and you blush with an involuntary clench. The motion sends another drop of arousal onto Namjoon’s tongue, and he moans, lapping it up, but you need more.

“Joon,” you beg and tap urgently at his hands. “Namjoon, baby. Fuck me. Please, I need you to fuck me.”

Your wanton plea sees you twirled around and jerked roughly over his cock. He presses the tip between your folds to tease your entrance and drag over your slippery clit in tight circles.

“How do you want it,” he whispers.

Gripping his shoulders, you gasp when he dips an inch into your cunt. “Like this,” you breathe, desperate to trap him in your warmth.

The stretch is sinful, delicious and wet, your soft walls squeezing and fluttering around him as he lowers you onto his cock. When you press your ass to his thighs, he groans, head falling back, and you snag the opportunity to kiss at his Adam’s Apple, enjoying the vibrations of his voice beneath your lips.

“Shit, y/n, you’ll be the death of me.”

You exhale a breathy laugh and rock back only to snap forward, much to his enjoyment.

“Better me than anyone else.”

You let him take the lead, let him drag you up by your hips until he nearly slips out, then slam you back down, beginning a damning rhythm that shocks your spine with pleasure. The mattress squeaks softly beneath your knees, the air between your bodies steamy and thick. Only the knowledge of two sets of doors and your son’s deep slumber allows you to vocalize your need for your husband with reckless abandon.

“Oh, right there, Joon, right there,” you whine, when he adjusts the angle to pound directly up into your most sensitive bundle of nerves. His blunt head kisses your cervix with each drop.

“Yeah? That feel good?” He growls, running his lips over the column of your throat, and you whimper an affirmative.

“S-so so good, mmmm.” Sinking onto his pelvis, you circle your hips, grinding out a fresh wave of arousal that soaks the base of his cock with an arch to your back. Your cunt clenches around him, and his fingers tighten over your thighs, face buried in your neck.

“F-uck,” he heaves, “you’re unbelievable.” Beads of sweat trail his temples, and he pulls back to lock eyes with you, chocolate irises heavy with something deeper than lust.

“I don’t deserve you.”

His words send a sharp pang to your heart, bringing you to a halt.

You let the pleasure in your veins simmer to a dull throb as you steady your pulse, shaking your head with a determined glint in your gaze. Encased fully in your cunt, his cock throbs against your walls, and you quiver at the sensation.

Wrapping an arm his shoulders, you press your palm over his racing heart, feeling it skip a beat when you squeeze around him.

“You feel that,” you ask, breathless, clenching again, and he moans brokenly. “You fill me up so well, baby. So perfectly. I was made for you.”

You drag yourself up and down, grinding your clit against the dark hairs on his pelvis. Your own breath hitches, forehead falling against his, chasing the twinges of pleasure with tiny ruts of your hips.

“You deserve me, Namjoon. You deserve the whole world.”

His eyes flutter shut, jaw clenching, and you know he doesn’t believe you. But you’ll keep telling him every day, every minute, until he does.

For now, though, you cup his face and draw him in, kissing him with as much love and devotion as you can pour into his lungs.

“I love you.” Another press of your lips. “I need you.” A breathless tangle of tongues. “Make me come. Please.”

You barely register the change in position before he is hovering above you, hooking your legs over his shoulders and entering you again with a single, powerful thrust.

“Oh–“ You nearly choke, gripping his wrist where his fingers wrap around your calf. “Oh fuck.”

He reaches deep within you, filling a gap in your heart that aches without him. As his cock drags against your most sensitive spots, tears pool in your eyes from the pleasure, but it’s the knowledge that only he can unravel you, break you apart and piece you back together–just as you do for him–that has you gasping out his name.

He was made for you.

“I love you so fucking much,” he growls, groping your breast. “You’re fucking perfect.” His voice shakes with exertion, fierce eyes boring into your glazed ones, possessive and utterly consumed with you.

“Mine.”

Your eyes roll back, and you nod helplessly, the pressure reaching a peak as you beg him to take you. Moans escalating, your fingers grapple for purchase, clawing at his biceps, his shoulders, anything you can reach. Your head rocks back and forth against the pillow as you ride along the precipice of ecstasy, tears spilling as you chase after the final push.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you cry, and he grunts, rearing back to slip his hand between your bodies.

The presence of his thumb on your clit sends you careening into your orgasm, cunt pulsing around him wildly, your entire body vibrating, writhing under his weight as you sob out for him, barely registering the groans of praise he showers over you.

It seems to go for an eternity, wave after wave rolling through you, leaving you heavy-limbed and dizzy, a buzz settling in your eardrums.

A moment passes, and through your daze, you hear his voice, low and heavy, against your lips.

“I’m not finished with you, baby.”

You’ve barely caught your breath before he is flipping you over, manhandling your limp form with an ease that sends a leftover wash of warmth through you. Falling against the sheets, you stretch your arms over your head and let gravity arch your back.

He presses into the base of your spine, smoothing soft circles into your skin, before asking, “You good?”

You flinch when he grazes his cock over your folds, still sensitive and swollen, but nod, ready and willing. “Take what you want, baby.” Finding his hand, you intertwine your fingers. “I’m yours.”

It’s hard to think after that.

The slapping of skin on skin mingled with breathy whimpers and throaty groans grounds you as you surrender to Namjoon’s hold, bending to his strength. He chases his high with an iron grip on your thighs, ensuring a mosaic of bruises for the morning, and you know he won’t last much longer.

“Gonna come,” he grits out, hauling your ass higher, readjusting to slam you back onto his cock. “Fuck. You ready for me?”

“Mmmm, yeah, fill me up,” you moan, voice pitching as you cling to the sheets, reveling in the oversensitivity.

His hand leaves your hip to travel up your spine, weaving and fisting through your locks, pushing your face further into the mattress as his body bows over you, hips losing their rhythm. His breaths are ragged, grunts deep and feral in your ear, and you reach back to clutch at his thigh.

“Come for me, baby,” you pant, swirling your hips as he grinds into you, and then he is releasing with a choked groan, his warmth flooding you so deliciously that you sigh softly.

Chests rising and falling in tandem, you hold each other as the lust settles into a thrum of contentment.

“You think Wooyoung woke up?” The question is a whisper against your skin.

“No,” you huff, eyes closed heavily. “You can’t wake him up with the fire alarm.”

Namjoon’s laugh vibrates against your spine, and you smile. You feel his fingers detangle from you hair, and a kiss is pressed into the space between your shoulder blades as he slips his softening cock out, allowing you to roll to the side and stretch your legs. A drop of his cum trails the inside of your thigh, and you nudge his leg with your foot.

“Clean me up,” you chide.

He chuckles on his way to the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth that he runs over your body, rough hands a stark contrast to the gentleness of his touch. When he’s done, he passes it to you, letting you pull him in for a kiss.

“Thanks, baby.” The cloth finds the hamper as you go to pee, and stepping back into the bedroom, you find Namjoon already dozing off beneath the covers, one arm hooked behind his head.

You pause by the bedside with a smirk. “Wore you out, did I?”

He smiles, eyes still closed, and you climb in next to him, pecking his dimple before nuzzling into his side. His free arm wraps around you tightly, as you rest your cheek on his chest. “You’re my strongest opponent,” he mutters into your hair, making you laugh.

You settle into silence, but your fingers think for themselves, absentmindedly tracing over the intricately detailed moon inked across his ribs. Textured scar flesh hidden beneath swirls of black and grey bring back memories of cage fights you no longer attend, of nights spent beside dingy hospital beds yelling at your husband for pushing too far, of each and every time your son has run into your arms, crying and asking why his daddy looks like that.

It boils your blood to know there’s nothing you can do. You are powerless, unable to protect Namjoon from the world that claims him, unable to protect your son from the reality that ages him beyond his five years. Unable to protect yourself from the fear that, one day, Namjoon might not come home.

He feels you tense and drums his fingertips over your waist. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…” A beat of silence passes, and Namjoon’s thumb presses into your hipbone with a little more force. “…just…“ Rising on your elbow, you reach up to brush over the cut above his eye. “…wishing some things were different.”

He remains expressionless, but you can see through the mask. Can see the guilt, frustration, and anger accumulated behind a fragile wall of self-preservation. Years of relentless searching allowed you to find the fracture, poking and prodding until it shattered for only your eyes to see. In its wake you found him broken and alone, consumed by the self-hatred and shame suffocating him at every turn.

You pulled him out of the rubble, gave him a light to follow, a reason to fight his way out of the ring. You stood by him, gave him everything he never thought he deserved, gathered the pieces of his soul he ripped away himself. You stitched him back together, wove your love into the seams, made him smile for the first time since his long lost childhood.

You found the boy beneath the man, and you want to give him the world.

You wish some things were different. But not him.

“Do you regret it? Marrying me?”

He knows the answer, and you know why he asks.

You saved me from myself.

“Never.”

769 notes · View notes

stillness-in-green · 3 years ago

Text

MVA In Memoriam (4/5)

The Comprehensive Account of the Butchering of My Villain Academia

(Introduction and Part One, Episode 108: My Villain Academia) (Part Two, Episode 109: Revival Party) (Part Three, Episode 110: Sad Man's Parade)

Part Four, Episode 111: Origin: Shimura Tenko

Chapter 233 – Bright Future

• Twice clearly having arranged a Skeptic puppet to where its arm can be used as a pillow for Toga’s neck. A cute little character detail while also being kind of disturbing? Very on-brand for the League! A not-immediately-plot-crucial visual of a member of the League demonstrating obvious care for another member? The guillotine awaits!

• A little explanation about how clones’ physicality and memories work relative to the last time Twice saw the people the clones are based on. This is a very useful little nod of explanation to something that remained unclear from the dialogue of Mr. Clone-press last chapter. Twice’s quirk is pretty arcane in its ins and outs, frankly, and the clearer those details are, the fewer plot holes you’re leaving for later.

• The scene of Skeptic being right on the verge of confronting Twice. Skeptic has, oh, about five moments where he’s obviously a big tense neurotic who’s unpleasant to be around if things aren’t going his way, and the anime deleted or downplayed all but two of them. As ever, it’s obscenely damaging to the characterization of the MLA cast, who we have little enough time with as it is. Further, it was a particularly weird choice to make with Skeptic, who is as of this writing the only major MLA character who’ll emerge still free and active from the War Arc. Why shaft the characterization of the one of new characters who’s going to be getting the most attention out of any of them in the next arc, with yet more scenes yet to come after?[1]

• A full page’s-worth of Spinner’s rationalizations on targeting Trumpet and ordering the Twice doubles to do the same. This lays out the details on why targeting Trumpet stands to relieve some of the load on Shigaraki. It isn’t because Trumpet’s quirk makes the crowds more dangerous, though that is true. Spinner targets Trumpet because he’s seen enough to know that attacking the MLA’s leaders gets them crazy riled up; he knows that if he makes himself a threat to Trumpet, then all Trumpet’s followers’ attention will shift focus to Spinner, leaving Shigaraki with less to deal with. Spinner also knows that that is ludicrously dangerous to him personally, given his weak quirk, but he actively makes that choice anyway, because that’s how much he’s devoted himself to Shigaraki without (yet) quite articulating the nature and reasons for that devotion. Targeting Trumpet without any of that reasoning made for a perfectly sound tactical decision, but it missed the regard Spinner shows the unnamed mobs of the MLA, and it really missed the probable savage beatdown and even possible death that Spinner consciously chooses to risk for Shigaraki’s sake. Of course, a chunk of what the episode deleted is flashbacks to scenes the anime also cut, so they couldn’t figure into Anime!Spinner’s reasoning. This does not excuse yet more cuts to Spinner’s arc and characterization; it only adds to how badly the anime maimed him. Also, on a less salty but still confused note, deleting all the Twice clones from the beginning of the scene and just having Spinner running along a wall past mobs of people instead of laboriously fighting his way through the street to the van was really dumb. Why did all those MLA people just stand there and let him run by? Where did all the Twice clones that just helped save Spinner from a huge flurry of long-distance attacks disappear to? Come on.

• Trumpet’s thought that using Sevens Loud will draw every bit of strength from their warriors, but that it’s necessary. Setting aside that it looks far less necessary when there hasn’t been a crowd of Twice clones fighting Trumpet’s people this whole time, just Spinner by his lonesome, we still lost quite a bit to this cut. Firstly, a nuance on the trade-off Incite gives—that its stat-boost is temporary, and that it’s borrowing from the future to pay for the present, a stock that is limited and a bill that will come due when the effect wears off. Secondly, it’s another demonstration that the MLA leaders aren’t just thoughtlessly wasting their followers’ lives; they’re very consciously doing cost/benefit analysis on how much danger their people are in versus what stands to be gained by the potential exertion or outright deaths those people will suffer. It’s cold reasoning, yes, but that’s how the Liberation Army operates: not for the personal gain or lackadaisical ease of the people on top—Trumpet would just have been in the tower speaking through city-wide loudspeakers, if that were the case—but for the advancement of the group’s ideals. It also just grants Trumpet some interiority, but of course the anime can’t have that.

• The note in Trumpet’s meta-ability explanation that the more his voice causes the air to vibrate, the stronger Incite’s effect. This is—good god, it is literally the entire design mentality behind Sevens Loud! Sevens Loud purpose isn't to make his voice louder so more people can hear him (which I would think is the most logical assumption an anime-only person would make as to why he puts it on); it’s to make himself louder because being louder enhances the boost. It’s about the quality of the effect, not the quantity of targets. This is why Trumpet has the thought about how using Sevens Loud will drain the strength reserves of his people. There’d be no correlation there if Sevens Loud were only about boosting his range.

• When Spinner got porcupined in the anime, they did a close-up on his face, possibly to avoid the gore of showing the spines piercing through his forearm. That’s fine, but they also emphasized the reaction by having him lose his grip on the huge fuck-off knife he had clutched in his teeth. In the manga, sure, he yells in pain, but he doesn’t lose the knife. Indeed, he gets the guy off him by slashing at him with it—a shot the anime dropped. So Spinner doesn’t even get to keep displays of his pain tolerance, a trait he doubtless improved during those six weeks against Machia. Why does the anime hate Spinner so much, you guys? Why did it go out of its way to make him look lamer, when Dabi and Toga were out there getting anime-original flourishes to make them look cooler?

• Spinner’s thoughts, “When I get inspired to act, I don’t know what the heck I’m doing! I’m just a loser jumping on a bandwagon. Or at least that’s what it looks like.” A humorous bit of self-awareness from Spinner here. The anime got at the self-awareness. The humor, as we’ll see, not so much.

• Spinner’s thoughts, “Look at me. Look at me!! With all that prejudice in your eyes!” Hah hah, laughed BNHA the anime nervously, what prejudice are you talking about, Spinner? No idea what you could possibly be referring to there! This one’s particularly annoying because, while one might think that the anime was just dodging the heteromorphobia angle it eradicated all references to back at the beginning of the arc, the prejudice line isn’t even about heteromorphobia, not really. See, the Japanese line there literally translates to, “With those colored glasses!”—to see with colored glasses being a Japanese idiom for seeing something from a biased viewpoint. So aside from being a wordplay jab at Trumpet’s choice in eyewear, it’s also about Trumpet’s expressed view that Spinner, having been a shut-in with a weak quirk who decided to take his resentment out on the world, can’t possibly amount to anything much. So, what, did the people in charge of making those cuts think Trumpet was right? Why even keep the line where he disparages Spinner if you’re not going to let Spinner call it what it is? He’s not calling out fantasy racism there, anime! He’s calling out the bias against weak quirks that even the good guys in this world sometimes partake in! Possibly it’s because non-villains in the world[2] sometimes use reasoning that leads logically to quirk supremacism that the anime got gunshy with it, or it was more reluctance to give the villains—and the Too-Real Iguchi Shuuichi especially—moral ground for accusations against their society that get too close to real life. Whatever the motivation, it’s a bullshit cut.

• Shigaraki calling RD “Detnerat,” presumably because he neither knows RD’s real name nor cares to dignify him by using his code name. The anime, again, made neither the connection nor Shigaraki’s recognition explicit, so it lost the specificity and pettiness of that little snub.

• A little exchange between Giran and a Twice clone as they flee. It doesn’t give you much you wouldn’t assume just from seeing them flee, but it always feels more immediate and empathetic when the characters talk and you can see their expressions, instead of just a quick shot of them from behind as they run away in complete silence. Heck, running away in complete silence is actively out of character for Twice!

• Because the anime has some kind of aversion/restriction on showing hand-related violence, it radically changed how Shigaraki lost his fingers,[3] resulting in the loss of several important shots. To the best of my parsing, in the manga, when Re-Destro makes that first big jump to avoid Shigaraki’s decay wave, he comes back down specifically aiming for Shigaraki’s outstretched left hand, spread wide and flat on the ground. Shigaraki tries to evade (you can see the blur of his left arm in the panel where RD lands), but either RD does manage to clip the hand or he simply hits the ground with so much force that the sheer explosive burst of rock shreds Shigaraki’s hand and part of his coat sleeve. Being so much larger, RD then simply snags Shigaraki by the wrist before he can get out of range. It’s very fast, a burst of speed and violence, and very different (read: cooler) from Shigaraki flipping end over end in slow motion in a way that seemed to imply visually that he was thrown well out of RD’s grabbing range. As to the shots we lost? I counted three. First, Hana’s hand crumpling amidst all the flying debris. Second, that big dramatic panel of Shigaraki’s maimed hand ribboning blood into the air as the narration box finally drops Re-Destro’s identity and code name. Third, the shot of him catching Shigaraki, almost delicately, between one thumb and forefinger and delivering the, “Was it this hand that committed such evil acts?” line—a clear threat to what of that hand Shigaraki has remaining—as we find out what his meta-ability is. This is all hugely dramatic in the manga, because, of course, readers always assumed Shigaraki needed all five fingers to activate his quirk, and here Re-Destro nigh-effortlessly robs him of fully half his capacity to use it. It’s a shocking turn-around and instantly ups RD’s threat level by allowing him to permanently maim Shigaraki in a way that no one, hero or villain, has done before or since. Robbing Re-Destro of the immediacy of that seemingly devastating blow—inflicted within moments of meeting the real Shigaraki—did immeasurable damage to his credibility as an arc boss. The shot in the manga is also just arresting visually, with RD finally getting to properly loom over Shigaraki. Most of the shots up to this point have been framed such that, while RD is obviously bigger, he and Shigaraki have still been moving and fighting in a pretty level way. This is the first place where the viewer is situated so squarely behind Shigaraki that they can really feel how massive RD is in comparison. It’s certainly a more impressive visual than this mess—thanks, anime; thanks, whatever broadcasting standards forced overworked and uninspired animators to undertake a redraw of RD’s quirk reveal panel when every other member of the MLA brass had theirs carried over directly from the manga.

• A chapter-ending cliffhanger of Slidin’ Go helping direct traffic on the outskirts of Deika and the warning rumble as Gigantomachia approaches. Aside from being a nice little tension boost—Will Gigantomachia roll up just in time to see Re-Destro making a mess of Shigaraki? Who will he target? Will Shigaraki ever be able to win him over if he sees a scene like that?—it’s good foreshadowing for what the news reports will eventually be saying. Remember, the claim is that a bunch of villains lured Deika’s heroes away and then attacked the city while it was defenseless; that’s why we never see any of the MLA’s heroes involved with the fight once it starts. And now, here, we find out where they’ve been the whole time: making sure no outsiders get in who might be able to undermine that narrative.

Framing Shifts

• Once again had an MLA member using their Detnerat item say its name out loud, when it’s clear in the manga that they’re just thinking the names internally. Once again, it was kind of silly.

• When Spinner flashes back to watching Stain on TV and being inspired, the manga uses a shot of Stain’s face, snarling and defiant. The anime used—a shot of Stain from behind, only visible from the shoulders to the knees, hunched so that his lower back and ass were towards the camera. Bones… What exactly were you implying lit Spinner’s fire there? Or did you just not have the time or budget to go pull Stain’s reference sheets for drawing his face?

• A tone issue, but a major one: Spinner should be grinning, face alight with accusatory challenge, as he hurls his accusations of the MLA/Trumpet being the same bandwagon-jumping nobodies that he is. This is the moment in the manga where we see Spinner truly throw his hesitations and his doubts to the wind and embrace Shigaraki’s nihilistic fervor and the beauty, value and profundity of emptiness. So what if I’m empty? So what if he wants emptiness? Who cares about other peoples’ ideals if their ideals leave no room for me? It’s not a heroic triumph, but it’s a triumph all the same, and losing Spinner’s smile made the moment far too bitter.

• Meanwhile, in exactly the opposite problem, Shigaraki by this point is not smiling. In fact, he’s barely on his feet, swaying violently in place with accompanying sound effects. While his words are openly mocking, he seems to wholly lack the energy to back them up with his usual verve. The anime didn’t have him smiling, admittedly, but the whole time the ‘camera’ wasn’t directly on his face, his voice actor was reading the lines with an uneven, chuckling cadence that suggested Shigaraki was seconds away from breaking into howls of laughter. He was also, of course, impossibly clean, at a point at which his manga counterpart is muddy, bloody and tattered from the horrifically extended combat he’s been living for six weeks. It’s stuff like this that made it so impossible to take the Army or even Machia as much of a threat in the anime, when, other than the red cords on his hands being broken, Shigaraki looked absolutely no different than usual.

Additions

• Gave Spinner a tiny bit of new animation when he got mobbed by people hopped up on Incite. It was nice, but if they were going to give him a flourish, I’d rather it have come when he swipes Porcupine Dude off him with a combat knife. Or, you know, just kept the bit of him telling the Twices to attack and his reasoning on why.

• Cut inside briefly to show a ballerina girl dancing through a darkened apartment right before she sliced a neat circle out of the wall. I love it, A+, exactly the kind of expansion on the action of the manga I wanted to see. My only complaint is that her manga self looked more like Pearl from Steven Universe.[4] XD

• A quick new shot of RD when Shigaraki was hounding him about his feelings. His teeth were visibly gritted, the corners of his mouth pulled down. It stands out because there’s only one shot of RD there in the manga, and in it, he’s smiling, close-mouthed and calm. The anime copied said shot, smile and all, then cut away, and when it cut back, Re-Destro had a totally different expression on his face. Baffling. Anime!RD having a dour scowl everywhere manga!RD is smiling in a tight, controlled way was all over the fight scene, and it detracted from the sense of RD’s menace every time.

Chapter 234 – Destruction Sense

• The illustration(s) accompanying Re-Destro’s, “Let’s not judge people by their quirks,” line. The pictures are cute, but the real loss there was the note informing us that they’re excerpts from a children’s book published by Shoowaysha—Curious’s outfit—called Quirks and Us. That’s a very concrete illustration of the kinds of things the MLA is getting up to in the world, and an equally concrete thing an anime-only viewer lost. Of course, that viewer never even found out Curious was in publishing, so it wouldn’t have meant anything on that front, but there is one other thing I think is notable: the way that book implies that the only people explicitly pushing a “don’t judge other people by their quirks” message are the radical Liberationists. See, the rest of the story touches on the virtues of a nonjudgmental attitude here and there, but actually finding people willing to say it out loud is—unprecedented, I think. Deku comes across situations where he could say something like that multiple times and he never, ever does—not to Shouto, nor to Shinsou, nor to Eri, nor to the giant fox lady. And that’s not even touching on Shouji’s mask, or the discrimination Spinner faced, or the CRC “losing support” without being declared illegal. I think the manga itself is against judging people by their quirks, but it’s interesting that it doesn’t make its characters into mouthpieces to say as much. This is because its characters are thoroughly enmeshed in a society that very much does judge people by their quirks, regardless of whether or not it will say that doing so is bad or rude or prejudiced. Re-Destro and the MLA aren’t immune, of course—Re-Destro himself says that quirks are linked to personality—but they adhere to a different set of values than the larger society does. While Hero Society talks about quirks in terms of being heroic and/or useful versus villainous and/or useless, the MLA spectrums instead emphasize how capable a person’s quirk is of helping them exert their will and how ambitious the quirk’s bearer is in that exertion. That is, their ethics are less about morality and utility-to-society than they are about aspiration and utility-to-self.[5] Both worldviews have their pros and cons, but that, I think, is what the children’s book is getting at when it says not to “judge”—don’t assign an arbitrary moral value to a quirk; judge a person by their actions. And isn’t it interesting, that the only explicit verbal statement of that value comes from the leader of a radical cult descended from a famous insurrectionist quoting a children’s book published by a member of selfsame radical cult? The value is not ever stated by a member of the heroic cast, so are we to assume that the heroes don't actually believe it? Do people profess to believe it but everyone knows it’s only for courtesy’s sake, with only the MLA willing to breach that wall of “things we don’t talk about in polite society” to actually talk about it in anything other than platitudes? Obviously, you lose this entire line of discussion when the "don't judge people by their quirks" value is just never mentioned at all.

• The phrase, “In that case,” from RD’s, “You will never measure up to me.” It establishes continuity to what RD was saying before. He’s not taking breaks from talking while Shigaraki has flashbacks; the two are happening concurrently.

• RD’s, “Cracking apart…?” reaction to his Decayed fingertip, and the dripping blood from the injury. I’m not hugely fussed about the former, but I like the latter as indicative of what Re-Destro’s Stress powers actually do. That is to say, he isn’t covering himself in a thick shell of Stress power or something; his Stress powers make him physically larger, infusing his body and swelling his size. That’s why he bleeds when Shigaraki touches his fingertip. Admittedly, the size distinction was more obvious in the anime, where the audience watched RD’s shoulders inflate like balloons last episode, compared to the manga, where you don’t get in-between animation. Still, given that RD still has that wound even when he goes back down to normal size, and is still wearing bandages for his speech a week later,[6] it’d be nice to mark the severity of the wound with a bit of blood. Oddly, the anime did keep the wound for the crater scene, visible red slices opened in the flesh along the length of his finger, very obviously the sort of injury that would have bled upon being first sustained. Maybe RD ran afoul of whatever the studio mandate is on when Decay has a dust effect and when it leaves gore? (More of that later.)

• Shigaraki’s, “Mother!” for the first panel we see of her. It’s obvious enough who she probably is, but odd that we got a whole bunch of narration for Hana, and likewise an acknowledgment of his grandparents, but not even a single word for Nao.

• Very significantly drops the grandfather’s, “Eating yummy things helps make the sadness go away.” Grandpa’s not just randomly handing Tenko his favorite snack in that memory—he’s trying to treat some kind of grief or wrong without actually addressing the wrong, opting to just put a flavorful band-aid on it. That could be fine if it were something outside Grandpa’s control, but we’ve already gotten some early hints from Hana’s phrasing that things are not okay in the household, and thus the grandfather’s attempt to bribe Tenko with sweets is just as ominous a sign of what’s to come as the grandmother’s attempt to guilt him into not crying lest he make her cry too.

• A little shot of Shigaraki stirring in the rubble when RD answers the phone. It’s a nice demonstration of their size difference, especially comparing both of them to Machia, who we just saw tearing through buildings like the kaiju his theme music declares him to be.

Framing Shifts

• When Shigaraki narrates that Hana always took him by the hand when he got weepy, she actually does take his hand in the manga, her fingers wrapped around his, his clasped over hers. It emphasizes that this is what he can’t do anymore, simply hold hands with people, the innocence lost aspect, and it suggests the closeness he once had with his sister. In the anime, she reached out a hand but wound up taking him by the wrist instead, his hand splayed open beneath hers. This suggested, albeit very implicitly, that maybe that innocence was something he never had from the beginning; it also suggested less reciprocity in his relationship with Hana. Even though Tomura said in narration that their hands were joined, what we saw was that Hana just pulled him where she wanted him and he didn’t fight her on it, not that he held her hand in return. Alternatively, the anime could have been drawing a parallel to how her hand would eventually be gripping his wrist in a much different context (a more necrotic one, for starters) later in life, though if that's what they were going for, they could have stood to tweak the dialogue so it actually matched the onscreen action. (Credit to @robotlesbianjavert and @aysall respectively for these two theories!)

• Shigaraki still having his fingers when Re-Destro squeezed his hand made RD look like a real moron. I assume the intention was that he assumed he’d done enough damage—broken bones, torn ligaments, etc—to prevent Shigaraki from being able to move his hand in more than spastic twitches, but like, if all it takes is a hard enough spasmodic clench to dust you, you are playing much riskier games than the MLA is generally portrayed as favoring. (Not that the anime kept many of the scenes that demonstrated all the planning and prep that the MLA did as groundwork for their attack, as I have complained about at length.) In the same sequence, Anime!RD turned and bodily hurled Shigaraki away from him, while Manga!RD threw him a similar distance with nothing more than a flick of a finger. Anime, why you gotta make Re-Destro look so lame all the time?

Additions

• Just one episode prior, the anime managed to turn in an entirely reasonable assemblage of swiping and dodging between Shigaraki and Re-Destro while RD was rambling on about the Mother of Quirks. What the hell was the excuse for this episode’s ridiculous shot of Shigaraki literally running circles—big, broad circles—around RD multiple times in the time it took RD to finish one (1) thought? For heaven’s sake, if you don’t have the budget for flashy, just use slow motion or more flashback animation or something. I know there’s more leeway for long thoughts in manga, where the reader understands that thoughts are moving far faster than action, and that it can be hard to bridge that gap for anime, where motion is motion but voice acting still has to rattle its way to the end of a sentence. I understand that measures have to be taken to account for that. Still, I promise, something that just looks a bit padded is much preferable to something that looks outright dumb.

• I admit to having found huge Stress monster RD pulling out a teeeeeny-tiny cellphone very funny—even more so the distinct cracking sound it made when Skeptic reported in bad news and RD’s fingers tightened infinitesimally—but the manga suggests fairly strongly that RD’s just answering on some kind of earpiece or micro-receiver, the same kind of thing Ujiko hands out and that Skeptic is associated with on multiple occasions. It’d be nice if RD could have kept more of the jokes he actually makes, the ones that stem from his native good humor, rather than the anime making up new ones based entirely in the contrast of Re-Destro and the viewer’s expectations of Re-Destro.

Chapter 235 – Shimura Tenko: Origin

• The man at the door, whom Nao is apologizing to at the beginning of the Tenko flashback and the apparent reason Tenko got busted for playing hero. I don’t love the way deleting this obscured that Tenko, in some fashion, troubled someone to lead to Kotarou dragging him down the hall (the anime also dropped Kotarou’s subsequent line, “Causing trouble?!” that’s supposed to supplement his, “Playing hero again?”), but it’s not like the manga doesn’t imply that the same thing would happen for any hero-based rules infraction, regardless of whether it troubled strangers or not. No, the much, much funnier thing to me is how it just fuckin’ torpedoed the most obvious thing people point to when they posit that All For One gave Tenko Decay, kicking off the entire tragedy: the man at the door with the conspicuously shadowed face and the even more conspicuously AFO-like suit and dress shirt with the top button unfastened. Listen, I hate that theory and what it would do to the narrative of Shigaraki Tomura/Shimura Tenko as Hero Society’s long-overdue reckoning, the villain they can’t put down and the victim they can’t silence, so watching the anime summarily cut out the scene that really kicked the theory into overdrive was very validating! Conversely, I still can't deny that it's a plausible theory, so if it does turn out to be true, that means the anime shot itself in the foot on the most obvious bit of foreshadowing this side of AFO addressing Tenko by name when he finds him in the alley. The schadenfreude of that would also be very funny. Really, unlike every other cut this season, I regard this one as win-win for my personal experience with the anime. Incidentally, I was very prepared to complain about the anime dropping all the changes of clothes the Shimura family goes through over the course of the flashback—I regard the timelapse as one of the major points against the AFO Gave Tenko Decay theory, since it’s never taken a quirk bestowed by AFO multiple days, maybe even multiple weeks, to kick in before—but it turns out I’m a lot less bothered about them not taking the time to change the side characters’ clothes when the anime also deletes the dude at the door who is the only reason I care about clarity re: how much time the flashback covers! But just for the record, while they had more outfits than I was expecting them to, the family did go through fewer changes of clothes in the anime than in the manga.

• The full echo of the line about kids being sneaky and simple in favor of Narrator!Shigaraki just letting out this exhausted, rueful, “Ahhh, kids are…” I actually rather like it. It’s a clear reference back to the earlier line without having to restate the whole thing, and Uchiyama Kouki’s delivery is really excellent.

• Kotaro’s first slap of Tenko, the only one directly portrayed on-panel, and Mon-chan’s barking in response. On the one hand, I think there’s an argument to be made for the scene flowing a bit better like this—why wouldn’t Grandpa try to stop him from going for that second slap; why wouldn’t Nao pass Hana off to Grandma and do something instead of just standing there yelling for the entire scene? It makes a bit more sense if they’re hesitant to intervene because Kotarou has “only” grabbed at Tenko’s collar and they don’t yet know how that it’s going to escalate to naked physical violence in a way that it never has before. On the other hand, that first slap is so visceral and shocking. Nowhere else in the manga is domestic violence portrayed more sharply and directly, in greater detail or more cruelly generous panel space than in this moment. It’s in the difference in size between Kotarou and Tenko, the force behind the hit that’s enough to knock Tenko clear off his feet, the pages upon pages of gut-churning lead-up to this moment and what we know will be following soon after. Also too, it makes the family’s failure to help Tenko much worse that no one else acts when Kotarou pulls back for a second hit. The first one, you could almost excuse because no one saw it coming; the second throws those justifications out the window and spits on them afterward. Two hits are important—not only for what they tell Tenko in the moment about his family's inaction, but because two hits speak in ways one hit doesn't to how wildly uneven the power balance is in the house, that Nao and her parents could witness something like that and not only fail to intercede, but then take who knows how long to work up the courage to confront Kotarou afterwards. I understand very well the fear of showing this in a family TV timeslot—the violence is so much more real than any big fantasy beat-‘em-up could ever be—but it’s the kind of thing that really drives home what Tenko needed to be saved from even back then, a social issue that heroes as they currently exist were in no position to address. Far from demonstrating that heroes aren't at fault for what happened to Tenko, though, what this scene truly does is vividly illustrate the flaws in All Might's social contract, in which his power and smile seem to promise that he can save absolutely everyone, only to leave children like Tenko out in the cold with no explanation as to why. It's brutal because it has to be, and the anime shying away from depicting Kotarou's physical abuse undercut that.

Framing Shifts

• There was a bizarre, nonsensical change to the scene at the beginning of the chapter where RD is figuring out how Shigaraki survived/got back up after taking a Burden attack head-on. The manga’s explanation is that Shigaraki didn’t actually take a full force hit because he was Decaying it even as it was blowing him back. This is somewhat silly, given that even a reduced-strength Burden is still strong enough to put him through multiple buildings. It is, however, less silly than the anime’s take, in which Shigaraki touched Re-Destro rather than the corporealized Stress of Burden. How Re-Destro survived a full-fingered touch from Shigaraki’s completely uninjured right hand[7] went totally unexplained; the problem was then compounded by Re-Destro delivering manga-accurate lines about Burden not being an evadable attack despite “evasion” having nothing to do with Shigaraki’s actions. Anime!Shigaraki didn’t dodge the Burden attack any more than Manga!Shigaraki did; unlike Manga!Shigaraki, however, Anime!Shigaraki also did nothing to reduce the impact of the attack. So not only was how Shigaraki survived the Burden attack not explained, the change to the material also opened up the plot hole of how Re-Destro survived a direct touch attack that Shigaraki in the manga never lands.

• There was also an extremely weird decision made to give Tenko dark, gray-blue eyes, obviously reminiscent of Nana’s, and suggest that they became red at the same time as his hair was changing to white. But in the manga, other than the size, there’s no difference between young Tenko’s eyes and how Shigaraki’s eyes have always been drawn—an unshaded iris with a visible pupil and a relatively thick line delineating the iris from the white of the sclera. Tenko’s eyes never matched those of anyone else in his family, least of all his dark-eyed grandmother. His hair changed color because of a trauma response,[8] but his eyes were always red.

• Relocated Shigaraki’s first, “Little kids…are sneakier than you’d expect. And simpler,” to underscore Hana showing him Nana’s picture in the study, squarely centering the line on her. And like, yes, that line does get its bitter echo later when Hana panics in the face of her father’s fury and throws the blame onto Tenko—but that line isn’t just about her; it’s also about what Tenko wanted to hear from the other adults in his life. It didn’t matter that his father didn’t approve; if he could get at least one adult to say he could be a hero, to take his side, then he could feel vindicated. It’s a child’s sneaky, simple reasoning: if an adult’s words are absolute, you just have to get one (1) adult to agree with you. It’s asking Dad if you can do something you don’t think Mom will agree to, and then going to Mom with Dad’s permission held defensively in-hand. Laying the line over Hana obscures that it’s as much about Tenko’s craving for external validation as it is Hana’s (entirely understandable) deceitful streak.

• After half a season full of internal monologue being voiced aloud even when it made little sense to do so, the anime decided to render clearly talk-bubbled dialogue—Tenko’s chatting at Mon about how he feels like he could take on the world—as internal monologue instead. Who talks to their animals in their heads when they could be talking at them directly like pet owners the world over?

Additions

• Added a few extra stills of Kotarou rebuking Tenko and dragging him around. I don’t think they’re inaccurate to the situation, though I wonder if it really needed to be underlined two more times than the manga did. Maybe they were trying to make up in advance for deleting the first slap?

• Added a few new stills of Nana and child!Kotarou. They hurt my soul and I love them without reservation.

Chapter 236 – Shimura Tenko: Origin, Part 2

• Hana’s second apology. What needs to get across was communicated with her first apology, but I do think the second one adds some naturalism to the dialogue. It feels very normal for a child feeling extremely guilty to apologize multiple times, like the more times they say it, the more true/convincing it will become.

• A bit of Tenko’s internal monologue—thinking Hana’s name, and Mon’s, and that he can’t talk. The anime slipped some attempts at verbalizing “Mon” into the dialogue, and it was painfully obvious just from listening to him gag and choke that he was too horror-struck to get words out, in ways that would be a little harder to convey on the page. Also, he thinks again that he can’t talk just as Hana runs away, so it gets across regardless. No real complaints here.

• Some thoughts about how he’s itchy, which, given what his itch represents (or at least what he thinks it does), they probably should have kept for continuity’s sake.

• Tenko’s last, “Hana-chan!” just as he grabs for her. I can imagine it having just that little bit more desperate impact, especially given Sekine Arisa’s great delivery of the first “Hana-chan!” but his delivery of the first one was great—weeks later, I can still remember it clearly—so it’s not a snip I’m inclined to doomsay about.

• Hana’s verbalization as the Decay hits her. Given that they kept Mon-chan’s last whimper, it’s kind of inconsistent not to keep this. It’s grueling, sure, but no more so than the rest of the horror show shortly to follow.

• An echo of Nao’s defense of Kotarou’s anti-hero stance. Frankly, I think anime already over-indulges in echoing dialogue we’ve heard not ten minutes prior, so I don’t mind losing this—in the manga, the moments would have fallen in different chapters, so it makes more sense to squeeze in the little reminder, but that wasn’t necessary for the anime, in which the original moment and the callback happened barely more than five minutes apart. It was obvious what the mental image was meant to draw attention to, since Tomura was narrating about exactly what his grievance was, and the image was followed by the two equivalent moments with the grandparents. (Admittedly, it hurt that correlation a bit that Grandpa’s line about the ohagi being intended to make the sadness go away got cut, but the sentiment was pretty clear from the man’s expression of nervy, abashed guilt regardless.)

• The line of Decay that splits Nao’s eye, one of the more vividly horrific little grace notes in the chapter. It undercut the grotesquerie just the tiniest bit, but the scene’s grotesque as-is, so I can understand that slight edit for TV standards. The discrepancy between Decay-to-dust and Decay-to-gore, discussed below in Framing Shifts, was much more damaging.

• A shot of Kotarou just after he hits Tenko with the tree pruning shears in which he looks, briefly, incredibly distraught, like he’s just realized what a monster he’s become. The anime didn’t make the slightest of attempts to keep that spasm of horror, grief, and regret, and thus lost that last moment of sympathy for a man deeply traumatized by a heroic character’s actions. It’s my only complaint about Anime!Kotarou, who I was otherwise far more pleased with than I was afraid might be the case, but it’s a complaint I must register nonetheless.

• A bit of inarticulate yelling before Tenko screams, “You... Die!!” It helps get across Tenko’s rage overflowing, to have that wordless garble before he can actually wrap words around it. He was still having trouble talking, too, so it makes sense that his first vocalization would just be a long, incomprehensible screech. That said, with the music there to supplement the mood in a way the manga would lack, I don’t think the anime’s rendition of the scene suffered overmuch from its absence.

Framing Shifts

• The anime, of course, has always gone the dust route for Decay because Decay is a little too gruesome for family hour TV, and anyway, when Tomura gets as fast with Decay as he is in Deika, he really is just insta-dusting people, such that not even blood remains. But he wasn’t that fast or that thorough as a child, hence why it’s all so much gorier—and it needs to be, because it’s hard to imagine Hana freaking out like she does if all she sees is a pile of dust instead of, well, dog gobbets. (Also, if his family had gone the dust route, it would have been very hard to convince the audience that Tomura’s hands are his family hands and not fakes provided to AFO by Ujiko.) This obviously put the anime in a difficult spot, but apparently the decision they settled on was—to not decide? Everyone we saw in the active process of decaying decayed into dust as usual, but then once they were done decaying, once that transition from person to ruin was complete, there were all these heaps of gore everywhere. It was a very strange and distracting inconsistency that hurt the scene much more than any of the nearly invisible cuts, and I hope the blu-rays will change it.

• Added Grandpa catching Grandma as she staggered at the sight of things in the yard. Since his body language in the manga (the only non-Decayed shot of him in the sequence) has him leaned more forward, like he’s still halfway through running towards the kids, I thought this was a nice little touch on why he stopped, for reasons other than just the obvious.

---

Episode 111 was about half of a really strong episode. Most of my complaints about the Shimura Family flashback are very minor, and most of the ones that are less minor are still easy to overlook when the rest of the presentation was so strong. Unfortunately, the non-flashback half of the episode had as many problems as ever, and those aren't over yet.

Come back next time for Part Five, Episode 112: Origin: Shigaraki Tomura. Assuming my complaining about the finalized gutting of Spinner's arc doesn't get too out of hand—which it may; if so, I'll tack on one final part to wrap things up—I'll also be running down a quick overview of the Paranormal Liberation Front scenes in the Endeavor Agency arc and some various odds & ends.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Yes, I know the Skeptic Confronts Twice scene goes nowhere, but maybe, instead of deleting it, they could have patched it up by showing Skeptic turning away from the confrontation when the tower went down? You know, actually made an effort to improve on the material?

[2] Bakugou, of course, but also Inko, Kotarou, and, very prominently, even All Might. Deku circa MVA has an entire arc lying in wait for him about how much he’s internalized All Might’s paternalism re: having the strongest quirk.

[3] Indeed, as of the scene in the crater, he still hadn’t lost them at all! He had his prosthetic by the time of the speech, so I guess we’re meant to assume that Ujiko or some MLA doctor declared them past saving and amputated them. I hope I don’t need to tell you how unbelievably lame it is to have a shounen manga character sustain a permanent injury like that off-panel.

[4] It’s the pointy nose.

[5] That, at least, is the best way I’ve found to reconcile all the related-but-distinct values professed by the various members of the MLA brass, from Re-Destro’s focus on liberation and purpose, what exactly Trumpet chooses to cite when he’s talking about Spinner not “amounting” to anything much, Geten’s open extolling of quirk supremacy, and so on.

[6] In the first big double-page spread. Oddly, no bandaging is visible in the other panel that has a good shot of that hand, possibly because Horikoshi was more focused on drawing RD’s empty pant leg. The anime kept the obvious wound during the crater scene, but not the bandages during the speech.

[7] I assume, anyway, that Re-Destro only survives Shigaraki’s first touch because it’s a weaker Decay, coming as it does from only from two fingers rather than five.

[8] The fabled Marie Antoinette Syndrome. Never been scientifically documented as such (hair can whiten because of extreme stress, but not overnight) but it endures in fiction because it’s pleasingly dramatic. Trauma-based eye-color changes, not so much.

#my villain academia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha meta #my writing #stillness has salt

33 notes · View notes

words-etched-in-her-skin · 3 years ago

Note

I see that hatesex scene isn't over so I'm gonna finish it, aye?

Begging. Begging. You'd already begged earlier, dammit, and you sure wouldn't do it again! But given Sal was... Well.

Smirking, you rolled your hips up into hers, thrusting the strap into her once more. Sal made a surprised noise on top of you, her hands grabbing hold of the pillow next to your head.

"What's... This supposed ter be, eh?"

"Making you come again, obviously."

And you knew... With her grinding, you'd come as well.

"Heh..."

When she leaned in to have her voice ghost right over your ear, you already suspected your plan was doomed to fail.

"... wanted to get off of me grindin' on yeh? Nah. You'll come if yer beg. Not anyhow else."

And with a fluid movement, Sal pulled herself off of the strap, but pinned your arms with a tentacle, and smirked down as she moved up your body... Until she was kneeling above your chest. Another tentacle undid the harness of the strap and pulled it off of you, placing it on the far end of the bed, leaving your core exposed to the air, without a chance to get friction as another tentacle joined the first to keep your legs spread apart.

No amount of squirming would help you, now. And judging by Sal's smirk, that was entirely planned. Oh, this little-

"How pretty yeh look. So frustrated..."

Her voice almost gentle as she dragged a finger down your cheek. A finger that you moved in to snap at, taking it between your teeth and glaring at Sal as you teased over the tip with your tongue. But instead of having much the desired effect, her smirk only widened, her eyes darkening as she toyed with your tongue.

"That's jus' like it."

And as if that wasn't enough, alone that husky, praiseful comment and her expression got you even wetter under her, and you hated it.

"If yer wanna make me come again so badly... Use that pretty lil' tongue of yers."

She grabbed your chin, fingers softly stroking your face as she licked her lips.

"Aye?"

"Fuck you, Sal."

"Ah, yer were the one wantin' to fuck me again."

You scoffed, but whatever reply you had was drowned by Sal's core moving above your face. Fine. If she wanted it like that, you'd give it to her. You'd make her scream.

And oh, she was wet. Still coated in her juices from the strap, but as you licked up her thigh, parted her folds with your tongue and flicked it over her clit, she moaned as if she hadn't just fucked herself on it.

"Look what a mess you are."

You whispered, and Sal growled, looking down on you with half-lidded eyes. As always... Her taste, her look... She was addictive. Eating her out was likely among the favorite things you could do to her in bed... Especially given how she reacted to your tongue.

"Let my hands go."

She did, surprisingly. You grabbed her hips tightly and pulled her down on your face, closing your eyes as you dived in with all the passion you had. Trying to distract yourself from the burning heat between your legs by taking care of hers.

And oh, how she moaned! The moment you took her with your tongue, licked her overstimulated core with a mixture of softness and passion, Sal's back arched downwards as she held onto the headboard, her face turned downward for you to look at. Eyes tightly closed, lips parted in her moans, cheeks flushed, sharp teeth glinting. Her arms flexed as she held on tighter feeling your tongue flick against her clit before sucking on it. Or slide into her, a shiver going through her body.

You wanted to say something, praise her, but you couldn't. Too addictive was her taste, too good the way you saw her unravel for you. Good. She deserved to be just as much of a mess as she left you in. She deserved to think back on this and get wet again. Just like you did.

The surge of feral, hateful passion you felt at that made you speed up your tongue on her, made her cry out and buck down into you. You felt the heat between your own legs dripping onto the sheets and only focused harder, panting into her, clawing into her hips as you held yourself as close as you could. Leaving her no escape, not that she wanted one.

"Now."

You growled into her, and Sal came. Filled your mouth with her essence, left marks on the headboard as her body shuddered on yours under the force of ecstasy, panting heavily again and letting herself fall to the side next to you, shivering under the aftershocks while you smugly smiled and licked your face clean.

Wrecked. Spent. The best way she could look.

As her eyes opened again, you smirked at her.

"Enjoyed yourself?"

"Fuck yeh."

The yellow glow focused more, and with a groan, Sal pushed herself up and slid to lie down between your legs, humming appreciatively as she dragged a finger through the juices coating your thighs and shot a bolt of heat right between your legs.

"Look who's a mess now, aye?"

"Fuck me."

"Ah, yer think? Not like that, lil slut."

And with a smirk, her tongue darted out to lick a stripe up your thigh before she bit you there, tentacles forcing your legs to keep still as they slid further up on them, pressing against your inner thighs.

"If yer want this. Beg."

More tentacles encased your arms, holding you spread out while Sal lavished your thighs and hips with attention. Licking. Biting. Kissing. Building the need higher and higher, until you were almost bursting at the seams, squirming under her, tears in your eyes from the frustration. Oh, how you fucking hated her.

"Please."

KJFKDGHFKJG.. LIKE.. FUCK.. THAT IS SO FUCKING HOT, DEAR 😩😩😩😩 SJDHFLKJH ... JUST.. AHEM.. ALRIGHT.. HERE WE FUCKING GO..

“Aye… tha’s better. So pretty when yer beggin’ fer me.”

“Fuck y-.. Ah-!”

You felt your whole body ignite in a way that it never had before as you felt the very tip of Sal’s long tongue skating up the center of your core. It was a feeling that drove you crazy with need - insane with desire - knowing that due to the length and sharpness of her teeth, that it would be all you’d ever be able to feel of it. But oh, how it made you so fucking wet.. how it took the already building fire within you and set it on ‘engulf’. Only making you want it more - to feel her delicious tongue deep within your swollen core. She licked over it again oh so gently, just enough to tease the ever living fuck out of you. Your body pulling against the tentacles that held you in place as it was driven to a whole new level of desire.

“Tastes even better straigh’ from the source.”

She chuckled, watching the deep flush across your body grow even deeper, knowing she was driving you absolutely crazy with need. Your core slick with want.. desire.. hate.. every single emotion that you felt towards her dripping from you unhindered. Spilling out onto the dark blue of Sal’s bedsheets - soaking them straight through.

“Fuck, Sal! Do I need to beg again??”

“Aye.. wudn’t hurt.”

Glowing spheres shrinking to slits as she gave you a smug smirk. And gods, how you hated how much she was enjoying this, how she knew exactly how to make you want her more than anyone you had ever wanted in your life. The hate you felt for her spilling over you, washing in you in a flame what deemed almost impossible to extinguish. You moaned out again, feeling the tip of her tongue ghost over your clit before her fingers followed suit, bucking against your restraints as she topped it off with the slickness of a single tentacle teasing over your entrance. FUCK, you were overcome with need.. with an absolute carnal desire.. almost willing to do anything for her to just completely fucking wreck you - to leave you as nothing more than a breathless shell of your former self.

“Fuck! Sal! Please!”

‘Heh.. Yer sucha needy lil’ slut.”

A sharp curse from your lips as a second tentacle shared in the teasing, one firmly pressed against your clit as the other traced from the top of your dripping slit and down to your ass, causing a lightning bolt of pleasure to shoot straight through you. Your body practically vibrating with nothing more than the sheer and utter anticipation of feeling any part of her inside of you. The appendages around your legs spreading them even further, exposing every last inch of your swollen core as it begged to be touched.. to be fucked.. to be destroyed in a way that Sal, and only Sal, could achieve.

“Don’ think I ever seen yer so wet before, love.”

“Oh, fuck you, Sal.”

She chuckled in a way that was dark and husky, and it only drove your hate for her even more.

“An’ here I thought yer were wantin’ me to fuck yeh.”

She didn’t even give you a chance to respond, watching her with eyes half lidded as she twisted the two tentacles teasing your core together with flawless precision. Her finernails digging into the tops of your thighs, delving out the most delicious pain as she finally slid her appendages deep inside you with a firm thrust. A profound gasp from your lips as a third slithered across your ass, toying with it.

“Mmh.. fuck, Sal… more.. please..”

“Aye… gettin’ pretty good at tha’ beggin’, love.”

You wanted to scream.. to lean up and tell her to ‘Fuck off”, but the exquisite pressure that was building in your core with each masterful thrust of her tentacles left you momentarily speechless.. left you compliant and obedient and every last bit of exactly what she wanted from you. And she fucking knew it.

She moved slowly over your body, licking and nipping at your heated flesh as she picked up the pace of the appendages that so perfectly stuffed your dripping core. Filling your body with a surprised heat at the soft kisses she left over your previous marks. Chuckling as you whimpered - as she slapped and teased over the opening to your ass - knowing just how badly you wanted her to fill it.

“Aye.. not this time…. think yeh had enough of tha’ fer now.”

“Shouldn’t.. fuck.. shouldn’t I be the one who decides that?”

“Heh.. not when I’m the one fuckin’ yeh.”

Gods, fuck.. everytime you thought you couldn’t possibly hate her even more, she proved you wrong - stirring it even further. The tentacles in your core moving to a relentless speed as the one playing with your ass continued to tease and toy with it - matching the sublimely perfect rhythm of her appendages. Both merciless... both enough on their own to make you fervent with desire. Your legs trembling as she held them apart, as she fucked you harder and harder. Giving you everything you wanted, while denying you just the same. A wave of pleasure so heated it threatened to set your very essence on fire - to ignite the smooth fabric below you and everything in its path.

“Come fer me, slut.”

“Ah-! Fuck!”

There was no point in even trying to hold back, to stop the white hot pleasure that spilled relentlessly over your body - unyielding in every way. Eyes rolling back in your head as you felt your peak wash over you, again and again until you screamed out her name so many times that it imprinted itself into the heated space between you. Every last bit of desire spilling from your core as she kept her pace, smirking with each shudder that fell from your nearly breathless body.

Sliding her tentacles slowly out of you, a look of pure satisfaction painted across her features as she leaned back - eyes drinking you in.

“Ne'er seen yeh look more beautiful either.”

“I… fucking.. hate you.”

“Aye… so you keep sayin’, love.”

You closed your eyes, allowing your erratic breath and your racing heart a moment to settle before even attempting to find your clothes. A slight hum of confusion in your throat as you felt Sal’s presence move up next to you, pulling you closer to her.

“Hm? Sal? What’s this?”

“Aye.. aftercare.. hush.”

You were too exhausted to argue - entirely too spent to stop her from pulling you flush against her. The length of her melting into you as she held you close without so much of a boundary between you. You didn’t even think to stop and wonder why.. to ask yourself if her fingers had seemed to trace over you in a much gentler fashion... if her kisses were no longer chaste or heated, but only found your skin softly as they kissed over it. You had lost track of how long you remained there - at how many stars were left shining in the sky, when you had finally started the long trek back to the village.

sjdfhljkdshgljfhg... fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.. that made me... entirely too fucking thirsty.. fuck.. Thank you, dear... I hope this reply leaves you just as thirsty as yours did me, fuck... dkljfldkfhl 🤤🤤😩😩😩💦💦💦💦💦💦

#depravity answered #anonymous #resident evil village #genderbent sal #genderbent sal x reader #fuck #i #gods fuck #this made me so thristy #dhdjsjsskakajsj #aaaaaaaaaa #💦💦💦💦💦💦💦💦#fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck #re8 asks

32 notes · View notes

bangtan-dreamland · 4 years ago

Text

all i wanna do (is grow old with you)

Pairing: ot7 x gn!reader (a drabble for each member)

Word Count: 3430

Warnings: no warnings needed! this is basically just feel good u.u

Rating: pg

Genre: fluff fluff fluff

Summary: a small collection of moments in the domestic bliss you and him held.

AN: dropping this here for no reason other than to say yes I am alive strong power thank you

»»————-　♡　————-««

playfights are something that you always have to be on watch for with seokjin, with how mischievous he is. and at this moment, washing your dog, you are ever more on guard. or maybe not, because while you continue on lathering your dog's dirty fur, you suddenly feel a blob of something wet on your head. your hair, to be specific. you can feel the soap slide down like a boat would fall down a waterfall, you flash a glare at seokjin, who's suddenly looking all too nervous, eyes blinking fast, but the smile on his lips giving him away as the guilty apprehender. 'it was the dog!' he cries out, and you almost lunge at him- while he jumps away from you.

'seokjin! get back here!'

'i'm innocent!'

'no you're not, that was the worst excuse i've ever heard!'

you both end up running around the garden, soap trailing behind your figures and bubbles behind you, laughter ringing out in the air as you try, again and again, to catch him. it's almost infuriating how your lover uses his longer legs to keep a healthy distance between the two of you. when you finally corner him, you're both out of breath, and the water has made your clothes cling on too tight to your bodies, but you haven't grinned or smiled or laughed as hard in a while, and the mirroring look on your lover's face makes you think it's worth it.

'it was an accident,' he insists. 'the dog threw it, not me.'

you can't even refute the ridiculousness of that statement. oh wait. you can. 'jin, the dog doesn't even know how to throw the soap! and definitely not on my hair!'

a look of pure incredulity shows on his face, pout appearing and eyes blinking fast as if it will help give him credibility, the dork. 'well, that's what it wants you to think.' he concurs with a mockingly offended, quite overly dramatic tone, complete with a vivid shaking of the head. 'but i saw differently!'

'don't you believe your husband?'

you burst out laughing, all over again, for some reason you can't even explain, your heart sosososo full of love. 'god, why am i even in love with you?'

(the two of you do clean up the garden afterwards though, the plants and furniture drowned while you weren't looking- not to mention you have to give the dog a bath all over again, as it rolled around in the dirt while the two of you were busy playing tag.

seokjin, for his part, is completely unrepentant. you should be stricter, but...

well. at least he made you cookies afterwards.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

it's an hour after three when yoongi comes home, tired, drowsy figure almost collapsing on the sofa as he yawns. he almost falls asleep when you flick the lights back on, watching with no small amount of glee and (some) frustration as the man startles, almost falling off said furniture.

'you really have got to stop staying up until it's almost daytime,' you chide him, walking over to tug him up and off of the sofa, sighing as you card fingers through his matted locks. he looks up at you with the poutiest expression ever, and you steel yourself to not give in with the sheer amount of cute that has congregated to make the person named min yoongi in your arms. instead you amble with him up the stairs, the two of you making for a pair of sleepy, exhausted lovebirds. you'll have to put in first floor bedrooms when you look for a house together, this happens one too many times already.

when you reach your shared bedroom, you push him into the shower, the water already heated up, while you take out a pair of pajamas.

drying his hair, when the both of you are prone to nodding off, is a herculean chore. still, it's not as if you're okay with wet hair on your pillow, and you know that's an easy way to get sick the next day for him. 'you were in your studio again, weren't you?' you grumble, although you're pretty sure he's fallen asleep already and you're talking to no one. yoongi, for all that he is there to take care of others, is surprisingly receptive to affection when left without a choice. 'i had to,' he surprisingly says, stubborn, but with a sigh, his tone quiet but firm. 'inspiration struck'. and you can't even argue against that, knowing full well how a muse is to her artist. so instead you settle for drawing him close, close, close, muttering softly.

'maybe i should ask if they can add a bedroom to the studio.' you feel him smile against your skin, voice close enough to murmur in your ears.

'you know i'll only ever get to really sleep when i'm beside you.'

you scoff. 'you and i both know that's not true.'

warmth against your skin, an arm over yours, and a leg intertwined, soft hair tickling your cheeks, and you feel as if you could head off as it is, but no. he has the audacity to speak up again.

'you are my most melodious lullaby, the sweetest good morning, the link between my dreams and reality. if you aren't there when i sleep and when i awake, then how do i know you aren't just something i've been dreaming for? that you’re actually real, and right beside me?' he presses a kiss against your skin, and, god, that smooth ass jerk, you refuse to look at him at all.

(you both wake up late that morning, and you find you can't complain in the end anyway. even though he always ends up staying up far too late, at least, you know this, you and him will always be each other’s first view in the morning.

not a dream, indeed.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

'come on, love, dance with me!' you grin widely as you surprise hoseok, holding his hand captive in yours, the feather duster falling from his hands as you slide in front of him, tiptoeing to place a kiss on his cheeks.

he splutters, 'i thought we were supposed to be cleaning,' he raises an eyebrow at you, but you only nuzzle your nose against his, clutching onto him with a pout. there is a standoff with the two of you ending up staring at each other with all the fondness you can feel inside you, one that you end up winning when he places a kiss on the crown of your head.

'dusting can wait,' you insist. 'we're both already filthy anyway!' he feels the laughter bubble up inside him, the helplessly fond smile he has reserved for you and you only showing. but you're not lying, the attic room has been a mess the whole day and one afternoon will not transform it instantly. which is why, rather, standing in the middle of the not-so-crowded-anymore room, the sunlight beaming down from the window and the radio playing out an old love song, you find yourself more inclined to drop what you're supposed to be doing, in favor of spending a few minutes to indulge.

'your parents will get angry,' he points out, and you hum as you place your hand with his, his arm settling across your waist. this is far from what he normally dances, sharp moves and fluid spins becoming slow and sweet, the usual awe-inducing performance making way for intimacy in that private way, where the two of you are in your own world, closed off from the others. in this moment, you think that's not that far off from the truth.

'they won't mind,' you shake your head. 'and we can just take a bath afterwards.' he leads you in a sort of glide, across the room, the melody turning and twirling you around, heart beating in both of your chests in a steady, steady rate, each in time with the music. and when he ends the dance, you in his arms, both of you slightly breathless, staring into each other's eyes, you find yourself wondering not for the first time if your lover is not warmth itself reincarnated, for how else can you explain away the feeling of being awash in sunlight, not a single part of you left untouched?

(what was supposed to take only a few days turns into a week and then some, but you can't feel regret for a single moment as the attic becomes filled up with memories you already cherish, a secret hideaway for the two of you.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

'namjoon, come sit down on the grass with me,' you call out, pout on your face as you beckon your lover to come on over. han river remains sparkling no matter whether daytime or nighttime, the waters reflecting the city's beauty, and you are not the only admirer. still, there is something to be said about the way your lover looks as he falls into his thoughts. the two of you made plans to have a picnic here in the park, as the setting sun made itself known across the sky, but it's less of a romantic escapade than it is a moment of peace, a brief respite in your hectic lives.

'we should have brought a blanket,' he finally says, but you interlace your hand with his, your fingers with his own, tugging him down. he easily complies for all that he complains, and you don't think even he can deny how the grass feels under you. staring up at the dimming sky, blue and red bleeding into gold and purple, the stars beginning to peek through the curtains of night, you find yourself drifting away, the lull of the city dragging you to rest.

'what do you think of the multi-universe theory?' you hear him ask. namjoon is looking up at the sky, and there is a familiar expression on his face that tells you he is thinking about the secrets of the universe yet again, of the human nature and how each and everyone is connected. it's when he looks a little dazed, eyes focused on something beyond, a wistful tone in his voice, and he falls quiet, but when he speaks his thoughts there is always a 'what if?'. 'i wonder if we'd met in other universes too,' he says simply.

you laugh, gently. 'kim namjoon, if you are saying that there is a universe in which i see you and fail to love you, then let me reassure you now.' he looks away, a pout barely surfacing on his face, and you turn towards him, hands clasped together and your hair spread below you, the two of you picture perfect. 'maybe that universe does exist. maybe in another space and time, i wouldn't have the blessing that i have here, to love you as freely, as much as i can. but this isn't that universe, and nothing will stop me from staying by your side.'

by the end of it, your head is turned away with embarrassment, unable to take what might be his reaction. when you hear him huff, quiet, you turn around. what greets you is namjoon, blushing. 'what would i do without you?' he smiles, soft and sheepish and loving, and you roll your eyes, even as you feel yourself become something not unlike putty in this man's hands, a wave of love crashing over the sandcastle that is you. 'let's hope we never find out.'

(you spend hours in that park, talking about everything and anything, and when you go home it must be close to midnight. not that you regret it, though, when the two of you clumsily almost topple over each other, collapsing on your sofa, together, while you order takeout for the nth time because you're both too tired to cook.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

you don't think much of it, stealing jimin's clothes is as normal, as easy as that for you. the two of you practically share the other's now, a constant mismatch between your closet as what is yours and what is his is blurred, the lines toed and crossed over every time that it's simply easier to count your closets as one being rather than two.

still, it makes for a messy, uncoordinated space, and it easily slips from your mind, or his, of the whereabouts of your belongings.

'babe,' you can hear the pout in his voice. 'did you see my hoodie?' 'which hoodie?' 'my favorite one!' 'which favorite one?' at this point you see his head pop out from the doorframe, prominent lips stuck out and eyes searching the room. 'it's the green one, the soft, huge, green hoodie. that one.'

you stifle a rising amount of chuckles as you eventually realize the location of the hoodie in question- on your body, as you stole it from his closet just this morning. you don't think you can be seen as guilty though, not when the hoodie itself seemed to be begging for someone to wear it. impossibly soft, impossibly huge and impossibly sweet-smelling from the laundry softener you used, it was easy to drown in it and comfortably doze off. 'sorry baby, i don't know where it went.' 'okay, but, babe, can you help me...'

you startle as you surprisingly feel the shadow of your lover on your body, handsome face so suddenly, so dangerously close to your own, even if upside down. 'yn, you had it all this time!' you chuckle at the whine in his voice, even as he leans forward to try and tug it off you. 'give it now,' he says, but you shake your head, giggling as jimin tries. 'raise your arms! i can't believe you made me run around looking for this,' he grumbles, but you cross your arms instead, sitting up, turning around to face him, preparing yourself for a fight.

'no way, this is the softest hoodie in the house. i'm not giving it up.'

a moment of silence, and then- jimin attacks you, lunging forward to glomp you. you feel yourself become confused, when you feel his fingers around your sides, and you burst out into laughter, long and loud.

'no, jimin!'

'give it back!'

'no way!'

'then suffer under my wrath!'

(he only stops when tears actually appear at the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard, easily sprawling across your chest, the two of you on the floor and too tired to move. 'we can share,' you hum, choking as your lover narrows his eyes at you, before decidedly burrowing under your hoodie as well. with how big it is, and how not big both of you are, you surprisingly fit with him inside. it's too warm for two people inside, but as jimin lays his head comfortably across your chest, the thumping of your heart lulling him to rest, and he holds you in his arms, neither of you find you can argue against your positions.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

waking up with taehyung in the morning is an ordeal that never fails to make you smile. warmth pooling across the sheets, the warm breeze drafting in from the window, your lover's body wrapped around yours- there is a kind of holy in the way serene mornings like these are, quiet and golden, the world seemingly stopping for a moment, if only for the two of you.

it breaks your heart every time to have to shatter the illusion. 'taehyung', you whisper. there's not even a twitch in his movements, snoring quiet but steady as he continues off to slumber. you, however, can't get out of his hold, not without the man releasing you anyway- you would know, you've tried so many times before and it's always been a moot point. the only way to get out of taehyung's grip, is to wake him up into doing so. still, you find yourself soft and hesitant, every single time. 'taehyung,' you try again, a little louder this time. you shake him, and it takes you a solid minute or two for the man to actually make a sound, a low groan at the back of his throat. when he registers the situation at hand, though, your lover declines to release you, holding you captive with his embrace instead.

'stay in bed with me,' he almost whines, and you press your lips together to stop yourself from bursting into giggles.

'you know i can't do that,' you rebutt. 'i have work in an hour!'

'but i can't sleep without you.'

'you big baby,' you fondly, exasperatedly call him out, and you see him briefly crack his eyes open, if only to look at you with a pout.

you see him struggle whether or not to protest your words, before the sleepy takes over and he lazily agrees, pulling you closer in return. 'mhm, i'm your baby...'

'taehyung...'

'just a few more minutes, i swear,' he presses a light kiss on your forehead, and you know it's not just your imagination that you feel him smile against your skin, when you sigh loudly, relenting to his demands.

'you're incorrigible,' you whine as you bury your head in his chest.

'only because i love you.'

you would call it a laugh if it weren't for the yawn that sneaks in at the end.

and just as easy as that do you both fall off back to sleep, your phone's alarm scaring the hell out of you half an hour later. it was practically a given that you'd end up falling back to sleep with him really, you could say it was a ritual at this point.

(you end up being late to work, as a matter of fact, but you can't even find it in yourself to be angry. after all, there is quite nothing like waking up together in the morning, especially with your lover.

he takes you out on a date to the amusement park that weekend too, so you suppose you can forgive him.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

'jungkook,' you muffle your laughter behind your hand, but there's no denying the bright grin on your face as you feel your lover's arms encircle your waist. bright and early, it's early enough into the morning that the sky is still caught between the hues of red and pink, like a rose slowly blooming from night's embrace. it's what makes your lover's apparent waking state a mystery, when you know how heavy your lover sleeps. there goes your plan to bring him breakfast in bed, huh?

'what are you even doing?' you receive no reply, not one in words anyway, as you hear him mutter something unintelligible into your shoulders. his warmth against your back is addicting, especially in the chill of the morning air, but you're nothing if not determined, and if he's here to drag you back to bed, you're having none of it. 'if you're sleepy,' you start, turning around to hug him properly, jungkook's face nuzzling into your neck afterwards. 'you should go back to bed.' 'but you're not there with me,' you finally hear him say. 'just go back to cooking, i'll just stay here...'

'jungkook, i can't cook while you're wrapped around me!' you almost burst into laughter at that, what more at the earnest expression on your lover. 'why not?' he grumbles, a pout appearing on his face. you don't know whether to shake your head, or what- when your lover uses what he knows is his greatest weapon against you. 'don't give me that look,' you sigh, but your resolve crumbles quickly, and it's obvious that jungkook can see it as well.

'don't blame me if it turns out burnt,' you finally sigh. you feel, rather than hear him chuckle briefly. 'i'm sure it will still be delicious.' 'you say that no matter what i cook,' you mutter under your breath and he stays quiet because you're right. instead, you finally feel him disentangle from your, rather reluctantly, before he gets his own apron and gloves. 'then i guess we should just cook together then,' he declares, bumping shoulders with you. 'can't mess it up then, can we?' he smirks, cocky and familiar, and you roll your eyes even as you feel yourself settle so easily by his side, the two of you finishing breakfast together.

(the food, amazingly enough, does not become burnt, and turns out well instead. of course, he did help you after all. still, sitting at the table, eating together, you smile easy, softly. how can you not? everything about this moment is perfect, and you wouldn't have any qualms about it lasting forever.

judging by the smile on jungkook's face, you aren't the only one to feel this way, too.)

129 notes · View notes

1kook · 5 years ago

Text

jungkook + pure female pleasure

no joke that was deadass the title of the pornhub vid that inspired this tags: smut, domestic if u squint, handjob (f-receiving), a lil tit grabbin wc: not even 2k lol notes: why do all my ideas come to fruition at 1 am also this is one of many Jungkook fics I’ve started in the past week many of which will never see the light of day <3 god bless x2 bc its not proofread

Realistically, Jungkook knows you don’t mean to entice him the way you do. You just loved being in his general vicinity, loved being drowned in his affection, being the sole object of his attention. And he knows it’s the long, busy week you both had that’s making you like this tonight, extra cuddly and extra sweet to him. He’d almost died when you opened the door to your apartment, so soft and warm in one of his big t-shirts and a pair of shorts so little your ass fell out.

He was whipped, anyone could tell you as much, but Jungkook didn’t care. Sure, he’d been deeply connected with other women before, but the way you made him feel, the comfort and adoration you’ve brought him in only the past six months of dating, was surreal. He knows now, all those other relationships he’d been in? Those flings and short-lived romances? Child’s play compared to the sheer amount of love you drowned him in.

Which is why he feels bad when he tells you he can’t tonight, right after your fingers toy with the waistband of his joggers—he came here straight after the gym, smelly and stinky and gross, because if he had stopped at his home, he’d most likely lose the energy to come see you tonight, and after the week you’ve had he couldn’t do that to you—and your lips trail across his neck. He’d felt terrible, watching the tiny pout on your lips as you registered his confession, and even worse when you smoothed it over and assured him all was right so long as he was here beside you.

It’s been twenty minutes now, and Jungkook was out of it. Was it the guilt from not being able to please you? You, who had done everything in your power to grant Jungkook the happiest six months of his life thus far. Guilt... or shame that he was so tired he couldn’t please you, his literal goddess. He wasn’t sure, and between being caught up in those thoughts, and balancing the bowl of popcorn on his lap, his brain can’t keep up. The popcorn tumbles over after a particularly jerky movement from him, the buttery food toppling onto your lap where it immediately sets into your tiny shorts.

“Jungkook!” You gasp in surprise, hopping to your feet to brush the oil away quickly. He sputters into action, rounding up the sullied popcorn bits and dumping them back into the bowl—it had no use now anyway. “Ah,” you say, when the chaos dies over and you’re left greasy from the food. “I’m gonna go get changed real quick, okay?”

“Wait—I’m sorry,” he sighs, catching your wrist in his hand. You pause, regarding him with curious eyes as you watch him slump over in his seat. “I’m fucking up real bad tonight, aren’t I?”

You plop down beside him, and Jungkook feels even worse seeing how sleek your thighs are with popcorn oil. “You’ve done nothing wrong, baby,” you assure him, brushing a hand down the nape of his neck. He relaxes into the touch. “Well, you did waste all that popcorn and get me dirty, but!” He rolls his eyes, obsesses over the quirk of your smile a little too much to be normal. “Nothing my little Rumba and a shower won’t fix.”

He groans as he leans back into the couch, and you chuckle at his dramatics. You shift, and his eyes flicker down to your legs again. “Take these off,” he huffs, doesn’t realize the implications of his words until you’re kneeling beside him in a little black thong. He folds your shorts around, figures if they’re dirty they might as well get dirtier as he wipes your thighs with the cotton.

“My hero,” you tease, wiggle your shoulders at him, and that’s when it hits him.

He gives your body a brief once over, doesn’t miss the way your thighs shift about the longer he stares at you. A lightbulb goes off somewhere, and he’s tossing your shorts to the ground, tugging you into his lap. “Baby,” you laugh, body pliant against his palms as he shifts you about. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Jungkook presses a kiss to your mouth, and part of him revels in the way your lips drop open so easily for him, a tiny exhale escaping you as he pecks your lips a couple more times. “Come here,” he says, ignoring your question as he spreads his legs wide, maneuvering you to sit in the open space between with your legs thrown over one leg, upper body thrown over the other.

“Jungkook,” you warn once the realization hits you, but he shushes you by ducking down and pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Let me take care of you, doll,” he murmurs, grabs the knee closest to him in one hand, slowly trailing his palm across the meat of your thighs.

You say no more as you melt into his hold, and part of Jungkook is happy to see that he has the same effect on you as you do on him. He massages your inner thigh a little more, let’s his fingers barely brush against the fabric of your thong. “So good to me,” he says, and the noise from the tv fades away as his ears hone in on the shaky exhales leaving your throat.

Your lower lip trembles when he makes eye contact with you, awaiting his first move. When he finally does run his palm over your mound, your hips arch deliciously into the air. “Woah, woah,” he chuckles, pressing his other hand down against your hip to hold you down, though it eventually let’s go in favor of smoothing over your stomach and ribs.

“Jungkook,” you huff, and he hums, pressing his thumb down over your bud. “J-Jungkook!” You gasp, hips swiveling at the sudden contact. He shushes you, rubs his thumb in circles as you continue to twitch and wiggle about.

You were so sensitive, and he was so in love.

“So pretty,” he tells you, stretching his fingers down to rub over your clothed folds. You moan, and your ability to stay still slowly begins to wither away as he presses harder and harder into you. “Just wanna fuck your pretty little brains out,” he admits,

Your back arches, and his big t-shirt slides down (up?) your body, pooling just before the swell of your breasts. He knew you weren’t wearing a bra, had felt your soft chest when you’d hugged him at the door. He pushes your shirt out of the way, massaging your boobs. You cry out at the sensation, hips circling up into his palm.

“More, more,” you whine, legs and arms stretching out wildly the faster he rubs his thumb over your clit. But it’s not enough, Jungkook Can tell by the way your brow furrows and the way you press his hand tighter against your breast.

“Take these off for me, doll,” he encourages, tugging at the hem of your thong and watches the way it rolls into itself the further down it goes, until you’re kicking it off your ankle with no consideration. He knocks your knees apart, can’t help but salivate at the glistening folds that present themselves to him.

“So wet, and tight,” he mumbles, dives his finger down just barely between your folds. You squeal, bucking into his palm. “And so, so responsive.”

“Please, just touch… touch me,” you cry out, grinding into his palm.

“Don’t worry your pretty head off, sweetheart,” Jungkook assures you, slides the point of his middle finger past your folds and into your core. You’re tighter than he remembers, but so warm and inviting. “Wanna make you cum and cum, until you’re shaking,” he says, and though he’s become so riled up by seeing you like this, his heart still flutters when you grab onto his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt bunched between your clenched fist.

Without the presence of that skimpy thing, there’s nothing that stops him from pressing his thumb against your clit. You positively mewl at the touch, your leg sporadically kicking out, sending a throw pillow tumbling off the couch.

“Oh—oh!” You weep, hands desperate to hold anything, anything, and they find their place wrapped around his bicep and grappling onto the side of the couch cushion. Jungkook basks in your reactions, reaches both hands down to rub against your dripping pussy. Every touch of his fingers to your most sensitive parts riles you up more and more, hips bucking into his palm, only to jerk away right after.

“Keep still,” Jungkook coos, smooths a palm over your stomach to push you down again. You moan, the simple touch sending tingles down your spine. And when you squirm about again and end up with a foot dangling off the side of the couch, face so close and overwhelmed, Jungkook can’t help but slot his mouth against yours for the briefest of moments.

It’s apparently the wrong thing to do, because when he pulls away, you're nearly sobbing and desperate for more. “Jungkookie, ther—there!!” You shriek, use the foot on the ground to push your hips up into his palm.

He lets you, mostly because it’s usually Jungkook desperate and horny for you, so to see you quivering and sobbing on his lap, pussy spread out for him to toy with, it boosts something inside of him. He gives your clit another few rubs, swallows the loud moan that threatens to escape, before trailing his hand further down your center.

“No, no,” you cry, looking at Jungkook with watery eyes. Your skin is so warm, every inch soft under his roaming palms. “I’ll cum, Jungkook, I-I’ll com—“

He silences you with another kiss, and for someone who loves you so much, he absolutely adores the way your lips tremble against his, the more distraught you become. “That’s the plan, doll,” he huffs out a quiet chuckle, smiles down at you as your face twists in pleasure.

“Koo—Kook!” You sob, hips bucking wildly into his palm, and Jungkook doesn’t even try to hold you down anymore, let’s you squirm and flail about as you chase your high. His fingers don’t slow either, rubbing against your glistening folds and your clit, until you’re sobbing his name some more.

“Come on, pretty baby,” he croons, reaching down to massage your breasts again. You cry out, flailing wildly. Your back arches so prettily, Jungkook thinks you could have been a renaissance statue, and you come.

“J-Jungkook,” you weep, body releasing a tiny series of twitches as your pleasure washes over you, and you cum all over his hand. He tries his best to keep it from staining your couch, but you come so much that he can barely push it back into you. “Jungkookie,” you whisper a second time, when the waves are beginning to slow and his fingers become too much.

He rushed to reassure you he’s still there, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Right here, baby,” he murmurs, kissing down your face until he’s sucking against the soft spot behind your ear.

“Fuck,” you murmur, limbs still loose and weak against him.

He hums, pumps his fingers into you one last time, much to your surprise, because he loved the slick feeling of your warm heat enveloping him. “Feel good?” He asks, and you release another pitiful whine when his fingers curl inside of you. He muffles a smile against your jaw.

“Uh huh,” you groan, hips twitching again. You clench around his digits, and Jungkook wonders just how many more times he can unravel you tonight.

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #goldenclosetnet #jjk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #bts smut #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #mine #ksmutclub #jungkook drabble #jjkd

1K notes · View notes

kjack89 · 4 years ago

Text

Impasse (Pt. 3/3)

Part 1 here, part 2 here.

E/R, Modern AU, former relationship. Being stuck together leads to the more or less inevitable conclusion.

Given the sheer quantity of alcohol the man had managed to drink, Enjolras wasn’t at all surprised that Grantaire slept through dinner and all the way until the next morning. He was also, frankly, a little relieved by it. He wasn’t entirely sure that he was ready to have the conversation with Grantaire about what he had said.

Or, worse, ready to pretend to ignore it because Grantaire couldn’t remember it.

Enjolras honestly wasn’t sure which would be worse.

But all too soon, the early morning quiet was interrupted by a prolonged groan from the futon, and Enjolras sipped his glass of water with only a small amount of sympathy as Grantaire rasped, “Holy fuck, why?”

“Bourbon,” Enjolras told him dryly. “That’s the answer also to who, what, when, where and how, in case you were planning to ask those next.”

Grantaire cracked one eye open to glare at him. “Why did you let me drink that much?” he managed.

Enjolras just gave him a look. “Have I ever once successfully stopped you before?”

Grantaire groaned again and flopped over onto his back. “No,” he said. “But you still could’ve tried.”

“Maybe I did, and you just don’t remember it.”

At that, Grantaire sat upright, and Enjolras had to bite back a laugh at the man’s hair sticking up in a million different directions. “Oh God,” Grantaire said, eyes wide. “Whatever I said, just remember, in vino veritas is more a guideline than a hard and fast rule.”

“So I’ll take that to mean there are some parts of yesterday afternoon that you don’t fully remember?” Enjolras asked carefully.

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand. “Some parts, the entire thing, something like that.” His expression tightened as he glanced at Enjolras. “I’m sorry for absolutely everything I said or did, by the way, especially if it was, uh…” He trailed off. “Untoward.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “Untoward?” he repeated. “You’ve been hanging out with Courfeyrac too much lately.” He paused. “Besides, you’re fine. It was nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He meant for the latter to come off as a joke, but Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. “If you say so,” he said instead, not sounding remotely convinced, but luckily, he changed the subject instead of making Enjolras convince him. “But you should still let me make it up to you.”

“How?” Enjolras asked, curious.

Grantaire looked pointedly at Enjolras’s midsection. “Well, for starters, you can let me take a look at your ribs to make sure they aren’t actually broken.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I think I’d know by now if they were broken,” he huffed.

“Says the man who walked around for over a week with a broken wrist that you kept claiming was just a bad sprain.”

Enjolras considered it for a moment. “Fine,” he finally allowed. “If it’ll get you to drop the topic, at least. Not that there’s anything that either you or I can do if my ribs are broken, but…”

Grantaire patted the futon next to him and Enjolras rolled his eyes but reluctantly perched on the edge of the futon, hesitating for only a moment before lifting his shirt up so that Grantaire could examine his side. He avoided looking at Grantaire, well aware that the bruises certainly looked bad, and he flinched only slightly as Grantaire lightly pressed against the bruises. “Sorry,” Grantaire said softly. “I know my fingers are rough.”

“That wasn’t—” Enjolras exhaled sharply as Grantaire increased the pressure. “Ok, that doesn’t feel great.”

Grantaire hummed in agreement before looking up at him. “Well, the good news is, based on my own fairly extensive experience with a variety of rib-related injuries, I’m fairly certain they’re just bruised and not actually broken.”

“Pretty sure I said that, but…” Enjolras trailed off, suddenly very aware that Grantaire’s fingers were still lightly pressed against his skin, and he flushed, tearing his eyes away. Grantaire dropped his hand as if he had been scalded, and Enjolras tried not to flinch again at the sudden loss of heat. “Anyway, uh, thanks,” he said gruffly.

Grantaire cleared his throat. “No problem,” he murmured, and for a moment, they sat there, side-by-side, in silence, every fiber of Enjolras’s being acutely aware of Grantaire’s thigh pressed against his, of how he could reach out and tangle their fingers together or rest his head against Grantaire’s shoulder, or— “You’re lucky that it wasn’t worse,” Grantaire continued, as if he was entirely unaware or unaffected by their proximity, and it took Enjolras a minute to even realize what he was talking about.

“I know,” he said after too long a pause for such an innocuous comment. “The police were even more violent than usual, and everyone in the crowd was getting bruised and bloody, and…”

He trailed off, sudden realization hitting. “Hang on,” he said slowly, and as if knowing what Enjolras was about to say, Grantaire quickly got off the futon, making his way over to pour himself a glass of water while conspicuously avoiding Enjolras’s eyes.

As if he knew he would see the accusation there.

“Everyone was getting hit,” Enjolras said slowly, watching the shoulders in Grantaire’s back tighten as he drained the glass of water. “Everyone was getting injured. But there’s not a scratch or bruise on you.”

“You don’t know that,” Grantaire muttered, still not turning around to look at him. “You haven’t seen me naked. At least not recently.”

Enjolras ignored the obvious attempt at what could have been either a joke or a come on (or, knowing Grantaire, both). “Why weren’t you injured?” he asked instead, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “Luck, I guess,” he said, his voice sounding equally strained.

“Grantaire.”

Grantaire sighed. “Look—” he started, but Enjolras cut him off.

“Don’t you dare lie to me. Not now, not after—”

He broke off, but Grantaire’s eyes flashed to his for a brief moment before he looked away again. “I wasn’t injured because I wasn’t there,” he said flatly.

Even though Enjolras had put it together, it somehow still shocked him to hear Grantaire admit it. “What do you mean, you weren’t there?” he asked, almost mechanically.

Grantaire shrugged again. “I mean, I didn’t go to the protest.”

Enjolras stared at him. “I thought you were calling it a riot,” he said, the words popping out of his mouth almost without thought, but it was enough to get Grantaire to finally look at him again, his own face flushed a dull, mottled red.

“Whatever you want to call it,” he muttered. “I didn’t go. I came here instead.”

“But – why?”

“I figured you’d show up here eventually,” Grantaire said, as if that even began to answer Enjolras’s question. “And before you ask me how I knew which safe house you’d go to out of the, what, five we’ve got sprinkled throughout the city, give me some credit.” Enjolras had not even thought of asking that, and wisely kept his mouth shut. “This one was furthest from the action, which means it would take longest to get here, making whoever came here most vulnerable. There’s no way you would ask anyone else to take that risk.”

That had been Enjolras’s exact thought process, but he wasn’t going to give Grantaire the satisfaction by admitting that, and besides, he had a far more pressing question. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quietly. “I mean, why did you come here?”

Grantaire just looked at him. “You know why,” he said. “I came here for you.”

“But I thought—” The words stuck in Enjolras’s throat, because he knew what he had thought, knew that he had done what he thought at the time was a kindness, but now… “We broke up.”

“I know.”

“So then—”

“Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I want you to bleed out in some safe house,” Grantaire snapped, uncharacteristically sharp.

Enjolras wet his lips, trying to figure out what he wanted to say next. “I didn’t realize you still felt that way,” he said, which wasn’t even remotely true, and probably justified the look Grantaire gave him.

“You and I broke up for a lot of reasons, some valid, some bullshit,” Grantaire said impatiently. “But none of them were because I stopped loving you.” He met Enjolras’s eyes, something defiant in his expression. “And I don’t think it was because you stopped loving me either.”

“Grantaire—” Enjolras sighed, but Grantaire didn’t let him finish.

“I don’t remember everything from last night, but I remember enough.”

Enjolras swallowed. “What do you remember?”

“I remember this.”

Grantaire closed the space between them, kissing Enjolras fiercely, hungrily, but this time, Enjolras didn’t hesitate before pulling away, just a little bit. “And do you remember me telling you this was a bad idea?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, his nose brushing slightly against Enjolras’s as he shifted. “But I don’t remember you telling me you didn’t want to.” He hesitated, his eyes searching Enjolras’s. “Just like I don’t remember you telling me that you don’t love me anymore.”

This time, it was Enjolras who surged forward, unable to stop himself, unable to remember just why this was such a bad idea in the first place. He cradled Grantaire’s face in both his hands, Grantaire’s hands falling automatically to his hips, the two of them slotting together perfectly like they always had.

Like they had never stopped.

They stumbled backward until the back of Enjolras’s knees hit the futon, but before he could even attempt to sit down, Grantaire had picked him up, and Enjolras automatically wrapped his legs around Grantaire’s waist. Grantaire laughed lightly against his lips. “Fucking Christ, did you gain weight?” he asked breathily.

“Shut up.”

For once, Grantaire seemed only too happy to do so, depositing Enjolras onto the futon before following after him so they could finish what they had started the night before.

----------

“Well,” Grantaire said, his voice a low rumble against Enjolras’s ear as his head was pillowed on Grantaire’s chest. “That’s a helluva way to cure a hangover.”

Enjolras huffed a laugh, tripping his fingers up the coarse hair of Grantaire’s happy trail. “That explains why you seemed to have less hangovers when we were dating.”

Grantaire carded his fingers through Enjolras’s curls. “It’s one reason, anyway,” he said quietly, before bending to press a kiss to the top of Enjolras’s head. “So now what?”

Enjolras twisted his head to look up at him. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean…” Grantaire sighed, and Enjolras felt his contentment slipping rapidly away. “Fuck, Enj, please don’t make me spell it out for you. What does this mean for us? Where do we go from here?”

Enjolras sat up slowly, avoiding looking at Grantaire as he felt around, trying to find his boxers. “We don’t go anywhere.”

“Oh.”

The single syllable somehow cut Enjolras more than any of the screaming fights he and Grantaire had had, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, steeling himself. “I love you,” he said finally, not really seeing the point in continuing to deny it. “If I’m being honest with myself in a way that I’ve been avoiding, I probably always will.” He forced himself to look at Grantaire, to meet his eyes. “But we broke up for a reason, the biggest of which being that we don’t have a future together.”

“We could,” Grantaire blurted, his eyes wide, pleading.

“Grantaire—”

“No, listen to me,” Grantaire said, his tone turning urgent. “I know that I will never be everything you want me to be. But I'm not completely useless, and at the very least, I'd like a chance to try.”

Enjolras shook his head. “It’s not about that,” he said. “It’s not about you.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Enjolras took a deep, steadying breath. “My die has been cast, so to speak. And where I'm going when we finally get out of this godforsaken apartment...you can't come with me.”

Grantaire went very still. “What are you talking about?” he asked, but before Enjolras could answer, he recoiled, the blood draining from his face as he finally understood. “You're not waiting for the heat to die down, are you?” Again, he didn’t wait for Enjolras’s answer. “You've been waiting for Combeferre and Marius and whomever else to make all the necessary legal arrangements.”

Even though that part wasn’t a question, Enjolras still nodded. “Yes.”

“You're planning on letting yourself get arrested.” Grantaire’s voice sounded strangely hollow, his expression impossible to read. “And not just on a minor charge that keeps you in county lockup overnight.”

“Yes.”

“So, what, you attacked that cop on purpose?” Grantaire asked harshly.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, that actually wasn't part of the plan,” he said, because he owed Grantaire the truth. “But when I saw what the cop was doing...well, let's just say it accelerated our timeline a little.”

“Do I even want to ask why you're letting yourself get arrested?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras lifted his chin defiantly. “Because once I'm arrested, my defense team gets access to body cam footage, arrest statistics, everything they've been stonewalling us trying to get via FOIA requests. Marius will have a hundred plus subpoenas ready to go the minute I'm arrested on the grounds that my arrest was retaliatory. And if all that happens to get leaked to the public, well…”

He shrugged, and Grantaire just stared at him. “And if, God fucking forbid, you’re actually found guilty?”

“Then I'm prepared to do my time in service of all the people who are unjustly doing time for crimes they didn't commit.”

Enjolras had prepared for this moment so many times before he decided to just end things with Grantaire, prepared for Grantaire to yell and rage and tell him what an idiot he was. The breakup had seemed the easier route to take, but he should’ve known it would come out anyway, that he’d have to sit through it anyway, and he squared his shoulders, ready for anything.

Anything except Grantaire swallowing, nodding, and telling him simply, “Ok.”

Enjolras’s automatic defense of the Cause died on his lips, and he stared at Grantaire. “What?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Do you need me to repeat myself?”

“No, I just—” Enjolras shook his head. “I sort of expected you to try to stop me.”

Grantaire snorted. “I learned a long time ago that I can’t stop you from doing anything.”

“Maybe not, but…” It was Enjolras’s turn to have a sudden realization, this time seeing the stubborn set of Grantaire’s jaw, the resigned lines that braced his body. He knew what Grantaire was planning, because he’d threatened it before, during one of their fights, when Enjolras had said he was leaving and Grantaire had pinned him down and told him that if he did, Grantaire would follow him.

(“You’d follow me?” Enjolras had repeated, his anger seeping out of him. “Even if I went all the way to Timbuktu?”

“Firstly, I have no idea what you think you’d do in Mali, but yeah, even all the way to Timbuktu.” Grantaire had leaned in and kissed him. “Face it,” he had whispered, “you’re stuck with me.”)

And Enjolras could see it on Grantaire’s face – he intended to make good on that threat.

“No.”

“No, what?” Grantaire asked.

“No,” Enjolras repeated. “I know that look, and Grantaire, you cannot—”

Grantaire shrugged, nonchalant. “Well, unfortunately for you, you are going to be in police custody, so you won't be able to stop me.” He leveled a look at Enjolras. “Will you.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped. “I’ve made my choice, and I know it’s not one you agree with, but it is what it is. But you—”

“If you think there is any world in which I would not follow you, you're out of your damn mind.”

Grantaire said it easily, pleasantly even, but his words were edged with steel. Enjolras shook his head and stood, grabbing his clothes to give himself something to do besides sit there and stare at him. “So, what, you’re just going to commit some crime so you get arrested, too?” he scoffed. “You don’t exactly have the kind of arrest record I do. Drunk and disorderlies don’t exactly hold the same weight as inciting domestic terrorism, so it’s not like you can guarantee you’ll get sent to jail.”

“Sure I will,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “Mandatory minimums are a bitch, haven’t you heard?”

Enjolras knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Grantaire would figure out a way to pull it off. Even if it took him multiple arrest attempts, or doing something unbelievably, irredeemably stupid.

Just like he knew that he had to do everything in his power to stop him.

“I can’t let you do that,” he said sharply. “Not for me.”

Grantaire just cocked his head slightly. “Don’t you understand?” he asked, something almost gentle in his voice. “If you were in there and I was out here…” He trailed off and shook his head. “I couldn’t live like that.” His expression tightened. “I won’t live like that.”

“That’s insane.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “But like you, my choice was made a long time ago. Whether we’re together or not.” He looked up at Enjolras. “You jump, I jump. Simple as that.”

Enjolras’s throat felt tight. “You can’t—” he repeated, but Grantaire just smiled at him, and the words of protest died on Enjolras’s lips.

“I would love to see you try to stop me,” Grantaire said softly, and he stood, crossing to Enjolras to kiss him once more.

Enjolras caught Grantaire’s hand. “You’re asking me to choose you over everything I have worked for,” he said, his voice tight.

Grantaire shook his head. “I’m really not,” he told him evenly. “I learned a long time ago that the outcome of that choice would not be one that favored me.”

“But I can’t let you do this.”

“No more than I can let you go to prison without me,” Grantaire said, leaning in to kiss the corner of Enjolras’s mouth. “6 to 30 years is a long time. And I…” He shrugged, something catching in his voice. “I mean, I’d probably survive that long without you. But I sure as shit don’t want to.”

Enjolras couldn’t stop himself from kissing Grantaire again, a searing kiss that he could only hope captured everything he couldn’t bring himself to say. “What if I broke up with you again?” he asked when they resurfaced for air, his lips so close to Grantaire’s still that they were practically sharing the same breath.

Grantaire laughed breathily. “You tried that once already,” he whispered. “And yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” Enjolras repeated, the reality of it hitting him, the magnitude of what they faced hitting him. “So where does that leave us?”

“Pretty sure that was my question originally,” Grantaire told him with a smirk, though his smile faded slightly when he saw the look on Enjolras’s face. “Same place we’ve always been,” he said with a sigh. “At an impasse.”

“An impasse.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Your choice has been made, and so has mine. You jump, I jump.” He hesitated. “And even though I know I don’t need it, I’d still like your permission.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can give you that,” he said.

Grantaire just smiled again, a little crookedly. “Maybe not,” he agreed. “But thankfully, we’ve still got a few days of being stuck in here for me to try to convince you.”

“I love you,” Enjolras said, a little desperately, even though he knew repeating it wasn’t going to change Grantaire’s mind, any more than the opposite would.

“I love you, too,” Grantaire said, taking Enjolras hand and lacing their fingers together. “After everything. Despite everything. Because of everything. And as much as I wish it were enough – as much as I wish I were enough – I get why you’re making the choice you’re making.” He squeezed Enjolras’s hand. “I just hope you understand the same.”

Enjolras wasn’t sure that he did, or that he ever would, but he knew that it didn’t matter. Not anymore. “So we’re at an impasse.”

“Yup.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Well. At least there’s no one else I’d rather be at an impasse with.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #reconciliation #former relationship #that's not so former anymore

41 notes · View notes

smarchit · 4 years ago

Text

Look Around, Look Around pt 7

Summary: You escaped an abusive marriage, pregnant with your husband’s child. He sends a bounty hunter after you to bring you back. Everything changes. Din Djarin/pregnant!reader, no use of y/n

Word count: 4k (apparently)

Warnings: Pregnancy/related topics, implied/referenced rape, mentions of abuse, blood/gore, violence, labor, childbirth, ask to tag for anything else!

Notes: This is definitely the longest part of this story so far. When I first published this on Ao3, it was originally titled “The Mother.” Enjoy!

Your water had broken. It ran down your legs and created a dark spot on the floor below your feet. The wet mark bloomed across the floor and fear rose in your throat. Kriff.

Two weeks early. Two whole kriffing weeks early. Almost three! You remembered what the doctor on Nevarro had said about potential birth complications and tried not to think about it too much as you tried to prepare the little home as much as you could in the short amount of time you knew you had.

You had been walking around the largest room in the house for a few hours since then, trying to stop the unbearable pain in your back. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

You let out a sharp cry and clung to a support beam so you wouldn't drop to your knees in fucking agony as another contraction hit. They were still far enough apart that you still had a bit of time, but you knew that this baby was coming. Today. With or without the Mandalorian there to assist. He kriffing promised.

The sun finally came up and still no sign of the Mandalorian. You were beyond worried - both for him, and at the very real possibility that you had to do this by yourself. In the middle of a desert.

You had decided that sitting in the nest of soft blankets and bedding would be the best option for you right now. Gods, what you wouldn't give for Mando's strong hands to grip onto right now.

Between the contractions and over the beeping from the timer you had rigged, you heard voices outside. Your heart jumped, thinking the Mandalorian had finally returned, maybe with help. It didn't sound like Mando, though. Neighbors, perhaps? Though you hadn't seen any other houses when you arrived. Fear began to bubble in your throat.

"There's his ship," a voice growled from outside. It sounded vaguely familiar, though you couldn't place it.

"Think he's in here?" asked a second voice.

"Nah," replied the first. "He would be waiting for us if he were. His girl's here though."

"How do you know?"

"I heard her crying."

You gasped, both in fear and in pain and carefully got to your knees. If you moved quick enough, you could make it to the ship and lock the door, like Mando had told you to do.

No luck.

You had almost made it to the back door when it slammed open. There was a scrawny man with sandy hair standing there, a dagger in his hand. He smiled at you and as you tried to scramble away backwards, he reached down and grabbed you by the hair.

"Oh, he's gonna love to see you," he chuckled.

You screamed and brought your foot down onto the arch of his boot. Hard. He let out a scream of pain. As he dropped you, you ran to the table and grabbed the blaster Mando had left you.

One shot to his head and he crumbled to the ground. You had an uneasy feeling that his partner wouldn't be felled so quickly.

Adrenaline coursed through you as you staggered to the back door again. All you needed to do was get to the ship...

"There you are," the first voice hissed. It was deep and grating and chilled you to your core.

Your eyes went wide with sheer terror as you recognized the man that filled the doorway that you currently were trying to make your escape through. Dern. The Devaronian innkeeper.

"Where is the Mandalorian?" he shouted, crossing the room to you in two massive steps. You backed up, trying to keep as much distance between you and him as you could.

"I don't know!" you shouted, crying out as a contraction hit. As you gripped your stomach and doubled over, you took a few breaths and tried to stay calm.

"Oho, now what is this?" he roared with laughter. "What's the matter, little girl? Do you need some assistance?"

"Get away!" you cried as he came closer to him. "I'll -- I'll shoot! I'll -- Ah, kriff!"

He just kept laughing despite your gasps and huffs of pain. Dern gripped your arm as you tried to keep it steady to shoot. He crushed your wrist and yanked the blaster from your hand.

"Please, please no!" you shouted as he drew you closer.

"Tell me where Mando is and I won't shoot," he said, aiming the blaster at your head.

"I don't know!" you sobbed. He still had a grip on your wrist and you could feel the bones creak as they threatened to shatter in his grasp.

Dern scowled and then in an instant, he had the blaster pressed against your belly, one finger resting on the trigger. When you let out a scream of horror, he gave a cruel chuckle.

"Tell. Me. Where. He. Is." Each word was punctuated with a jab to your belly with the blaster barrel.

You groaned and screwed up your face as the wave of contractions continued. Closer. Not long now.

"Please," you begged. "Let me go. I don't know where he is! He left two days ago! Please, I'm telling you the truth."

Dern scoffed and let you drop to the ground. He shook his head as you scrambled backwards, trying to get yourself to the small nest of blankets you had left on the floor. The palms of your hands were cut up with dust and gravel.

Your thigh brushed something buried in between the pillows and blankets and when you glanced down, there was a little glint in the low light. The knife. There was a chance after all. But you had to think fast. You only got one chance to hit, otherwise you and your baby were both dead.

The Devaronian took a seat close by you and kept the gun trained on you. He leaned forward so he could get a better look as you braced yourself against the wall as a powerful contraction hit. My moon, I will not let him take you from me.

Dern kept the gun on you for the better part of the early morning, waiting for you to talk. He drank the last of your water from the skin, leaving you parched and sweating as the sun beat down on the house.

You couldn't take it anymore.

"Dern," you gasped, hand clutching your belly. You pulled your shirt from the waistband of your skirt, exposing stretched flesh to the dry air. "I... I need help. Please help me. This baby is coming."

Gods, you hoped that Devaronians weren't known for their obstetrical prowess. It was the worst lie you ever thought of.

He laughed as he stalked over to you, stuffing the blaster in his pocket. One giant fist tangled in your hair and yanked you to your knees. "You finally decided you need my help, huh?"

You gritted your teeth as he leaned down to get closer, pulling you up to meet his face. He smelled like blaster smoke and oil. And something beneath that. Something that caused a deep rage to boil inside you, something that caused your maternal instinct to go into hyperdrive as you gripped the hilt of the knife Mando had left for you. Sour Bantha milk.

"Think I'll keep you," he said with a chuckle, "Wonder how soon I can put another baby back in you? You look so good like this. Wonder how good you'd look with a Devaronian inside of you." Dern trailed his fingers down your neck and cupped his hand over one of your breasts, travelling lower until it reached your exposed belly. He dug his nails into your skin.

You screamed and drove the blade of the knife into the side of his neck as hard as you could. When you jerked it forward, he gave a roar of pain as his blood sprayed over you.

He tried to reach up to grab your arm to subdue you, to try and make you drop the knife. Dern swore and tried to snap your wrist as you brought the blade down again and again with your other hand.

When he fell, you gave another scream and shoved him away. As he landed in a heap on the floor, you drove the knife into his temple. His blood soaked through your clothes, the blankets, the dirt floor of the house turning the sand red and wet as he bled out. It was on your face. You could feel it. You tried to wipe all the blood off your hands on a nearby blanket. Shaking. Your vision blurred. You just killed someone. Two someones. There's so much blood.

"Maker," you gasped.

You had to get out of here as soon as you could. As quickly as possible, you staggered to your feet, biting your lip bloody through the pain. You had to get to the ship. Send an emergency signal to someone. Anyone. Maybe someone would pick up on it and rescue you. Maker, you would even take your chances with the remnants of the kriffing Empire right now.

Something must have happened to the Mandalorian to keep him away like this, especially when he promised you he would be back. You shuddered to think.

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as you walked, no, waddled through the blood on the floor and out towards the ship. As you entered the hold, you realized you would have to go up to the cockpit to send a message. You tried to climb the ladder, but you didn't get past the first rung before you dropped to the floor. You hissed at the pain in your knees.

Blood pounded in your ears as you crawled back the hallway towards the bedroom you had slept in for the past few months. You were running on pure instinct and adrenaline right now.

Like a scared animal.

As you tried to pull yourself onto the bed, you heard loud footsteps clanging up the ramp. Someone called your name. They sounded frantic as they searched for you.

"Mando?" you called, your voice hoarse as you tried to get his attention.

He must've heard you. His footsteps grew louder and closer as he neared, and you turned your head as best you could to see him there in the doorway, shiny beskar armor catching the light and looking every single bit like a kriffing hero.

You tried to turn around to face him, but the worst of the contractions finally hit. In an attempt to alleviate some of the pain, you sat against the wall of the bedroom, unable to make it onto the cot.

Mando was already at your side on his knees. He yanked his gauntlets off and threw them off to the side. You heard them land somewhere with a clang. His gloves came next. Here in the low light of the ship's interior, you couldn't get a good look at hands, but they were warm and solid when they pulled you against him.

"Gonna need to take this off," he said quickly. He helped you lift your hips and gently pulled off your skirt and underclothes, ruined and soiled with fluid and blood.

"Where-- where were you?!" you cried as your body finally gave you the signal to start to push. Talk about close calls, Mando.

"Tell you later, okay?" he replied, looping your arm through his. "Focus on this - brace yourself on me. You need to push."

You pressed your whole weight against him as you focused all your strength into pushing downwards.

Mando gripped your hand and let you squeeze as hard as you needed to get through this. He held one of your thighs open with his elbow resting against your knee while you kept your free hand on your other knee. Blood streaked along your inner thighs and Mando set your balled-up skirt on the floor beneath you to try and catch some of the fluid.

You threw your head back and fucking howled. The sound was absolutely primal and it rang in your ears as you bore down. It echoed through the ship and reverberated back to you.

You really didn't even hear Mando's strong words of encouragement as he tried his best to talk you through it. You weren't sure, but you may have told him to shut the fuck up at one point.

It seemed like it was never going to end. The pain tore through you like fire.

A sharp cry that was not your own flooded your ears. A rush of endorphins came over you as your child finally made their entrance into the galaxy.

"You did it!" Mando cried. He sounded like he was laughing with relief. "Me'suum, you did it!"

Hands shaking from exertion, you let go of Mando to help the screaming baby out of you.

"Oh, my moon," you whispered as your eyes filled with tears. "My little moon."

You gently lifted them and held them against your chest, wanting nothing more than to have this baby now be as close to you as physically possible. You shushed the baby gently, your own cheeks now wet as well.

"You did it," he murmured. He pushed sweaty hair from your forehead and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, letting you lean against him. His cool helmet rested on your temple as he looked down at the still restless newborn baby in your arms. "It's a girl, me'suum."

"I did... Did it." you breathed, resting your hand on the baby's back. You were suddenly exhausted and you sagged against him heavily. Your words slurred together slightly. "'s a girl, Mando. A lil' girl?"

"Hey," he murmured, jostling you a bit in an attempt to rouse you. He sat up a bit straighter. "Hey. I need to get you cleaned up, okay? We gotta get you clean."

You nodded and let your eyes flutter shut. You were so tired...

"Maker. Me'suum," he said, trying to get your attention. His tone was urgent. "I will be right back. The medpak is in the fresher. Don't fall asleep. You lost -- Maker, there's a lot of blood."

Mando stood and exited the room, being sure to side-step the blood. He grabbed the medpak and an extra shot of bacta before he returned to you. He knelt back down in front of you, administered the shot and sighed in relief when the color returned to your cheeks after a moment.

You felt better instantly. No pain, no fatigue. Only slightly weak, but you had expected that from the beginning.

"Mando," you whispered as he took his place at your side once more. You looked up at him through heavy, sleepy eyes. When he responded with a grunt, you looked down at the baby, now finally calmed and gurgling slightly, and stroked your finger over her faint hairline. "I need you to cut her cord for me... Please?"

He sucked in a breath. The sound crackled through the modulator and he stood, frozen in place.

"Hey," you said, lifting your head. He looked so distant, even though you couldn't see his face. "Can you do that? Please?"

Mando shook whatever he was thinking about from his head and turned his attention back to you and the baby.

"Right, yeah," he murmured. He pulled out a pair of wound care scissors from the medpak and carefully cut your baby's cord. He tied it off with a strip of gauze from the kit.

While Mando did his best to clean you up, you used a clean edge of your shirt to gently clean your baby's face, noting that she blessedly had most of your features.

Mando disappeared for a moment, returning with an armful of blankets and cushions from the house. Many of the cleaner ones were from the festival that now seemed like a lifetime ago.

After sitting there with you for a while, he helped you into the bed and made sure you were as comfortable as possible.

He wrapped your daughter in one of his old scarves and returned her to your arms. You slid your arms out of your shirt and pressed her to you, hoping that the contact would soothe her.

"Gonna... Go check on the kid," he said softly. "You gonna be okay?"

"You gonna bring him down?"

"In a bit... Give him a little talking to," he murmured. "A heads up. I don't think he knows what's going on."

You gingerly moved your baby to the other arm and held your hand out to him. "He might be asleep."

Mando looked up at the ceiling as if listening for any sort of disturbance upstairs.

He stood by your side and laced his fingers through yours. His hands were still bared to you and you noted his skin was a beautiful golden copper.

"Why didn't you come?" you whispered, looking up at him. "You said you'd be back by morning."

"Remember how I said it looked like Jawas scavved the parts of the tanks?"

You nodded.

"So I headed towards a settlement I saw on the way in, hoping someone would have a bit of sympathy if I explained the situation," he murmured. He sighed deeply and shook his head. "It ended up as an ambush. Some people I used to work with."

You looked up at him and he gave your hand a squeeze.

"They wanted you," he continued. "Said they were gonna take you to your husband for the money. I had to fight them off - they wounded me and ran. Another moisture farmer took me in. Lent me her speeder so I could get back here."

"You almost didn't make it," you chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the baby's forehead.

"When I saw those bodies in there... I didn't know what to think," he said softly, "I thought that you were... I thought the worst."

"I'm sorry about your friend," you said, though you were beginning to think that their relationship was purely one-sided at the beginning, foggy in the middle and hatred on both sides at the end.

He gave a half hearted shrug and ran a calloused thumb over your knuckles.

You wanted to say something so bad. But what words could you say? Thank you wasn't enough and I think I love you felt like it was both too much and not enough. Both were true. You had never felt so grateful for another person in your whole life.

A banging noise from upstairs startled you both. You jumped enough to wake your daughter who had fallen asleep, her little head nestled against your breast as she began to cry. You lightly rocked and shushed her as Mando went to investigate.

He returned not a minute later with his own child under his arm. The baby looked incredibly pleased with himself and the way Mando's shoulders sagged made it look like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders by holding his adopted child.

You couldn't help but laugh tiredly at the picture the four of you must make. It filled your heart with an emotion you hadn't felt in so long. Joy.

The child babbled excitedly in Mando's arms when he saw the bundle against your bare chest.

You nodded and gently lowered your arms down when Mando set him in your lap. When you pulled the makeshift swaddle down to expose her face, the child cooed and blinked at her. He peered over the edge of her blanket and cocked his head to one side.

"See?" you murmured, rubbing your fingers over one of his oversized ears. "Gentle." You pressed a kiss to your daughter's forehead and then leaned forward to kiss the child on his.

Mando made a soft noise and you looked up at him. He was leaning against the wall, watching the three of you. You wished you could see his face. To know what he was thinking right now would complete you.

***

The next day, Mando set a course for Sorgan. He sent a message to Greef Karga, advising him he was taking a short leave of absence from the Guild.

He let you sleep for as long as you needed to. He figured you had been through enough and deserved to rest.

You woke suddenly and immediately panicked when the small bundle beside you was empty.

"Mando?" you cried, jumping from the cot. You threw on a robe, ignoring the pain screaming between your legs as you tore open the bedroom door.

There was the sound of water running from the fresher and you gently knocked on the door.

"Mando?" you repeated, not caring that you sounded frantic.

The water shut off and the door slowly opened with a hiss.

The Mandalorian stood before you in just his thick canvas pants, a high-collar shirt, and his helmet. Your daughter was nestled in his arms in a clean blanket, clean, dry, and sleeping soundly.

The child cooed at you from the small sink in the fresher. He too, was clean, but had not yet been dried, though he didn't seem to mind.

"You should still be asleep," Mando said softly as he let you take your daughter in your arms. "You just did an amazing thing."

"I need to feed her," you murmured, pressing a kiss to her nose.

Before you turned to head to the cockpit, you looked up at him.

"You bathed her?" you asked, feeling the telltale sign of tears in your eyes.

"She still had blood on her," he murmured. "She slept the whole time."

You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. He looked down where your hand fit against his. You stood on your tip toes and pressed your forehead to his.

Before he could respond, you pulled away and ascended to the cockpit to feed your baby.

***

As you approached the lush planet of Sorgan, you watched both children as they slept. The child was in his pod, your daughter in Mando's arms. He was so gentle with her. You had watched those hands snap necks without a second thought, and yet you trusted them completely to hold something so fragile and new.

"Did you name her?" he asked softly.

You shook your head. “Not yet.”

"You have to think of one," he said as he looked up from her face. "I mean, you can't really call her your moon for the rest of her life."

"What do you call the child, then?"

Mando was silent for a moment.

"Thought so," you teased. "Besides, what was it you called her earlier? When I was feeding her?"

He gave a huff of soft laughter. "Me'suum'ika?"

"And what does that mean?" you asked. "I assume it's Mandalorian, but what does it mean?"

"Moon," he said quietly as he touched her nose.

"Then that means..." You gasped as you came to the realization. "Mando! Have you been calling me a planet for the last three months?!"

Mando laughed loud enough to wake both babies as you felt the ship begin deceleration to Sorgan.

"What did you think it meant?" he wheezed as he turned his chair around to land on a patch of flat ground.

"I'm not sure," you said softly. "My darling? Maybe that?"

He was silent as the he pressed a button to power down. He patted your daughter on the bottom to lull her back to sleep as he stood to face you.

"Cyar'ika," he replied, his gloved hand cupping your cheek.

This time, it was he who left before you could respond.

You turned to look out the front window of the Razor Crest. Already, you could see the villagers coming towards the ship, led by Winta, who seemed much taller now than she had six months ago when you first met her.

As you joined Mando outside, you spotted Cara Dune, gun slung over her shoulder walking beside Omera at the rear of the crowd.

Mando put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you a bit closer as everyone came to get a look at the star system's newest moon.

***

TAGLIST (Let me know if you’d like to be added!):

@miscellaneous-mando @lestrange2703 @someplace-darker @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @poeticparker @blackbird337 @the-last-twin-of-krypton @divineangelix @c1996 @mell-bell @qhbr2013 @bookszazzy @marvelbros-oneshots @cuteboyking @boomtownboy @connor-challoner @fandom-lover-4 @itsmysticalmystery @love-struck-aries @lifeisapitch15 @cosmicwhisper @hybrid-huntress

#my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #no use of y/n #look around fic

139 notes · View notes