#in my mind it's always better to hit it sharp than to hit it flat

[jesterafterdark]

Feedist Kinktober 2024 - Day 1

"Transformation🔀"

The sweet liquid crosses your lips and coats your tongue as it slides down your throat. The flavor is implacable but it feels familiar and comforting all the same. As the last drops of thick, pink syrup empty disappear into your mouth, you eye the bottle. It's a small, amber vial, like something you'd expect medicine to come in. The lid has come complete with a small dropper, the recommended dose only a few drops a day. You were never one for portion control. The label was simple, plain, a smiling cartoon pig with a swollen belly.

You turn to the mirror, running your hand along your flat stomach. No matter what you ate, you could never seem to keep the weight on. You had confided in a friend, after a few too many drinks, that you'd always fantasized about being bigger than you are. Around that time was when she, just as inebriated, let her own secret slip.

"To tell you to the truth, I'm actually a... Feeder."

She blushed hard, immediately knowing that what she'd said would change how you thought of her. She really did always seem invested in you eating enough, always making little comments about how you were practically wasting away. It made more sense now. That's when she pulled out the little glass vial.

"If you're serious about getting bigger, this is what you need. 3 drops on your tongue every morning, you won't be able to keep the weight off. I got it for my ex but she chickened out after she outgrew her favorite jeans."

You had taken the bottle, happily.

"Promise me one thing," your friend said, sipping her drink, "when you fill out a bit, call me. I've always thought a few extra pounds would suit you." A wink punctuated the statement, and just like that, the topic changed. Your mind never left that little amber vial for long though. It took a few days to work up the nerve, but you'd done it. You'd drank that sweet, pink syrup.

The sound of your stomach gurgling pulls you from the memory. A sharp pain hits you right in the gut and you start to think you've made a mistake. You've never been so hungry in your life.

You sprint for the fridge, quickly grabbing as much as you can. There's about half a cake sitting on the top shelf and you pick up a slice and start eating it without even thinking. The taste is incredible. Your mind melts. Every bite is somehow better than the last. You keep working through slice after slice as you lay more food across the table. By the time the cake runs out you've laid out an impressive spread for yourself. Brownies, ice cream, chocolate bars, cookies. Part of you thinks it's a feast fit for a king, but you recognize how haphazard it is, how disorganized, food piled high without rhyme or reason. It's a feast fit for a pig.

You keep eating. More and more food vanishes into you like a black hole. At some stage you realize that you can barely breathe, your belly strained against the button of your jeans. You undo the button and feel yourself spread, round, heavy tummy spilling into your lap. You're too busy gorging yourself to realize that your belly is soft and doughy, not stretched taught. And you're still so hungry.

Hours pass, you find yourself discarding your shirt, then your jeans, your bra, until you're sitting in your kitchen fully nude surrounded by empty ice cream tubs and shredded wrappers. You realize that you've managed to eat every last bite, there isn't a damn thing in the house worth eating.

You drag yourself to your feet and waddle to where you left your phone. You call your friend, beg her to come see you, and to bring as much food as she can carry.

"Jesus," she says under her breath when she finally sees you, swollen to an unbelievable size in such a short time, "you look... Amazing."

She lays a hand on you, and it sinks deep into your soft flesh.

"That stuff really does work, huh?" She grins, pulling more snacks from her bag, "you really have turned into such a fat little pig."

[my-proof-is-you]

Now That We Don’t Talk - Part 2

Summary: When you started dating Jensen Ackles, things were damn near perfect. You were so compatible, and you fit into his life seamlessly. After Supernatural ended, though, Jensen got a new job. Pretty soon, Jensen also got a new life. And you no longer fit in it.

Jensen x You

Inspired by the song Now That We Don’t Talk by Taylor Swift

Masterlist

Present - Jensen

It had been two weeks since he’d last talked to you. Two weeks since you’d walked out the door, leaving Jensen confused and heartbroken. Two weeks since you’d told him you were going, and Jensen let you leave.

He felt the anxiety bubbling up, threatening to overtake his senses. He was on his way back from a party for the season wrap of The Boys.

Going to parties with other people in the industry was just part of his job. He had to do it frequently, but it didn’t change the panic he felt after the events about how he’d come off or what sort of impressions he’d made. 

You used to help him with that.

Not only did he know he made a better impression on strangers with you by his side, but you were the only one who could calm him down after a party. You knew exactly what to say and brought him out of his mind. He thought back to one of the first parties he’d brought you to.

Jensen slid into the car that had been waiting to pick you up. As soon as he settled and the car was moving, he let out a deep sigh, placing his head in his hands. 

“Jay.”

He didn’t move. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, and his breathing was becoming a little shallow. 

“Jay, look at me,” you said. You’d placed a hand on his thigh from your seat next to him. He finally lifted his head, glad he had when he saw the soft smile gracing your face. 

“What’s going on?” You asked, a small crinkle forming between your brows. “It went great,” you said, moving your hand to interlace your fingers with his.

“I just—I feel like no one liked me. My jokes fell flat, I was awkward—the only time things felt good was when I was talking to you or Jared.” He stared down at your interlocked hands.

“That’s not true, Jens. Everyone there loved you.”

“How do you know?” He asked incredulously.

“Because I do,” you said with a pointed look. “You’re hard on yourself. You focus on your flaws. But when you’re on the outside,” you paused, placing a gentle finger under his chin to lift it, causing him to look at you, “it’s obvious. You are amazing, and I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

Jensen smiled and leaned into your hand that had slipped to his cheek. His fears faded, and he leaned toward you, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You gave a small, contented sigh, and Jensen melted even more. 

He let the memory of your words echo in his head. It was in no way the same as having you with him. But he tried to remember that he was critical of himself, and that he had probably been fine at the party. After all, he was a bigger name now. People stared when he walked in—moved to the side to let him through as he approached his fellow actors. 

He chuckled dryly to himself. He could almost see you rolling your eyes at the awed expressions of the partygoers. You’d never bought into acting like celebrities were royalty. It was one of the things that had attracted him to you in the first place. 

He sucked in a sharp breath as realization hit him.

It was one of the things that drove you away, too. 

You - Now

“I’m sorry, Gen,” you said into your phone. You really were sorry. You wanted nothing more than to see your closest girlfriend. Hell, you even wanted to see Jared. In the time you and Jensen had dated you had gotten close to the entire Padalecki family. 

“It’s not like we’re taking sides, Y/N. We miss you,” she said with a sigh. 

“It’s not about that,” you replied as you paced your apartment. “It’s just…he’s your family, Gen. He’s always going to be in your lives. And I just can’t—“ You stopped, taking a deep breath. “I just can’t be around him right now.”

“I get it, Y/N/N, I do. Let’s plan a date for just you and me, though, okay? And soon. I need my best friend.”

You felt guilty for not being around more and there for Gen. But you remembered what it was like when you were with Jensen. The four of you did so much together: dinners, long weekends at the lake…and just because you and Jensen weren’t together anymore didn’t mean those events stopped. It just meant you couldn’t bring yourself to be a part of them knowing he would be there.

You’d promised to get together with her the following week before your call ended. You laid down on your bed, and exhausted from a long day. You really did love your job running a small boutique in downtown Austin, even if it was tiring. Jensen had introduced you to the owner at a party before you’d moved to Austin and started living with him. He knew you’d loved all things both vintage and handmade, and figured you would hit it off with Kendra. 

Kendra had wanted to take more time to travel, and thankfully had really liked you. So she allowed you to run the day-to-day of the store, and you loved it. 

You decided to scroll through social media before going to sleep. Of course the first thing to pop up on your feed was a picture of Jensen. 

Pain stabbed at you when you saw his face. He looked handsome as ever, though you noticed he’d continued growing his hair out. You had always liked it a little shorter, like how he kept it for Supernatural. 

Guess it doesn’t matter what I think now, anyway. 

The headline of the article under the picture was something about Jensen and some pro golfer he’d spent time on the course with. You rolled your eyes. 

One of his new “idols,” I’m sure. 

Try as you might to not dwell on it, you couldn’t help but be annoyed. Jensen never used to care about big names or other celebrities. You’d missed that attitude toward the end of your relationship. It felt like he was always schmoozing someone at every event he dragged you to. 

You locked your phone and put it face down, sighing. 

It was so strange to feel the way you did. You were so angry with Jensen. And while you were pissed, it didn’t mean you didn’t miss him. It was the main reason you couldn’t talk to him. You’d just want to get back together with him. 

You couldn’t, though. He’d changed too much. He wasn’t the same man you’d fallen for. 

You cried as you fell asleep. You cried because you missed him. You cried because you knew you shouldn’t miss him. You cried for the memory of who Jensen was before. 

You - Two Years Ago

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. You were luckily finishing up your shift at the bar and pulled it out, surprised when you saw a number you didn’t recognize. 

Okay, 1000 miles is officially too far. 

You smiled, surprised to be hearing from the actor already. 

Y: What makes you say that? Didn’t enjoy the views on the drive home?

J: It was beautiful. I was a little distracted, though. 

You pulled out your keys before responding, having already made the short walk back to your apartment. 

Y: Oh?

J: Yeah. Had trouble getting a certain pair or Y/E/C eyes out of my head. 

J: Still can’t. 

You felt yourself blushing. You liked to play it cool with the opposite sex—be mysterious, even. But you couldn’t deny that the man made you feel things. 

Y: Pretty interesting statement coming from a man who has millions of fans fawning over his eye color. 

J: Eh, they like the eyes of a character I play. It’s not like they know me. 

Y: And you think you know me?

J: I know enough to wish I knew more. 

Y: And you think the way to do that is through texting?

J: Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. I’ll get on a plane right now. 

You sent him an eye-rolling emoji. While you appreciated the gesture, you wouldn’t want him to actually do that. You wouldn’t want anyone to spend that kind of money on you, actor or not. 

Y: How about we play 20 questions before boarding any planes, hot shot. 

J: Works for me :)

You and Jensen spent the better part of the evening texting back and forth, asking each other questions as silly as what your favorite colors were to as serious as what your childhoods were like. 

J: You know, all this getting-to-know-you does is make me want to see you again even more.

Y: Well, hot shot, if you can make it happen without spending crazy amounts of money, I’d be glad to see you again.

J: Hmm…challenge accepted.

Y: No one is challenging you!

J: It’s my own little challenge, sweetheart. ;) goodnight.

Y: Goodnight, Jensen. 

Forevers:

@divadinag @lynne1993 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​  @onethirstyunicorn @sammykb1994 @lilulo-12 @mellorine-paprika @tranquility-or-chaos @collette04 @hoboal87 @chevyharvelle @miraclesoflove @defenderrosetyler @babypink224221 @calaofnoldor @beatifuldisaster018 @coffeebooksandfandom @supernatural3002 @lainxcas @mylovelydame21 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @lovely-lynns-likes @ppeachygemss @screechingartisancashbailiff @metalfangirl @vicmc624 @polina-93 @hobby27 @sexyvixen7 @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @lyarr24 @amelia-song-pond @donnaintx @spnbaby-67 @traceyaudette @gh0stgurl @fiftyshadesgrl @tapedeck-hearts @lacilou @foxyjwls007 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573

Dean/Jensen:

@harleycao 

[andtheyreonfire]

microorganism

Ao3

WC: 1989

AN: happy holidays, ya'll <3

~

Sumire arrives at Ren’s desk at 2 p.m., sharp.

She cranes her neck back, walking forward to try to take in the expanse of her partner. He’s hunched over a book on the table. Makoto and Haru sit next to one forearm, engrossed in their own. Compared to him, the books look like accessories for a doll. Sumire tries, again, to get a better angle at his form. She knew he was big, sure, but seeing it from any angle lower than his shoulder always gives her butterflies.

 —Not entirely the bad kind, mind you, which is why she’s here. Her first Official Hang-Out Date. She’s trying not to be too nervous. She hasn’t known them as long, but she’s determined. She will make a good impression on her girlfriend, and her other girlfriend, and her partner, and her girlfriend’s girlfriends, and her partner’s partners—

“Excuse me,” a calls comes from below her. She’s standing right behind Ren’s other arm. She peeks her head over to see a familiar shock of blue hair, hunched over a sketchbook in his lap. “You appear to be blocking my light source.”

She is, in fact, casting a shadow over Yusuke. She jumps out of the way with a speed usually reserved for a gymnastics meet. “M—my apologies! I should’ve—uhm...“

“it’s quite alright.” Yusuke gives her a genuine smile. He’s tucked in the crook of Ren’s arm, various art supplies strewn in the folds of Ren’s jacket. “I believe the others are here somewhere. Ann and Ryuji should be in his pocket, perhaps? You may find Futaba in his hood.”

He turns back to his notepad without another word.

Sumire breathes out. She assess Ren’s arm. He’s taking a page out of Ann’s closet, today, wearing a hoodie underneath his school jacket. Even though it’s the middle of fall, she’d be worried about him overheating. He runs much, much warmer than she does.

Two layers does mean plenty of material to climb. Sumire slings her bag over her shoulder, and begins to scale his arm.

Ren was the first she’d gone out with. Of the mix of emotions she’d felt upon meeting him—awe, hesitance, pure, unbridled envy—she’d eventually identified infatuation to be one of them. He’d accepted, but not before he asked, twirling a strand of hair between massive fingers, “I’m dating 6 other people, is that alright with you?”

She’d known, of course. She’d seen their dates, their gifts, the tiny lipstick marks on his hands. Sumire accepted, and that was that.

Then, Ann invited her out to crepes. They hit it off, well enough that Sumire now owns a third of her shirts and vice-versa. Then Futaba came, serenading her like a particularly introverted bird. Sumire didn’t quite know what she “computer specs” were, or any of the things Futaba showed her with pride, but she wasn’t able to resist how cute she was during her rants. Now, she has two girlfriends, two more than she ever thought possible.

The two layers of giant cloth under her do make an excellent climbing wall. She digs her fingers in the threads of Ren’s jacket, using the creases of fabric as footholds. Finally, she reaches Ren’s shoulder. She takes only a second to breathe, before ducking down to check which of his pockets might house her girlfriend.

She’d greet Ren if he wasn’t so engrossed in his own activity. He knows someone’s on his shoulder—if the slight tensing of his muscles was anything to go by—but it was a practiced motion, as if he were used to the group crawling on him willy-nilly.

Sumire stifles a fond smile, and begins to look.

The pocket under her lumps, slightly, so she crawls over to it. With—a lot of finagling, she manages to duck under the flap, and slide into the pocket.

She manages to halt her fall just before she collides with Ann and Ryuji’s tangled forms. At seeing them, she isn’t able to stop a grin from blooming on her face.

Ann notices her first. She’s laying flat, one arm intertwined with Ryuji’s, and the other laying behind her head. Ryuji himself lays on his side, curled around Ann’s right. His free hand is circled around Ann’s head and chest. When Sumire hesitates, Ann lifts her left arm to make grabby hands. “Sumi!”

Sumire smiles, before finagling herself into the pocket. She shoves her bag in a corner and hovers over the pair. Ryuji grins, gazing up at her with a puppy-like expression. “Hust lie on top of us, dude. We’ll make room.”

Sumire does, sandwiching between them. Ann and Ryuji adjust, until Ryuji has his arm under both their heads, and Ann’s dragging her nails across Sumire’s scalp.

Sumire’s not dating Ryuji—yet, her brain supplies, the smell of his cologne hitting her directly in her dopamine receptor—but it felt weird to abandon him for Ann. He doesn’t seem to mind, using his free hand to pull out his phone the second she gets settled.

Which, she seems to be doing a poor job, if Ann’s quiet voice is any indicator. “You’re all tensed up, sweetheart. Is something the matter?”

Sumire bites her lip. “Just, ah...what do you do, on these types of outings?”

“It definitely ain’t an outing,” Ryuji answers, eyes still locked on his phone, “But—I dunno. Hang out, study, sleep. Ren’s pockets are the best to sleep in, bro. If we feel like it, we might do a round of Jackbox, or watch a movie, or something.”

“Oh, right.” Ann’s fingernails catch a particularly sweet spot. Sumire melts. “You haven’t been on a group thing yet, have you?”

Sumire shakes her head. “I—I've been too busy with gymnastics meets. I've only been able to do one-on-one dates.”

“Well,” Ann murmurs. “Just relax. There’s nothing to worry about. We got you, alright?”

Insecurity has always cut into Sumire’s skin, telling her she could be smoother, faster, so much better than she is. The memory of things lost will always haunt her. There will always some part of her telling her she’s stealing her opportunities from someone else.

But, love something big enough to share. If Ann’s nails on her skull, her hand intwined with Ryuji, and the love she shares with all of them is any indicator. If Futaba’s custom emojis and memes and messages to all of them, even if Sumire’s the only one she’s dating, is any indicator. If Ren, being able to hold his loved ones close as if it were the act of breathing, is any indicator.

Sumire notices Ren’s heartbeat, now, thrumming right beside their forms. It seems to reverberate through them, surround them. The sound is sweeter than drums to her ears.

Sumira’s able to relax, held by the people she cares for, and, little by little, drift off to sleep.

~

Sumire wakes up less than an hour later, perfectly content.

—Well, she’s well rested. She’s also covered in sweat. She’s sandwiched between two heat slabs, both of which seem to be drooling on her. Her left leg is completely asleep, and her arm feels like it’s mildly dislocated. Perfectly content.

She untangles herself from the mess of limbs, trying not to step on Ann or Ryuji’s dozing forms. To their credit, they sleep as hard as they run warm. She climbs out of Ren’s pocket—left leg dangling awkwardly behind her, having set alight with pins and needles when she tried to shake it—and hoists herself on his shoulder.

Ren’s gone to scrolling on his phone, but reacts all the same when she sets a hand against his cheek. He turns, slowly enough so he doesn’t dislodge her, and gives her a small, genuine smile that sends butterflies fluttering in Sumire’s stomach.

“Ryuji told me you were here,” he whispers, as not to damage her hearing. He pouts, ever so slightly, and it takes a few seconds for Sumire to realize why.

“I know you would’ve given me a ride, but I didn’t want the others to be dislodged.” She scoots closer, enough to lean in and plant a kiss on his jaw. Even if Sumire doubts he can feel it, he leans into the touch, giving something suspiciously like a purr. “I can handle myself, Ren.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, “I know. We’re here for you if you need it, alright?”

Sumire smiles, running a hand along his jaw. He closes his eyes, as if in bliss, and Sumire feels her heart grow 3 sizes.

While she—pets him, she’s petting her, her partner is a giant cat and she loves him—she looks around for the others. Yusuke seems to have stayed in place, pen moving as furiously. Haru and Makoto have migrated to Ren’s other shoulder. They give her a wave when she makes eye contact, and she returns it.

She cranes her neck back, and finds a flash of orange hair peeking out from the folds of Ren’s hood.

“You should go to her,” Ren murmurs, following her line of sight. “I'm sure she’d love to see one of her key items.”

Sumire still has no idea what that means, but she nods. She braces herself against Ren’s cheek as she stands up. Her partner stays perfectly still, letting Sumire grasp onto his curls. She murmurs into his ear, “Stay put while I'm gone, alright?”

He snorts, but gives her another soft smile, before turning back to his phone. Sumire slides down his hood, stopping just as its altitude evens out enough for her to sit. She immediately scoots over to her girlfriend, watching her fingers fly across the laptop on her chest.

It takes a second, but Futaba does notice Sumire’s presence. She brightens, sliding one headphone off her ear. “H—hi.”

“Hello,” Sumire beams, “Can I touch you?”

Futaba nods, and Sumire immediately curls around her side. She hit a growth spurt during her second year. Now, Futaba’s head rests just above Sumire’s shoulder, firmly solidifying her place as the shortest among them. If Futaba looks small to her, Sumire can only imagine how small she looks to Ren.

But, her height does mean she can cocoon around her completely. Sumire melts into the fabric of the hood, arms wrapped around Futaba, a smile on her face.

Futaba starts the conversation, “So, y’know uuh, shiny Pokémon? I've told you about them, right?”

“Yes?” Futaba tried to get her into that game awhile back. She had to hand-hold her through most of it, Sumire being overwhelmed by the cute designs and the fact that she couldn’t jump. Incredibly unrealistic, for a game so filled with ledges. “What about them?”

“S—so, in previous Gens, the shiny rate was 1/8192. But, in Gen 6, it was cut down to almost half, even further with methods like the Masuda method, radar, etc. That’s not even counting RNG manipulation. Anyways, i—In recent games, it’s even easier to get one of those bad boys. But, there was a shiny in Pokémon Gold/Silver that you could get for free. Cool, right? I have an emulator pulled up right now...”

Sumire recognizes exactly none of those words, but she can’t help but listen as her girlfriend begins to ramble, nodding at the pixels on her laptop. It is a cute sea-serpent-thing, but she doesn’t get the chance to say so as Futaba continues to talk.

Sumire doesn’t mind. Quite the opposite, really. She sees why Futaba chose this spot. It was a place to get away from the group, but still feel Ren’s presence behind them. Every time he shifts makes them shift, a little, too.

His presence is there, but not cloying. A steady pillar of support. That’s what they all are, if the group chat pinging beside her is any indicator. Surrounded, by people who understand them like no one else. Surrounded by their affection, their love.

Sumire lets Futaba’s steady stream of words wash over her, plants a kiss on her cheek, and lets her heart glow.

[cherrysoulth]

EXPERIMENTAL

💕Pairing: Jimin x Reader

✏️Genre/au: Canon, Smut, Long time relationship, Idol x Idol AU

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Wordcount: 2773

⚠️chapter warnings: Explicit smut

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hii! Did you stumble across this work? Glad you're here 😊 Please, let me know your thoughts once you are finished. Feedback keeps me motivated to write 😁

Note that English is not my first language, so please if you find grammar mistakes, let me know. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~J~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You watch him while he unbuttons his shirt, unsure on what to do. This time you feel different. Your mind engraves in flames the lines of his exposed skin at the collarbones, lowering down with every button that loses connection from the other side of the clothes that cover him. Every inch of him defining perfection for you. His face with those sharp yet sweet eyes, the line of his nose to his cute cupid bow and puffy lips. Those lips you so much crave against yours.

His chin takes your eyes to his jawline when he tilts his head, looking to the side, through the open door of his room. Panicking, he walks away from you to close and lock it from the inside, making sure you aren’t disturbed in your intimate moment. One of those little exploring moments that make your skin raise in goosebumps every time you think about them the posterior days. 

It isn’t the first time he loses his shirt while you make out, but he’s always reluctant to do anything with your clothes. You can only guess why. For you, it wasn’t so long ago when the kisses started to intensify, and in your case the prospect of escalating further, gives you a slight vertigo. Barely able to catch up with the speed your heart hits when his tongue dances over yours, you are sure if the palpitations reach any higher, it could explode.

One afternoon, you touched his bottom lip with your thumb as you were straddling over his thighs being playful and he bit on it while his big eyes pinned on you with desire. His hands moved from the hem of your skirt, where he had been drawing an invisible line, placing the tip of his finger underneath the plain grey fabric towards your cheeks, before he slowly approached you with slightly parted lips. That was as far as he had gotten underneath your clothes. 

It’s not like you are prude because at the end of the day you’ve had memorable sex talks with metaphors that have had you on the ground rolling with laughter. You know how it’s supposed to happen, the technicism of it all, what goes where and what does what. But you just haven’t experienced them yet. All the blueprints are on the table and the project has just begun. You two simply don’t rush things.

Although Jimin has done plenty of it before meeting you; as a couple and in the present, you are in the experimental phase. That is his habit, experimenting, but he seems to draw the line at the exact time things can become overwhelming for you. Making sure to respect your boundaries even if he has the intention to push a little bit forward, making you feel completely safe and comfortable with him. Your nerves have nothing to do with unwillingness but rather your lack of experience.

He walks back to you and sits right in front of you on the bed, his hands resting flat on your thighs and you appreciate the touch of his soft skin. Leaning forward, his lips meet with yours, slowly, until you catch the pace, and his hands slide to the sides of your thighs timidly grabbing at your skin. When he dares to slide his tongue inside your mouth while one hand moves to your nape and the other to your hip, you instinctively take a step further led by desire. Your hands, initially on his chest, go to his nape and hair, entangling and attracting him towards you. 

The kiss becomes slightly breathy, with him trying to keep it lighter than you are allowing because at this point his dick feels painfully restrained by the very tight jeans. ‘I should have known better’ he thinks. Then you do what he wasn’t prepared to endure at this moment, you straddle his lap. The heat coming from the lower part of your body and the way you move to mould to his erection with your still covered core triggers him.

The hand on your hip presses more firmly and the one at your nape pulls you closer. He devours you, lips pressed against yours as if they want to change their shape by imprinting yours in them, and his tongue slides from one of your fangs to the other from the back of your palate, leaving you breathless. His body moulds to yours with his chiselled chest against yours and you feel dazed by the sensations and the energy his body pulsates against yours. 

When he seems to want to stop, a moan escapes his mouth as your lips part and you feel the wetness of your core dampen the fabric of your panties. Instinctively, you pull him closer and engage into a kiss again, following the way he has previously paced with his mouth, until he groans. Delicately, he pulls away from your mouth, throwing his head backwards against the ridiculous amount of pillows placed over your bed. His breath is accelerated and he rubs his face as he smirks to himself in what you can read as frustration. 

“I need a moment…” he mentions while pointing to the sweat over his chest and then lower to his bulge. You cover your mouth and try to lift yourself off him to give him some space to breathe. Instead, he makes sure you stay in place pinning you by the hips over his girth and blushing slightly, biting his lower lip with eyes lost at the ceiling.

To distract himself, he traces the lines over your shirt’s pattern while looking at it, right before his eyes meet yours with a way different look pondering on something, right before he uses his whole body to hover over you, resting himself between your legs. 

This position isn’t foreign either but it feels the most dangerous of them all. He always tries his best to not put his arousal against you, tilting his hips slightly towards one of your thighs, trying to keep it safe and not overwhelm you. When you look at him from underneath you see him struggling and this time you want to feel it. 

The thought of seeing him completely naked hits your mind again and raises your nerves in a mix of excitement and again, vertigo, but the one of him seeing you naked is the one that always stops you.  The apprehension of him seeing your entire body is normally bigger than your desire, but this time you are blind to it. With his moist lips on yours he chooses  not to follow his antics, conscience be damned.

You are the one to start unbuttoning your own shirt while you keep your lips moving against his. When the last one gives up, you put your hands on his nape and press your chest against his, making him feel the soft fabric of your bra; cutting his breath and his lips letting you know of a hanger you haven’t yet known in him.

His hands trace your sides like trying to memorise your pores before he stops kissing you and allows his head to fall on the pillow at the side of your head with a grunt. “I can’t keep it going,” he says. “If I do…” he mutters and bounces his pelvis over your core, making you feel his manhood against your clit, provoking a moan. “I’ll make you mine,” he groans against your ear. 

“Do it,” you whisper with a thread of voice and he abruptly moves to face you with wide eyes. You move your hands to caress one off his cheeks, “I’m yours already.” He looks at you in silence and his breath hitches.

Leaning slowly, his lips meet yours gently, breathing through his nose with tension. When his chest meets with yours again you feel like his muscles could pop. You caress his hair before moving your lips aside to stop him. “What is the matter?” you question. He shakes his head and uses the angle you have created to aim for your throat making you close your eyes and gasp instantly, but you can still feel his uneasiness. You insist and he stops infuriating your skin. 

“I’m nervous… That’s all,” he mumbles with what you think is a really tiny mouth for how direct he can be, so when he leans to take his place over your pulse point again you make your best effort to stay out of reach, making him raise his upper body on his elbows pushing his hair backwards with one hand. “What?” he asks, reading your intentions.

“If you don’t tell me what’s on your mind, we are not doing this. Not like this,” you point out, frowning. “You are not enjoying–”

“Of course I’m enjoying it!” he interrupts, raising his eyebrows and staying a moment with those pouty lips half parted in surprise. “How could I not enjoy this?” 

“Then what is it? What makes you so nervous? So tense?” You mimic his expression in a sense. His reaction makes your eyebrows go even higher; he lets out a single chuckle and closes his eyes, biting his lower lip before looking at you again. He looks at you thoughtfully. “Will you say it?” you urge.

“Let me think of a less grotesque way to say this, woman,” he blurts out with one eyebrow up, sassing you. 

“Just say it, Jimin. It can’t be that bad.” 

He chuckles again but this time it prolongates, tilting his head to the side. When he looks at you again, he is blushing. “I haven’t seen you naked,” he says and blushes even more, although tries to keep a poker face, with a slight frown, looking something between cute and hot as hell. You look at him in confusion. 

“I don’t get it.” 

Now it’s his time to raise his eyebrows high and he chuckles again. “Ok. Let me be as clear as I can be then. Just don’t complain about the language,” he comments. “I haven’t seen you naked. The thought of this being the first time and to see you just straight up completely exposed to me makes me feel nervous, excited, and aroused as hell. In fact, what makes me more nervous is that. It’s how my heart is beating so fast that I feel it will come out of my chest.'' He takes a second and when you are about to urge him again he shushes shaking his head. “I didn’t prepare for this. I thought we would be exploring like we always do and that was what I was mentally prepared for, not losing my shit like I’m doing now,” he says, letting his head fall over the pillow again and you hug him, thinking it’s endearing to know he feels similarly to you. “That’s not all,” he says, raising to look you in the eyes again. “I haven’t–” he presses his lips together in a thin line. “I haven’t knocked one out in a few days and just the thought of–” he rolls his eyes and bites his lower lip again. You are speechless trying to process what he’s saying while an image of him pleasuring himself pops in your head. “If I even make it to put it near your–” he says and tries not to crack up when your jaw drops. 

“Jimin!!” you say and cover your face with your hands, finally processing the mining of it all.

“You asked,” he says, daring and you let your hands fall to your lips to scowl him with your eyes. His go down and the smirk that was in them fades. “Fuck,” he says as his breathing shallows again. Following his line of vision, you realise that he is looking at your boobs and become flustered. “I’m so fucking done,” he whispers and moves away to sit back on his legs, but when he does he sees the skirt has rolled up almost exposing your panties and taking a shallow deep breath he tries to look away. 

“It’s ok,” you mutter, understanding this has weight on him as much as it does for you. Especially when the thought of you being the only one who needed to go so slow made you so apprehensive. “We can go slower.”

That seems to strike him. “Hell, I never thought you would be the one saying those words,” he expresses, pulling his hair backwards again.

“Me neither,” you confess.

“But you want to do it,” he expresses with guilt. Then bites his lower lip again. 

“So do you. So what?” you tell him and he looks at you intrigued. “We have established we both want to.” You pause. “Well, that means we are ready to let it happen. Whenever we are ready for it.” He nods and lowers his body to lean over you then mumbles in your ear, “I would like to get you off though.” He motions up again with his hips stealing your breath.

“Jimin,” you moan.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers in a much sweeter way. “Here…” he specifies, making his hands travel up your thighs underneath the skirt, grabbing your ass, making you respond with another gasp. 

“Yes…” you say, voice caressing his eardrum. 

One of his hands uses the curve of your ass, sliding down to your centre and he lets the tip of his middle finger slide underneath the soft fabric of your panties. “Cotton…” he whispers and kisses your head from the side, lips soon to meet his spot on your throat while the adventurous finger finds your folds. “Fuck… You are so wet…” he grumbles breathy against your now goosebumped skin. 

He then lets himself fall on your side, making you feel a bit chilly to the absence of his warmth; the hand previously touching your entrance sliding out with the motion. But as he puts himself comfortably on his side and holds your right leg with his from above, that finger traces the waistband of said panties while he uses the other hand to push the skirt up and expose them. He gasps and soon enough his lips are on your shoulder as you feel his hand slide inside your panties; the trace of his fingers keeping the goosebumps in place as he conquers the new lands of your body. 

He is so slow that when he finds the hidden bud it sends a shot of pleasure through your body. “There it is…” he whispers. “Close your eyes and just feel it,” he orders, leaning on the arm underneath him to move his upper body slightly above yours to kiss you. He's still hard like a steel member pressing on your thigh and making you clench around nothing. His lips meet yours and two fingers rotate over your clit with measure and you simply bask in the pleasure. 

What you felt as sexual tension finally travels to one spot and what you know to be an orgasm starts building from it, right on the spot his fingers are graciously exploring your insides. As it does, your breath fails against his open mouth and you moan. “Do you like that?” he mutters, working on you. You only respond with a moan and he increases the pace making you moan harder. “Yeah baby, come for me…” he groans before pecking you. The whole experience with him makes it surprisingly better than when you are alone. His scent, his warmth, his breath on you, keep you in a level of arousal that soon enough shows to make the work easier for him. 

Just like that, without a second for a break, your walls pulsate against nothing and you feel the pleasure rip through you with a loud moan, almost a scream, cursing through your raw vocal cords. You breathe through it, almost cracking a smile but he does smile against your lips, pleased. The sound that just came out of you feeling even more beautiful than anything you have sang on a stage. 

Then your eyes bulge and he feels your lips stop against his, making him move away. You are red like a tomato and you put your hands on your face. He looks at you with a frown. “What?”

“The guys must have heard me…” you mutter against the palm of your hands, the embarrassment sinking in. He chuckles, making you lower your hands, scowling at him. 

“I’m glad to take the blame…” he insinuates with a proud smile and you grab a pillow to hit him with it. 

“Jimin!” you protest but when he starts to laugh you can’t stay mad and crack up with him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~J~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know your thoughts and reblog to let it spread 😊 See you soon! ~

I want to thank @moonleeai for the beta work 💜

© 2021-2022 Cherry Soulth, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

[actualhumansunshine]

Can't agree more, I hope he properly goes down that rock/blues path this time and doesn't tone it down for a general audience, which is my one complaint about HBW. And I don't want him to lose acoustic singer songwriter Niall, that side of him is important too. Tbh it's rarer than people give credit for that someone can do both things so well, and Niall really does. Let's see both on album #3!!

RIGHT!!! don’t get me wrong, i absolutely love hbw for what it is and wouldn’t really make any major changes (other than maybe to no judgement—get rid of the trop pop drumbeat and lean more into the bluesy riff in the bridge—because i feel like that one suffered the most in terms of going out of their way to make a radio-friendly hit), but i do think there’s a very ‘top 40 friendly’ slickness and sheen to a lot of the album that can feel a bit.......much at times, i guess??? so it would be an absolute dream to hear him strip back even just a layer or two of that and step outside of thoughts of what he Should Do to make pop music, and instead really go for whatever feels most natural to him in that moment, even if that means going a little more bluesy or a little more rock or whatever.

cause i think that was part of slow hands’ charm as well?? of course, he worked his ass off promoting it and getting it heard by as many people as possible which directly contributed to it’s success, but so much of that was also the fact that it was interesting and a little different compared to everything else out at the time, but it was also so him through and through, with the swagger and verging-on-bluesy feel to it.

[seriouslysnape]

Roughed Up

Harry Potter x Fem! Reader

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,524

“I don’t mind a night to ourselves,”

A disgruntled, painful groan escaped the Gryffindor boy underneath you as your hands applied pressure to a rather tense area on his back. He took a sharp inhale at the feeling of your wondrous hands rubbing his sore, battered muscles, only to let that same breath out once your hands moved on to the lesser problem areas. 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” You apologized for causing him discomfort.

“Not your fault. It feels good and bad at the same time.” He replied, his voice strained and slightly muffled in the pillow below his head.

If someone had told you that you’d be spending your Friday night massaging achy knots out of your boyfriend’s back, you probably would have laughed in their face. It was rare for both you and Harry to spend your pre-weekend evening in your dorm. You almost always found something to occupy your time on a more productive day. However, tonight would have to be an exception.

Harry had taken a nasty fall off of his broom earlier in the day during Quidditch, and while you hadn’t been around to see it, you had been told it wasn’t a pretty landing when he hit the ground. Thankfully, his injuries didn’t extend much past a few scrapes and bruises, but he had landed flat on his back, which seemed to take most of the impact. Madam Pomfrey had looked him twice over to make sure he wasn’t seriously hurt, checking for anything from broken bones to internal bleeding. Pomfrey had tried to heal him up with magic, but Harry had denied it since Pomfrey’s healing methods sometimes hurt worse than the actual injury. When she gave him the clear to leave, he came straight to you. He knew it had to have been a pathetic sight the way he hobbled to your dorm, barely able to hold himself upright from all the lingering pain in his core radiating to his back.

Based on the way he had greeted you though, you wouldn’t have even guessed that he was uncomfortable. His grin was blinding as he entered, mainly because he knew he was going to milk this as much as he could to get a little extra tender, loving care from his favorite girl. You had helped him out of his robes, wincing when you saw the multiple large bruises scattered across his body that had already begun to purple. Even his legs had taken some damage when you had helped him shimmy out of his pants. You left him in just his boxers, helping him into your bed and ordering him to lay on his stomach to avoid aggravating his back further.

You had hoped that maybe he’d begin to feel better after lying down for a bit, but after an hour he was still struggling to get comfortable. You took it upon yourself to straddle his back, lathering your favorite lotion onto your hands to provide him some relief. Your hands trailed, kneaded, and rubbed in all the places that hurt him the most. His noises were comical, sometimes coming out as a pitchy whine and others as a low rumble. He was beat, literally and metaphorically.

“And just how did you fall off again?” You asked for clarification. 

Harry was very skilled on a broom, and it wasn’t everyday that he fell off. 

“One of the bludgers blindsided me. I never saw it coming,” He explained, “Well, I did when it hit me.”

You chuckled at his joke, letting your thumbs work at the muscles in his shoulders. The room smelled of Eucalyptus and lavender from your lotion that you had rubbed into his skin, two smells that Harry loved endlessly. You didn’t know this, but sometimes Harry would put a bit of your lotion onto his wrist so he could smell like you. It reminded him of you when you weren’t around. The feeling of your hands attempting to rid him of his irritation was heavenly. Despite his pain, he was happy as could be. 

“Pomfrey didn’t find anything wrong?” You questioned.

Harry shook his head.

“Nope. She just said I’d be sore tomorrow, more than I am now.” He replied, already dreading how he’d feel in the morning. 

Your hand movements slowed to more of a caress, your fingers and palms beginning to cramp from all the rubbing. 

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m glad you’re okay.” You spoke gently.

Harry went to turn, prompting you to raise your hips to allow him to flip over completely. He carefully sank onto his back, sighing at the new support that your mattress was giving him. He put his rounded glasses back on, smirking at being able to see you much clearer now. 

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I bet you didn’t count on your Friday night being spent like this.” He remarked.

You shrugged, leaning down to leave a sweet peck on his lips.

“I don’t mind a night to ourselves,” You hushed out, your lips just brushing over his; “Just you and me with nothing to do sounds awfully enticing.”

Harry hummed in content and agreement. Harry was obviously extremely popular at Hogwarts, and sometimes it was hard for him to find time to be alone with you. He was always being needed for something, and sometimes he wished he could just have peace and quiet for a while. It seemed now that his wish might be coming true.

“Oh, darling, there’s nothing in the world I’d rather be doing than being here with you,” Harry mewled, “My pretty girl…”

His hands trailed away from the tops of your thighs, snaking underneath your skirt and resting on your hips. His fingertips wrapped around the sides of your knickers, his grin spreading wider when he felt the lacy material. He looked up at you expectantly as he tugged at the sides of your panties.

“No, Harry. You’re hurt, baby.” You reminded him, refusing his advances.

His eyes widened and he gave a sympathetic pout, jutting his lower lip out in protest.

“I’m not hurt! I’m just sore!” He argued.

“Harry, you fell OFF of your broom. Look how roughed up you are.” You said, pointing to one particularly nasty looking bruise just below his ribs.

“I’m feeling better...honestly.” He claimed, but avoided eye contact with you.

You knew he was lying, a devious sneer appearing on your face as you rolled your hips forward, jostling his body in a way that sent a wave of sharp pain through him. He yelped at the less than pleasant sensation, not even trying to play it off.

“That’s what I thought.” You answered, carefully moving off of him and the bed.

Harry scrambled up when he realized you were getting up, his arm wrapping around his core instinctively when he agitated it from moving so quickly.

“Where are you going? Please, don’t leave.” He blubbered, struggling to stay up on his knees that were sunken into the mattress.

You laughed lightly, looking at him with a warm smile on your features.

“I’m just going to my desk. You need to rest.” You told him, motioning towards your workspace on the other side of the room.

“But baby,” He whimpered, “I’m hurt. Come lay with me. Please?” He requested, holding his arms out to you.

“I thought you were ‘feeling better’?” You chided, putting your hands on your hips.

He groaned, throwing his head back in distaste.

“[Y/N], please come here,” He asked again, “Pretty please?”

You laughed again at the sight of him so needy for just even an ounce of attention. He was always so clingy behind closed doors, one of the many things that you liked about him that you kept private. His flushed cheeks and ruffled hair was honestly an adorable sight. You couldn’t help but give in.

“Okay, I’m coming.” You alerted him.

Harry’s eyes brightened in victory, yanking back the covers and making room for you to snuggle in bed with him. You were careful not to press yourself against him too hard, but he didn’t seem too concerned. He peppered you with kisses, all over your face and neck. He was so excited to just be with you that he could hardly contain himself. You giggled under his touch, squirming when he kissed and sucked on areas that were your sweet spots. He thrived off of your joyful noises and being in your presence. It always made him so happy when you were happy. His attack of affection paused when he pulled away to look at you, your smile fading into a worried frown when you thought he might’ve hurt himself more.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

In reality, he just wanted to look at you. He wanted to study your eyes and hair and all the things that he loved so dearly. He saw his future every time he looked at you. He saw his purpose for living when he looked into your eyes. He saw his life with you. He wanted to spend every moment of every day with you and no one else.

Because you were his forever.

“Yeah. I’m absolutely perfect.”

[camsthisky]

"you’re not alone . you’re stuck with me forever . sorry . ” + Jason and Dick (and anyone other family member)?

“Everyone okay?” Dick croaks as the dust and rubble settles around them. He’s lying on his back, kept still by something pinning his legs down. He doesn’t dare assess himself quite yet. “Hood? Batgirl?”

“Okay,” Cass says, and Dick watches as she stumbles over to him, looking dusty, but relatively alright. She kneels next to him with a frown. She meets his eyes—well, relatively since they’re both wearing masks—and asks, “Okay?”

Dick grimaces. “Not really.” Louder, he calls, “Red Hood?!”

“Here, here,” Jason says, coughing into his fist. He’s missing his helmet and there’s a gash sluggishly bleeding from his right cheek, smearing a trail of blood down his face. He’s also limping, but only slightly.

“Can you move?” Cass asks Dick as Jason pulls out his flashlight.

Dick winces at the sudden light, his mask having already automatically switched to night vision. He huffs. “Jay. Off.”

“Names.”

Dick scowls. “The light.”

“Deal with it,” Jason snaps. “My night vision isn’t working.”

Dick turns off his own night vision feature, if only to not be blinded by the damn flashlight if it passes over his eyes again.

That’s when Jason’s flashlight lands on where Dick is pinned.

“Crap,” Jason breathes.

“Can you move them?” Cass asks, sounding a touch more impatient, and Dick realizes that Cass has already asked once. “Your legs.”

“No,” says Dick, just barely trying. He’s tired, but he knows that time is up. He can’t get away with ignoring his own situation any longer. Probably shouldn’t have even waited this long. His legs are tingling from lack of blood flow, mixing with a sharp pain shooting through them both. Still he’s lucky, because—“I can still feel them, though.”

“We’ll lift,” Jason says to Cass, who nods. Dick closes his eyes and braces himself for the inevitable pain of rubble being lifted off his crushed legs.

“Hhh.”

The sounds he makes is nothing more than an agonized hissed through his teeth, and Dick can’t help the cold sweat that sweeps across his body in a slow wave as his siblings manage to move the slab of—wall, maybe? who knows, really—from where it’s crushing his poor legs.

Something taps against his shinbone and then his kneecap.

“Stop, stop, I feel it,” Dick gasps, bringing his legs up in a protective curl as pain throbs through most of his lower body. His left hip hurts like hell, and his every muscle, bone, and tendon feels like they’ve been squeezed and then flattened like a pancake. He rolls over onto his side so he can bring his knees up to his chest, to wait out the lingering intensity of the pain.

“Breathe,” Cass says.

Dick breathes.

He closes his eyes and blocks out everything and, again, just breathes. His siblings let him.

When he has a better grasp on his agony, Dick finally relaxes. The world filters back in. Cass is running fingers through Dick’s dusty hair (something she one hundred percent learned from Bruce, because only a select few know how much the motion tends to calm him down).

On the other hand, Dick blinks his eyes open to find Jason agitatedly pacing.

“The hell?” Jason murmurs, his flashlight whipping back and forth with his movements as he surveys their surroundings. “Did we get completely sealed in?”

Dick wishes desperately he would stop. Even without night vision, Jason’s impromptu strobe light effect is causing Dick’s head to ache. Instead of saying this, he hums contemplatively. “Wonder if there’s a signal this far down.”

Jason huffs, not slowing in the least. He’s searching for something, and dear god does Dick want him to find it already. “You’re the one with the comms in your ear. You try it.”

They’re in the sewers, is the thing. And while Bruce and Babs have designed the comms system to work incredibly well, even in the sewers, the signal still needs to be able to make it to the system in order to be functional.

With the three of them sealed in this place, seemingly with no way out, pretty deep in the sewer system where they had been disabling bombs throughout the city, Dick isn’t optimistic about their chances of getting a signal.

(They’d just been a few seconds too late for that last bomb, which unfortunately led them to their current circumstances.)

While Jason grumbles, Cass activates her emergency signal and the comms. She calls out, “Batman? Oracle?”

Jason shuts up for the five seconds before Cass looks between both Dick and Jason and shakes her head.

Dick lets out a slow exhale through his nose. He hadn’t really held out much hope for that anyways.

Jason groans. “Holy batcannoli, I can’t believe we’re stuck down here. And where’s my hecking helmet?!”

Cass helpfully points to the rubble sealing them in. Jason kicks a rock with a yell. Dick sighs.

“Well, at least you’re not alone down here,” Dick says as optimistically as he can—although, given the circumstances, it does fall a little flat.

Jason snorts. “Right. Sure, Batgirl is an asset, but you’re a sack of bruised bones right now. That’s not helpful in the slightest, Dickface.”

Dick’s eyelashes flutter of their own accord. He hums. “Too bad. Looks like you’re stuck with me. Sorry.”

“Dick,” Cass says, her fingers tracing lightly over his face. “Stay awake.”

“I am awake.”

“You’re starting to—” Cass pauses. Dick can’t see the look on her face, because somehow, his eyes have fully closed without his permission, and he can’t seem to find the strength to open them again. “—to slur.”

The sounds of Jason’s pacing stop. Silence rings loud in their sealed section of the sewers. Then, “Did he hit his head?”

“Not sure,” Cass answers.

“Dick,” Jason says, sounding quite a bit closer, like he’s maybe crouching down next to Cass or something—but Dick hadn’t heard him move, and Jason’s boots are too clunky to not make sound against the concrete. “Dick, did you hit your head?”

Dick’s eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t remember hitting his head. The only thing he clearly remembers about the blast is heavy pieces of rubble crushing his legs. “Maybe?”

“Great,” Jason says. He’s pulling out his I’m-rolling-my-eyes-at-your-ridiculous-incompetency voice. “So my bruised bones of a big brother probably also has a concussion. Just great.”

“It’s not his fault he’s injured,” Cass tells Jason. “He was disarming the bomb.”

Which means Dick took the brunt of the blast when it was remotely activated.

Dick really means to tack onto Cass’s statement, maybe tease Jason a little and try to reassure both his younger siblings that not everything is hopeless, because he’s the best big brother ever, of course.

Only, he can’t find the strength to open his mouth and talk. Instead, the voices around him become watery, distorted, and Dick’s head flares in pain.

When unconsciousness comes to take him, he doesn’t resist.

—

“—manage to even find us in the first place?” is the first thing Dick hears as he swims back to consciousness. Jason almost sounds relieved.

“The seismic device didn’t just affect the sewers,” someone replies. It takes a lot of effort for Dick to recognize it as Tim. “A couple buildings partially collapsed, and since we knew the three of you were down here, it was a good starting point to look when none of you would answer the comms.”

“Huh,” is all Jason says.

“Nightwing,” Bruce says, startling Dick from the dazed lull he’d been in as he listened to his brothers talking. He opens his eyes, blinking up bewilderingly at what he can see of Bruce’s face behind the cowl.

“B?” Dick murmurs. He doesn’t move, yet, from where’s curled on his side, but he feels an abortive twitch of his fingers at the reassuring sight of Batman. “‘S goin’ on?”

“What do you remember?”

Right. Bruce did not give easy answers. Life is a series of puzzles, Dick Grayson, fueled by none other than Bruce Wayne himself.

Dick frowns and casts his mind back. “The wall blew up,” he decides. “I got hurt?”

He’s only half sure about that last one, but considering his position on the ground, the throbbing in his head and hip, and Bruce’s concerned dad frown that’s taking over his Batman grimace, Dick thinks that he’s probably on the right track.

“Concussion,” Cass says, startling Dick when she pops her head over Bruce’s shoulder. “Also, ‘a sack of bruised bones.’”

That—sounds familiar. He thinks he remembers Jason saying something like that.

Bruce’s frown gets deeper. “Straighten your legs.”

“Please,” Dick tacks on for Bruce when he lacks the manners to be nice, basically on instinct at this point, even as he—slowly, and with a great deal of agony—does what Bruce tells him to do.

They go through a couple more tests, until finally Bruce, unhappy, deems, “We need to move you.”

Dick blinks when Bruce turns away to murmur something to one of the others. A conversation washes over him, and Dick can’t help but let himself tune it out. The noise settles as vague humming—indistinct and comforting.

“—two, three,” Bruce says as Dick’s entire vision goes white.

He only manages to come back to himself in increments.

There are arms holding him tight. Familiar murmurs in his ear. The comforting sound of Batman’s heavy cape brushing against concrete.

“—there, Chum,” Bruce is saying, and if Dick had the capability, he would have teased Bruce for pulling out both the concerned dad frown and the concerned dad voice in one night.

As it is, the only thing that comes out of his mouth when he opens it are harsh pants for air. Every step jostles him, and agony is his constant companion throughout the entire journey to the surface.

Somehow, Dick is still conscious when he’s laid down in the backseat of the batmobile. He’s grateful he’s not moving anymore, and carefully doesn’t think of the upcoming ride back to the Cave.

He only really starts to relax when Bruce settles the cape over him. Wrapped up inside it, Dick almost feels like he’s ten years old again. Batman’s has always felt like warmth and protection and home. This time is no different.

“Batgirl and Robin, keep Nightwing as still as possible. Red Hood, in the front. Start updating Oracle.”

“Why do they—”

“You’re too bulky, Hood. Me and Batgirl are smaller than you. It’s still going to be a tight fit, but it’s the most comfortable for everyone this way.”

“Whatever.”

“Enough. Car. Now.”

There’s lots of careful but hurried scrambling. Dick thinks he passes out a few times on the way back. He doesn’t remember much, either. Just bits and snatches here and there—His siblings talking to him, Bruce giving orders, Jason being snappy and unwittingly dragging Tim into an argument.

And then—he wakes up. A lot more clear-headed than he’d felt the last time he’d been conscious (though, that wasn’t saying much).

To Dick’s surprise, he’s on his side again, dressed in sweats with a pillow between his legs. He opens his eyes to the Wayne Manor living room, and—yes, he’s on the couch. The curtains are drawn, but it’s clearly sometime past sunrise.

Bruce is sitting cross-legged in front of him, reading a book.

“Bruce?” Dick calls, his voice still somewhat slurred. “Why’m I on the couch?”

“You started crying when I said you had to stay in the infirmary,” Bruce tells him, grabbing a bookmark and setting his book off to the side.

Dick frowns. He doesn’t remember that. Still, he manages to say, “You’re such a pushover.”

“How do you feel?”

Dick blinks a dozen times in a row, trying to assess his body and keep up with the change in subject. “Kinda woozy. My hip hurts a lot.”

“Hn.”

“Think I need to brush up on my Bat speak,” Dick murmurs. “Dunno what that one meant.”

Bruce hums again. “You’re incredibly lucky. We’ll need to be careful for the next few weeks.”

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?”

“Crush injuries to your legs and left hip. Not overly severe, and we managed to stabilize you once we realized you were in shock.”

Dick thinks about that for a second. “Concussion? I’m pretty sure I remember something about a concussion.”

“It’s mild,” Bruce tells him. “It was the shock that was the real problem.”

“Oh.” Dick sighs into the pillow under his head. “I’m tired.”

Bruce gives him a soft smile, just slight enough that if Dick hadn’t been so familiar with Bruce’s microexpressions, he would have thought he’d been mistaken. Fingers lightly card through his hair, and Dick’s eyes start closing of their own accord.

“Then sleep,” Bruce says.

Dick sleeps.

[yuzukult]

bittersweet. (m) || kmg & reader

title: bittersweet. pairing: kim mingyu x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, established relationship!au word count: 3.1k warnings: dirty deed is done (aka explicit sex if you didn't catch that). profanity. prompt: you're always fighting. he doesn't get you. so why are you even still together? a/n: before any of my friends make fun of me, shaddup. anyways, this is for @/ficscafe dialogue prompt event! i'll be using #14: you make me weak.

He’s so adamant.

The crinkle in between his brows, the scrunch of his nose, and his incessant blinking from all the nerves, despite it all, he still stands firm on his beliefs.

But you’re fighting. Always fighting.

He doesn’t get you—he spends most of the time he's with you arguing about how insensitive you are as a person, how nonchalant you can be when you should be reacting with some type of emotion, and how he wished you’d been more affectionate with him.

But he doesn’t understand you. He thinks you’re selfish (sure, he didn’t outright state this, but you can sense him feeling this way.)

Albeit you’re unsure how you got yourself in this position—back flat against the wall, his hands on your wrists with his crotch pinning yours as your legs wrap around him securely to meet his gaze from the height difference.

“I need you to talk to me,” he rasps, anger filled in his voice. “I’m so tired of making this into some guessing game. Why can’t you just tell me how you feel?”

Although he’s got you cornered, rutting his hips into you once again, it's not persuasive enough. “Talk to me.”

“If you can’t figure me out, maybe we should just break up. I didn’t want to date in the first place.”

Jaw clenched, his eyes continue to melt into yours. He’s looking for anything—a sign, a glimpse, a crack in your exterior to see whatever it is you’re truly feeling inside. “Why do you always use that as a solution? Instead of just communicating?”

“Because—“ you halt, breath hitching when he shifts, the head of his cock rubbing against your bud through your thin material shorts. “—Because it’s an easier solution. What do you expect from me?”

“To tell me and show me if you like me or not. You’re like a fucking boulder. I can’t move you.”

You quirk a brow. “Your fucking holding me down right now. You’ve evidently proved you can move me elsewhere.”

“Emotionally,” he says, exasperated. “The most I can get you to feel something is when we’re fucking. I’m surprised we’re even fucking in the first place. You barely let me hold your hand!”

Rolling your eyes, you pull your arms from his hold and he lets go easily. It’s the type of person Mingyu is—he’s gentle, the complete opposite of you, with a heart of gold that everyone loves and appreciates. He’s lovable, known to many, and desired by them all, and somehow, you got him in your grasp and truthfully… you’re not sure what to do.

He’s fragile, but you have rough hands with toughened skin from years of experience and encounters. There’s this fear that you’ll drop him, shatter him into pieces as brittle as chinaware. So you hold the front, keep yourself strong with a facade tougher than concrete, because you’re afraid if you hold on too tight, he might break. And at the same time, he might break you too.

“You wanna know why?” You finally blurt, words firm and sharp. “Because you make me weak. And I don’t like being weak. I don’t like being known as weak. And you—you do that to me. I hate it.”

He furrows his brows. “I make you weak? The one girl I know to be the most resilient?” Mingyu has to scoff in disbelief because it’s the first time he’s hearing this. “You realize how insane you sound? It’s okay to have feelings for me. It’s why we’re together.”

Nose twitching, you suck in your cheeks. “I hate it. I hate this. I hate that when you turn to look at me in the morning, you give me that fucking… smile. Like I’m your whole world. Like you’re head over heels for me and I’m all that you see.”

“And why do you hate that?”

“Because, some part of me, deep down into the abyss, wants to look at you like that too.”

His jaw loosens, just like the restraints he had over his heart in the past hour of arguing, hands now finding purchase on your thighs to pull you back up closer. “Baby…” he calls out for you softly, the term of endearment nearly bursting your heart, but you keep yourself calm and collected as you normally do. “Then do it. Why are you so scared?”

“I told you.”

“That’s not a good enough reason.”

“Well, it’s good enough for me.”

He heaves a heavy breath. “Baby, I can’t keep doing this. I feel like I’m chasing you but I’m getting nothing out of it.”

Then, you reiterate the same words you’ve said multiple times, but there’s never any genuinity in it because you never actually… meant it. “Then let’s break up.”

“We’re not breaking up.”

“Then what do you want to do? Tell me. If breaking up isn’t the option, then tell me instead of having me up the wall if we’re not gonna fuck.”

“Fucking only happens when you’re pissed or when you’re making up.”

“So, what now?”

It’s Mingyu’s turn to roll his eyes. “We make up. I need you to talk to me. I can barely read you—the only thing I know for sure is that you don’t want this to end because you just admitted to me that you wanna look at me the same way I look at you.”

Frustrated, you let your head drop onto the wall behind you. “This is annoying. I don’t like expressing stuff. You just take what you get or leave. If you can’t figure out what’s going through my mind, what’s the point? Why put in the effort?” Eyes fluttering shut, you feel yourself wanting to crawl into a ball and just… hide. Despite being fully clothed, you feel naked when Mingyu asks for more. And what he’s asking for isn’t even unreasonable—you’re just horrible at telling people what you’re feeling. “I just… why can’t I just let you lay your head on my lap when you get home from work? Or… cook dinner with you. Even have it ready when you have long nights at work. Maybe even fold your laundry—I don’t know. I don’t like PDA but if you asked me, I’d hold your hand under the table. Or… hold it in your pocket on cold days.”

Then, Mingyu stays silent (for the first time).

It finally hits.

You’re not outspoken when it comes to soft things. You’re loving but not in the same way he is. You’re also honest and straightforward about everything except when it comes to admitting feelings for him.

And for once, when you say those words, he… he feels loved by you.

He remembers those days—after spending hours at the gym despite having a long work day, he’d come home and you’re there waiting for him on the couch so you could shower together. You’d help scrub his limp body, even though he moans and groans about how sore he is, but you do it nonetheless because you like him. Or when you stopped by at his apartment, one he shares with all his friends, because he was stuck with helping one of them build their beds and you brought them all, including himself, lunch. And that wasn’t to mention you were already working twelve hour days.

“Can you answer one question for me, then? I won’t force you to tell me again. I just need to hear it once.”

Your eyes open, and it feels like a mistake because your heart drops into your stomach. His gaze is hypnotizing, like he’s got you in a trance, and you respond with a ‘yes’ without much thought because of him.

Mingyu swallows all his anxiety before asking that million dollar question.

“Do you love me?”

Although you feel small being put on the spot like that, the one thing you’ll admit is that you’ve already predetermined the answer to this. And just as much courage as Mingyu puts into asking, you’ll reciprocate and do the same in answering because he’s admirable for even trying.

“Yes.”

Without much thought, he presses his lips against yours. You love him, although you rarely if not never say it, but you finally said those words and all he needs is to hear it just once for assurance. To know that there’s something he’s chasing for, that he’s not running in place like on a treadmill.

Arms snaking around his neck, you keep your hold there as his hands reach to your jaw, leveraging the kiss in an angle he’d prefer. When you kiss, he feels complete. He’s never felt like this with another girl before, this feeling of home, the feeling of comfort. You’re colder than brisk winters, but something about having you in his arms makes him warm.

Your fingers comb through his locks, and although it’s doused in gel and spent hours on doing this morning, he doesn’t mind because he knows he’s yours. When you kiss him back, he’s as anxious as he was when he had to go on stage and perform in front of people for the first time.

Gently pulling away, both your lips are pink and swollen with a string of saliva connecting between. Pants brushing against each other’s face, a soft smile tugs on the edges of your lips as you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“I love you too,” he says, as low as a whisper. “And… I’m okay if you don’t say it again. You know how I show you that I love you… and I should’ve been better at learning what you’re comfortable with in showing how you love. But I still need you to help, too, to make this… better. I need you to talk to me, when you need me. When I need you. I need you to be here for me too.”

“Okay,” you respond, volume matching his. “If that’s the case, I love you. Just… as another reminder since I only said yes the first time.”

He lets out a chuckle, vibrating from his chest and everything about him makes your heart race. “Good. Can I show you how much I love you?”

“No,” you retort quickly and bashfully. But he knows you’re playing because you nod afterwards, allowing him to carry you to the couch. “Maybe.”

“I need a yes, love,” Mingyu says cheekily, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You know I’m not going to go any further until I hear it.”

“Yes,” you reply embitterly, but Mingyu knows better now. He knows what you want, because all he needed was assurance. “Please show me how much you love me.”

And fuck, because he never knew how much he needed to hear those words all his life.

You’re so pretty when he has you stripped down to nothing, laid out on the leather couch of your living room; hair messy, mouth gaped open from all his teasing, and with an arm covering your face because it’s all too much for you. Mingyu is a passionate lover, you’ve come to recognize, and although it’s all an unfamiliar territory, you love him and you’re willing to step into the unknown.

“How am I doing?” He asks, as if he doesn’t have his head in between your legs and a grip on the meat of your thighs. He loves the taste of you, he reminds you plenty of times, but dirty talk coming from such an innocent face makes you slightly embarrassed. “Feels good?”

“Shut up,” you hiss, avoiding his infatuated stare. “Just… just fucking do it, you asshole.”

“What? Show you how much I love you?”

There’s a tornado in the pit of your stomach. He keeps saying things that make you awkward because you’ve never been loved like how Mingyu loves.

You don’t react, and this displeases him. Laying his tongue flat out against your cunt, he gives you another lick that lets a whimper escape from your lips. “Tell me, baby. Am I doing a good job?”

“Yes,” you croak, only because you feel like he’s got you in this position for so long. You’re so exposed, and he at least has his boxers to protect him like a shield, but you’re all out in the open. (Not to mention his fucking built body. He makes you feel so insecure about yours—how is this puppy looking boy so… wide? What the fuck?) “Can you… can you take that off?”

He leans up, tilting his head in confusion and now you can see how hard he is in his undergarments. “My… my boxers?”

“Yeah. I feel like… I’m the only one exposed here.”

He laughs. “Baby, we’ll get to that.”

“Now.”

Mingyu snorts. “Anything my baby wants.” He bumps foreheads with you gingerly, something he's always done playfully, and tugs off his boxers swiftly as requested. “Let me make you cum first and—“

“No,” you interject, eyes closed and biting down on your bottom lip. It's the only way to remain bold—to not look him in the eye because he’ll melt you like a stick of butter left on the kitchen counter. “Show me how you love me.”

Mingyu doesn’t hesitate to shuffle quickly through the little stash hidden on the first shelf underneath your coffee table (he likes to be prepared in every situation even though this is your apartment) and finally spots the condom he hid a week ago. Tearing it open rapidly, he gives himself a couple pumps that have beads of precum building at the top and slips the rubber on with ease. “Ready?”

“For you?” Mingyu gulps, because before today, you’ve rarely said anything that made his heart stutter. “Anything.”

With a push of the head of his cock into your heat, a quiet wince escapes from your lips and his chocolate orbs are saturated in apologies. He doesn’t want you to feel pain, especially not you, but even his efforts to loosen you up beforehand, you still manage to be so tight around him every time. It feels good to have you around him snugly, yet he knows the consequence of the beginning is the ache in between your legs from the first intrusion.

“I’m sorry, bub,” Mingyu presses a tender kiss on your forehead. “Bear with me, yeah?”

“Mm,” you hum dismissively, warming up when he finally slides himself all the way in. He stills, in fear that you’re hurt, but instead, you’re surprisely impatient as you cross your legs behind him and pull him close. Bringing your lips close to his ears, you breathe, “fuck me, baby.”

Mingyu laughs brightly, and your jaw clenches. “What?”

“After today, I’m not going to fuck you.” You quirk a brow. “I’m gonna make love to you.”

“Don’t make me throw up. You’re ruining the moment.”

He grins mischievously before pulling out and shoving himself back in swiftly that earns a groan from you. “Oh? Am I?”

“Stop playing, Mingyu,” you state sternly, but Mingyu is enjoying himself too much. “Or else you're not getting any for the month.”

Well, that does the trick.

He has his hands on your hips, pushed down against the seat cushions of your loveseat couch, hips once flushed against yours now thrusting into your throbbing pussy. God, you’re fucking done for, honestly, because he’s a pro with his hips when he angles it just right that he’s brushing against your swollen clit, hitting so deep into you.

“Fuck—“

“You curse too much, baby,” Mingyu puffs, pecking the side of your lips sloppily. “Everyone thinks I’m such a nice guy and when they meet my—fuck—g-girlfriend and find out how much of a dirty mouth she has, they’re always struck.”

“Too fucking bad,” you spit, fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders. He’s so big, stretching you with each shove, but you’d never tell him that or his ego would inflate. “Stop talking and fuck me harder.”

Mingyu loves. He loves and loves, and although you won’t pretend that he comes to your home often with crumpled pieces of papers with girls’ names and numbers on them that fall into the catch-all bowl by the door with his keys, you don’t forget that besotted daze he falls into the moment he sees you. So when you ask for something, he delivers without fail.

Abiding by your urge, his hips move briskly, pistoning into you as fast as he can. Biceps tense, you can’t help but let your hands slip there, gripping onto the muscle and has you wondering fuck, how did you get so lucky? He’s hot, cute, sweet, loving and geez, he could fuck. He’s so clumsy, so dumb sometimes, but he’s so freaking lovable it makes you sick. Lovesick.

His pretty eyes shut close, you notice, because those two cups of hot chocolate are gone and he’s chewing on his bottom lip as he groans, ends of his hair that brush over his eyes now drenched in sweat. His skin glistens underneath the dim lights, and he reminds you of the stars in the night sky—so gorgeous, so special. Always a sight to see.

“Fuck,” the not-so-innocent boy curses (even though he just said you curse too much) “Baby, you just got so tight. Are you about to cum?”

“Possibly,” you manage to say, still attempting to play games even though Mingyu could very so threaten to steal your orgasm away from the tip of your fingers. But when he slightly shifts in the midst of his pounding, you let out a raspy, “Almost,” because he’s rubbing against your nub incessantly that you’re losing all your focus.

When you finally see those stars, you let go.

Mingyu feels this, grunting when you convulse around his dick, head dropping to watch you tug and tug around him, begging for him to cum. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long because after a couple thrusts, he stills, spilling ropes of cum into the condom and dropping the entirety of his weight onto you, face snug into the crook of your neck once again.

“I—“

“You’re heavy.”

“Fuck, baby, we just had sex and that’s the first thing you say?”

He can’t see you, but there’s a smile on your face. “Yeah. And you got my couch all sticky from your sweat. Not to mention the cum. Are you gonna clean it after?”

Mingyu doesn’t care. He’s blissful. He’s happy. He knows you’re going to toss a damp rag at him later, despite his dick out and still drenched in your arousal, and tell him to ‘wipe down the fucking couch because that’s gross.’

All because he knows that you love him.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Please Forgive Me | Loki x Female Reader

A/N: I have started on the requests! This one was an anon request:  a Loki x needy reader where the reader asks Loki to “make love to me” to make the reader remember every inch of Loki against their skin even days after. Just the reader and Loki passionately having sex/love.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Summary: Loki spends a passionate night with his queen only to wake in the morning to bad news.

Warnings:  Smut, angst, vaginal sex, fingering, one curse word, breeding if you squint, D/s dynamics if you squint, spanking, orgasm delay/denial

MY MAIN TAGLISTS ARE OPEN! (WHOLE ENCHILADA, HIDDLES and LOKI) LET ME KNOW IF YOU WISH TO BE ADDED. THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT AND READING!

-

One glance at the healers and you knew. You knew even before then, but their face sealed your fate. 

“How long?” you asked , your expression flat. 

“By morning. I’m so sor—”

You held up your hand. “Please! I don’t want or need your apologies. Your pity.” You stand and tug on your tunic. “Tell no one.”

“But—”

“NO ONE!” Your voice bouncing off the stone walls of the healing chambers. “Especially the king. He does not need to worry. There are important matters to attend to. The Nine Realms need him strong.”

The healers bowed their heads. “Yes, Your Majesty.” 

One more tug on your tunic and you turned and marched out and straight to your bedchambers. Only when you heard the heavy thud of the door shutting behind you did you allow yourself to fall apart. 

After several hours, you dragged yourself to shower, clean your face and prepare for Loki’s arrival. He sent several servants throughout the day to check in on you. You pulled yourself together long enough to tell them you were fine. You lied to them. That place far away from fine was where you were. But there was nothing to be done at this point. The die had been cast. 

-

Loki hurried down the hall, his dark green cape billowing behind him.

“Forty-five minutes. The boar of a man prattled on for forty-five minutes about trade routes.” His fists clenched at his side. 

When he reached the door of your shared bedchambers, he took several breaths, calming his body and his mind as best he could. 

“Darling…” Loki’s rich, deep timbre reached you by the windows where you gazed upon the palace gardens. It was late spring, and the blooms created rainbows in the setting Asgardian sun. 

“Loki?” You glanced over your shoulder and gave him a smile. 

His long legs carried him across the mirror surface of the floor. Once he reached you, his arm wrapped around your waist and Loki pulled you back, flat against his chest. 

“These meetings are unbearable without you by my side.” He buried his face against your neck, inhaling deeply to smell the scent of your coconut scented shampoo. “Tell me good news, my love.”

Your body relaxed against him and you let loose a ragged breath. “Everything should be done by tomorrow morning.” You turn in his embrace, pressing your hands against his chest. “It will have run its course.” Your chin tilted up to gaze into Loki’s blue-green eyes and you smiled. 

Loki hugged you tight. “Darling, that is fantastic! I knew this would work out.” He pulled away, only to catch your lips in a kiss. 

With a soft gasp, you returned the kiss, your arms wrapping around Loki’s neck, pulling him closer. He grew more insistent as his tongue explored your mouth, stealing your breath. His fingers laced into your hair, pressing you against him. You broke the kiss and gazed up at him. His pupils dark and large as his chest heaved.

“Take me to bed. I want to feel you for days.”

It took no time for Loki to sweep you into his arm and carrying you to the oversized bed in the room. As your bodies hit the cool sheets, a shimmer of gold and green light surrounded the two of you, both Loki’s and your clothing melting away with magic. 

“I shall never tire of that, my love.” you giggled as you bounced before Loki’s muscular and lean form caged you against the mattress. 

“And I shall never tire of you, my sweet.” His nose ran along the curve of your neck, causing your skin to break out in goosebumps. Loki nipped at your skin as his hands skimmed over your body. When his lips reached that sweet spot on your neck, Loki sucked hard, teeth grazing along the delicate skin, and when he pulled a dark mark remained. 

Your body arched into his touch, desperate for more. “More, please.” Your hips bucked up to meet him as your legs fell open. Loki settled between them, his hips lazily rocking against you. 

“I want to take my time.” He squeezed your breast, earning a squeak from your lips. “To feel you completely.”

 He lowered his head to take your nipple in his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue over it. His other hand snaked between your bodies to find your folds and he teased with his long fingers.

“Dripping already?” he commented with one brow raised as he released you with a wet, soft pop. “We have barely started. You are eager, darling.” 

“Yes.” you responded with a pant. “Please… I… need…” Your body writhed under him. 

Loki chuckled low against your body, sending vibrations through you. “I know what you need.” He pressed two fingers into you with little pretense. “What you crave.” His fingers slowly pumped inside of you, curling to reach the stop your own fingers cannot. “But first.” His thumb pressed against your clit and you groaned loudly. “You will give me what I want.”

“Yes!” Your body rocked against his fingers, desperate for more. “I can do that.” 

Loki’s lips curved into a devious smile. “You should know better than to make deals with gods. The deal is done.” 

His finger pumped in and out of you, growing in speed with each thrust as his thumb stroked and teased your clit, soon bringing you to a frenzy, teetering on the edge. You pleaded and begged for him to give you release, but each time Loki only slowed, teasing you further. 

With tears of pleasure, pain, and frustration pricking at your eyes, you gazed up at him. “Please, Loki…” your voice hoarse and rough. “… I can’t. I need to feel you. Now.” 

He leaned over you to whisper in your ear. “When I let you cum, I want you to scream my name so loud the guards fear I am harming you.” 

You nodded your head and Loki thrusted his fingers deep into you, hard and fast and his thumb pressed hard against your clit, rubbing a tight circle. “Cum, pet. Now.”

As the words left his lips, your body stiffened as his expert fingers ripped the orgasm from you. “LOKI!” Your voice sounded as though it came from another creature, some feral animal from the wilds of Asgard, not its queen. The sounds echoed around the chamber, a symphony to Loki’s ears. 

He continued to thrust into you, allowing you to ride the waves of pleasure before removing his glistening fingers. He brought them to his mouth and sucked your juices from him as you watched with lust blown eyes. Loki slurped and moaned as he tasted you before pulling his fingers away. 

“Sweeter than Asgardian wine, darling. As always.” His hands gripped your hips tight, massaging the flesh with his hands. “Now to give you what you crave.” Your face softened into a smile. In a flash, Loki flipped you onto all fours. “As I see fit.” And with that, he pushed himself into you with a sharp thrust.

“Fuck!” you cursed as the force of him pushed your torso against the mattress.

SMACK! Loki’s hand landed hard against your ass. “That is no way for Asgard’s queen to speak!” His hips snapped against your body as the sound of skin against skin filled the room. 

“Yes, my king.” Your body dropped further against the bed. 

His hand rubbed along your back as his hand laced deep in your hair, pulling your head around to see his face. “Such a good pet. Now to punish you.”

CRACK! Another swat landed against your ass, and you moaned in pleasure. Loki’s fingers dug into your hips as you rocked back against his cock, feeling every inch of him inside of you, stretching your walls. Loki’s pace varied from agonizingly slow to brutally fast, never allowing you to reach orgasm. And soon you were once again a whimpering mess writhing under his touch.

“I need to cum, Loki. Please let me cum.” you cried into the mattress. Your ass was reddened by Loki’s hand, and his thrusts were punctuated with a labored grunt. “I need you to fill me.” Your head dropped against the sheets.

Loki leaned over your back, covering it with his. “Clench around me, my love, and I shall fill you to the brim. Fill you with my seed in hopes of giving us a child.” 

You let loose a wracked cry as you came hard, your juices flooding against him and your walls clenched him tight. Loki’s thrusts faltered for a moment before his body grew rigid. He pumped ropes of cum into you and then he stilled, slowly pulling out of you and his spend leaked out. You fall onto the pillows and Loki settled next to you, his arms pulling you into him. He pressed soft kisses against your forehead. 

“I love you, my queen.” His face nuzzled into your neck.

“I love you, my king.” You kissed along his sharp jaw. “Always. Now let us rest.” You turned to settle against him. 

Loki hummed in contentment. “And in the morning, I shall have my fill of you again.”

You did not respond for fear he would hear the crack of your voice and see the tear in your eye. 

-

When Loki woke the next morning to find your side of the bed cold and empty. He overheard the sound of water running in the bathroom. With a lazy stretch, he sat up working out of the muscle kinks from last night. His gaze caught a letter on a table by his side of the bed in your handwriting. With a bemused smile, he opened the letter.

“A love letter after all these years. Darling, you romantic…” his voice trailed away as he read the first words of your letter.

Darling,

Please forgive me. Forgive me for being a coward. For not telling you the truth until it was too late for you to do something. The healers tried everything they could, but they could not reverse the effects of the poison. Poison meant for you. Little did the Dark Elves know you are allergic to Asgardian honey mead, and it is my favorite. Just another cruel twist of fate. 

When I emerge from the shower, I will no longer remember our relationship. I will know I am queen and you are king, but in my mind, there is no love, no passion. The poison will have stolen that from me, my most precious memories. The memories of us. 

Always know that I love you, darling. I love more than anything in all of the Nine Realms. We will survive this. I hope you can find the strength to help me find us again. But until then, keep us safe in your heart and mind. 

Always Yours,

Loki barely finished reading the letter before he crumpled it into a tight ball and hurled it across the room, letting loose a pained and visceral scream, shaking the windows. As if on cue, you emerged from the bathroom, hair wrapped to dry and already dressed. 

“Oh. You’re awake.” You gave Loki a polite smile. “I had hoped to slip out before you woke.” You busied yourself with finishing your hair and getting ready as Loki watched on in disbelief. The woman he loved, his other half, treating him as nothing more than a friendly acquaintance. 

“I have a… a… late meeting with the advisors.” He stumbled over the words as his tears hit the sheets. 

You turned and gave him the same polite smile, walking towards him. You planted a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Sounds tiring. I wish you luck. Now I have my own matters to attend to.” You hurried to the door. “Will I see you at dinner?”

Loki’s hand reached up to touch his cheek. Everything was so cordial, so amiable. So not you. “Huh… um… yeah…” Loki lost in thought. 

You nodded and turned to leave.

“WAIT!” Loki rushed to stop you, holding your hand. “Perhaps we could have dinner here. The two of us. It’s much more intimate.”

Your brow furrowed before your face returned to the same polite expression. “If you wish, my king. I am at your service. But there is no need to make a fuss. I’m nothing special.” And you headed out the door, leaving Loki to crumple against the door, clutching his chest.

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of the Past. Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

Wordcount: 3875

CW: Dissociation, graphic depiction of violence, hallucinations, unhealthy relationship and unhealthy power dynamics.

A.N.: I used a lot of my experience with dissociations in this and if it makes you uncomfortable, I would advice not to read it. I also plan on writing continuation for this, as it’s set before the Rite of Descension. P.s. I am not a native English speaker, so could you notify me if there’s awkward wording.

[Next chapter]

There are plenty of times you find yourself reminiscing about the past and now, your mind slips back to your memories, as you look at the horribly mangled body of the treasure hoarder. The stench of blood stuffs up your nose, it’s sickly sweet metallic odor making your gut clench and nausea rise, as your limbs grow heavier and numb. You don’t feel  like you belong in your skin and bones and blood anymore - it’s cold, so cold, yet you don’t feel any of it. You are an outsider, an unwanted intruder in the house that is your body, an indifferent observer looking at the world through the thick glass.

The world around disfigures, shapes and colors changing in the constant whirlwind - they jump and dance around, small becoming large and large shrinking so much it’s barely visible, green shifts to red to blue and to yellow and to million of other colors, and sounds suddenly become muffled, losing their sharpness, but you don’t care about it: the part that is “you” fled to the daydreams of your childhood moments ago, leaving a clinically observing, yet unfeeling being behind. 

Adults would describe you as a perfect child: quiet, obedient and dutiful, you were a stark contrast to the other louder and more free spirited kids. You studied hard, cleaned the house, helped with dishes and cooking and never talked back. 

I can't upset mom and dad because they work so much. I can't play with other kids because if I do, they will make fun of me, I have to study hard and get good grades, because mom said I will have a good job and become rich and help them. 

These particular memories don't feel good to you: they're bleak and boring, yet full of silent shame - they make your throat clog and eyes water, as something burning starts to bloom deep underneath your skin. 

Childe stops beating the still alive treasure hoarder, a blood smeared on the cheek and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and turns his head to you. 

"Hey, how about lending me a helping hand?", there’s a hunger in his voice you recognize, he wants to teach a lesson to the debtors, then. You walk towards him, feeling your knees get weaker and weaker with each step for some reason. A dagger made of ice shines in your hand with cold light. 

"It's no wonder [First] received a vision! My [First] is always so good and smart, there are no children better" the exact words your mother says, as she brags to her friends, showing them the vision you were bestowed with. You left it to her, not caring what will happen to it - despite all the child's wonder you felt before receiving it, the glowing orb doesn’t look so amazing to you now. It feels foreign and ugly, a reminder of what happened seconds before you gained it. 

“You know, when I was a child”, he takes the weapon and focuses on the treasure hoarder’s leader again, “we made a special kind of promise”. It’s tip travels to the hoarder’s hand. “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life”

The sweet voice he uses and the fact that you  know the nursery rhyme too would make you sick in the stomach the other day, but not now. 

You don’t exactly remember how you joined the Fatui - it happened shortly after you gained a vision, when you were still too numb and cold to the outside world after the Event. 

Mom will hate me, dad will hate me too. I can’t let them know.

Your parents say that officials just knocked on the front door one day and offered you an entry into the Fatui and a monthly salary, big enough to stop your parents from overworking themselves. You were terrified back then, Fatuis despite being known as a diplomatic organization are still a mystery to the ordinary Shezhnayan and a direct servants to Her will. The thought of disappointing Tsaritsa or letting down Snezhnaya was enough to paralyze you, but seeing the smiles on your parents faces was enough to make you swear to yourself, that you will work there no matter how scary it seems.

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.” The blade stops between phalanges of the little finger: “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend", he presses it, strong enough to detach the limb from the rest of the body in one swift slash. Treasure hoarder starts to cry and scream from the sudden pain, yet quickly chokes on it as Childe hits him in the solar plexus. The crack of bones feels deafening among the sea of muffled sounds.

Training was rigorous to say the least, you came back to your dorm room absolutely exhausted and after you fell on the bed you were practically dead to the world. Turns out, having a vision wasn’t enough to make you a fighter - you needed to know how to climb, swim, run with a weight to lift and wield a weapon. There were other children and teens with you, they eyed your vision with a mix of adoration and envy, you pretended not to catch it in turn.

“The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again”, harbinger forces the victim's jaw apart by squeezing it with one hand, the other rapidly forcing a dagger inside the mouth. Treasure hoarder gasps and mumbles, fat tears forming in his eyes. A part of you expects a sound of parting flesh, but none comes: Tartaglia stands up and removes the blade, leaving a shivering and terrified man laying on the ground.

“Well,” Childe shrugs, as if he didn’t just dismember a person, voice back to his cheery tone : “You didn’t actually make a pinkie promise, so consider it a small mercy”. The treasure hoarder cowers even more, snuggling the injured hand close to the bruised chest. “But if you fail to repay your debt I will oversee that the frost”, he points in your direction, a treasure hoarder’s eyes going wide as he notices your vision, “will actually freeze your lying tongue off”, his voice descends again, back to it’s dangerous half-whisper.

You meet Ajax during the winter, he’s close to you in age and just arrived into Fatui grounds. He boasts and shows off to all of you, and you desperately want to retort something acidic to shut him up and rip off that arrogant bravado, yet say nothing, picturing how the tomorrow training session will have him laying flat on his back, too hurt and too tired to move even a single finger. 

He defeats the trainer in less than a minute.

Now, that the treasure hoarder fled, still snuggling disfigured limb, Childe turns attention back to you. “You seem a little bit disinterested here”, his hand on your cheek is so foreign, it’s burning and freezing at the same time, the shock from the unwanted touch almost strong enough to pull you back into reality. He notices your unintentional flinching and unfocused eyes “Ah, you hurt my feelings, [First]! And I thought we already became friends”. 

You say nothing, cold and unmoving, blind and deaf to the outside world, his words register a second too late, and there’s no cliche phrase for you to reply with. He looks a bit baffled and deflated for a second, but shrugs it off, just like he did during teen years, when you deliberately ignored all his attempts at catching your attention.

“Huh, even if you are so cold to me, I still forgive you”, he takes your hand, his touch still too overwhelming for you to process and pulls you back to Liyue harbor, your legs barely bending as you walk after him, like an obedient dog trailing it’s master.

“You know [First], I can beat you up so badly, that you will barely walk”, you put feather aside, stopping writing the letter to your parents as you glare at Ajax with barely masked indignation. He grins, satisfied to finally catch your attention after the whole day of pestering you. “I am aware of that” you reply in an absolutely flat tone, holding yourself from pouncing on him and trying to break the teeth out of that smug smile. He beams even wider, as if sensing your not-so-good intentions, revealing even more pearly whites as if taunting you.

“But I won’t, count yourself lucky”. And he leaves, this short interaction filling you with so much rage that you shake, handwritten letters noticeably becoming sharper and faster, your thoughts clouding around the idea of acquating his face with your boots. 

 Nonetheless, you indeed count yourself fortunate enough, when you see Ajax defeating grown men with bare hands. When you two, the only vision holders among your peers have to spar, he always goes easy on you, prefering to immobilize you rather than beating, making your defeat less painful yet even more humiliating. 

Almost at the end of your trail he suddenly stops and says something, but you don't catch it, words turning into separate vowels and then fusing together into one unintelligible gibberish mess. He leans in, close enough for his breath to burn your neck, and he continues to get closer, until his empty eyes look into yours glazed ones. He seems disappointed for a second and backs down, his breathing no longer fanning your skin. 

Distantly you think that you somehow angered him and he will slap you for it, and do nothing to dodge the hit - you barely feel pain in this condition anyway, but he doesn’t. The road to the Northland Bank is completed in absolute silence, Childe no longer trying to grab your attention, only when you enter Liyue Harbor does he whisper, that you two must look like a pair with all that hand holding. Judging by the volume and tone of his voice he says it more to himself than to you.

***

You come back to yourself in the safety of your room on the third room of the Northland bank. It feels like a rush of sensation, as everything becomes sharper and clearer again, like you just swam to the surface of water from the very depths of it. An invisible bubble around your head pops in one moment, and the world becomes real again, mind and body connecting for once more.

Eyes and ears focused you take in surroundings: the room is neat and lifelessly empty - just a bed and a working desk with a stack of written but unsent letters, along with a small bookcase near, no figurines, pictures or even plants to decorate living place, as you see no reason to adorn the area you use for sleeping only. Indiscernible wallpapers and a small window close to the middle of the bed finish the picture of austerity.

 Once, your memory catches up to you, you can't help groan from the shame and irritation, hiding your face in both hands. Afterwards  always feels both like a disgraceful escape and a warm blanket during the stormy night, a duality that you accepted long ago after joining the Fatui and today is no exception. You curse Harbinger when you remember why exactly you had an episode, and get up from the bed you threw yourself on minutes ago. You come to the desk, taking a clean form of a relocation request from the drawer and writing materials. 

Filling in the blank feels like commiting a felony to you for some reason - you stop several times when you hear footsteps in the corridor, focusing on the door,ready to hide the half written form and say some lie as an excuse. You don't list the Childe-related reasons, knowing that there's nothing that could make any of the Harbingers face the consequence for their actions, and instead you write completely normal and fake causes: health concerns, family matters and so on. Part of you doubts that this will work and you will have the fortune to get away from a certain harbinger as far as possible. Trying and failing is better than never attempting, you think, quickly writing the paper.

Once you finish it, you almost rush to Ekaterina, praying that you won't run into a certain ginger on the way. Sometime ago you caught Tartaglia checking your letters, for a secrecy he said back then, we can’t let anyone know about the coming operation. Childe then instilled that every sent and received letter should be checked, lest Qixing and other Liyuens learned what Fatui had in plan. It sounded logical and sensible, but the paranoid thought that he enforced this policy just to have a glimpse at your feelings never stopped eating at you. From that day on you sent your family the most basic and vague letters, just stating that you’re in good health and mind, still missing them and Snezhnaya, leaving the ones with more private sentiments in your room. 

Her eyes are completely obscured by the mask, but even with that you can’t miss the pointed glare she sends your way - Tartaglia never shied away from showing off, be it his strength, money or his twisted obsession that he calls love. With the amount of time and finances he spends on you and the way he acts like a kicked lovesick puppy in your vicinity, you are pretty sure that at least half of the bank workers see you as a cunning and cruel seducer, so keen and devious in the art of temptation that you managed to lure in Eleventh Harbinger.

As if archons decided to laugh at you, Childe descends from the second floor too, catching the sight of you near the receptionist. He looks unusually somber for a moment, but then he sees you, a smile appearing on his face as he takes the form from Ekaterina's hands. You can just feel how Ekaterina rolls her eyes under the mask, as if muttering complaints about the lovers’ spat and insubordination, having been working with her for some time, enough to have a clue of the inner workings of her mind.

You have to give him that he plays the confusion and regret very persuasively. He asks how he can fix this, says what a valuable team member you are to him and how much you are needed in the Northland bank. You agree to his suggestion - if years of training with Ajax and then work with Childe taught you anything, it is that Ajax is the chaos incarnate and Tartaglia is Ajax’s less tolerable and more unpredictable version, so it’s better not to anger him.

***

In the end he invites you to dine with him at Wanmin restaurant, a place Childe heard from some “xiansheng” as he called them. A bustling Liyue street is open before you two, tall midday sun painting the whole street into bright orange, so unlike the pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya. He orders two Black Back Perch Stews on the chef's recommendations, and hands a bouquet of local flowers in a parody of a normal boyfriend. Any random observer would really see it as a date.

You take the flowers, pretending to pay more attention to  them than to a man sitting near you. Tartaglia is an unpredictability wrapped in human skin, there’s no privilege as being lax and carefree near him, as even Tsaritsa has no idea what he will do next. 

To your mutual confusion Xiangling presents the meal with two pairs of chopsticks. Utensils feel foreign in your palm, you having no idea how to handle them and Childe, by the looks of it too. Tartaglia specifically asks the chef for spoons, while you observe the other clients, noting how they use theirs. Holding one stick like a pen and then placing the bottom one in a fixed position under the thumb you manage to grasp the fish from the soup, albeit clumsily. You consider it a small win. 

The image of a mighty Harbinger struggling in a failing battle with chopsticks would look funny to you, if it wasn’t for the whole "date" you were having. After putting them aside, and seemingly admitting defeat, Childe starts from afar: "You know [First], you changed a lot since I first met you" .

You raise an eyebrow at the starter, it's vague and innocent enough, but experience tells you that he will or at least try to stir the conversation into your relationship with him again. Straightening a bit and finally turning your eyes to him, you pause for a second, picking the least offensive reply you can muster - there’s a swarm of insults buzzing at the tip of your tongue prepared just for him, growing and sprouting since your pubescent years.

“Yes, I got taller”, he laughs it off, like you said some funny joke, his giggles not stopping for some time. "No, I mean as a person. Remember how you used to glare at me for joking? And now you act so unfazed ”

Joking. Is this what he calls it? Shivers creep up your spine when your memory oh so conveniently conjures the images of the aftermath of his jokes.

“Your jokes weren’t funny to anyone but you”. Breathe, you think, there’s no need to anger him. There are pictures of broken bones and bruised bodies and a cacophony of somebody else’s pained screams flashing and rattling in your head, Adults never did anything. Why would they? They had a golden boy Ajax, why would they help the others when they had him? Why would they help you? Bitterness and anger you thought you swallowed long ago rise up to the surface again, and you decide to bite down on the stew - Tartaglia always found a way to turn your words against you and hurt you, no need to give him more weapons now.

“I changed a lot too. I know I was insufferable as a teen”, he must have taken your silence as a free pass to continue whatever nonsense he’s sprouting, “I am sorry”.

The last three words catch you off guard, a piece of fish almost stuck in the throat from the jolt. Ajax takes you by surprise once again, for him to finally acknowledge and apologize for all the pain he caused and years he tormented you?

You blink and look at him intently, his facial expression changing into an unusually somber one. It seems authentic enough.

“Let’s start from the scratch?

You contemplate unsure what to say.

Was he lying?

Looking back, you in a sense are luckier than most of Childe's victims, witnessing his youth, familiarizing and distinguishing the tells of him lying and scheming, observing the way he bloomed into the manipulator he is today firsthand. You see a familiarity in his face and voice, something that helps you from falling to his charms. There's also the added fact that you were and still are an involuntary witness to the way how carnal and bloodthirsty usually friendly Ajax can become. 

When did you catch his attention?

You remember his smile when he first approached you, less teeth and more sincerity that is thereafter,a hand outstretched to you. It happens on the next day after his arrival, almost as cold and unpleasant as the previous one. You brush the limb away like a noisy fly, secretly angry at his arrogant attitude and how effortlessly he endured training. His smiling doesn’t stop, yet you feel a sudden change in the air around you.

Would your fate be different if you took his hand?

You can't forget how your mind disconnected from your body for the second time. It was Ajax again vying for your attention akin to a spoiled child, and like one he threw a tantrum when you refused to give him any. The poor recruit you were talking with was hospitalized the same day, as you helplessly watched the carnage before you. You didn't fight, you didn’t flee, you just froze, like a scared animal, paralyzed by fear, yet somehow too detached from feelings. That day was bizarre: once you felt reality, it was solid and undeniable and then you didn't. The realness of the current diffused, slipped through the fingers like sand, leaving nothing but unreliable and delusive reveries behind.

Will he let you go? 

“People do change and I see that you changed too. I don’t think of you as a teen you were” you carefully pick the words, Tartaglia visibly blooms, thinking that his apology worked, yet your next words snuff out his triumph: “but my memories stay the same. I don’t think we can start from scratch”

You bite the tongue, the second part still coming out too harsh for your liking. The moment of sincerity is interrupted, you see him, changing the masks, unsure what to do. It seems for the first time it was you who caught him off guard. You guess which one of the two standard facades he will decide to show to you, having spent years by his side to observe him masterfully wielding both, the friendly one with a vacant smile that never reaches his dead, dead eyes or the calculating one, distant and devoid of humanity?

In the end he uses none, a hurt still evident, dripping in his tone, face and moves - is it another mask you never got to see or is it real? - “So that is your answer”, he leans in closer, dull cerulean eyes looking right into yours.

You hold his stare, nodding, instead of saying anything and he hums, sitting back and wearing the cold mask, reserved for his enemies: “Just wanted to remind you that I am the Harbinger and you are just a position higher than an ordinary agent”. Despite seeing it so many times, it’s the first time he directs it at you and you have to suppress the shiver. The unsaid threat hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

You two are no longer solemn [First] and annoying Ajax, who trails your steps behind like a puppy, no, you are a special agent [Last] and Eleventh Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, to whom you are personally assigned by Tsaritsa herself. Even possessing vision and delusion yourself you can’t match Childe’s power, and your loss would be easy to overlook if your harbinger wished for it. Honestly speaking, there are a lot of things he could do to you without anyone questioning it, the Harbingers being the second most powerful figures in the organization, right after Tsaritsa herself. You heard the stories of Krupp and other assistants who got missing under Il Dottore, you heard of horrible accidents happening to the people Scaramouche dislikes, you heard about the injuries Signora inflicts on the unfortunate recruits when she is in foul mood, yet you never thought that Tartaglia will abuse his power in the same way.

“Don’t worry” he seems to have taken mercy on you, “I won’t use my position like that, it’s cheating and I like to play the fair game”, despite the seemingly reassuring words , you don’t let yourself relax, knowing him for years.

“Don’t think I will back down though, I am not the type to give up”

[reigenhusband]

Psychic Wedding Time!

Art by @/cowboyologist

After months of holding back, we finally tied the ole knot! Me and the conman are officially hitched today September 10, 2021!

This silly little blonde anime man means an awful lot to me and its really more than I can say. These months with him have been a great help.

When I went through some of the roughest things I've ever gone through, I had him to think about for comfort. He is a little part in what keeps me going and I wish I could thank him for everything. He sparks a lot of joy so I think I'm gonna keep him!

I've never been happier and I'm so lucky to call him husband! He's had such a positive impact and I love him so, so much.

Special thank you to my friends and of course our son Mob who carried the rings!

Under the cut is a little fic about getting ready for the wedding. Thanks everyone for your support!

Reigen squinted at his reflection, dark eyes hauntingly focused on a strand of hair that didn't take to the product he put in it. A grunt of dismay rumbled low in his throat.

"Um…Reigen?" 

"Just a second, Serizawa. Almost got it."

The taller man's voice wavered but he managed to hold fast and keep his confidence. Reigen could almost hear his hands wringing. 

"Er...Well. Its just...you've been staring at yourself for a little over 20 minutes now and you haven't moved and…"

Reigen sucked his teeth and pressed his palm firmly to the side of his head. Damned strand of hair! Slick like the rest of it! Don't you know know day it is?!

"What I mean is..! Are you alright?" Serizawa finally asked, his voice heavy with concern. "Since it's your wedding and all I figured you'd be nervous but you seem really on edge. Is something bothering you?" 

The blonde twitched.

 "W...what are you talking about? Of course not! I'm calm and-" He stopped abruptly and slammed his hands flat on either side of the mirror, his eyes wide and bloodshot upon inspection of his suit. A fleck of black thread pervaded his white vest and he looked around frantically for the lint roller. "You thought you could hide but you can't best Reigen Arataka." He muttered as he furiously went over his all but pristine wedding attire. 

His best man scratched his own cheek nervously and looked on with clear uncertainty. "If you're sure." 

Once he was satisfied after a thorough inspection and having Serizawa scrutinize the back, he dropped into a chair. Nearby was a table decorated in what was probably a thousand congratulatory flowers from clients. He exhaled and stared a hole into the arrangement of colors. His heart was pounding. His brow, coupled with his hands, were visibly slick with chilled sweat. His stomach was full of stones. 

He met his own gaze in the mirror again. He looked well kept and yet...disheveled at the same time. Come to think of it, his face was flushed the shade of his usual pink tie. The last 3 days without sleep also hollowed out dark circles under his eyes. His shirt collar began to feel more and more constricting as time went on no matter how much he tugged on it. 

Maybe he really was scared. 

He didn't doubt that he loved Mitty. In fact, he wanted to be with him more than anyone. A case of cold feet wouldn't change that. It was himself he was wrestling with here. 

Spirits, monsters, and deadly espers. He'd faced them all and came out on top. But they were nothing compared to these looming expectations to be a person to rely on. This wasn't something he could bullshit his way through. This was marriage. Mitty was going to see the warted underbelly of when he was Reigen the man instead of Reigen the psychic. His fiancé was going to experience sides of him he only revealed when he was alone. Would he still like him even then?

Reigen was good at a lot of things but this had to be the one that counted most. Could he really be a good partner forever? 

Was he really going to cut it as a husband? 

"Hey, Serizawa?" Reigen asked, not looking at him. 

The man's shoulders lurched at his name suddenly being called. He straightened his back. "Oh! Yes sir?"

"Do you think we'll be good together?" 

Silence sat heavily for a moment. Every second felt longer than the last. 

His friend seemed taken aback by the question but nonetheless looked at the ceiling as though collecting the right words to answer. "Well…"

Another moment passed and Reigen waited with his hands clasped and breath baited. 

"I've never been with anyone so I can't say for certain what a good relationship is but," A compassionate smile spread across the esper's face before he continued, visibly more sure of his words. "I think you and Mr. Mitty understand each other. You always seem to know what the other is thinking. You motivate each other to be better and you seem happy when you're together. And...and you trust each other too. And I think that's whats important." 

Reigen looked at the velveted floor. "Then…"  

"You've become more honest by being with him and he talks like you're really important to him. So please...get married if it makes you both happy! I think you can really be something!" His friend was beaming with 

what Reigen could only say was genuine assurance. 

"I really believe you'll take care of each other." 

His co-worker actually really was resourceful. Maybe someday he ought to pay him more. The uncomfortable feelings waned slightly and his shoulders slowly slacked. Mitty was waiting for him so now wasn't the time to lose it. 

After a few seconds of letting his feelings iron themselves out, he stood and smoothed his hands over his suit jacket. "Well alright then. If thats what you think then I guess there's no backing out of this one." 

Serizawa pressed his hands together in delight. "YES! I've got your back, Reigen!" 

The door into the hallway opened and a set of black eyes peered into the room. "Master, It's starting. Are you coming?" 

The jarring announcement had him scrambling to fix the piece of hair he'd been fussing with. 

"OF COURSE." He jabbed his thumb into his own chest to feign total confidence. "Right behind you, Mob!" 

He held his breath. Alright, let's do this. 

Mitty POV

Teal eyes darted around the room carefully. 

"Hey...Dimple? You there?"

The whizzing of the spirit materializing buzzed next to his ear. 

"Yeah whaddya want? You're on soon, aren't you?" 

Mitty jabbed his right hook into the air where the voice was coming from. "AGH WHAT THE HELL?"

A swift flash of green dodged his reach. 

"HEY, why are you hitting me?! You asked for ME, remember?" The ghost clucked his tongue in disapproval and floated a few inches away for safety. 

"WELL MATERIALIZE WHERE I CAN SEE YOU, YOU BIG BOOGER! I'm on edge!" 

"On edge? What for? You're the one who wanted this, right?"

"W..well….yeah, sorry." He looked at his clenched fist and opened it. "...sorry." He said again more thoughtfully this time. 

Dimple raised a spectral eyebrow. "Whats wrong? Having second thoughts? I mean it's Reigen so who can blame ya."

Mitty scowled while straightening his tie in the mirror. "Hey! REIGEN'S…." His voice softened closer to a whisper. "A pretty good guy. Get off my case. Aren't you supposed to be my support? You're being kinda harsh!" 

"Well kid, something is obviously on your mind so let's hear it. Wedding starts soon right? Yeesh. Once you do all this he's your problem forever." 

"I'm not worried about him!! I'm more worried about...me."

"About you? What're you talkin' about?! You're too good for him!"

"Thanks for the flattery. You still can't have my body though."

"Well I didn't want it anyways, ya bastard. You're weak compared to Shigeo. I'm just being honest here!" 

Silence.

"So? Out with it, What did you want anyways? You're talking nonsense here!" 

Mitty wrinkled his nose in discomfort.  "I just needed to ask something. But you can't run your mouth off like you always do, you old gossip. You're like a knitting circle."

"TCH. like I'd blabber your business to someone. It's all so boring."

"Yeah, yeah just listen, alright?!"

Another few seconds passed. "So? Say it. We don't have all day, you know."

He was looking at his hands again like he was somewhere far off. "Well. D...D'you think I'll be good at this?" 

"Good at what, exactly?" 

"Being married." 

Dimple's form rippled with thought. "You're seriously worried about that?"

Mitty was going to make a sharp remark but his head dropped and his face buried into his knuckles. "Yeah."

Dimple deflated slightly in exasperated defeat. Humans could be so ignorant. 

"Listen. That fraud never shuts up about you. You think you're not good enough? You should hear him talk. It's annoying how you both don't realize things."

"Realize things?"

He sighed and shrugged his tiny arms. "I hear everything whether you like it or not. You two idiots never stop talking and moaning about the other is too good for the other. It's getting old, really." 

"HUH? He says that? No way! But he's always beaten me at everything! I always thought he was way out of my league." 

 "Kinda the opposite actually but...sure. What I'm saying is…! You're both seeing the best parts of each other. Keep doing that and it'll be smooth sailing."

"Yeah but...what if he stops seeing the best in me?'

"You planning on making things hard?" 

"Not really. I just know I can be difficult to deal with." 

"So is he. You really think you got this far because Reigen's all roses and sunshine? 'Course not. You've seen all the stuff he does and you still like him, right?" 

He certainly was flawed, that was for sure. Mitty spent most of Reigen's antics with his eyes rolled up in his head but that didn't mean he wasn't enjoying the moment either. 

"Right."

"Then it's the same for him. Sure it won't always be fun but that phoney won't give up on you just because you're annoying. He's way too persistent. It kind of ticks me off." 

I'm annoying???  That stung but he shook it off.

Reigen was going to have to deal with him for the rest of his life once they said the right words. But if Dimple was right...would it be so bad to annoy each other for the rest of their lives if the other was willing to put up with it? 

Reigen seemed okay with it so far. Mitty would just have to listen to him make a fuss about his coffee table clutter until he died. But really, he wouldn't have that any other way. His voice was kind of cute when he hit that inhuman octave he had when he was in disbelief. 

The door from the hall swung open and a blond clad in what was perhaps the most blinding and loud suit he had ever seen poked his head in. 

"Oh, You're still in here? It's bad luck to be late on your wedding day! Master Reigen is waiting. " He cocked his head to the side. "Or did you need some help with your suit? Its looking a little plain." 

Hanazawa. This kid would try to accessorize his suit in the worst way possible. He put up his hands to wave him off. 

"N-nah, kiddo that's alright. I'll be right there."

Hanazawa, after a few more attempts to get Mitty to let him help retreated back into the hallway. When it was quiet again he eyed Dimple. He was abrasive and unpleasant. He always had a motive for everything and rarely had something nice to say. 

But he came through when it mattered. 

"Hey Dimple?" 

"Yeah? What is it?" 

"Thanks." 

Dimple wouldn't meet his eyes and levitated towards the hall. He didn't want to acknowledge he was helping, he supposed. It was in character for that tsundere blob.

"You ought to get out of here now if you wanna make it on time." 

He stood and dusted himself off. 

"Welp. Here goes everything."

[huenjin]

envious.

pairing — han jisung x reader

word count — 4.4k words

ratings — 18+

genre — smut, includes jealous sex, big cock!jisung, daddy kink, possession kink, slight female masturbation, deepthroating, blowjob, gagging, degradation, spanking, marking, cunnilingus, bulge kink, choking, unprotected sex, creampie.

note — i just put all my fantasies down here, just because it’s my first smut for my bias? i guess, shit.

The keys clink loudly against the metal holder and you narrow your eyes at your fiancé. He shoves his hands into his glossy leather pockets of his pants as he walks past you, eyes avoiding yours at all cost until you yell, “Is something wrong?”

He raises an eyebrow, eyes glaring at your figure before he scoffs, “Of course not.” He walks towards the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of ice cold water and uncapping it, he chugs down the liquid as it is, the cold water hitting his throat with a sharp sting thanks to the temperature difference. Still painfully obvious that he is clearly ignoring you, he throws the empty plastic bottle into the trash can and walks towards the room the two of you shared. You follow your fiancé, hot on his heels as you smirk.

You, obviously, know what is bothering him.

He pulls open the door harshly, the wooden door hitting against the adjacent wall in such a loud sound that it resonates through your whole house and you frown.

“Don’t take out your anger on the door, Jisung.”

“Then who else do I take it all out on, princess?” He turns. Jisung tightens his fist in the thought of what had just happened back in the restaurant, veins popping clearly and you mercilessly rake your eyes over them. He takes a steps closer to you, pulling out his right hand from his pocket. Placing it against the wall that he has you now pressed against, he brings his face so close to you that you can see the shine in his eyes and the light flicker of a smirk on his lips. He whispers against your lips, “Should I take it all out on you, huh?”

“What’s your problem?” You move your face forward, nose brushing against his and glaring at Jisung back.

“What you did and how you talked to the waiter,” he backs himself up, teeth clenching and lips pressed against each other. “And the looks you kept giving me when the waiter wouldn’t fucking stop complimenting you. You exactly know what you fucking did, don’t you?”

You chuckle, taunting Jisung a bit more. You place your hand on his broad chest and pushing him back, you strut your way towards the bed to sit cross legged before the hotheaded man tonight.

“Why? Did it bother you?”

Jisung chuckles, walking towards you, “You wanted this to happen, didn’t you?” His right eyebrow shoots up as he looks at you questioningly. “You were asking for this, weren’t you? Such a naughty fucking girl.” He pushes his hand through his hair and his voice drops octaves lower — something Jisung usually does when he gets into the mood, something you sinfully loved. “You made me so jealous. So mad.” He undoes the first two buttons of his shirt, shirt pulling apart and exposing his soft skin to you. He bends forward and enunciating every word clearly, he says, “You fucking love reminding me how much I want you every single minute. All to myself.”

You gulp in anticipation and find yourself already wet thanks to his voice, panties sticking to your core as you move back slightly. Jisung questions, eyes unwavering from yours, “Who’s my baby girl?”

You nod and Jisung hisses, “Words, princess.”

“I am. I’m your baby girl.”

“That’s my good girl.” He stands, smirking so wide that you know he’s prepared hard and long for tonight. You squeeze your thighs at the thought. “But you’ve been a little naughty tonight and Daddy’s here to remind you who you belong to tonight.”

Your fiancé pushes you back slightly against the soft mattress of the bed as he hovers over you, his hand going towards your throat and wrapping around it perfectly, fingers squeezing into the flesh and your lips part. Your hand moves down as you try slowly moving your fingers against your covered core, trying to provide some relief through some friction.

“Aren’t you enjoying this a bit too much, princess?” Jisung licks his lower lips as his eyes trail down your body, stopping only at the sight of you rubbing yourself. “My fingers wrapped around your fragile throat and you pushed against the bed.” You bite your lips and Jisung quickly holds your face harshly with his other hand, angling your face to face him directly. “Look how badly you want me, how badly you want me to fuck you into this bed until all you can think and scream is no other man but me.”

“This is what you wanted, right?” His laughter is so low and evil and you run yourself even further under Jisung’s scrutiny, the slight asphyxiation of his fingers digging into your neck, almost tightening the knot harder. “You got it, baby girl.” He soothingly rubs your neck, letting go of it for a minute before holding it harsher. You gasp loudly, your fingers moving as if it had a mind of its own.

“I’m going to fucking rail you tonight.”

In a flash of a second, Jisung’s mouth is on yours, his thick fingers moving from your neck to your jaw, gripping at it to move your face the way he wants to. He lips latches onto yours hard as he sucks and kisses till he slips his tongue, lapping at your cavity, gliding against your tongue, leaving you moaning and gripping onto him.

“D-Daddy,” you groan into his mouth, hand gripping a fistful of his white shirt, pulling him closer to have more of him. Your lips move against his. It is messy and needy and you hardly mind the teeth clashing with each other. Your fingers continue rubbing against your core, thighs squeezing till Jisung pulls back from you and holds your hand, pushing it away from your core. You let out a sob.

“Do I look like a joke to you?” Jisung’s stare hardens. “You think you’re going to have it easy after acting like a slut the whole night in front of daddy?”

“But Daddy—”

Jisung pushes up your little black dress, exposing only your thighs that glisten from all your wetness that dripped down and the minute you answer him back, his hand comes down against the thick flesh, pain stinging through you and stimulating you only more.

“Don’t talk back to Daddy. You should know better than this, princess.” He rubs the reddened flesh softly and places a kiss on top of it, only to pull back and slap harder, jolting your body upwards and letting out a gush of slicky wetness into your panties.

“What a dirty girl,” your fiancé laughs, rubbing his nose on your panties, sniffing before licking one thick stripe up your core, causing you to shove your body down onto him in want for more.

Jisung pulls himself up, getting off the bed and you whine at the sudden loss of body heat, arm instinctively going upwards to pull him back. He unbuttons the rest of them on his shirt and gestures at you to come closer. You crawl towards the edge of the bed, coming face to his crotch. You drop your arms down, supporting your body weight and quivering on all fours like a prey before its predator.

“Whip out my cock.”

Your eyes widen and you look up at Jisung over his questionable phrasing. He sniggers, “Go on.” You bend forward, knees digging into the mattress. With fumbling hands, you unbuckle his belt, leather hitting your cheek and you huff. You remove it and drop it down on the floor, metal clinking against the white tiles. You unhook the pants and pull the zipper down, and in one motion, you grip on the edge of the pants along with his briefs, pulling it down to his mid-thigh, cock hitting his solid abdomen before slowly erecting before you.

You quickly take hold of it, hands wrapping around his thick girth, moving your hands up and down his length teasingly, a small sigh leaving your lips. Jisung doesn’t bother to be careful or delicate with his actions. He takes a fist full of your hair as he pulls it down to lift your face up. Your grip on his cock tightens and you lick your lower lip as you look at your fiancé. Something about how you can look like so much of a tease and still look like a delectable mess gets him so turned on that Jisung doesn’t know what to do.

“Use your mouth. Warm it up so that I can fuck your throat.”

“Yes, daddy,” and you take the tip of his cock, complying to his order. Your tongue circles around the rim, swallowing the salty taste of precum before pushing yourself further down his length, your fingers digging into the mattress as Jisung holds your hair still in his hand.

The flat of your tongue presses against his underside, rubbing along the prominent vein that throbs out as you slowly move your head back and forth his length slowly and yet barely being able to take in his whole length in your buccal cavity.

“Baby,” Jisung gasps, his fingers clutching your hair tightly, pulling at your roots slightly. “Oh my god.” You hollow your mouth, bringing suction into play immediately when his voice shrills a little. “Your mouth—” Jisung has always been vocal during sex. He has informed you when and how you make him feel and if anything, you are so grateful because it helps you do the best for the man you love. “Feels so fucking good— oh shit!”

He holds your hair and shoves you down his cock, suddenly, and you choke on it, gagging around his length, throat tightening and tears spilling from your eyes. He moans so loud that you rut into the air and hold his thighs, nails digging into his thick flesh, “Deeper down that throat, oh fuck, oh shit. Yes, baby girl.”

Jisung’s eyes narrow as he throws his head back in pleasure. You feel him twitching in your mouth with every minute you take him deep down your throat, gags hitting off the flesh and dying in your mouth. He pulls out barely before he’s pushing back in, teeth gritted and eyes focused. He pulls your hair slightly, mumbling hoarsely, “Look at me, princess. Look at me.” You look at him, eyeballs rolling back a bit. “Tell me, baby. Could that waiter have that huge cock going down your throat? Could he?” You shake your head slightly to indicate no as he pushes in slightly, hips thrusting, your cheeks hitting his length. “No? That’s right, babygirl. No one can fuck you like I can. No one. You are all mine.”

You willingly move forward, nails digging further into his thigh as you take him deeper down your throat, your gag reflex kicking in. Jisung laughs, “You are such a slut. Isn’t that why you teased me by using that waiter there? Oh, I believe in you, baby. You can fit this cock down there so perfectly. Oh yes, you can.” He thrusts forward again after pulling out barely. Jisung lets go of your hair, it falling down your shoulder, and pushes the black dress over your lower body, exposing your arse.

Smack. It’s loud and clear and takes you by a surprise, hurling you forward, taking him in. His hand soothes the redness of your arse, “That’s my good girl. Fuck, fuck,” and a guttaral moan leaves his lips. His hand slaps across your butt cheek, the loud sound resonating through the walls of the room. You moan around his length, saliva dripping down your mouth. You are a whole mess for this man.

The sounds of your gagging bounces off the white walls of your bedroom, followed by the deep moans and sighs emitting out from your fiancé’s lips as he fucks your mouth mercilessly. Each thrust of his hips causes the head of his cock to push past your airway, your throat constricting and eliciting a groan from him.

“Back in,” he thrusts, only after letting you breathe for a short while and after hitting you across your butt cheek, happy at the sight of the red skin. “Fuck. Take this huge cock down your throat.” He caresses your face with his other hand. “God, you’re such a good little girl. Oh yes, you are.” You pull your head back, gasping for air and Jisung coos at how much of a good girl you are. “Take me back in. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh, just fucking using that throat all for my cock.” You hollow your mouth narrowly. “Oh, fuck. Oh, you are such a good little girl, taking my cock all the way in so well.”

With every thrust, you see how coated in your saliva Jisung’s cock is and you can only picture how you looked with your saliva around the face, with his precum smeared by the side of your lips. Jisung finally lets go of your hair, pulling himself back, removing his cock from your mouth, leaving you on your fours with swollen precum stained lips, red eyes with tears streaming down. A hot mess just for him.

Jisung squats down and taking your face in his hands, he kisses your forehead, speaking against your sweat coated skin, “You were so good. Such a perfect girl and all mine. I love you.”

You lift your head up and look at him, whispering back, “I love you too, boo.” Jisung kisses you softly, trying to calm your fast breathing down. Like a magic potion of strength being handed down, you hold the open ends of his white shirt as you pull him deeper into the kiss, his tongue lapping against yours.

He pulls back and stands up. You sit on the mattress, eyes falling down on to the white stains spoiling your pretty black dress and you frown. That had been one of your favorite dresses and now it is stained all thanks to Jisung being petty over the cute waiter that slipped his number on a paper despite seeing the obvious big diamond ring on your finger.

“Strip down,” and you listen. Your hand moves back to unzip the dress and it falls off your shoulder. “Slowly,” Jisung reminds you. You raise an eyebrow but choose to not question, chuckling slightly under your breath as your finger loops over the strap, dragging it down painfully slow. Till Jisung stops you midway and pushes you down onto the bed, body moving a little above. He hovers over you and taking your lips in for another kiss, he tells, “Keep the dress on for a short while. Want it on you as I reward you.”

He drags his lips down your skin, peppering kisses against the vast expanse and then, Jisung is sucking hickies by your neck — bright red ones that turn purple almost in a while and you are gasping, hands wrapping into his hair from behind as you bite into his shoulder sharply to suppress the moan.

His hand squeezes your breast over the dress that threatens to slip completely. “So pretty my princess is. She’s all mine.” In a flash, Jisung has pulled your black dress up to your abdomen, exposing your creamed panties. You bite your lip and suggest, “I’ve been good, Daddy. Please.”

“You sure have, princess.” Jisung kisses your thighs, biting and sucking at it as he places purple marks all over, whispering how you are all his for a lifetime to come. He hooks his fingers onto your panty straps and asks, “Lift your hips up,” which you follow, lifting them up only for Jisung to pull your panties down and exposing your wet, slodden lips thanks to him.

“So fucking wet,” he presses a kiss against it. “All for me. Who made you this fucking wet, princess?” He licks a strip up, lapping against the wetness, taking in and swallowing as much as he can as he waits for a response.

“You, Jisung. You,” you moan out. Your hand stretches out to reach for his hair, tugging at it to contain yourself. Jisung’s face is buried into your core. The room is filled with lewd noises and your moans. Jisung licks another stripe before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking on it, loud noise of suckle resonating and causing you to move your hips slightly. Jisung however, clearly hates it when you do that as his teeth clasps one of your lips and puts slight pressure. Your legs shiver and you groan. His one hand also places your hips in position.

Jisung’s lips chase after your wet ones, tongue protruding out and small whines leaving him that does nothing but comfort you. He licks and licks, thumb pressing against your clit tapping at a steady pace and your mind is void with nothing but hope of Jisung bringing you to insanity.

“Could that stupid waiter ever eat you out like this?” Jisung questions as he pulls his head back, mocking you and you narrow your eyes out, huffing and like a brat, you say, “Changbin.”

“What?” His face hardens.

“The stupid waiter has a name. It’s Changbin.”

“You got his name?” Jisung looks so annoyed that you don’t even know why you wanted to push his buttons this far. Jisung pulls himself back, sitting on his ankles and looks at you, jaws tightened and teeth clenched.

“He had a name tag—” Jisung doesn’t listen. He’s too far gone to listen. Hot with anger and seeing nothing but red because his wife-to-be knows the name of the waiter that hit on her, he bends forward and holding the middle of your black dress with both his hands, he rips it clearly till the bottom, the sound of the tear shrilling against your eardrum. He pulls it away from your body and you stare in surprise, barely being able to say, “My dress!”

“I’ll buy you another one. One that stupid Changbin hasn’t laid his eyes on.”

Jisung is a lot harsher now and maybe this is what you wanted. Him to take you — to rail you like there is no tomorrow. Just you and him and these hours. He sucks on your now exposed breasts, licking around the areolar. His other hand massages the other breast and you are desperately in need of some friction against your clit which is left unattended because you decided to be a brat — because you decided to ruin your own reward.

“Jisung, please fuck me.”

“But do you think you deserve that?” He pulls back and he locks his gaze with you. “Or maybe you should call Changbin?”

His hand creeps his way upwards, wrapping around your neck as he angles your face to the side before breathing against your jawline, only to tug at your pinna and whisper in a deeper, hoarser tone, “Or maybe I should just leave you like this tonight?”

“Daddy, please,” you switch instantly, begging at the sudden thought of your fiancé actually leaving you like this. “I don’t want anyone else but you.”

Jisung sniggers and quickly spreads your leg. Holding your ankles, he pulls you closer. White shirt still donned on him and pants briefs long gone, Jisung takes you by a surprise as his cock enters you. You expected him to prolong your punishment but rather he gives in quickly, which leads you to your next worry — what does he have planned up his sleeve now?

You moan Jisung’s name out so loud as he pushes himself into you, filling you up inch by inch. Every single time your fiancé enters you, it feels like it belongs there, like no other man would ever be able to make you this full, this complete. You raise a hand to hold onto the sweaty shoulders of the man looming above you, arms casually draping over him as your fingernails rake over his broad tattooed back. Another moan is ripped from your body when Jisung lifts your hips up slightly to reach deeper into you with every powerful thrust.

Jisung is barely halfway in, large and thick, slightly purple and darkly red tinged cock stretching you around it. You are gasping for air at how huge he is and how there is still more to go for him to be completely in you. Every single time, it feels like you are filled to the limits, stretched entirely around Jisung’s large cock. Your mind goes blank with pleasure as your fiancé somehow manages to push himself further into you. You are furiously gasping for air, nails digging into his flesh that you worry you might have broken into the skin. The burning pain is tinged by a want and a lust, and over how good it felt as your body is pushed to its limits.

Jisung lets out an animalistic growl as he bottoms out in you, leaning down to capture your lips in his own, passionately, as he drags the kiss out to let you get used to his cock, something that you still need time over, after all these years. The kiss is dominating and brutal, sharp teeth nipping your plush swollen lips until blood is mixed with your saliva. You moan into his mouth, trying to move around his length, squeezing around him.

Jisung pants when he pulls away, soft grunts releasing from his lips and you find yourself growing wetter with every sound that leaves him. You hook your legs around his waist and grind up against him. Jisung places you back against the bed, trying to slowly pick up a steady pace. He shallowly thrusts into you, each movement scraping against your sensitive walls and pulling moans from your lips.

“Ah, fuck, daddy, you make me feel so good, filling me up, stretching me,” you spill as pleasure surges through your body. “You fill me so well, so warm. Move faster, please.”

Jisung lets out a low, dark groan and slammed back into you. His cock gets impossibly deeper as he seats himself to the hilt, leaning over you with lust filled eyes. Jisung hovers over you like a dark cloud, covering your entire body with his own much larger one. He grabs one of your breasts, squeezing it as he pushes himself into you, occasionally hitting you till your very end with his long cock. You bite your lips, hips moving along with him as you scream, “Daddy, ah. Fuck, daddy.”

“You belong to me,” Jisung roars out, hitting your spot over and over again as he fucks you mercilessly — fucks you stupid. “You are all mine.”

“I’m yours,” you scream. Your body bounces with his against the bed, your arms looped around his neck. Tears flow down your face at how wide Jisung stretches you with his cock and you can’t stop screaming, “I’m yours. I’m yours.”

There is a bulge in your stomach where Jisung’s cock reaches the hilt, stretching you in a way that has you shuddering with pleasure and crying from the pleasurable pain of being stretched so wide. You fucking love it. You love the feeling of being stretched and filled to the brim by Jisung. The burning pain that comes with each sharp drag against your walls. The name that leaves his lips — your name. Nothing could possibly be better than having something so large inside of you. Jisung tops it however, by wrapping his big hand around your neck, fingers digging into the flesh and choking the living air out of you by a bit before softening it.

There are no words left to articulate for Jisung as he leans down and bites into your neck, pistoning his hips to hit that perfect spot inside of you with every harsh thrust. He does as you expect and as you like. The hand over your breast moves upwards and wraps around your neck, asphyxiating you. Babbling words fall from your lips at the constant shift between too empty to too full, of your fiancé covering your body and taking it so brutally as his own, all while you gasp for air, vision blurry with tears spilling and head empty.

“Can—” he thrusts so hard that you grip on to him for the life of you, knots of threads soon to snap. “Can that fucking Changbin make you feel like this? Never.” He thrusts so quick that you barely have the time to think. Jisung voices his possession over you with every thrust.

“I’m the only one that’ll fuck you like this. Only one to fuck your brains out, to fuck you stupid. Only one to taste you and devour you. Only one to love you till the universes collide and ever after that.”

He soon falls to loud moans and you, to garbled names of Han Jisung. He kisses you, taking all your moans as his, hand loosening around your neck. Jisung presses one of his hands lightly against the bulge each time he pushes it all the way in. He knows that you are close and digs his finger into your neck as he thrusts harder, pubic bone hitting against your clit rhythmically.

“Jisung!” It’s a desperate prayer, begging at him to hold onto your sanity. You come around his cock, the white flash spreading under your eyelids and you’re weeping. Your heart swells and you feel the rushing oxytocin clouding your brain. Jisung thrusts sloppily into you, chasing after his own orgasm. You can tell that he is close as you wrap your weak legs tightly around him, squeezing around his thick, large cock in you. His hips stutter and you feel him come undone in you. Thick fluid shooting in you, coating your walls with it.

He pulls his cock out slowly, your cum and his mixed, leaking out from you and staining the bedsheets underneath. The two of you breath rapidly as Jisung collapses over you and you chuckle lightly, kissing his earlobe and whisper, “I only love you in this world, baby.”

“I know. I was just being stupid and petty. I couldn't—” He lifts himself off and drops to your side, pulling you closer into his chest as he caresses your hair softly. Jisung tries to explain and you hush him shut.

“I loved it. I love this. And I love you.”

“In this for a whole lifetime, of course.”

[egg-on-the-run]

Massage

The turtle's s/o is exhausted, they help make things better with a massage.

(she/her pronouns used)

Leonardo

She's already asleep in his bed when he comes home from patrol. Usually she waits for him on the couch, even when she was tired, but Splinter had specifically told him she was already asleep, warned him to do his best not to wake her up.

She must be exhausted.

He tiptoes in as quietly as he could after his shower, spots her lying flat on his bed: not tucked in, just lying atop his blankets on her stomach. She had been too tired to lift the sheets.

He can see how tense she is, can see the way how even in her sleep her shoulders still rise to her ears, how her finger twitches with an anxious need to keep moving. Her face scrunched up slightly, adorable, but he would rather it be relaxed and soft.

He's careful and slow moving her onto the bed properly, still not setting her under the covers just yet. He's even more careful when he straddles her legs, keeps his weight off them almost entirely. His hands start at her lower back, kneading into her very softly.

She jolts and eyes snap open, "What are you doing?"

"I uh, I was giving you a massage, you look tense, even in your sleep."

"Oh," She relaxes, "You're an angel, just scared me a little." Her head hits the pillow again, already drifting off.

He tries once more, hands softly pressing into her lower back. She lets out a breath of air, sinking further into the mattress. He continues, travelling further up her spine. Usually he hates the sound of bones cracking (all of his brothers teased him constantly about it), but tonight he was quite happy to hear little pops coming from her spine. He especially didn't mind when she gave a little moan afterwards.

His hands travel further up towards her shoulders, kneading and rolling his wrists into the dozens of knots in her back. Her shoulders were so tense that she whined whenever he was too rough. He had to be gentle, working them out slowly.

By the time he was finished, she was sleepily trying to reach his hand with her eyes closed.

"Cuddle me," She mumbled as she found his hand, "Pretty please? I've got tomorrow off."

"Of course," He replied, moving to help her under the sheets, "That was the plan anyway."

He pulled her tight against his chest, hearing her bones crack once more as she melted like putty in his hands. He kissed her forehead.

"Thank god you've got tomorrow off, I'll let you sleep in as long as you want." He sighed, relaxing himself, "I'll make sure the lair is quiet."

She didn't hear a word of what he said, she was already fast asleep.

Raphael

Raphael was the king of tension. He wasn't like Michelangelo where little bothered him, or like Donatello who had those random self care days, or even like Leonardo who learned to de-stress through meditation. Oh no, Raphael carried tension like a mother with a clingy child: pulling on his shoulders, weighing him down and making him irritated.

It came with the whole anger thing.

So there have been countless times where she has used her knuckles to work the knots out of his shoulders. It was no easy task, especially when she had to use most of her body weight to actually get through each and every knot.

But she'd do it a hundred times more if he needed her to, and Raphael knew that, knew it all to well.

So when he sees her already grumbling to herself at the latest email that just came through to her laptop, when he see her shoulders rising to her ears in frustration and hands balling into fists, he knew he had to do the same thing for her as she had done countless times for him.

She jumps when he first puts his hands on her shoulders, but recognises the warm touch shortly after.

"What are you doing?" She asked, one hand reaching up to rest on top of his, she kept her attention glued to her screen, "I have a lot of work to do, Raphie."

"I know," He said, beginning to knead into her shoulders, "Just a massage, you look stressed."

"Oh with that lovely email, I am more than stressed."

She's always had a sharp tongue, never directed it to him (never intentionally) but he knows her patience is wearing thin and work certainly wasn't helping. He thought about taking his hands away entirely, not wanting to pester her; but she ran her thumb across his hand, typed with only one set of fingers, and Raphael remembered how often she did this for him when his patience was thinner than a piece of paper.

He pressed his hands into her shoulders again, watched as her head leaned back and body moved with his hands. He knew the feeling, when the knots were so tight they just hurt. He continued to work his hands into her shoulders, and slowly it seemed to stop hurting and the tension started to melt away. She closed her eyes, pushed her laptop away from her and just let herself be for a moment.

"Those big ol' hands of yours," She said, voice more like a breath, "So gentle with me."

"Not like you, using your damn elbows to get the knots out."

"But does it work?" She laughed.

He chuckled, "Of course it works, you're the best at this."

"Oh I dunno, you might give me a run for my money, this feels like heaven right now." Her head rolled to the side, turning slightly to kiss his hand, "Take me to bed Raphie, please."

With one final squeeze he let go, moving his arms to wrap around her waist and carry her to bed. Work wasn't important, this was.

Donatello

The lair was far too noisy, Donatello's lab was far too bright. Everything was just too much, all at once. Even as she sat on his desk, the reflection of his computer in his glasses from behind her was glaring into her eyes. He sat between her legs, arms around her waist and rambling about — god, she didn't even know at this point. She'd spaced out long ago, too overwhelmed to even try and catch up.

He moved his head at he spoke, Donatello was always an expressive fellow, and the light bounced off his glasses right into her eyes. She squinted, scrunched her entire face up and groaned.

"You have a migraine," He said plainly, "I have some painkillers in my drawer—"

"I took some earlier, they just haven't kicked in yet." She frowned.

She looked in pain, Donatello hated to see her like this, hated when there wasn't anything he could do.

He reached up and cupped her face, "Have you had enough water today?"

"Yeah," She mumbled, "Been using that new water bottle I got."

"When did you last eat?"

"Went out for dinner with some coworkers."

Donnie hummed, not knowing what else could cause her such a migraine. They usually had a reason behind them, she didn't usually just get them randomly. He wondered if she'd be on her phone too much, not to sound like Splinter, but she's been talking to him for the past hour or so, her eyes should have rested by now.

She pushed her cheek into his hand, letting his hand squish the chub on her face. Donatello squeezed gently, rubbing her cheeks in a circular motion.

"What are you doing?" She asked, voice muffled by his hands.

"Massaging your face," He replied, moving to knead her cheekbones with his thumbs, "Maybe it's tension that's brought this on."

"Maybe..."

He moved his thumbs over the bridge of her nose and followed the shape of her eyebrows, he repeated the action a few times before gently rubbing her temples.

"You're really good at this..." She murmured, eyes closed and jaw slack. Her face was no long scrunched up, but instead so completely relaxed she looked as though she was already asleep. Donatello persisted, using his thumbs to move the tension away from her face. His hands moved to her hair, grasping tightly and then releasing, he tickled his fingers through her locks: slowly so as not to pull on any tangles.

By the time he'd moved back to her jaw, he was pretty sure she'd fallen asleep where she sat. He smiled softly at her, kissed her forehead, and carried her off to bed.

He needed an early night as well.

Michelangelo

She had been on her feet all day, running errands for a coworker who had recently hurt their leg. Said coworker was fine, and would be perfectly capable of putting of such errands until their leg was better (really, Mikey huffed, using his girlfriend like a servant). But she could never just say no, and even after she'd ran around the city collecting bits and bops, dropping off items and buying groceries, her coworker hadn't even offered her so much as a sit down before he not-so-subtly led her out of his apartment.

So she came stumbling to the lair, exhausted and drained beyond compare and ready to collapse but still so eager to see her darling Mikey. He was in the shower when she arrived, she knew because Raphael told her, and because she could hear his singing before she'd even arrived.

She dragged herself to his bed, kicking her shoes off and not even caring where she left them. She collapsed to her knees before she could crawl under the blankets, lying surprisingly comfortably on the floor.

"Hey, hey angel! What are you doing down here?" Mikey's cheerful voice woke her up, along with a little shake of her shoulder. "We snoozing on the floor now?"

"So tired..." She mumbled, eyes fluttering closed, "Carry me to bed."

"No problem, the whole five feet distance it is." Mikey chuckled. He picked her up, sliding her onto his bed, careful not to bump her head on Raphael's top bunk. "All those errands huh? Guy owes you a thanks at least."

"Jackass kicked me out before I could even sit down at his place," She glared at the mattress above her, "So rude."

"Uh, totes rude? My girl did all that for him and he doesn't even let you sit down? Jackass is a very nice way to describe him." Mikey smiled at her, "Your poor little feet must be sore after all that running around."

"I think my ankles are swollen."

"Just a little." He teased, moving to sit between her legs. He took one of her legs and squeezed firmly along her calves. His hands slid down to her ankles and he frowned: they were slightly swollen, he had only been joking but turns out he was right. He rolled her ankle for her, moved her foot so that it pointed and then helped stretch her heel. He squeezed her calf one more time before moving on to her other leg.

"You're so sweet," She babbled, "Thank you for taking care of me."

"No problem babe, somebody has to," He laughed, "And it's not hard work."

She smiled at him, eyes struggling to stay open. He smiled back at her, not that she could see him, and softly told her to go to sleep; he'd take care of her.

[in-ky]

Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster  and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

[therealvalkyrie]

Painter’s Hands and Guatemalan Coffee: Part 6

sketch

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, modern!college!AU

Summary: When you catch your idiot boyfriend cheating, your grumpy roommate is there to pick up the pieces and watch your back as you toe a carefully drawn line in the metaphorical sand.  

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: fluff, romantic vegetable chopping, the chapter of realizing things

AN: Well, it’s been six fucking months, but it’s finally here!! It’s a little shorter than I’d prefer, and took a lot of iterations to get here, but I’m very satisfied:) Thanks, as always, to my lovely @doinmybesthere for editing and encouraging. I hope you all enjoy! I think there’re maybe 1 or 2 parts left in this story, that’ll hopefully be out more quickly than I managed this one. Please let me know what you think! Be kind to yourselves and others. ~valkyrie

—

(read chapter 5 here)

Finals week passes in a slow blur, barely leaving enough time for you to breathe between essays, exams, and one presentation that you think takes at least a year off the end of your life. It’s much the same for everyone else, as well — you barely see Levi, not counting the nights you spend alternating between your bed and his, and you don’t see Hange at all. Consequently, there’s no opportunity to break apart what happened on Saturday. No chance to peel back its layers and find how you really feel. Although, to her credit, Annie doesn’t appear again, so you’re able to shove it into a corner of your mind for the time being.

Saturday brings with it both a new winter storm and an overwhelming sense of relief. You let it fill you completely as you sit and watch snow swirl outside. The street below your kitchen window is bustling with students trying to outrun the storm to get home for vacation. But you have nowhere to be, nothing to do. It’s nice.

The door opens, bringing with it the stomping of Levi’s boots. You turn to watch him shake snow from his hair, sinking deeper into the reassurance of knowing that everything you need is here under your roof. Safe.

Hmm. What the fuck?

You choke on the next sip of your tea as the realization of what you just felt hits you square in the chest. Through your coughing and hacking, you reach again for that fleeting sense of home. Childish, content, warm.

“Are you okay?” Levi calls from the entrance, looking at you with pinched brows halfway through hanging up his jacket.

“Fine,” you cough out, pushing back from the table to hunch over and catch your breath. “I’m okay.”

It takes a moment for you to stop breathing hard, though when you do, your heart rate doesn’t return to normal, instead pushing blood to your face and neck and making your body feel light. Levi doesn’t help when he finally joins you in the kitchen, all floppy hair and bright cheeks from the snow. All leisurely about the way he stretches his lean body to take his favorite blend of Earl Grey from the top of the fridge.

“I was thinking about dinner,” he starts, completely oblivious to the way you’ve started sweating under your cardigan. “We shouldn’t order because of the snow, so I brought home stuff to make soup.”

“What kind?” It’s a miracle the words come out normally.

“Chicken noodle.” He turns to face you. “My mom’s recipe.”

—

“I don’t get why guys are always so uppity about kitchen knives,” you say, picking up what Levi’s told you is a utility knife. “Like, it’s just a knife. I’m not about to stab myself with it.” Your finger drags along its sharp edge for only a split second when Levi’s slim fingers are suddenly around your wrist.

“Don’t. Touch. The knives,” he growls, taking the utility knife gently from your other hand and placing it back on the counter. “I just sharpened them last week, you could’ve seriously cut yourself.”

His steel eyes hold yours for another long moment until you nod your head mutely. You haven’t been able to shake the knot of hyperawareness that’s been settled in your belly since your what the fuck moment, and it only twists tighter when he’s so close to you. His hair is dry now, curling slightly because he hasn’t bothered to comb it since he got home. You have to actively resist the urge to twist a particularly enthusiastic curl around your finger in the split second before he backs away again.

Muttering under his breath, he returns to the simmering pot on the stove that he claims has turned into stock, though you hardly believe it. Growing up, you’d never been taught kitchen skills, let alone anything close to actual labor.

For a while, you’re content to watch, sitting at the table and nursing both the ache in your chest and a fresh cup of chamomile, but the urge to join him in his quiet work overwhelms you as he’s washing the vegetables.

“Levi, please, can I help?” Your tone edges on whining, prompting him to huff and shift on his feet. “I promise I won’t touch the knives! There, just, must be something I can do.”

You see him roll his eyes, swear under his breath, then turn towards you with a glower.

“No talking, no questions, and go wash your hands.”

“Yes!” you cheer and stand up with a bounce.

The scent of the bar of soap as you lather and wash cuts pleasantly through the spices and thick scents already filling the kitchen. It’s not something you’ve experienced often, and you relish in what you realize must be home comfort, your grin settling from enthused to contented.

Levi is arranging carrots, celery, and onions next to the cutting board when you join him again.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to touch the knives?”

“You’re not, until I show you how to do it without chopping off your fingers.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” you tease, but nevertheless settle in beside him to watch as he lines up a carrot and picks up the utility knife.

“We’re generally going for even pieces, though it doesn’t matter much because it’s a soup. Put your fingers like this,” you lean over a bit to see how he’s arranged his left hand holding the carrot, the tips of his fingers just barely tucked under the knuckles, “so that you can chop like this—“ he begins slicing, knife guided by his knuckles “—and not lose your fingers. Always point the blade away from yourself and others, and never hold the handle like you’re going to stab something. That’s not effective, anyway. If you have to use this as a weapon, it’s much more effective to slash rather than stab, considering bone density—“

“Uhh,” you cut in, “pause. Are we slicing carrots or fending off home invaders?”

He stops chopping. “What did I say about asking questions?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Anyway. Considering bone density, you’ll have better luck aiming to cut big veins than forcing through ribs.”

He’s done with the first carrot, now, lithe fingers flipping the knife so the blade is up.

“Never drag the blade along the surface sideways. Flip it over and use the blunt edge to move food.” He demonstrates, moving the little pile of carrot slices to a corner of the cutting board. “Your turn.”

And then, like it’s nothing, he’s offering you the handle with a flat expression.

“Uhm.” You press your lips together and eye it for a long pause. “Are you sure?”

“It’s just a carrot. You’ll be fine.” He lets another unsure moment slide into being, then sighs and reaches out to wrap your hand around the handle. “Here, like this.”

And like you’ve suddenly stepped into a poorly-written romcom, he’s guiding your hands under his to the next waiting carrot, curling your fingers exactly like he showed you before, and scooting over to let you stand in his place. You just let yourself go along with it, hoping desperately that he won’t feel your hands grow clammy or see the way your chin has tucked itself shyly to your chest so you can watch.

Fucking shit carrots, useless goddamn root vegetable, can’t chop itself, has to make me do all the work—

Your aggressive inner monologue takes you all the way through the second carrot, then his hands are leaving yours and he’s placing a third under your waiting blade. Time to fly solo.

—

When you fall asleep in the armchair that night, sated and full of comfort food, Levi sketches in pencil on scrap paper. He sketches his hands over yours in the kitchen and he sketches the steam rising from the pot on the stove. He sketches you sitting with a bowl of soup in your lap, face illuminated by the TV and he sketches your sleeping body curled up, hair in your mouth. He sketches a close-up of your face, with special attention to the curve of your bottom lip, and he considers it practice for finishing the painting in his room.

Levi doesn’t think about how if he doesn’t do something soon, all of this will change. About how you’ll get over your heartbreak and move out at the end of the year and he won’t see you every day and every night. And he definitely doesn’t think about how he’ll have to adjust back to sleeping without your soft body tangled in his, and he doesn’t wonder how he ever slept before you.

No, instead of thinking, he just cracks his knuckles and gently scoops you from the chair and into his arms.

It’s as he’s climbing into his side of your bed that you stir and snort and blink sleepy eyes open.

“What time is it?”

“Ten forty,” he whispers, “go back to sleep.”

You hum and turn on your side to face him, face half hidden by the squish of your pillow. He settles more comfortably in, tucks your head under his chin even though you’re taller than he is, and drapes his free arm around the curve of your waist. 

Quiet breathing is the only thing that fills the room for a long while, and he finally thinks you’ve drifted back off, when:

“Hey, Levi?”

“Hmm?”

“I... I’ve been thinking a lot, and...”

The tone of your voice is odd and it makes Levi’s throat seize up for a moment while you hesitate. He swallows deliberately.

“And?”

Your next words are more confident, like you have really been thinking a lot, your voice not sleepy in the slightest. It’s matter-of-fact and soft and lovely. 

“And you make me feel really safe. Just, like, all the time. And I’m glad I met you. You make me feel, um...,” a small sniffle, “You make me feel held.”

Levi tightens his arm around you and swallows again. It feels like he’s balancing on the head of a pin, and a thousand angels are swirling around him, and it’s taking all he has not to get pushed off.

“Well, I am holding you.”

“Psssssht,” you wriggle slightly back so you can look at his face. You look simultaneously exasperated and vulnerable in the shadows of your bedroom. “You know what I mean.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Well, I guess...” 

You pause to think for a moment, eyes flicking away from Levi’s face for a split second. Then, they’re back on his and he can feel the vulnerable honesty already spilling from you. 

“I’ve never really, um, gotten a lot of physical affection? From people in my life? And, uh, it’s not just that, it’s that you’re so... so— so familiar, and not just because I know you, godimnotmakingalickofsense, but because it feels like I’ve always known you?” It’s said like a question, like you want to know if he feels the same. “And you just make me feel held.”

You pause on a shaky inhale of breath, then cover your face with your hands and roll onto your back away from him. 

“God, I’m sorry, that doesn’t make any sense at all, I’ll just—“

“Stop,” Levi cuts you off, pushing up to lean over you and grasp your wrists in one hand and cover your mouth with the other, a mirror of the pair of you in the kitchen weeks earlier. “It makes sense. I get it.”

Your doe eyes stare up at him just like they did then and he selfishly indulges in an extra second of staring back before he releases you and slides back to rest on an elbow. Your hands stay demurely tucked by your chest where he put them and your tongue flicks out to lick at your lips as your eyes follow him. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. I get it.”

“Okay. Good.”

Suddenly, Levi doesn’t feel like going to bed. He feels like running for miles or painting until his hands ache or hitting something, anything to distract him from doing something incredibly stupid right now. The mattress sinks as he sits up and spins his legs out of bed, muttering something about tea and not tired yet, and he almost doesn’t catch the sensation of you sitting up behind him. 

He turns halfway back to tell you to go back to sleep, but your fingers catch his chin and he’s abruptly out of breath.

The curve of your bottom lip is perfectly, exactly the way he sketched it in the semi-dark. It’s slightly chapped.

When you kiss him, soft and certain, he topples off the pinhead and back into his body just in time to do something incredibly stupid and kiss you back.

—

(read part 7 here)

[inkykeiji]

i've been going through your bnha works and have had this in my head for literal days now and wanted to share. while touya-nii is out of town, you get deliriously feverishly sick. he'll be back asap but asks keigo to check on you, who of course obliges. and sweet keigo, he just wants to help you feel better, baby, and you're really not well, so he'll just use his tongue, or so he tells himself at first, maaaybe just the tip anywayy i adore your writing and hope you are well! ty for all you do!

oh my GOSH i love this ask so much aaaaah THANK U for sharing!!! n thank u bb i hope u are well, too <33

❅ CW: implied pseudo-incest, implied yakuza!touya, dubcon/noncon, cheating

❅ words: 2.2k

He’s away on business when it happens.

“Touya-nii,” you whine weakly, voice staticky through the speaker, and his heart drops. “Touya-nii I—My h-head, it hurts,”

You rarely get sick; Touya makes sure of that, keeps you in good health just like all niichans are supposed to do, forces you to eat all your fruits and veggies and ensures that you get an adequate amount of physical activity. So you shouldn’t be sick. You shouldn’t.

But you are. And he’s miles away, stuck in some dingy motel room with cigarette burns on the matted carpet, aggressively tugging his fingers through his hair as he wracks his mind for some sort of solution.

For a brief, fleeting second, he considers leaving, envisions himself throwing all of his shit haphazardly into his leather suitcase and peeling out of the cracked parking lot, tires squealing and car thrumming as he races towards you.

But he knows he can’t, knows that’s an automatic death sentence for him, knows he’s stuck here for at least another day, which is much too long for his precious baby sister to be sick on her own.

His fingers tremble a little as he scrolls through his contacts, thumb slamming down on Keigo’s name. He picks up on the second ring, Touya’s molars grinding together at his trademark easygoing drawl.

“Listen, I have a favour to ask of you…”

  —

“You really are sick as a dog,” Keigo’s saying with a frown, perched on the edge of your bed and looking down at the thermometer beeping in his hand, a glowing 103.5 staring back at him.

“H-Hurts, Kei,” you whimper, trying to shuffle closer to him, body wrapped in a cocoon of sheets. Sympathetic golden eyes gaze down at you, a palm coming to pet your sweaty head, lips turned down as he sighs through his nose.

“I know, songbird,” he murmurs softly, knuckles caressing your cheek. “First, though, we gotta unravel you from these blankets! They’re doing nothing good for your fever, sweetheart,”

And, really, it’d be hard to miss the sharp intake of breath he sucks in through his teeth the moment he finally frees your clammy body, clad in a skimpy little tank top and a pair of sleep shorts, drenched in sweat and sticking to your skin.

“Christ,” he breathes, honey eyes scanning you slowly, choking back a soft sound when his gaze lands on your chest, nipples perking up through the thin material and your body breaking out into goosebumps the moment the cool air of your bedroom hits your damp, heated skin.

“Well that just isn’t fair,” he mutters with a crooked smirk, eyes darting to yours quickly before drifting back to your body again. You hum in question—or maybe that’s a whine of pain, he isn’t sure, he doesn’t care—and he chuckles. “You’re not allowed to look this fucking hot being as sick as you are,”

He’s nearly positive Touya wouldn’t have called him had he known the way you were dressed, snickering to himself at the thought. No, Touya would’ve bit the bullet and called your parents instead, who are much more equipped to handle such a sickness than Keigo is either way. Oh well, he shrugs to himself with a little nonchalant hum—he can’t be held accountable for his actions now, not when you’re dressed like that, chest rising and falling rapidly with your shallow little breaths, whimpering and tossing a little in the sheets.

“Oh baby,” he coos, pushing sweaty hair away from your forehead. “Oh, you poor thing,”

“M-Make it go away Kei, make it go a-away,” there are tears collecting in your eyes now as your little hands paw at his hoodie, and Keigo’s frown deepens—you must really be in a lot of pain. Almost enough to stop the words that leave his mouth next.

“You want me to make you feel better, baby?”

Almost.

A sharp whine gets caught in your throat as you nod, movements slow and lethargic. Please, your begging him in a whimper, fingers curling in the cotton as you weakly try to pull him closer. Please make me feel better!

“Yeah?” he murmurs, the word just a huff of breath as his hands travel up the sides of your torso, nimble fingers idly playing with the spaghetti straps of your tank top. One more nod, and his fingers are hooking in the waistband of your tiny shorts, your forehead crinkling in confusion as you press your thighs together.

You mumble something that sounds vaguely like his name—aw, that fever must really be getting to you, now—and he coos mockingly, gold eyes flicking up to meet yours, fingers still tucked in your waistband, wiggling a little.

“You wanted me to make you feel better, right?”

Blinking twice at him, your head tilts to the side a little, eyes narrowing as you try to recall the words that were spoken merely a few minutes ago. You don’t know, you can’t remember, you think so, but…

It’ll make you feel better, he says. He’ll be gentle, he promises, soft hands tugging baby pink shorts down your legs, knuckles caressing your skin as they go. He’s never lied to you before, has he?

No, you suppose he hasn’t, shaking your pounding head a little as he pushes your knees open, revealing your bare cunt to him.

A hushed curse falls from his lips as he gazes at you. If you were in the right state of mind, you’d feel dirty, overexposed and self-conscious—but all you can do is whimper, staring at him through glassy, lidded eyes.

Just a taste, he promises to himself as his hands skim down your inner thighs, pushing them open more before his upper body languidly settles between them, whining quietly as he drags the tip of his nose across your hips, all the way from one side to the other, placing tender kisses against where each bone would be.

“You’re gorgeous,” he breathes, breath hot against your cunt as he adjusts himself to be eyelevel with it.

You don’t respond, can’t respond, because his tongue is flattening itself against you the moment he’s finished speaking, slowly dragging up your slit in long, rough laps and keeping his eyes on your face the entire time.

He’s determined to get you off with his tongue alone, already reveling in the tiny sounds he’s pulling from you, soft puffs of his name interspersed with broken little moans. It swirls around your little hole, prodding it with the tip before working the muscle into you. He thrusts it a few times—only enough to be teasing, really, to stretch you out just a little, before he goes back to your clit, empty hole fluttering in disappointment.

Using the tip of his tongue, he flicks your already swollen clit, slowly, and then fast, too fast, your back uncontrollably arching off the mattress as you push your hips towards his face. He chuckles against you, vibrations shooting up your spine, as strong arms wrap around your thighs, hands curling around your hips as he steadies them.

It’s over pathetically quickly, you creaming all over his tongue as he moans at the taste, one hand weakly tangled in his hair and holding his head in place as you buck against his face. He allows you to grind against him, grip on your hips loosening up a little, waits for your body to go boneless again before pulling back and sitting on his heels, dragging his forearm across his gleaming chin. You’re at him like he’s some sort of god, face full of bliss and absolutely fucked out, and he can’t stop the words that tumble from his lips next.

“You want more?” he breathes, golden eyes shining in the dim light, tongue tracing his lips as he licks away the remnants of your orgasm. “Huh?” he looks down at his cock, straining against his grey sweatpants, then meets your eyes again. “Just the tip, babygirl?”

A low whine slips from between your lips, head nodding lethargically before glowing, vibrant sapphire flashes through your mind, deep voice rumbling somewhere in the recesses of your skull, words jumbled and unintelligible.

“But…” you trail off, blinking your bleary eyes, eyebrows knitting together in confusion as you try to string the words together. “Touya-nii?”

“What Touya-nii doesn’t know won’t hurt him, now will it, songbird?”

His voice is so soft, so sweet as gentle fingers trace along your hairline, pushing little strands back from your forehead, and you shake your head a little. You guess it won’t. You want to tell Keigo that Touya always knows, though, that Touya somehow always finds out, but then he’s pushing the head of his cock into your little hole, groaning a little as you stretch around him, and your mind goes completely blank, filled with nothing but thoughts of how thick he is, how it feels like he’s splitting you open as he sinks into you, inch by inch, honey eyes mesmerized by the way your cunt greedily sucks him in, gaze glued between your bodies.

What happened to ‘just the tip’? The question buzzes around in your head, doing nothing to help the ache that’s settled deep within your skull, those six words smashed to pieces the moment Keigo draws his hips back only to slam into you again.

A loud cry rips from your throat—it stings, but Keigo doesn’t seem to care, abandoning all caution as his hips set a rough, brutal pace.

And you’re too weak to do anything but take it, letting Keigo manhandle your limp body into whatever twisted position he wants to, pushing your knees up to your chest and then pressing them together, forcing your lower body to twist onto your side as your back stays flat against the mattress.

It feels good though, that burning pain mixing with intense pleasure as Keigo angles his hips just right. A heavy sigh slips from between your lips as your eyes fall shut, pliant body practically melting into the damp sheets.

You think you’re saying his name, though you can’t be sure—you’re definitely saying something, lips moving and voice vibrating in your chest, though your words sound muffled, like someone’s stuffed your ears full of cotton, and you can’t decipher them.

Keigo’s speaking too, body draped over yours as his hips snap viciously, lips against your earlobe.

“What would your precious niichan say if he could see how much of a slut you’re being, hmm?” Keigo hums in your ear, voice sweet as honey, smooth and syrupy. “While sick, no less,” he tuts his tongue, as if he wasn’t the one who instigated this whole thing.

Whimpers spill from your lips as you try to shake your head, wincing at your stiff neck and the spears of pain shooting through your brain at the simple motion. No, you want to protest, bottom lip automatically jutting out into a pout. You’re a good girl for your niichan, really, you are!

“Bet he’d be disappointed to—f-fuck—to find out how much of a little whore his baby sister really is,” he growls, spitting out the words harshly between deep grunts. You try to shake your head again, whining as the familiar sting of tears prick your eyes.

And it’s so much, it’s too much, the way he’s pounding into you, cockhead nudging against your cervix each and every time and sending shooting pain radiating throughout your lower abdomen, then dragging against that one spot that makes your entire body feel like it’s on fire, over and over and over again as his mean words cut into your flesh, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes while your hazy mind tries to knit some sort of rebuttal together, and everything feels like it’s about to—

Your thoughts cut off with a sharp gasp that fades into a low moan, eyes rolling back in your head as your pussy pulses around him.

He’s praising you now, but you can’t hear him—can barely see him, having immense trouble keeping your heavy eyelids open, your vision fading in and out of focus, darkening around the edges. It only takes three more quick pumps of his hips before he’s stilling, cock throbbing as it spurts load after load of hot cum inside of you.

Keigo collapses on top of you for a moment, heaving chest pressed against yours, but your pitiful wheezing is enough to remind him how sick you actually are, and he gathers enough strength to push himself up, sitting back on his heels again. Lidded honey eyes snap open the minute his gaze connects with yours, a gasp falling from his lips.

Oh no. You’re really not looking good now, babbling deliriously, all of the colour faded from your skin, from your entire body, lips dry and cracked, sweat beading along your hairline. Keigo presses the back of his hand to your clammy forehead, hissing when he feels how hot you are and shoving the thermometer in your mouth.

“Keep it in there,” he instructs sternly when you make a face, getting ready to spit it out, golden eyes watching you sternly as his fingers tangle together, anxiously awaiting that obnoxious beep. He snatches the tool from your mouth the moment it goes off, trembling hands bringing it close to his face, eyes squinting a little as he reads it.

104.2°

“Shit,”