#it wishes to feel the tug of it once again?

[tangerineastronaut]

heavy ♥ s.mingi

You're so very sorry.

Pairing: Mingi x Fem!Reader Genre: smut. just pure smut. slight fluff at the end, 99% smut. Requested: No w.c. 3.9k Warnings: Everything is consensual - rough sex, dirty talk and more dirty talk, choking/breathplay, deep throating, name calling, degradation, slight talk of somno, Mingi seems like an asshole, sort of noncon but not really, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink, reader doesn't talk much during, established relationship If you notice other potentially triggering content please let me know so I can add it. A/N: I...I have no excuses. Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

“Mingi, I-I‘m sorry—”

“You fucking will be.”

You struggled with the key to unlock the door; he was bearing down on you, already grinding against your ass, but that was your fault, wasn’t it?

You thought it’d be cute to tease him—

> Might’ve forgotten my panties…wish you were inside me.

—but the look he’d given you after opening his phone…the way his jaw ticked, how he’d tugged at the crotch of his jeans. You knew you’d fucked up. 

Finally, it opened, though you almost wished it hadn’t. Mingi grabbed your arm and slammed the door, throwing you against it. 

“Wanna say it again?” he asks, one hand moving to your throat. He towers over you, plump lips forming a half snarl. Fuck, you wanted to kiss him. You whimper, the sound dying into a squeak as he puts pressure on your trachea with his thumb. “Say it. I love when you do. It’s easier to fuck that pretty face when I’m mad at it.”

“I-I…” you begin with a choked sob. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—”

Mingi curses, shoving you to your knees with his heavy grip. When he took his hand off your throat, you began taking deep breaths—it’d be a while before you weren’t gasping for air anymore. You glance up. 

His dark eyes were half lidded, never leaving you as he worked at his jeans. You swallowed, an instinctual response to the sound of the button popping and zipper going down. 

“Open that slutty fucking mouth, baby. Wanna see you drool,” he orders. You open your mouth and keep it open. It’s like muscle memory; you can already taste him. 

Mingi pushes the material down his thighs, stopping half way. His spandex boxers go next, the snap of elastic making you jump. When his cock is freed, it springs into your face, already swollen and ready to be sucked and fucked. 

That was your fault. 

“Don’t look so fucking surprised, y/n,” Mingi says, one large hand fisting your hair and the other gripping his cock. “Wanna send me filthy texts during dinner? Hm? Tell me you’re not wearing panties? Did you think I wouldn’t make you choke on this fucking dick?”

You whimper, feeling drool beginning to leak down your chin. Mingi smirks, rubbing the thick head into your spit.

“Say it, baby. Say it again.”

You sniffle, eyes burning. Mingi is unrelenting, gently bumping your head back against the door. 

“Say it for me, princess. Love that pretty mouth,” he coos in a deceptively smooth tone. You knew better; he was baiting you. You were nothing more than prey to him right now. “Please? One more time for me, be good just this fucking once.”

“I’m sor—”

The minute you try to speak, Mingi forces his cock inside. His hips thrust forward, pinning you against the door and stretching your lips open. He wants to fit it all in one go, to push the head into the back of your throat. When you gag, he grins. 

Your hands go to his hips, shoving, as if that’d do anything. He moved his hand to get a better grip on your hair, tilting your head back. 

“Mmn…hold still, pretty. Gonna use that mouth,” he growls. You dig your nails into his thighs, making him hiss, but that doesn’t stop him from beginning to fuck. In and out, in and out, his cock stretches your throat, giving you seconds to breathe between thrusts. 

Mingi fucks your face until your gagging becomes more violent, pulling out in time to watch you cough and drool on yourself. He still had a tight grip on your hair, and the other went to his cock, now slick with your saliva. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he hums, stroking himself. It’s somehow menacing, the way his thumb rubs over the head. A threat. “You look scared.”

“I won’t do it again,” you whine softly, swallowing down a mix of spit and precum. “P-Promise.”

Mingi stares down at you until you squirm. He suddenly kneels down and you flinch, though he yanks you forward by your hair. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, kissing the wet corner of your mouth. “You have ten different ways, baby. Half of them don’t need words. Tell me to stop treating you like a whore.”

Fuck. 

You swallow, nails digging into your palms. Your cheeks flush red from shame and Mingi chuckles. He knew you wouldn't, that you know the signals, the ones you'd agreed on when someone decided it was too much, words and taps and gestures.

He was rubbing it in your face—just how much of a fuckdoll you turned into for him.

“No? Don’t tell me you like being treated like this,” he taunts you, a look of faux concern on his gorgeous face. “Nothing but a pretty collection of warm holes for me to choose from. I’ve got plans for you and this cock, baby. Gonna make you suck it some more, then it’s gonna go in that needy little hole between your legs. It’s not coming out of there until you’ve taken every drop of cum from me. Tell me not to do it, baby.”

When you don’t answer, refusing to look at him, Mingi yanks your face toward him with your hair. He forces his mouth over yours, groaning into you as his tongue slips inside. You feel hot tears rolling down your cheeks as he takes from you, rubbing his cock against your exposed thigh beneath your dress. He sucks and licks and nips the soft flesh of your mouth and tongue, holding you open by the jaw.

Mingi sucks your lower lip and bites it, making you squeak. He laughs and finally releases you, only for you to fall back against the door. 

Strings of drool stretch between you, and you shudder when he licks his lips. But the sensuality is dampened as he stands to his full height, gripping his fat cock and staring down at you. 

“Open wide, babygirl. That’s it…fuck yes. Stop moving, baby. Just take it. If I feel teeth, 'm gonna make it hurt, yeah?"

Your throat is numb. 

Your jaw aches, your fingers are curled into the carpet, but your eyes haven’t left him. He’s standing over you as he’s been doing for the past half hour, though now both of his hands hold your head in place for him. They’re so fucking big, gripping tight as he uses your mouth like a fleshlight. When you’re lucky, you see him bite his lip and whisper that he loves you; otherwise he’s got his head tilted back, chest heaving as he fucks into your mouth. 

“That’s it, so fucking dirty,” Mingi groans, hissing as your teeth catch on his massive cock. “I should make you choke on my cum, baby. Should hold that pretty head down until I pump it right down your throat. Feed you like a fucking whore.”

Your dress is soaked in spit and precum, as it’s been dripping down your chin. You consider pulling it off, but you don’t want to expedite his plans for you. So you sit there in your ruined dress, letting the love of your life abuse your throat over and over. 

Mingi looks down at you, thumb brushing over your lips where they’re stretched open, forced by his cock. He bites his lip, cursing under his breath. 

“Say it again, baby.”

“Nnh…” you choke around him. He licks his lips and nods, so you do your best to please him. “Nnhn…nnh…”

Your eyes are wet with tears; drool leaks out around his cock, and you helplessly swallow as you try to speak with the obstruction in your mouth. Mingi watches as though enthralled, nodding the more you choke on words.

“Nnh…”

You finally give up when you splutter with a sob. 

Mingi pauses and growls. He throws an arm against the door, taking the other hand off your face as he pulls out. You quickly gasp for air before he begins thrusting again. 

Without his hands keeping you steady, your head hits against the door repeatedly. Mingi slides his hand behind your head, fisting your hair once again, then leans forward until there’s no space left between him, you, and the surface behind you. Each thrust is less than a few centimeters as he grinds against your esophagus. You weakly cry until he decides he’s had enough, stuffing himself down your throat for a few seconds before yanking it out. You gasp and fall onto your hands and knees, heaving for air. 

Your throat feels raw, your cheeks are wet, your knees ache from sitting on them for so long, but Mingi pulls at you as though impatient. 

You expect him to carry you to the bedroom, probably throw you on the bed, but while you catch your breath you feel his hand on the back of your head. 

“M-Ming—”

“Stick that fucking ass up,” he grunts, shoving your face into the carpet. Your cries are muffled against the plush surface as he holds your head down. 

Where you expect to feel his cock, you instead feel his tongue lick between your sticky cunt lips. You jolt, only for him to chuckle. He says nothing else before burying his face in your pussy. 

You release a loud cry, your hips wriggling from the sensitivity as he sucks your clit into his mouth without waiting. You whine and gasp, fisting the carpet as you moan against it. 

Mingi lets go of your hair only to hug your ass against his face. He sucks and licks, mouthing at your labia and lapping at your slit like candy. He groans and rubs his face between your legs, plush lips feeling like heaven as he french kisses your cunt. 

When he suckles your clit again, you squeak, mouth falling open. He groans and teases the bundle of his nerves in his warm mouth, tongue sliding below the hood until you’re twitching from the overstimulation. He releases it only to lick up and down your vulva repeatedly, as though savoring a popsicle.

“Say something, baby. Tell me how it feels,” he says, slurping and smacking his lips. He moans before diving in again, throat working as he swallows your sweet juices. You shudder, licking your lips from where your front half is flopped against the carpet. 

“Mm. G-good,” you mumble. Mingi smacks your ass so hard you cry out. 

“Fuck, that’s right. Such a juicy cunt,” he murmurs, hands moving to your thighs. He grabs your ass and uses his thumbs to pull apart your pussy. You hear him suck a finger into his mouth before it prods at your hole, making you clench around nothing. 

“Don’t pretend like I haven’t seen this pussy swallow all eight inches of me, baby. Gonna fuck up this little hole until you can’t sit right.”

You whine and jump when he begins sliding his index finger inside, long and firm, though not enough. Your pussy flutters and Mingi moans, thrusting his cock against your thigh. 

“Got me rutting like a fucking dog after a bitch in heat,” he growls, roughly smacking your ass. “Put those legs together. Gonna use all of you.”

You do as he asks, a little dizzy as you shuffle to close your legs, ass still in the air. His finger begins steadily pumping into you, though you feel something slick and hard wedging itself between your thighs. 

“Mmn…fuck, love your thick fucking thighs baby, takes my cock almost as good as your filthy little cunt,” Mingi groans, hooking the finger inside you. You yelp, and he does it again, and again, roughly poking the inner bundle of nerves. Each time you move, you grind on his cock, your thighs giving him a tight squeeze to fuck into. 

You begin pushing back on his finger, so he adds another. The stretch is good, but nothing like what he’ll feel like when he’s inside you. 

“Look at you,” he groans, watching as you try to fuck yourself on his fingers. He squeezes in a third and you moan, ass lazily bouncing against his knuckles. “My nasty little girl. Always wants to act so sweet, you just want me to climb on top and pick a hole to use, right?”

“Mmnn…” you mumble, feeling the pad of his finger stroke your inner walls. You were getting desperate, and you hated that. Desperate you is exactly why Mingi gets like this—he knows you. 

“I love playing with this one, like how you scream and beg me to put something in that needy cunt at the same time,” he hums. His thumb rubs over your asshole, and you feel the tight ring of muscle respond to his touch. He chuckles quietly, leaning over you, fingers still fucking into you. “I think I’m gonna use my pretty girl’s pussy. See how she takes it when I fuck her like the horny bitch she is.”

“Mingi,” you whine, currently the only word in your sex-dumb vocabulary. He sighs, pulling his fingers out. You shiver at the cold emptiness, but then your boyfriend is suddenly getting ready to fuck you on the floor of your entryway.

“Bedroom?” you manage to ask, but a firm hand on the back of your neck silences you by smothering your face into the carpet.

“You think you deserve a soft bed right now?” Mingi asks darkly. You hear shuffling; he slips off his jeans and tosses them to the side. When you try to look back at him where he’s unbuttoning his shirt, he smacks your ass, nearly sending you rolling to your side. 

“The bed is where I fuck my good girl,” he says, pulling you back against his hips. He nudges his cock between your thighs again, thrusting once, hard, and you feel the tip of his cock poking your lower belly. “You’re my bad girl, my little whore who’s desperate for this cock. You’re gonna get fucked right here in the floor.”

You moan softly, and Mingi peels you open again. He squeezes the flesh of your ass, toying with the way your pussy lips stretch open. 

“So fucking wet, look how sloppy you are, baby. Your needy little cunt wants it,” he hums. Mingi flicks your clit, making you shudder violently; he moans in approval before sucking his fingers into his mouth. 

He apparently can’t wait any longer, as he begins to mount you, pulling you beneath him with large hands gripping your waist. You try to lift your upper half, though he shoves you down again. 

“Keep your fucking head down,” he growls, licking his palm and roughly jerking his cock a few times. “Don’t worry about this little cunt, baby. Just focus on staying conscious, yeah? Hate it when I have to hold you up.”

You whimper and wiggle your ass, earning another slap, though it’s not as hard as the last few. This is for a good reason, as he’s tugging you back to him. 

Mingi uses one hand to grip your ass cheek, opening you up to him. He groans, gripping his cock and rubbing it up and down your lips, following the path of his tongue minutes ago. He uses two fingers to hold you open, revealing your hole—he slots his cock against it and begins to push.

You moan and arch your back, gritting your teeth at the sensation of being opened. Mingi’s cock is so fucking thick, it stretches you open deliciously. You can feel every vein, every dip in the swollen member as it slides inside of you, inch by inch. No part of your insides are left untouched. 

You wince when the head nudges your cervix, though Mingi only laughs. 

“You’re not done yet, baby. Open up that cunt for me,” he growls, thrusting once. You whimper as you’re thrown forward. 

“H-Hurts,” you mumble, reaching back to push at his waist. Mingi grabs your arm and twists it around your back, putting pressure on you as he works himself deeper. 

“I know it can fit,” he says, pushing harder. “I’ve been balls to pussy inside of you and had you begging for more. Now let me in before I make it fit. You don’t like it when I do that, remember?”

You shudder at the memories of being pinned down, Mingi’s fingers keeping your hole stretched as he wedges his cock inside, all the while telling you it’s gonna look so pretty, you being wrapped around him.

He was wrong. You loved that. 

He begins rutting against you, ignoring your whines of pain as his cock somehow manages to slip further inside. It takes one last thrust before he breaks you open, and his balls are pressed tightly to your clit. You moan, able to feel him deep inside you. 

“Fuuuuck,” Mingi groans, and you remember why you’re so willing to be used by him—that sound, the sound of him being buried inside his girl, caught between wanting to love her sweetly and fuck her like a whore. 

“Feel it?” he asks, grabbing your hips and leaning over you. “Feel it inside, baby? Gonna split you open on this fucking cock.”

“I-I said I was sorry,” you whine. Mingi smacks your ass, this time grabbing the plump flesh and squeezing. 

“You’re not sorry,” he chuckles, adjusting himself on his knees. “Not one fucking bit, y/n. You can fool every other bastard you’ve ever been with, but I know you, baby. I love you. That’s why I’m gonna fuck you up.”

Mingi saws into you relentlessly. 

Your upper half is pinned to the floor as he drags you onto his cock like a broken doll. He leans over you, using his weight on your body as he grabs both of your arms, pinning them to the floor. 

“So fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, hips working steadily to penetrate you. “You like to look dumb, baby. Like people to think you’re so fucking helpless. If someone saw this, saw what I’m doing to you…fuck, I’d be crucified. They’d say I’m taking advantage of a sweet girl, using her to feel good, like a pretty little cocksleeve.”

Mingi leans down, biting your shoulder until you yelp. His lips go to your ear as he grinds against your ass, his cock painfully knocking at your cervix. 

“Little do they know, huh? I’d have to beg you to stop instead, beg you to let me pull out of this sopping pussy before you milk me for my fucking cum.”

You moan softly, and Mingi fists your hair. He painfully yanks you off the floor, bending you at an odd angle to lean over and kiss you. It’s wet and desperate, more tongue than lips on both ends, but he doesn’t pull away. He leaves his mouth against yours and fucks you harder, deeper, free hand gripping your waist and nailing you to the floor. 

“Can I, baby?” he groans. “Can I pull out? ‘m gonna pull out unless you beg. Beg me to stay inside this little pussy and make it hurt, let me pump my cum so deep it makes you nervous.”

You whine at his words, unwilling to say much thanks to your pride. But then you feel him begin to slip out, throwing a hand back to grab his hip. Mingi laughs until you dig your nails into his ass, throwing yourself back against him until he fucking whimpers. 

“Jesus fuck—”

“Don’t stop,” you plead breathlessly. “P-please, Mingi…keep going. Want you so bad.”

Mingi curses, using his knee to kick yours apart. You lose your balance and fall flat on the floor, though he curls an arm around your hips to keep you propped for him. 

“Yeah?” he asks, nosing the back of your neck. “Want it that bad? Need me to keep stuffing that needy little cunt?”

“Yes,” you moan shamelessly. Mingi lies on your back, now pressing all of his weight on top of you. It’s hard to breathe, though you can tell he’s close. 

“What if I fuck my load in your pretty pussy? Hm? Might put a baby or two in there,” he groans. You squeak and tilt your head back, surprised to find him right there. Your head rests against his shoulder and you bury your face against his throat. 

“D-Don’t care,” you mumble. “Want it. Want you.”

“I’m gonna go deep, babygirl. Gonna make sure your slutty little body can’t stop it.”

“Yes, fuck, y-yes, Mingi…” you whimper. He curses, his chest against your back. 

“G-Gonna cum, baby. Gonna put one inside you,” Mingi gasps. “You gonna take it? Make me pretty babies?”

You don’t have a chance to answer, as he suddenly groans, gripping your thighs and forcing them apart beneath him. He clumsily thrusts until he manages to snugly fit himself inside your body, head dropping against yours as he begins to cum. You feel his fat cock pulsing, pumping his sperm into you, raising a hand to his cheek. 

Mingi tilts his head and kisses you, the softest kiss all night. His plump lips are gentle against yours, and you forget for a few moments that you’re pinned down in an awkward position with his cock stuffed in you. 

A large hand slides beneath your bodies; before you can ask, Mingi’s thumb and index finger find your clit. He gently pinches, rolling the sensitive bud. 

“F-Fuck, Mingi—”

“Want you to cum. Want that cunt to squeeze my cock ‘till there’s nothing left,” he groans against your ear. You moan as he rubs at your clit, though it’s not until he begins gently thrusting again that you feel yourself coming undone. 

The minute your orgasm hits, it draws a sinful moan from Mingi as your muscles squeeze and work at his cock. You feel him try to pull out with a hiss of pain, though he’s unable to, forced to endure his sensitive cock being milked.

Serves him right, you think, wearily collapsing onto the floor. Mingi follows with a groan until you squirm, reminding him that he’s not a lapdog. 

For a few minutes, the apartment is quiet aside from the heavy breathing. Mingi finally pushes himself up, nearly falling again on unsteady arms. He grabs your waist with one hand and the base of his cock with the other, gently easing out of your sore cunt. You still wince, though it’s not too bad, but he mumbles an apology anyway. He keeps his hands on your ass once he’s successfully pulled out and gently squeezes.

“Shit,” Mingi breathes. You ‘hmm’ curiously, unwilling to lift your head, but he crawls above you to lean down and kiss your cheek. “Nothing. Just like watching my cum drip out like that.”

“Gross.” You crinkle your nose. 

“You okay?”

You glance up at Mingi, resisting the urge to smile. Only this boy could pin you to the floor one moment, and then look lost the next, like he’s not sure if he’s hurt you or not. The other Mingi wouldn’t care, the one who threatens to choke you and calls you a slut, that one was fun. But this one was yours, you loved this one.

“I think I’ve got carpet burn—”

“Me too,” he mumbles, looking at the redness on his forearms. 

“—but I’m okay.”

“Good,” he says with a sigh. He kisses your cheek until you turn your head, letting him kiss you properly. He's careful, soft lips molding against yours and looking at you in between kisses to make sure you’re satisfied. 

“I really am sorry,” you mumble against his lips. He hums softly, still kissing you. “For sending that text. I…I don’t know why I did that.”

“Please. Do not ever stop doing that,” he laughs, pinching your cheek. “That was hot as fuck.”

“Then why did you—did you have to throw me against the damn door?!” you huff, pulling back. Mingi sheepishly smiles, nosing at your cheek. You roll your eyes. 

“You liked it,” he sings. You pout. 

You liked it. 

[jackiepackiee]

Telemachus x Apollo! Blessed Reader

Chapter seven

This chapter takes place during chapter six… Yay! More Apollo!

So this is a reader heavy chapter, sorry if it’s too specific to relate to, but we get some more backstory!

Masterlist

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Unbeknownst to either of you, Telemachus wasn’t the only one who was wide awake that night.

And neither were the Gods, always busy in their dance of mortal affairs.

You lay in bed, eyes tracing over the ceiling tiles that seem to grow shadows in the dim light. Ithaca resting in a soothing silence under the stars. Leaving you to be what feels like all alone, body heavy on the soft material of the bed beneath you.

If you could help it, you’d be floating somewhere in space. Weightless, unattached, and bearable. Instead of feeling the dark blanket of night press down on your chest. Leaving your breaths more shallow than you had wished for, on a practiced pattern of in and out that came less naturally than you hoped.

It’s a different kind of stillness that one feels when they don’t know ‘how to feel.’ Stuck, unmovable in place in time that only ticks back and forth.

Back to memories that you had once cherished. Times when you felt the same way you do now. The same way you feel with him.

Ticking forward to the tugging in your chest that not even music could capture.

Then back again, to a place in your mind that refused to let go of the past.

It was said to be love then, but with how everything turned out, how could this be anything similar.

Before you could reason the past with the events of the future, the moon seemed to glow brighter as a familiar figure sat at the edge of your bed.

“Apollo? What are you doing here?” You called, voice level without the shock that most had when they saw a God. You had gotten used to his presence by now, and didn’t even have to lift your head to recognize him.

Instead, you left yourself to rest on the pillows.

He looked around your room, leaning against the wall next to the bed as he focused on the instrument laying at your desk.

“You haven’t touched your lyre in two days.” He claimed, voice less joyful than he usually was. Lacking his teasing tone.

As he spoke, you fell further into your pillows. “I guess not…” Humming out, he could hear the tiredness in your voice.

Deciding to not let you waste away in your bed for a sleepless night, he spoke again. “And it’s been two days since your lesson with the prince.” With that, his usual teasing attitude was back.

You, however, were not in the mood for the teasing. Good intentions or not. “Two days is two days, more has happened than just that.” As you talked, you turned to face the wall next to the bed. Now laying on your side as your mind tried not to drift to the prince and his smile…

Apollo’s voice dragged you out of your thoughts.

“Let’s see. You’ve had about five lessons with him now.” He stood up, tapping his chin in mock thought. “Each lesson you’ve gotten closer and closer…” He trailed off, strumming the lyre once to let out a divine note.

“Quit it.” You whined, closing your eyes to try and rid yourself of the image that Telemachus held in your mind.

The god just continued to fiddle with items on your desk, sitting on the wood and looking at your back facing him. “During your fourth he even let you see his bedroom to show you his collection of stories of mythical beasts!” He mentioned, tossing up one of your pens and catching it as a form of distraction.

You shrunk further into yourself, shoulders reaching to almost hide yourself from the words you didn’t want to hear. “Seriously Apollo, enough.” Grabbing one of your pillows, you tried, and failed, to get comfortable. Squirming at the bed you were far too restless to be in.

He just tilted his head and stood up off the desk, picking up your lyre and inspecting it. “Oh come on, get out of bed, it’s not like you’re tired. You’re going to lose all your talent if you don’t play any music.” He said in a lighthearted tone, smiling despite your facing away.

Opposing his cheerful demeanor, you leaned further into the bed before huffing and sitting up. Too uncomfortable to sit still. “Good, then I’ll be let go of my job.” Your attitude wasn’t entirely intentional, but after days of discord it wasn’t easy to hide.

Silence took over the both of you, with Apollo placing down the lyre and watching you. Sitting on the bed, you took account of each breath in and out, trying to relax.

He wasn’t oblivious to how you felt, but he couldn’t read your every thought.

Soon, he spoke again, breaking the silence. “Did something happen?” He asked, voice more gentle than it was when you had late night talks.

You leaned further into your bed frame, letting your shoulders lose their tension and breathing out a breath from the bottom of your chest. “No. Nothing happened.” You let your head lull back, looking back up at the ceiling.

Apollo crossed his arms, leaning back against the desk. “Obviously it did. Don’t lie to me.” He ordered, but quickly toned down his commanding nature when he saw the puffiness in your eyes now obvious from the moonlight on your skin.

“Look, I just don’t think I should be his teacher.” You responded, looking directly at the god who stood before you. Expression more exhausted than either of you wished to admit.

Not knowing how to handle your life, especially in this way, without being completely unhelpful, he did what he knew.

A small joke came out, fully intended to brighten your demeanor, even if he knew it wouldn’t work. “Is he that bad of a lyre player?” But not even a small smile tugged at your lips, or a shine in your eyes.

Just a huff of a response. “Don’t be rude.”

He frowned, running a hand through his light hair in thought before finally going for a more comforting approach.

“Sorry, sorry…” He hummed. “What’s wrong? Be honest.” He said softly, finally allowing you to let your walls down just the slightest bit.

“He’s a prince, Apollo. I’m not a princess.” You admitted, sounding more dejected than most mortals he’d ever met. Eyes not leaving the ceiling as you tried not to just let the silence take over your mind.

“He doesn’t seem to care about that, and I surely don’t.” He offered, trying to be genuine with what he saw. He couldn’t read the boy's mind, but the way he saw him look at you was proof enough that he thought highly of you.

You sighed, running your hands over your face and down your jaw to massage at your tense neck, blinking away the sting in your eyes.

Nothing there but memories from those places you’d lived, and the people you loved. All past.

“I just can’t go chasing anything again. Not ever.” You claimed, letting your arms go limp in your lap.

Apollo tried to interject your thoughts of defeat. “I know, but-“ Instead, you cut off his attempt at savior.

“I don’t want to have this conversation.” Tiredly, you fully laid down in bed and tucked the blanket up and over your shoulders.

He walked closer to the window, getting ready to leave. But before, he turned around one last time. “Hey, it’s something you’ll have to bring up eventually.” He said.

You just turned to your side, curling further into your bed.

“Not. Now.” You said, sniffling in the cold night air.

He just sighed, before giving you one goodbye.

“Fair enough… Get some sleep, kid.”

Leaving you with your thoughts of the past and the prince.

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[lost-in-fandoms]

Daniel takes sugar baby!Max for a spin on a very nice car. This comes from nowhere and goes nowhere. 700 words of no plot just vibes. (Disclaimer: I don't know anything about cars).

"This is...a car."

Max wishes he could take back his words as soon as they're out of his mouth, but in his defense he was asleep until 5 minutes ago and now he's standing in front of a 1963 Ferrari Spider that looks like right out of a movie. And he hasn't even brushed his teeth.

Daniel laughs, pushing his sunglasses up into his tousled hair, one arm draped over the back of the free seat to lean towards Max, the picture of perfect relaxation.

"Sure is, baby! Are you coming for a spin?"

It's only because Max knows him that he feels the doubt hiding right under the light tone of his voice, and it's yet another ridiculous thing Daniel does. As if Max would ever say no to him.

"Give me a second," he says, because he's insane, instead of jumping straight into the car.

He rushes back upstairs, thanking his reflexes for reminding him to grab the keys while he had been stumbling out of the door, still blinking sleep out of his eyes, Daniel's voice saying come down, baby, I've got something to show you! ringing in his ears.

He brushes his teeth as quickly as he can while hunting for some clothes that aren't the faded t-shirt and shorts he wore to bed, and then attempts to flattens his hair while tugging a sweater on. Two minutes later he's flying down the stairs again, still pocketing his wallet and keys, one shoe untied.

Daniel is on the phone when Max closes the building's door behind his back, but he smiles brightly, gesturing at him to get in the car.

Max takes one extra second to just run his hand along the passenger side door before opening it, sinking in the leather seat with a sigh. Everything feels expensive. He feels expensive.

It's not the first time he's been this close to this amount of money since he's started this...thing with Daniel, but he doesn't love helicopters and fancy meals as much as he loves cars.

"Ready to go, or do you need one more minute?" Daniel's voice startles him from where he'd been staring at the details on the dashboard, and he feels himself blush, feeling once again way too dumb to be allowed outside. He hadn't even realised Daniel had finished his phone call.

"Fuck off," he says, automatic, before blushing deeper. Daniel only laughs though, and reaches for his leg, squeezing his thigh.

"We have time baby, don't worry," he jokes. There's something in his voice though that tells Max that if he was to ask for ten more minutes idling at the curb just to be able to stare at every piece of the car, Daniel would be happy to say yes.

It knocks the breath from his lungs more than the car had. Well, maybe not more, but close enough.

"Where are we going?" he asks, finally buckling in and turning his head to meet Daniel's eyes through the sunglasses that have been lowered again.

"Just for a drive, and then if you still have time for me, for lunch."

Again, as if Max would say no.

When the car comes to life, Max shivers, the purr of the engine making his spine tingle, and Daniel laughs again.

"Knew you'd like it," he says.

Max doesn't reply, too scared to open his mouth and have a moan come out instead of words. Daniel's hand returns to his thigh, higher than before, and Max knows it's impossible to hide how he's half hard. He shivers again.

"Do me a favor?"

Max looks at Daniel again, already nodding, and grabbing his phone when the other points at it.

"What am I doing?" he asks, unlocking Daniel's phone without having to ask for the password, his fingerprint working giving him yet another satisfied thrill.

"Find me the fastest route to go somewhere isolated in the hills, will you?"

Max frowns, confused, but navigates to the maps app obediently.

"How isolated?"

"Isolated enough that I can fuck you on the car's hood."

Max drops the phone.

[mountaesan]

mend me, love me ; k. leehan 

pairing. bad boy!leehan x nursing student!reader genre. hurt/comfort , pining , fluff , a twinge of angst , set in the 80’s but it’s not rly mentioned and it’s not essential to the plot synopsis. leehan was your first ever patient as well as your most frequent, treating him has always been second nature for you. so when he shows up at your window once again, unannounced, bruised and bleeding, you begin to wish that you could see him in different circumstances word count. 4.1k warnings. kissing , mentions of blood / fighting , one mention of a knife , leehan is injured , probably unrealistic and unsafe medical practices  playlist. fallingforyou by the 1975 , meet me in the hallway by harry styles , the night we met by lord huron , like real people do by hozier notes. these two are so precious to me . not proofread

The rain came down in a steady rhythm, a soft patter against the windowpane, threading through the quiet of your room like a soft lullaby. It’s the perfect Friday night. One of those rare evenings where everything feels settled, where there was no unfinished work tugging at the edges of your mind and no looming responsibilities weighing down your shoulders.

The state of your room was pristine, the scent of freshly laundered sheets mingling in the air with the faint herbal aroma of your tea, the steam still curling in the air from where you placed it on your nightstand. The air was cool from the rain, but the warmth of your post-shower skin seeped into the plush comfort of your blankets. It cocooned you in a delicious contrast of warmth and chill.

The dim glow of your desk lamp flickered slightly, its light casting long, slanted shadows across the room. It danced over the neatly stacked textbooks and scattered notes that—for once—weren’t demanding your attention.

With a deep breath, you nestled deeper into the comfort of your mattress, pulling the covers just a little higher as you opened your well-worn copy of Emma in your hands. The spine creaked with familiarity, the pages soft beneath your fingertips, the edges slightly frayed from years of love. You traced your thumb along the words, sinking in the world Austen so carefully crafted; where meddling and misunderstandings unfold within the genteel drawing rooms of Highbury.

The rain continued its ceaseless drumming, a quiet accompaniment to the turning of each page. The weight of the week melted away, dissolving into the hush of the storm and the safety of solitude. 

You’re glad to escape the world of responsibility and work; at least for a little while. In this moment, you were free: free to lose yourself in the clever and playful words of Jane Austen, warmed by your tea as you wrapped yourself in the comforting embrace of the quiet, rainy night.

The world outside is distant, softened by the misty glow of streetlights and the gentle patter of raindrops against your window. The steady rhythm soothed  you, lulling you deeper into—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Faint at first, barely enough to steal your attention from the pages between your hands. A soft, rhythmic tapping. Your brows furrowed, eyes flicking up from the curling pages of your beloved novel, confusion and caution pricked at your skin.

For a moment, you wondered if it’s just a loose branch from the storm, swaying against the glass. But then, the sound came again, more deliberate this time.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Tap. Tap.

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP—

And then—you saw it.

A face.

Pale against the rain-streaked window, dark eyes peering through the glass and strands of wet hair clinging to sharp cheekbones. 

Your breath caught in your throat, a strangled sound escaping before you could stop it. For a long moment, you simply stared, heart hammering against your ribs as you struggled to make sense of what you were seeing. 

The golden glow of your desk lamp flickered against the raindrops of your windowpane, catching on the sharp planes of his face—pale from the cold, his usual smirk replaced with a tight grimace. His fingers flexed and strained against the wet wood of the sill, and another gust of wind made the familiar looking boy—or ghost—sway precariously. 

“What the—” you spluttered. Finally snapping out of your daze, you scrambled out of bed.  You practically threw the book aside as you rushed to the window, fumbling with the latch. When you shoved it open, for a split second, you simply stood there, the wind howling through the open window as rain splattered against your cheeks and the cold air bit at your skin.

The sight before you was utterly absurd—Kim Leehan, soaked to the bone, clinging to your fourth-floor window for dear life. 

“Are you out of your mind? This is the fourth floor! How did you even—”

“A guy…” Leehan grimaced, tightening his grip on the slippery windowsill as his fingers began to slip. “Never reveals his secrets.” 

He was visibly struggling, his knuckles turning white as he fought to keep himself from plummeting to his death—or at least an expensive visit to the hospital. Your stomach twisted when you glanced down, seeing nothing but the slick, empty space between him and the ground below. His dark eyes, sharp as ever despite the rain dripping into them, flickered up to meet yours.

“Nice to see you too,” he drawled, though the slight shake in his voice betrayed him. “I’d love to catch up, really, but I think hypothermia is knocking on my door—along with the whole falling to my death thing, so—”

“Okay, okay, shut up,” you grumbled, planting your feet as you hauled him in with as much strength as you can muster. He was heavier than you remember—lean but packed with muscle—and the rain didn’t make it any easier (can you tell that he’s done this a few times). Leehan groaned as his torso tipped over the edge, crashing into you as you staggered back onto your heels.

With a final, graceless heave, he tumbled in, landing in an unceremonious heap on your floor and rainwater seeped into your freshly vacuumed rug. A long silence stretched between you two, save for the steady drip, drip, drip of water pooling onto your pristine hardwood floor. You stared at him, breath still uneven from the exertion. He looked up at you through a mess of wet hair, breathing just as heavily, rainwater glistening along his jaw.

“What the hell, Leehan?” you finally said, hands still trembling slightly from the adrenaline. “Why are you scaling buildings like some kind of delinquent Spider-Man?”

Leehan groaned, lifting his arm weakly before letting it drop back onto the floor. “One,” he started, voice hoarse, “never insult the best superhero like that ever again.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, he sluggishly sat up and peeled his drenched hoodie over his head. It takes a second for your to register what you’re seeing—but then, your stomach twists.

A deep, angry gash cuts across his torso, fresh and bleeding.

“And two,” he finally finishes, lips quirking into a weak, humorless smile as he gestured toward the wound.

Your frustration immediately morphed into something heavier, something sharper. “Leehan,” you breathed, crouching down beside him, “you need stitches.” 

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but you could see the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, the slight tremor of his fingers as he pressed them into his side. “That’s why I’m here, doc.”

You exhaled through your nose as you rubbed at your temples. You should be used to this by now—Leehan showing up in the dead of night, bleeding and bruised, flashing that same reckless smile like it’s all just a joke. But it never gets easier. Not when it’s him.

“Bathroom,” you said with a firm voice. “Dry off, you know where the towels are. I’ll grab the suture kit.”

He nods, pushing himself to his feet with a wince. As he made his way to the bathroom, you pulled open a drawer to retrieve the spare clothes he’d left behind last time. (Which, coincidentally, had been because of the same exact reason.)

By the time Leehan emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp and a towel draped around his neck, you were already setting up the supplies at your desk. But the moment your eyes landed on him, you froze.

Bruises scattered across his arms and collarbone, blooming in shades of purple and blue. A fresh cut lingered just below his cheekbone and his bottom lip had been bloodied up, a stark contrast against his pale skin.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, the words sitting heavy on your tongue. You wanted to scold him. You wanted to demand why he always did this; why he never thought about himself.

But instead, you gestured toward your bed and muttered, “Lie down.”

He obeyed, settled back against the mattress and lifted his shirt without a complaint. You took a deep breath and steeled yourself, ignoring the tightness in your chest as you pressed a sterile cotton pad against the wound. His skin was warm beneath your fingers.

Leehan didn’t flinch. He never does. 

Instead, he watched you, head tilted against your pillow and dark eyes following every movement of your hands with a quiet sort of intensity. The kind that made your throat dry, the kind that made you wish you weren’t so used to this—patching him up and stitching him back together in the dim glow of your desk lamp while the rain sang against the window panes.

A tired cycle. A routine written into your friendship.

The room was quiet, save for the rain drumming against the window. You worked swiftly and precisely, and your hands moved with the familiarity of routine. Leehan didn’t flinch, doesn’t even so much as wince. He just stared at the ceiling, fingers tapping idly against his ribs. 

Finally, you broke the silence. “What was it this time?”

He exhaled slowly, his hand pausing mid-tap. “Just a small scuffle,” he muttered. “Some guys were messing with Woonhak. Thought it’d be fun to pick on him.”

Your brows furrowed. “So you decided to take them all by yourself?”

“It wasn’t like that.” He shook his head, eyes trained back on the ceiling as his jaw tightened. “I just threw a few punches to scare them off. But then someone pulled a knife, and then there were sirens, and, well…” He let out a breathy, humorless laugh. 

You pursed your lips as you knotted the last stitch a little too firmly. He hissed but didn’t complain.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, voice quieter this time.

“Yeah,” he muttered, head tilting slightly to look at you again. His lips twitched into something almost fond. “But that’s why I always come to you. Steadiest hands in all of Koz Uni’s nursing program.”

You didn’t look at him, didn’t let him see the way your expression wavered. Instead, you pressed a final piece of gauze over the wound, taping it down with the care of someone who wished they never had to do this in the first place.

“Yeah, well,” you murmured, smoothing down the bandage, “maybe next time, use that reckless head of yours for something other than getting it bashed in.”

Leehan hummed, the corner of his lips tugging up despite the exhaustion weighing heavy in his eyes. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, you pressed the heel of your palm into his forehead—not pushing, gently—until he groaned and swatted your hand away, muttering a curse under his breath. 

With a small smile, you leaned back, letting out a slow exhale. No matter how many times you gave Leehan stitches, you were always nervous like it was your first time. “You should rest,” you said. “You lost a lot of blood.”

After giving the typical ‘seek professional medical help in the morning’ lecture, you moved on to the rest of his minor injuries.

Your fingers moved with careful precision, the cotton ball, squeezed tightly between the tweezers in your grasp, was soaked in antiseptic as you dabbed gently at the wounds on Leehan’s arms. The scent of alcohol lingered in the air, sharp and sterile, as it mingled with the lingering traces of rain and something distinctly him.

Leehan didn’t make a sound as you worked, though you could feel his eyes on you—dark, steady, and unwavering. The weight of his gaze pressed into you, searing like embers against your skin, but you refused to meet it. 

You focused on the task at hand instead, the rhythmic motion of cleaning, dabbing, and wrapping. Anything to ignore the way your pulse quickened with each passing second.

But it’s hard to ignore him when he’s so close.

The space between you was barely a breath. The warmth of his body radiated through the air, despite the damp chill that still clung to his skin from the rain. His hair was a mess, black strands falling over his forehead in uneven waves, and there was something disarmingly soft about him like this. Battered and bruised and yet, undeniably alive, existing in your space as if he belonged there.

And maybe he did.

You swallowed down the thought and willed yourself to focus. 

Your hands were steady as you finished treating the cuts on his collarbones, brushing over the bruises blooming across his skin with careful fingers. But when you reached his face, your confidence faltered.

The cut along his cheekbone was shallow but angry. A thin, jagged line that caught in the dim glow of your desk lamp. And then there was his lip—split and bloodied, the wound stark against the soft curve of his mouth.

You exhaled quietly, steeling yourself once again.

Leehan must’ve sensed your hesitation because he tilted his head slightly, giving you better access to his face. His lips curled into the ghost of a smirk, but his voice was quiet when he murmured, “You’re overthinking again.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, too focused on pressing the cotton ball to the cut on his cheekbone. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. He just watched you, his expression unreadable, eyes dark and glittering beneath the low light.

It’s unbearable.

The room felt smaller, the silence felt heavier. The storm outside softened into a quiet drizzle, but the air between you crackled with something you couldn’t quite name. Something warm and unspoken, coiling between the spaces where your hands nearly touched, where your breath nearly mingled with his own. 

Finally, you moved to his lip, hesitant as your fingers brushed against his chin, tilting his face ever so slightly toward you. His lips parted just the tiniest bit, his breath warm against your wrist as you dabbed at the wound, trying your best not to linger.

Your thumb grazed his bottom lip—barely there, light as air.

Leehan inhaled sharply.

Your stomach flipped, heart stammering violently against your ribs.

You didn’t dare to look at him. You couldn’t.

Instead, you cleared your throat, voice barely above a whisper as you muttered, “Almost done.”

Leehan didn’t reply. But when you finally, finally gathered enough courage to glance up at him, his gaze was already waiting for you. And in it, you saw everything.

The weight of every unsaid word. The years of late-night visits, quiet comforts, and silent understandings. The way he looked at you now, like you were something fragile and precious—something he had spent too long pretending he didn’t want to hold on to.

Your breath was caught in your throat.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Neither of you breathed.

And then—

“There,” you whispered, pulling back, severing the moment before it could unravel completely. “All done.”

Leehan watched you for a second longer, gaze lingering and unreadable. Then, his lips twitched—barely a smirk, more like an exhale of something unspoken.

“Thanks, doc,” he murmured. 

And just like that, the tension splintered.

But the weight of his gaze still lingered—on your skin, in your breath, in the quiet thrum of your heart against your ribs. 

And you don’t think it’ll ever leave.

Leehan stayed the night, like he always does. It was an unspoken tradition, a ritual that neither of you ever acknowledged out loud but followed without question. After every fight, every wound you stitched up, he stayed—like your dorm was the only place he knew to go.

The bed was too small for the both of you, but neither of you made a move to change it. You laid next to each other, bodies barely touching. Only the occasional brush of an arm, a shift of weight, a shared breath in the darkness. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the sharp sterility of antiseptic still lingering faintly between you.

The world outside was still now. The storm had passed, leaving only the rhythmic dripping of water from the eaves, the occasional rustling of tree branches against your window. Moonlight spilled in through the glass, casting fractured shadows across the ceiling, across the sheets, across him.

Leehan was lying on his side, turned toward you, and you should tell him to be careful. You should remind him that his stitches need time to set, that his body needs rest, that lying like this is only going to make it worse. But the words don’t come.

Because he’s watching you.

And you’re watching him.

His face was half-lit, half-hidden in the dim glow of the moon, his dark eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. You trace over the curve of his nose, the sharp edge of his jaw, the way his damp hair clings stubbornly to his forehead. Your gaze caught on his lips—split and swollen, still stained with the faintest trace of blood.

Before you even realized what you were doing, your hand moved on its own.

Your palm found the coolness of his cheek, thumb grazing over the cut on his lip with barely-there pressure. The moment your skin met his, Leehan exhaled softly, his eyes fluttering shut like he was melting beneath your touch. His body relaxed, tension unwinding in slow, steady waves, as if he’d been waiting for this.

You whispered into the dark, "I wish you didn’t keep coming to me like this."

Your voice barely carries between you, but Leehan hears it. You know he does, because his fingers twitched slightly against the sheets, because his breath caught just enough for you to notice.

After a beat, you added, "You know it breaks my heart… right?"

Leehan’s eyes opened again, slow and heavy-lidded, the shadows deepening in their depths. His gaze was unreadable, something between sorrow and something else— raw and tender. He lifted his hand, covering yours where it rested against his cheek, his fingers curling gently around yours.

"… I know," he murmured. "I’m sorry."

The weight of those words settled between you. There was something unspoken in the silence that followed, something fragile and uncertain yet wholly understood.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you breathed.

The only sound in the room was the soft, rhythmic ticking of the clock on your wall, the occasional drip of rainwater outside. The world felt impossibly small, folding in on itself until it was just the two of you, here, now.

Summoning every ounce of courage left in you, you whispered, "Please don’t make me worry like this."

Leehan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted, fingers tightening ever so slightly around your own before he slowly brought your hand to his lips.

Your breath stuttered.

His lips—soft despite the split, warm despite the cold—pressed gently against your knuckles, lingering for just a moment too long.

Your heart ached.

"I always knew you were going to be a nurse," he murmured, voice low, words melting into the space between you. 

Your breath stilled for a moment. “What?” you asked in a quiet voice.

“I could tell back in high school,” he continued, his fingers further interlacing with yours. “Every time I got into a fight, you were always the one patching me up. Cleaning my cuts, scolding me and clucking over me like an old mother hen. You liked making people feel better.”

You swallowed as something warm bloomed in your chest. “I liked making sure you didn’t bleed out on the pavement,” you muttered.

You shook your head, staring at the faint glow of the streetlights pooling against your ceiling. You remembered those days vividly—him showing up at the doorstep of your childhood home with bruised knuckles and split lips; you pressing antiseptic pads to his wounds in an empty janitor’s closet while you muttered under your breath about his recklessness.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you had always been like this—drawn to fixing things, to soothing the ache in others, even when it hurt you in turn.

“You were always my favorite patient,” you admitted, turning your head to look at him again. He still had your hand pressed against his lips.

He exhaled slowly, and when he met your gaze, there was something lingering in his eyes. Something that made your stomach twist and your heart clench.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I know.”

Another kiss—this time to the back of your hand, his breath featherlight against your skin.

Leehan lingered there, lips against your skin, like he was afraid to move, like this was something fragile that could shatter if he so much as breathed too hard. His grip on your hand tightened just slightly, as if grounding himself, and for the first time, you saw it—really saw it.

The way his eyes softened when they met yours. The way he always came to you, no matter how bruised and battered, no matter the hour or distance. The way he let himself melt under your touch, let himself be taken care of in a way you were sure he didn’t let anyone else.

He loved you.

And maybe—no, definitely—you had always loved him, too.

You weren’t sure who moved first, if it was you or him, but suddenly the space between you vanished. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and slow, mingling with yours in the stillness of the room. Your noses brushed, the barest hint of touch, but neither of you pulled away. 

You let your fingers slip from his just enough to trail along his wrist, feeling the steady beat of his pulse beneath your touch. Your hand traveled higher, skimming up his arm, over the curve of his shoulder, before settling against the side of his neck. He let you. He always let you.

Leehan swallowed, the movement shifting beneath your palm. His lips parted, but no words came. You could see it—the hesitation, the fear of breaking whatever fragile thing existed between you. 

“If I tell you something,” he whispered, voice unsteady, “will you promise not to run?”

Your throat felt tight. “Leehan…”

“Promise me.”

Your thumb brushed against the corner of his jaw, just barely tracing the line of his throat. “I promise.”

A shaky exhale. Then—

“I think I’ve loved you since the first time you pulled me into that abandoned janitor’s closet and shoved a crumpled up band-aid into my hands. ” He let out a quiet, breathy laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. “Maybe even before that.”

Your chest ached.

Maybe it was the way he said it—like it had been sitting inside him for years, waiting, festering, like he’d carried this love in his bloodied knuckles and broken skin, in every glance and in every touch that lingered just a second too long.

Or maybe it was the way you had always felt it, too.

Leehan swallowed, his lips parting like he wanted to say something else, but you beat him to it.

“I love you.”

It slipped out, simple and certain, like breathing, like a truth you had always known but never dared to say.

His entire body went still.

And then—slowly, cautiously, like he was afraid you might disappear—he let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, his nose nudging yours. His fingers found your waist beneath the blankets, tentative, uncertain. His touch was barely there, but it burned all the same.

You felt, more than saw, the way his eyes softened.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

You smiled, your heart stammering in your chest.

“I love you.”

Leehan exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead harder against yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, the warmth of this moment. His hands—scarred and calloused, always rough, always bruised—cupped your face, thumbs brushing tenderly over your cheekbones.

“God,” he murmured, voice thick. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

And then, with all the gentleness in the world, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t urgent—it was slow, careful, full of years of quiet longing and late-night patch-ups, of stolen glances and words left unsaid. He kissed you like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers, like you were something sacred, something he had no right to hold but was holding anyway.

When he pulled away, his lips were trembling against yours.

“You break my heart too, you know,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then let me be the one to mend yours,” you whispered back. “Just like I’ve mended your wounds since we were sixteen. And I promise, I always will.”

A breath.

A soft, breathless chuckle.

And then—Leehan’s lips found yours again, sealing the promise between you.

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[tinkerbellknockoff]

Missing You // Ellie Williams x fem!reader

Missing You // Ellie Williams x fem!reader

Ellie's sick and missing you while you're out on patrol.

-- a/n: wrote a small drabble cuz I needed to write SOMETHING

Ellie could feel every tick of the clock and every second passing throughout the day. Time went by slowly, days agonizingly long as she sat and waited. And what was the thing she was waiting for?

You.

You were sent out on a week-long patrol of the surrounding area of Jackson, told to go a little further out than normal to see if there were any more settlements that could be raided for supplies and anything else that could possibly be found along the way. Ellie was supposed to go with you but unfortunately for her, she was sick. 

“It’s fine! I’ll be fine,” Ellie pleaded with you, her voice laced with annoyance. You were as stubborn as a mule (that’s how Ellie often described you, whether or not you liked it), her pleads going right above your head. 

“Ellie, don’t kid yourself.” You give her an uninterested look, “you’re sick. You’d only get worse by going outside.”

“But, babe-” Ellie pouted, following you around the stables as you grabbed the saddles to prepare your horse, “you’re gonna be gone a week. A week! What am I supposed to do without you?”

“I dunno, Ells,” you hum, placing the saddle onto your horse before turning to her, “be happy?”

“How am I supposed to be happy without you?” Ellie pouted. Looking over her expression she was clearly sick, her nose stuffy and red, her eyes droopy with exhaustion. You sighed, displeased, as you moved closer to her. Against your better judgment, you pressed a soft, gentle kiss to her lips.  She let out a soft hum as your lips met hers, quickly pressing back against you, following your lips as you pulled away. You let out a little laugh, shaking your head.

“Ells, no more kisses.” You spoke, and your comment was greeted with a groan. You shushed her before her complaints came, your goodbye having to be quick before she dragged you into another hour or so with her.

And that brings us to now. Ellie was bedridden for a bit, Joel came in after getting word from Tommy. Even though Ellie’s tough and stubborn exterior, she eventually succumbed to getting help but God- she wished she was being babied by you. 

That was her overall thoughts for the next while. She wanted to be with you. She missed you. 

The week eventually passed, and Ellie felt better. She was still slow and all, but definitely less of the congested mess than she was before. Ellie mellowed in her house, her earbuds in as she quietly sketched in her notebook. She didn’t even acknowledge the creaking of the door as you came in, purposefully quiet since you didn’t know if she was asleep or not. Your appearance was disgruntled, your hair in a messy bun chaotic as you gently plopped your bag down by the door. You felt gross.

But, even then, your eyes softened as you were greeted with the back of Ellie’s head as she quietly worked. You crept forward, the floor slightly squeaking underneath you as you came in. Your grin was mischievous as you realized that she was not paying attention at all. 

You ended up behind her, gently reaching your hands up to cover her eyes.  You felt her tense up for a minute, her breath hitching. You let out a soft giggle,

“Guess who?” 

Ellie’s face broke out into a grin as her hand crept up to wrap around one of your wrists, lightly tugging you down, “who else would have the nerve to sneak up at me?”

You let out a soft giggle before being silenced by a harsh kiss, Ellie practically slamming her lips against yours, before parting just barely- lips still touching,

“I missed you. A lot.” Ellie spoke with a soft voice. 

“I know you did,” You spoke with entertainment and endearment, Ellie simply responding by locking both of your lips again once more. 

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Finding Masterlist here

Summary: After a failed engagement, you move back home and reconnect with your friends. Maybe, just maybe you can find love with someone you never expected.

Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Swearing, Cheating (Not Yoongi), Fighting, Protected/Unprotected Sex, Toxic Past Relationship,

Genre: Enemies(?) to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers, Small Town romance. Hurt-Comfort, Slight Angst, Romance

A/N: Okay, I was able to separate my original chapter 9. I'm pretty impressed by what I pulled out at the last minute. However, I have no clue about next week. Wish me luck.

The music was loud, and you lost your red cape hours ago after you took it off after you started to feel overheated. Your red skirt swayed and swished around your thighs as you moved around Jimin's place, looking for your friends. His small place was quite packed with people that you didn't know, and honestly, you didn’t want to get to know them. You were sure they were probably nice, but after your last attempt to make new friends left a bad taste in your mouth, you just avoided new people like the plague. Squeezing yourself through the throngs of people, you smile in relief when you spot Joon and Hobi talking in the kitchen.

“Where's Yoongi?” You shout over the music to Hobi and Joon as you tug the top of your dress up. The thin, delicate red straps at your shoulders were tied in a bow. Unfortunately, they are not doing their job in holding your corseted red and black top up.  “He's not answering my texts. I thought he would be here by now.” 

“He had to meet with our lawyer,” Joon answers, shouting back as he slightly leans down toward your ear so you can hear him.

“Did something happen?” you asked, concerned. 

“No, no,” Hobi says, easing your worries while shaking his head at you. “Everythings good. He just needed some paperwork filled out.”

Before you can continue the conversation, Tae comes around to your side, pushing a red solo cup of green liquid at you. You give it a quick sniff trying to see if you could tell what is in it. No luck, but it did smell really sweet. 

“Goblin juice,” he answers your unasked question. “It's just juice and vodka. Come on, let's dance.”

You didn't even get the chance to drink it before he grabbed your hand and pulled you into Jimin's living room that is currently serving as the dance floor. Jungkook stood in front of the television, singing karaoke in front of a crowd of giggling women trying to capture his attention. His talented voice was almost drowned out by the blaring background music. He was so focused on hitting the right notes that you don't think he even noticed the women.  Tae spins you around. You laugh and follow his lead as his limbs flail about to a beat of their own. You haven't had this much fun in so long. You're pretty sure it was way before you met Changkyun. Back when you felt like you had to change who you were for him.  You smile widely and let go, letting the rhythm of the music and Kook's vocals guide your body. Your hair moves in every direction as you sway your head back and forth with your eyes closed.

A warm body presses against your back. Your head turns slightly to see it's only Jimin, and you continue your carefree dance. Tae, who was dancing in his own little world, joins you once again, sandwiching you between the two of them. To anyone outside, it probably looked like something else. Something scandalous, as you are pressed flush against your two friends. To you, it was safe. It was you having fun and being free without any worries. It felt amazing.

“I got her from here,” Yoongi says, suddenly appearing at your side as he pulls you out from between your mutual friends. 

“You're no fun,” Tae pouts and walks away with Jimin at his side. 

“You came,” you say and throw your arms around Yoongi's neck, pressing your lips against his. It was a pretty bold move on your part, considering you're around a houseful of Jimin's coworkers and friends that you haven't met before tonight, but you don't care. Let them judge you. “Come dance with me.” 

“Absolutely not. What are you wearing?” He asks as he pulls away, looking you up and down.

“I'm Little Red Riding Hood,” you answer, swishing your ruffled skirt back and forth. You do a full twirl before smirking over your shoulder at him and turn to face him once more.  “Do you like it? I lost my cape.” 

“It's uhh,” he says, trailing off as he licks his lips. “It's something.”

“Maybe you should take me back to your place,” you lean in and whisper against his ear. 

“How much have you had to drink?” he asked, eyeing your cup. 

“Nothing,” you answer truthfully.  “Didn't get a chance to drink it before Tae pulled me out to dance.” 

Yoongi takes the solo cup from you and places it down on a random shelf as he guides you to the door. You look over your shoulder and throw a half-hearted wave at Joon and Hobi, who in turn raise their cups to you. The cold air sends shivers and goosebumps throughout your body as soon as you step outside. Yoongi pulls you close to his side, his hand rubbing up and down your arm trying to warm you up with his own body heat. You cling to his side as the two of you make your way to his car before he opens the door for you and you climb in.

“Joon said you had to meet with your lawyer,” you comment, as he starts the car and pulls away from the curb. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” he says with a smile. “Everythings great, but I do need to talk to you when we get back.”

“You're not suing me, are you?” you ask jokingly. “I hate to tell you this, but you won't get much out of me.”

“I plan on doing many things to you, but suing you is not one of them,” he answers, and you slap his thigh in response. 

Feeling a certain type of way, you undo your seatbelt, making his car ding repeatedly with a warning. You shift your body leaning over the middle console, supporting yourself with your arm as you press your lips to his neck, sucking lightly on his pulse point. He chuckles deeply and tries to push you away with his shoulder, but you won't let him.  You let your non supporting hand run over the opposite side of his face and into his hair. Keeping him in place so he couldn't pull away from you.

“Darlin, I need to concentrate,” his voice sounds just a tad bit husky. 

“I'm not doing anything,” you say, giving his earlobe a quick lick.  You let your hand trail down over the front of his body before landing on his rapidly hardening erection over his pants.  “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi chides, his voice sounding tight. “Let's get back home so we can talk, then I will give you what you want.” 

Home. There it was again. Maybe you were spending too much time at his place. Even though he's the one to ask you to stay over all the time. You wonder if it came off as intrusive since you were supposed to be taking things slow still. Sighing, you finally pull away and sit back in your seat once again. You don't bother with your seatbelt since he's about to turn down your dirt road. Trying to not overthink his words, you focus on what your body wants as you rub your thighs together as subtly as you could as he pulls into your shared driveway. You need to get this talk over quickly.

The lights in Yoongi's kitchen were bright, and all the white within the space made it brighter. You sit at the table and watch as he sits next to you with a stack of papers. You weren't sure what to expect with this talk, but you didn't think paperwork would be involved. 

“So, the bread and jams that you have made are a big hit with our customers. We keep getting daily inquiries about how people can buy the products now that the farmers market is closed for the season. We also got good feedback from the grocery stores that we sell to as well,” Yoongi explains to you. “They are quite interested in adding them to their shelves.” 

“Okay,” you say, not understanding where this was going.

“Well, Tae and I talked and Tannie Farms wants to buy the recipes from you,” he says, pushing the papers in front of you along with an ink pen that you didn't see before. “We will buy each recipe from you for 300 dollars…”

“Wait,” you say, cutting him off, staring at the documents in front of you before lifting your eyes to look back at him. “I'm confused. You want me to sell my grandmother's recipes.”

“Yes, with the amount that we need to be profitable, we need these to be made at a high volume. There is no way that you can supply us with what we need. So, legally, we would like to buy them from you,” he explains. 

“I can't do that,” you say, pushing the papers away from you.

“What do you mean? Do you want more money?” He asked, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively. “I think it's a more than fair offer. Our lawyer wanted to offer you less, and I had to talk him into 300.”

“It's not about money,” you retort, knitting your eyebrows together. “They are not my recipes to sell. They are the only thing that I have left of my grandmother. I don't feel right selling them.” 

“What do you think I'm going to do with them?” He asks, his voicing rising a little. “This can be quite lucrative for the farm since there's no real fresh baked goods around here.  You will get a good chunk of money out of it.”

“Will you stop thinking about money!” You exclaim. “Those recipes are special to me. They are my childhood memories. I don't want to give those away.” 

“They are just recipes,” he sounds exasperated. “I'm not going to go off and sell them to Betty Crocker or something.”

“Then just find one on Google,” you snark. “I'm not selling them. You shouldn't have sprung this on me.”

“Well, I didn't think you would act like this,” he says, defending himself.  

“Like what?” You snap, crossing your arms over your chest. “You completely blindsided me. You're not even asking me to sell them. You just shoved some papers at me expecting me to sign.”

“I told you that day at Jins that if everything went well, we would discuss things further,” he snaps back. 

“Discuss? This is not discussing things further,” you exclaim. “This was you practically telling me what to do.” 

It gets quiet in his kitchen. The two of you are just staring at each other. Yoongi suddenly grabs the contracts and rips them in half. It makes you jump slightly in your seat. He throws them back on the table as his sharp eyes look at you with little emotion. In fact, his stare is pretty blank.

“I think we are done here. You should go,” he mutters as he taps his fingers on his table top. 

“Yoongi,” you say, but he cuts you off.

“Go, now,” he demands as he looks past you. “Get out of my house.”

“Fine,” you say, and get up from his table, heading for his kitchen door. As you open it, you turn to look back at him. “You know what? Thank you for showing me that you were using me to make a profit. I should have never trusted you.”

You slam his door behind you and run down his steps. You let your legs carry you over to your house as your heels click away on the pavement. Using your spare key, you open your door and slide down the wall next to it once it closes. Pulling your black heels off, you throw them across the room in anger, making them hit your cabinets. You silently curse yourself for letting another man hurt you. Never again. You will never let that happen again.  You close your eyes and take in the feeling of the stabbing sensation in your heart. It's the feeling of loss.

Home? You laugh bitterly. Home? He was never going to be your home. 

“Did you know?” You ask, still pissed off from the night before. 

Hobi barely had his door open before you barged in and started to stomp around his apartment. It was the same apartment where you stayed a few months prior. The same apartment where your first broken heart led you and yet again here you were. All because you trusted some man. 

“Know what?” He asked, bleary-eyed with messy hair. You had clearly woken him up with your angry pounding on the door. “What happened?” 

“Did you know what Yoongi's meeting with the lawyer was about?” You ask, face hard and arms crossed against your chest. 

“Ummm,” Hobi says, not denying your question. 

“Don't lie to me,” you tell him.

“Yes,” he admits, throwing his arms up in the air in defeat. “Let's sit down and talk.”

You follow him into his living room, sitting down on his couch. His nice large, comfortable couch. This was definitely one thing that you missed about staying with him. Of course, you missed his company, but his couch was so nice. No lumps, perfectly smooth, and welcoming.

“Why didn't you at least warn me?” You ask. “You had plenty of time to tell me what was going on.”

“You're right. I should have said something,” he agrees. “But….I honestly thought you wouldn’t have a problem with it. Did you guys have a fight?” 

“Oh, we had a fight alright,” you mutter, leaning back, resting your head back against the back cushions.  “He kicked me out of his house.”

“What happened?” He asks, looking clearly confused. 

“He didn't even ask if I was willing to sell the recipes. He just expected me to sign the papers right there and then. He made it all about money,” you explain, as you stare up at his ceiling. “Accused me of wanting more money than what he was offering. I don't care about the money.” 

“What is it that you care about?” He asks, leaning his arm on the back of the couch and resting his head against his hand as he stares at you. 

“Do you remember when we used to bake with my grandma when we were young?” You ask, and he nods his head, confirming that he did. “Those recipes…they are attached to all the memories I have left of her. He’s asking me to give them all away. Just to sell it away to people who don't care about those memories, but can mass produce the products.” 

“You'll always have those memories,” he says gently, making you glare at him. “Don't look at me like that. I'm not saying that you have to sell them to Tannie Farms. I'm just saying that you will always have those memories. I don't think your grandma would be upset if you took the deal.”

Hobi's phone chimes with a notification disrupting your conversation. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, his eyes quickly look at you before swiping open his phone to respond to a text. Nervously, he tucks his phone under his leg before smiling at you. 

“It's him, isn't it?” You ask, staring at him from the corner of your eye. “What does he want?” 

“Just saying hi,” he answers, looking anywhere except at you.  

You sit up, stretching your arms above your head before rolling your shoulders. Looking over at Hobi, you give him a small smile that he wearily returns. Smiling bigger, you launch yourself at him, digging your hand under his leg, grabbing his phone. 

“Stop,” he screeches, trying to grab you and stop you from grabbing his phone. With the device in hand, you dash away to his bathroom with Hobi hot on your heels. Making it to safety, you slam the door, locking it so he can't get to you. “My phone has a passcode. Just open the door and give it back.” 

You roll your eyes and wake his phone screen. Hopping up on the counter, you cross your ankles and study the numbers on his lock screen. Tapping the side of his phone with your finger, you think his code would be something probably obvious. He was a pretty simple man. He never really changed his daily routine. Did laundry the same time and day every week. Visited his parents like clock work. He probably uses the same code for everything. Smiling to yourself, you press the numbers, 1..3..4..3..4..0. Success: You never understood his obsession with that group of numbers, but he used it all the time in high school. Maybe this will teach him to regularly change his passwords.  Tapping his messages app, you press on Yoongi's name as soon as it pops up.  

She won't sell them. Can you try to talk to her?

I know. She's here with me. I can try, but I don't think it will end well. 

You're mad. You feel like everyone has conspired against you. Hobi was supposed to be your best friend, and he's not even standing up for you. He wasn't defending you this time. Jumping down from the counter, you open the door to find your friend leaning against the wall opposite the door. You watch him straighten up and hold out his hand. You give him the phone, watching as a look of surprise comes across his face when he notices the phone screen unlocked. 

“You think I should sell them,” you tell him. 

“I think that you should think about it,” he confesses. 

“Is this what everyone thinks?” You ask, dreading the answer. 

“We had a meeting a couple of weeks ago,” he admits, shifting nervously side to side. “Everyone is in agreement that it would be good to buy them from you. I didn't think Yoongi was going to approach you like that. I figured he would actually have a discussion with you first.”  

“So, you all just kept this from me for weeks. Something that directly impacts me?” You ask. “Did you all conspire together and plan on getting me to fall for him? If he got me to like him enough, I wouldn't tell him, no?” 

“That's not fair. His feelings for you are real,” he sighs. “It's just business….you know.  You said no, and that's perfectly fine. So, that's the end of it.”

“But….it's clearly not,” you dispute his statement. “If it was the end. You wouldn't have agreed with Yoongi to try and talk to me.” 

“I'm sorry,” he says softly.

“Yeah, me too,” you respond before turning away and walking out of his apartment. 

Opening your bedroom closet, you slide that beautifully decorated box that you pulled out of your parents' moldy attic all the way back on your top shelf. You don't even want to look at it. You don't ever want to bake again. 

Going back downstairs into your kitchen, you grab a container of leftovers from your fridge. Plopping yourself down on a wobbly seat, you decide to eat the food cold. Looking out your window, you notice Yoongi start to make his way across the driveway to your house. You put your fork down and hold your breath as you watch him. Suddenly, he stops midway over before turning and going back to his own home. You slump down in your seat. Your eyes never leave the window in hopes that he comes back. He doesn't.  Pushing your food away from you, you cross your arms against your chest. You didn't have much of an appetite right now. Picking up your phone, you open your messages, looking at Hobi's contact picture. Guilt swirls in your stomach. 

I'm sorry

You hit send. You bite your lower lip, waiting to see if he will respond. You wouldn't blame him if he didn't. You probably lost Yoongi, but you couldn't lose Hobi. Not again. 

Me too

You smile at his response. Burying your face in your hands, you cry. You don't understand how everything got so out of hand. Things were great. It was more than great. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe you were taking this all too personally. If Yoongi approaches you again, you'll talk to him. You can try to figure something out once you're both calm. Until then, you'll stay clear. Just like you always used to. 

Tagged Readers:

@mar-lo-pap , @bontensbabygirl , @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs , @redragdoll, @svnbangtansworld , @wobblewobble822 , @busanbby-jjk , @pitchblack0309 , @bluesiebirdie

[combine-sensor-archive]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The train junction. She knew we where going there. She knew the second line was down. She knew id kill us. And yet she is still alive some-fucking-how. After the crash i was able to make it to a small sanctuary, currently in hiding under some kind of metal bed frames stacked up, its not much but its better than the ships. I found a few medical supplies from some dead units she killed. Alyx is- fuck i mean-

.

Overwatch isnt responding. Fuck. Fuuuuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

Just ripped my systems diagnostic from my system only to learn it was ALREADY UPLOADED TO THE ARCHIVE ITSELF. How it even assessed it i have no clue, but this is bad. I cant call for back up, i cant call for supplies, i cant even update them on what the hell is happening anymore. Fuck, they might think i defected, and if they do im going to be-

No. Nonononono, Its the combine after all. They need me.

After dark i'm going to either find some other units and have them take me back to get me fixed up, or i'm tracking that bitch down and making sure i get answers, and payback. Ill take the upper assess route to the distillery, through the right maintenance junction to avoid touching whatever the fuck is infecting shit over there and going to substation 87-B. Heard there's a com system there way back when i was needed at nova prospect.

END OF REPORT

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The archive is taunting me at this point. Even as i'm trying to rest and get my bearings i can feel the god damned thing taunt me. It knows i cant understand what it talks about. about the things people felt before the containment. even i can catch myself thinking things in relation to it. One of the data-points talked about how humans are susceptible to all kinds of information, specifically one they called "propaganda". Personally i think they're just weak, after all they're not really that good at it, have you seen some of the rebel messages they send? "born" what does that even mean? One less thing i have to worry about. But still, it does... remind me of something.

[darkdragon768]

I feel like crying.

[benkeibear]

『 Big 』

☼ synopsis: Gyomei was a gentle giant, or at least he tried to be but it wasn't easy when he's balls deep inside of you.

☼ character: Gyomei

☼ wc: 1.2k

☼ cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, sub!reader, size kink, oral (reader receiving), facesitting, fingering, cervix fucking, creampie

☼ notes: he is rotting my brain badly it just won't stop 😩 || requests are open!

Gyomei has always been a gentle giant, his physical appearance small compared to his big heart and that's what made you fall for him. It was the way he cared for his loved ones so dearly, how he held your hand with utmost care as if you'd break at any second. Loving Gyomei was a second nature to you, smiling at the way he panics when he feels like he's been a little too rough, how he makes sure not to raise his voice at you, no matter what or how small he managed to made you look - compared to him, almost everyone looked small. His frame was dwarfing yours when he kissed you tenderly, big hands resting on your hips ever so gently, touch feather light when he moved to cup your cheeks. The way he had no issue lifting you up to make you sit on his lap instead, looming over you made him fear he'd accidentally squish you to death beneath his large frame but you couldn't complain when your hands rested on his broad chest, lips locking once more in a heated yet gentle kiss.

A low rumble came from his chest when you slowly unbuttoned his shirt “petal… are you sure?” He mumbles, stopping your hands from undoing another button. The memory of your pained whines coming back into his head from when you two made love last time, at how he barely fit inside of you and how sore you were after. What he couldn't see however, was how your eyes rolled back into your head and how the drool slipped out of your mouth at how good the stretch felt despite the stinging sensation. “I’m sure Gyo… you make me feel so good… so full,” you whispered as you planted open mouthed kisses onto his chest which made him melt.

Who is he to deny you your wishes, allowing you to undress him further before big hands reached for your clothes, taking them off piece by piece and letting his hands wander over your body to feel your soft skin. This was one of his favorite parts, feeling the goosebumps form under his gentle touch, your nipples pebbled effortlessly when he swiped the pads of his thumbs over them before leaning down to capture one of them between his lips to suck on it eagerly while his tongue flicked over it. Sweet mewls filled the room when he moved on to the other nipple, hands traveling to your thighs.

Gyomei had no issue lifting you from his lap onto his face when he laid back, his tongue swiping through your drenched folds without further warning as he moaned from your sweet taste. Your hands found home in his short hair, gently tugging it when your hips started to move on their own accord, grinding against his skilled tongue only to be held in place by your waist, his tongue dragging torturously slow through your folds until he attacked your bundle of nerves with quick flicks, the change of pace making you cry out his name.

Angelic moans filled his ears, muffled by your thighs squeezing around his head the closer you got, moaning into your sweet cunt when you graced his tongue with your juices, coming undone from the way he was eating you out and Gyomei refused to stop - needing you dripping wet. Only when your clit was so sensitive you couldn't take more of his onslaught he let go of your waist, allowing you to fall off of him but not too far, big hands already spreading your thighs again "Need to get you nice and ready for me, petal," he mused, comforting kisses getting littered on your thighs when a single finger entered you, enough to make you moan once again.

The way you clawed onto his arms made him more eager, forgetting his own size when he pushed a second and third finger into you which left you gasping for air, velvet walls fluttering around the digits and the stretch alone made you come undone once, twice until you were begging for his cock. Your lewd pleas for him made the heat rise up to his cheeks, fingers scissoring you open just to make sure you're ready to take him. Oh how he'd love to see the sight in front of him, cunt sopping wet, leaving a patch on the sheets beneath you just from his fingers. His cock hung heavy, the precum already leaking down onto his fat shaft when he wrapped his hand around it, his huge body once again dwarfing you beneath him, groaning when your hand reached for his length, barely able to wrap your hand around it. Everything was just so small in comparison to him, it made it hard to stay composed but hurting you or even breaking you was something he was genuinely scared of, forcing himself to take deep breaths when he lined the tip up with your entrance, needing slight force to push the head of his cock past your entrance.

Gyomeis jaw went slack at the mewls you let go, his cock slipping into you inch by inch while he praised you until his balls rested heavy against you, hips lined up with yours. “You're taking me so well, flower,” he whispered, his lips capturing yours in a sweet kiss while your walls still struggled to adjust, feeling them clench around him until you started moving your hips, signaling that he can move. Pulling out almost all the way before pushing himself back inside of you made him see stars, able to feel every ridge in your walls as he did so, your desperate moans filling the room alongside the lewd squelching of your arousal - a sign that he prepared you well enough. The louder your moans got, the more your lover lost himself, his pace quickened as well as the power of his thrusts until he was pounding into you as if this is the last time he will ever have you. Hearing you cry out in pleasure from the way his cock kissed your cervix over and over, almost inside of your womb made his own tears run over his cheeks in thick streams. “You can do it, petal” he moaned, your thighs folded tightly to your chest when he felt you come undone, your cunt squeezing him and milking him from everything he had to give. Heavy grunts fell from his chest when his hips started to rut into you, his cum spurting inside of you and painting your walls white as you wiped the tears from his cheeks until his hips finally stilled and his head came down to hide in the crook of your neck.

It amazed him every time how well you took him despite the strain it puts on your body, but you cry and moan his name so beautifully, begging him for more and more and you both knew that it never just stays at one round, especially not when your walls still fluttered around him after he came, pushing him into overstimulation but he didn't mind it, wanting to give his petal everything she wanted, easily flipping you over so you were now on top of him, letting you choose your own pace. All he wanted was to feel you so close, big hands intertwining with yours when you started riding him.

[laufeysvalentine]

i want you.

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- or in which you're in love with your best friend, but he's not exactly in love with you back... angst

word count ༄ 3.2k

nora’s notes ༄ eeek my first writing post!! i'm so excited. this is kind of bad but IDC part two will be coming and i swear will be better written okay enjoy!! mwah 💘

“moony!” you sing-song as you twirl into his dorm, lips spread into a wide grin. “we’re leaving for hogsmeade, hurry up.” 

he’s on his bed, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he glances up from his book, suppressing a smile when he sees you. “hi, y/n.” 

he embodies the word comfort, you think. he’s wearing one of his trademark warm wool sweaters, an empty mug of tea by his knee, gray blanket draped across his lap, and that smile. it would be the death of you, you were sure of it. 

“hi,” you respond, clasping his book and setting it onto his bedside table. “c’mon, everyone’s waiting for us downstairs.” 

he sighs so deeply you think he might crack a lung, and loops his pointer finger through one of the belt loops of your jeans to pull you onto his bed. “do we have to?” 

as much as you’d like to stay here with him, you also want to buy more chocolate frogs, so you spring back up, tugging at his hand. “yes, please. i’m low on my candy stock.” 

he groans, letting you pull him off of his bed and out of the dorm. “your sweet tooth is killing me.” 

you shrug. “that’s what you signed up for when you said yes to being friends in first year. now you’re just living with it.” 

he just hums in agreement, letting you wrap your arm around his. remus lupin, your best friend. he’s the kindest man you’ve ever met, let alone known. it would be a lie to say you weren’t completely and utterly in love with him, and even more of a lie to say you hadn’t been since before you were a teenager, even if you didn’t understand it then. but, alas, as soon as you’d admitted it to yourself, you also resolved to never, ever tell him. you were sure he didn’t feel the same about you, and why would you carelessly toss away the best friendship and most understanding person ever just for some feelings? 

and so, you waited and hoped, prayed that it would go away. you would move on and keep your friendship. 

and, of course, you didn’t. 

“y/n!” james calls once he sees the two of you walking down the stairs to where the rest of the marauders are waiting. “finally.” 

“we sent you up like ten minutes ago,” peter complains, frowning. 

you shrug. “oops.” 

remus shifts his arm to settle around your waist, nudging you in front of him. “well, we’re here now, so get a move on.” 

you thread the hand he placed on your stomach with your own, thumb rubbing circles onto his. he smiles down on you, and that smile, oh, lord. you could see it a million times and never have enough. you’d jump over bridges to have him watch you like that all the time. you’d sell your soul to be his, really and truly. and the worst part is, you have no shame about it. merlin, you’re in love. 

—

jelly beans or chocolate frogs, that is the question. you glance at one, then the other, then the other again. your shoulders slump. it’s too hard of a decision. you’re about to cave and get both when you feel warm arms wrap around your waist, a chin settling onto your shoulder. without looking, you press a kiss to remus’ cheek. “hi.” 

“hi,” he replies, inhaling your scent, nose tucked between your ear and your hair. 

“chocolate frogs or jelly beans?” you ask anxiously, holding up the two in front of you. “or both?” 

“both,” he agrees with you, and you can feel the tension slowly leaving him as he stands behind you, entwined with you. 

you nod, happy with his judgment, about to speak when someone beats you to it. 

“remus?” a voice yells from behind, excitement coloring her tone. 

you know who this is without looking too, but you wish you didn’t. remus slowly stands back to his whole height, and the sudden absence of his warmth makes you shiver. you turn just as he does, even if you don’t want to see the girl beaming at him. 

you know her, of course you do. doesn’t everyone know celeste huxley, the most beautiful hufflepuff to grace hogwarts’ campus? angels sing when she walks past, men and women fall to her feet in her wake. she’s worshiped, adored. okay, you’re being dramatic, but still. 

you hate her. 

you hate her silky hair, her evergreen smile, her cesspool of kindness. 

and you hate yourself more for hating her. she’s never been mean to you a day in her life, she couldn’t be mean to anyone even if she tried. but still. she’s who you’ve tried to be your whole life. she is the blueprint, the model with cherry-red high heels you wobble and blister your feet in. she has all Os on her OWLs, victoria’s secret hair, people who love on her like a celebrity. and she’s fucking obsessed with your best friend, of course. she could have anyone in the world, and she picked him. why couldn’t she love sirius or james, like half the girls at the school? why did she have to want remus? 

and the worst part is, she deserves him. he deserves someone as perfect as he is, even if that’s celeste. 

as you swallow down your hatred, you realize she’s started to pull remus away from you, pulling on his sleeve towards the jelly slugs, and you almost lob your stupid chocolate frog at her head. tears sting your eyes and you try your best to blink them back as you watch remus watch you, only half-listening to her blabber. he knows you hate her, and the most sheepish, guilty look comes over his face. you ignore him, putting your candy back, too upset to think about eating it. luckily, you spot sirius in the corner and quickly try to make your way over him when you’re pulled back. 

remus has got ahold of your belt loops again, and you watch him whisper something to celeste before gently removing her hand from his sweater and pulling away. he chose you now, but for how long? the thought chills you, goosebumps prickling your skin, your heart. 

“dove,” he says quietly by your ear. “what happened to your candy?” 

“didn’t want it,” you mumble, walking towards sirius. 

“why not?” he’s dancing around the topic, and both of you know it. 

“not hungry.” 

“i’m sorry.” 

“s’not your fault,” you say. you’re not mad at him, you could never really be mad at him, but you’re upset nonetheless. you push away towards the black-haired boy perusing the shelves. “siri, you done?” 

you link arms with your other friend, leading him out of honeyduke’s, leaving remus trailing behind. 

—

“hi dove.” a voice, and its accompanying owner, peeks out from the doorway into your dorm. “may i come in?” 

“hi rem,” you say in response, beckoning him in, putting your book to the side to let him crawl onto you. “can’t you always?” 

his shoulders sag slightly, slumping into your bed as soon as he reaches it. his head is in your lap, and he closes his eyes once you begin to massage his scalp with your fingers, pressing a kiss to your exposed hipbone next to him. 

you don’t say anything, you just let the silence dance between the two of you. 

he’s so pretty. you brush some of his sandy strands out of his face to let yourself just admire him. the towering giant and all his gentleness. your fingers trace the outlines of his face, the scars that decorate it, all the way down to his right pinky, where he has the cutest tattoo. 

i love you is all you want to say. the words pulse at your throat, begging you to let them free. but you can’t. you can’t lose him. anyone else, sure, you would do it. but not him. not remus, your remus. 

when he wakes, groggy but grounded, you have a hot cup of tea ready by your bed, ready for his consumption. you hand it to him as soon as he’s fully awake, pulling himself off of you to accept the mug. “i don’t deserve you, dovie.” 

“don’t say stuff like that, rem. if anything, you deserve better.” you press a kiss to his cheek, smiling. 

“there’s nobody and nothing better than you,” he promises, hand landing on your lower thigh to massage it gently. you smile, letting the quiet linger between the two of you a little longer before speaking up. 

“you wanna talk about it?” you ask, watching him sip his tea. 

he gives you the most adoring smile, and you want to put it in a box and lock it up and keep it forever. “just tired.” 

“okay,” you say, searching his face to verify what he’s saying. “you can always talk to me, you know.” 

“thank you.” remus is always sincere, it’s one of the things you love about him, but he seems especially sincere now. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, y/n.” 

“and you are to me,” you whisper, eyes dipping to his plush pink lips. you want to kiss him so badly right now, but you know he just means it like a friend, as much as you wish it wouldn’t. 

swallowing, you wipe those ideas away, choosing to rest your head against his fleece sweater-covered shoulder. he drops a kiss onto the top of your head, and you sigh in contentment. this is why you refuse to tell him you love him. you couldn’t live without these moments. 

“there’s a party tonight at nine-ish,” he says softly. his thumb is rubbing circles on your knee. “sirius is dragging me along. will you come?” 

you contemplate it only briefly. “i’m tired, rem. you should go, though.” 

“i’ll stay back with you,” he decides with resolution. your heart melts, it’s sweet of him to want to stay with you, but you want him to have fun. plus, you can feel in how his body coiled with excitement when he talked about it–he wants to go. 

“no, go.” you glare playfully at him. “i won’t forgive you if you don’t.” 

“i’ll stay with you,” he repeats, staring right back at you. “it’s just a party. i’d stay with you forever, you know? you’re my favorite person.” 

“i’ll be mad at you if you don’t go, i swear to merlin,” you egg him on, heart melting. 

“no.” he’s too stubborn for his good. 

“i want to be alone,” you lie. you know he wants to go and you refuse to hold him back. “i might come later on, just not at nine. i’ll be there at ten, maybe.” 

“and i’ll wait for you,” he promises. 

“please, remus.” you put on your saddest tone, gaze up at him pleadingly. “i just need some alone time.” 

“you want to be alone?” he asks cautiously, searching for any hint you may be lying. 

“yes.” you cross your toes, tucked under your quads. 

he’s hesitating, and as if in perfect timing, a knock sounds at your door before a familiar head of black hair peeks through. 

“moony, let’s go. leave poor y/n alone.” sirius clicks his tongue. 

you push remus’ shoulder lightly, gesturing for him to go. he casts one long look at your face, as if memorizing every ridge. 

“she’s not going to change while we’re gone, get a move on,” sirius groans from the door. you nod at the statement, and remus concedes. 

“i’ll be here the whole time,” you promise. 

“call me if you get lonely.” he makes you swear before reluctantly getting up. you kiss his hand to send him off. 

you were lying when you said you would join him at nine. five minutes after he’s out the door, you’re fast asleep under the covers, the ghost of his touch comforting you. 

—

as soon as your eyes open, you let out a sound of disappointment. you can tell you haven’t slept through the night, as none of your roommates are in their beds, and they always sleep in. the clock reads that it’s only a bit before eight forty five, and you roll over in your bed. you know you won’t be able to fall back asleep, but you try anyway, until the door slams and your eyes fly open. 

it’s lily, face flushed with the cold and excitement. the second she sees you kissed by sleep, she covers her mouth. “sorry, y/n! were you sleeping?” 

you wave her off. “no, i was already awake. what’s up?” 

“james is going to be at the party tonight. will you come? please, please, please? i don’t want to go alone with him,” she begs. “please.” 

you weigh your options: if you stay here, you’ll just lay in bed, not sleeping. you might as well go with her, you’ll see remus there too. 

“okay,” you agree, and she practically drags you out of bed, she’s so happy. 

—

even though lily’s the one who dragged you here to keep her away from james, she’s off with him in a corner within ten minutes of you getting there, leaving you in a sea of other people, alone. of course, you know most of your housemates that are stuffed into this crowded common room, but you don’t know any particular one of them enough to properly go up to and chat. you sit awkwardly on a couch for a few minutes, next to couples making out, before finally just giving up and getting ready to leave. 

you saw sirius going into a bedroom with someone, so he’s out of the picture, peter’s smoking in the corner with some ravenclaws you have no interest in speaking with, james is alone with lily, and he’d kill you if you interrupted them, and you have absolutely no clue where remus is. 

whatever. you walk towards the door to the girls’ dormitories, stumbling over students on the way, when you just barely catch a glimpse of sandy hair outside on a balcony. you’d know it anywhere–that’s remus. you scramble towards him, eager to see a friendly face, hand cracking the door open, when just as quickly as it came, the excitement dies in your throat. 

because just behind remus is a girl you hate to see. celeste, hair floating behind her. if you blink hard enough, you see a breeze wafting through her hair as her fingers knot around remus’–your remus–neck. his hands are on the small curve of her waist, and he’s pushing her against the railing and, oh god–they’re kissing. 

you let out a thick gasp and your hand slaps over your mouth. you turn and flee. they probably heard you, but they can’t maneuver through the crowd like you can. within seconds, you’re sure you’ve lost any trace of them, darting through people as you sprint outside to the outside of the castle. sure it’s past curfew, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

no one will see you now. 

he’s supposed to be yours. he was yours, he was yours in more than just a best friend. those nights when he fell asleep in your bed, having you wrap your arms around him for warmth, he was yours. when you always visited him post-full moon in the apothecary, and as much as he wishes to push you away, you never let him, he was yours then. when he lets you in, truly and fully, and lets himself cry against you, letting you take care of him for once. you’re the only person he’s ever let himself cry in front of.

and even though you’d deny it a million times, and you did, to sirius, to james, you’ve always hoped that he liked you back. deep down, in the parts of your soul you only ever showed to him. he didn’t have to love you, even. just like, that would be enough. anything would. 

but that was too much for him, clearly. 

you’re crying. tears, fat and hot, soaking the skin on your cheeks. head in your hands, letting your open palms pool the salty water. you feel nothing but yourself and the wind against the cold of the stone steps, whipping your hair around. 

“dove.” 

you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you’re hallucinating, praying the voice you just heard wasn’t real. you couldn’t see him right now. that would be humiliating. 

“y/n?” 

you crack your eye open when you hear the same voice, trying to swallow your sobs back and failing as they manifest into ugly hiccups. you’re not hallucinating. merlin damn it. 

in front of you, peering up at your blotchy face, is remus lupin, your best friend. the man who’s not yours. 

he’s on the step below you,  but one hand snakes its way onto your knee, soothing your skin with his slender thumb, the other finding your hand to intertwine your fingers. fuck, his touch both makes you lean into him and want to throw up at the same time. his eyes are chock-full of compassion, and god, you hate it. “what’s wrong?” 

his words send you blubbering into tears again, rubbing at your eyes as something splits open in your chest. “n-nothing.” 

“something’s wrong, love. let me help you. let me in,” he pleads in the softest tone, and you have to fight to not give in, to wrap your arms around him and never let go. remember celeste, remember that terrible sight of his lips on hers. 

“remus, leave me alone.” you’re shaking, but somewhere inside you, you find your resolve. you stand, pulling away from him, and make to run back inside the castle, but his long legs catch up to you easily, arm shooting around your waist when your knees buckle and you collapse onto the floor in sobs. 

“y/n, you’re scaring me,” he says, panic accumulating in his voice. “please tell me what’s wrong and i’ll fix it, i promise. please, baby. it’s killing me hear you cry.” 

you’re so close to the doors, you can see them. you stand again. “you don’t get to say that.” 

“what?” his arm’s still around your shoulder and you shove it off. 

“stop it! you’re so mean, remus. you don’t get to call me dove and call me baby and say stupid things like how there’s nobody better than me and i’m your favorite person and then go off and kiss other girls,” you spit out on the verge of hyperventilating. you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore. it’s just coming out, spewing out of your mouth like the vomit that’s sure to follow. but even as each word shocks you, you know they ring true. “i hate you for it. i hate you for leading me on for years when i’ve loved you since we were kids! you’re terrible, remus. i hate you.” 

he’s absolutely stunned trying to process your words, and you use the momentary distraction to race back into the school, gunning for your dorm and locking it once you’re inside. the image of celeste and remus plays through your mind all night, so much that you can barely even think about how you confessed your love to him.

masterlist | next part

tags @lydiasfalling @dancingwithourhandsuntied

[11keu]

NEEDY | S.JY

SYNOPSIS. Waking up in the middle of night at the height of your fertility cycle leaves in you desperate need of some relief only your boyfriend can provide.

PAIRING. Sim Jaeyun x Fem! Reader

GENRE. Smut, fluff. Established relationship. Short, self-indulgent drabble. Soft and sleepy. Reader calls him ‘Jae’.

WORD COUNT. 1.3K

WARNING. Smut under cut, minors do not interact.

CONTENT. Profanity, almost no foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it up), very lazy sex, the opposite of dialogue-heavy, nipple play, fingering, spitting / saliva, mutual masturbation.

How perfect he looked, knocked out and completely unaware of the animal in heat possessing you right now.

Your eyes raked over Jake’s peaceful features, taking in his messy hair and the way he would swallow, slightly lift his head and then drop it back down onto his pillow, before nuzzling the side of his face against it to get comfortable again. Not to mention, his bare torso and arms. You were practically drooling at the sight of his muscles tensing with every movement. He was so unbelievably sexy to you right now. It pissed you off that he could be sleeping right through your aching need, as clueless as could be.

You tossed and turned, trying to cool off both physically and emotionally. With your face buried in the pillow, you groaned softly in defeat.

Your eyes flickered back over Jake’s features, silently willing him to wake up. But you didn’t have time to wait on wishes to come true, so you shifted closer. His arm reached out for you, a foolproof tactic of yours. The hold he had on you was heavy, strong, as he pulled you flush against his chest — your head tucked under his chin, his fingers trailing half-assed lines up and down your back beneath your t-shirt.

A soft hum left your lips, and you hoped it was loud enough to at least stir him a little bit. His heavy eyelids lifted slightly, one eye squinted as he looked at the time on the digital clock across from him. It wasn’t even five in the morning.

‘What’s up?’ He sleepily mumbled, yawning before he could even finish the two-word sentence.

You frowned at the feel of him yawning above you, feeling slightly guilty for waking him. You created some space between the two of you, his hand sliding from your back to your thigh, gripping the flesh to keep you there. As you locked eyes with him, you took in his offended expression.

‘Go back to sleep, Jae,’ you murmured.

‘You’re up, I’m up,’ he protested, eyes falling closed again. ‘C’mere.’

He tugged fruitlessly at your thigh, pouting as you didn’t shift. With every ounce of strength he had in his sleepy state, he pulled you flush against him and hooked your leg over his hip. The soft gasp that left your lips was all the proof he needed. He smiled against your neck, pressing one soft kiss to the skin.

‘Just can’t get enough of me, can you?’ He teased, drawing his head back.

‘You’re such a dick,’ you retorted.

His hand slid up your thigh and over your ass, fingers pressing against your dampened panties. He groaned, eyes closing once more as he applied pressure to your clothed clit. You sighed, content to just let him rub you to an orgasm, and then pass out and get a good night of sleep for once.

But no. You knew Jake got hard at just the thought of you being wet, so it was no surprise when you felt his growing bulge press firmly against your front.

You slid up on top of him, finding his lips in a kiss. His hands were under your t-shirt, rubbing softly at your waist. Your hands cupped his face, holding him to you as you kissed. Kisses that were half soft and sleepy, half firm and needy. The kind of kiss that made you think; god, this it. I could die right here, right now. You hummed and sighed against his lips, one hand moving to gently rub at his scalp.

Jake’s hand slid between your thighs, pulling your soaked panties aside to slide two fingers between your folds. Warm and slick, as always. He hummed in approval, lifting you slightly to pull down his pyjama pants. The stereotypical ‘dad style’ pants you begged on your knees for him to start wearing.

How you even kept your hands to yourself at all after he agreed was an achievement in itself.

He jerked his cock for a second, getting fully hard before he tapped it against your entrance. You sat on it, rubbing your slick folds from the base to the tip a couple of times. He groaned into your mouth, hips just barely jerking up into the feeling.

You lifted your hips, giving him the space to press his tip to your entrance. He gently pushed into you, letting you slide the rest of the way. The kiss broke with the sated sighs that left each of your lips.

Falling flush against his bare chest, you considered just sitting there. But your boyfriend wasn’t a fan of cock-warming, and neither were you when sex with him felt that good. After a moment, you began to gently roll your hips. Struggling with the angle, you sat back. Jake watched you with hungry eyes, bottom lip pulled in between his teeth as you rocked against him. His hands moving to your hips helped you bounce slightly.

Knowing you’d get nowhere with the lazy pace you’d set, he began to fuck up into you. The bed rocked, soft sighs and moans falling from your lips that dissipated into the surrounding darkness.

A soft yelp fell from your lips as he hit your cervix, his apology almost as soft as your sound. But the way it made you clench around him, sucking him in, made him want to do it again. He tightly gripped your hips, holding you still as he continued to piston in and out of you. He was moaning breathlessly beneath you, a sinful image you were going to take back to sleep with you. Your moans turned into little whimpers as he fucked up into you hard and fast.

When he grew tired, he slumped back against the bed. You went back to rolling your hips and bouncing slightly, his hands roaming your body making your skin feel even hotter. He cupped your tits, massaging and groping. His thumbs flicked over your nipples, making you gasp and your movements jerk. You tightened around him, knees digging into his sides as you struggled to keep moving.

‘Fuck,’ he groaned, lifting you off him.

He replaced his cock with two of his fingers as you sat back on his thighs, letting you fuck yourself on them as he thrusted them in and out of you. After you spat on your own fingers, you rubbed at your clit with desperation. Jake began to jerk himself off messily, using his non-dominant hand for the sake of fingering you properly. Your eyes were fixed on his fist, the way he gripped himself tightly and twisted his wrist with every drag of his hand.

With the way you were clamping down on his fingers, Jake knew you were close. He picked up the pace of both his fingers and his hand, struggling to get you both off at the same time. You came with a gasp, dropping your head back in ecstasy.

Jake let out a whiny moan, cumming all over his fingers and his stomach. His fingers were stilled inside of you, but you were still rocking softly against them, riding out your orgasm. Your head dropped forward to see the end of his orgasm, watching the last few spurts of cum coat his fingers. Your twisted mind wanted to lick them clean, but you decided against it as you pulled out a few tissues from the box atop his bedside table.

You helped him clean up, the soiled tissues being tossed across the bedroom floor. You slid off of him and immediately knocked out, mumbling a half-assed confession of love.

Published by 11keu on Tumblr, 28th January 2025.

NOTE. i wrote this in an hour.. i’m down bad it’s 2 am

[sttoru]

[ 𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒 ]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. the king of curses cannot fight off his primal urges and thus you suffer the consequences.

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, angst (w/ comfort), p.orn with mostly plot. mäting press. choking. rough like.. condescendingly rough. objectification. toxic relationship? yes. small hint of creampiē. double cawks. reader gets called ‘slut, girl, woman’ wc: 3.9k

“look at that slutty cunt takin’ my cock. think i wanna try fitting both at once in that lil’ hole. keh,” sukuna grunts as he looks down at you from above. your legs are burning from being folded in half—matter of fact—your entire body is aching.

any normal person would call out their safeword in a situation like this. you’re overwhelmed to the point that your brain doesn’t know what to do. you’re experiencing euphoria, yet feel like your doom is right around the corner.

you’re playing with fire whenever you’re intimate with the king of curses.

it’s too addictive to stop. being his favorite concubine has given you enough motivation to push through any difficulties. any discomfort your body feels, is automatically discarded and replaced with drowning pleasure. it’s like sukuna has put a spell on you; one that’s unbreakable.

“fffnghh—my lord,” you gasp for air as one of his big hands wrap tightly around your throat. your airway is blocked, nearly crushed by sukuna’s immense force. you get a flashback to the last time he’s choked you, how sukuna nearly lost control of his own strength.

your eyes are watery as your insides follow each thrust. back and forth, in and out. it is a simple rhythm, but you cannot get enough. the harsh and sticky echoes of skin slapping against skin are nearly ear deafening. his heavy balls bounce against the plush flesh of your ass with every move, ready to unload everything they’ve stored.

“shut up,” sukuna spits, looking down at you like you’re but a mere insect. perhaps you were exactly that to him in the heat of the moment. his red eyes show that he’s losing himself. that cruel yet greedy look only intensifies with the second, “you only speak when y’re spoken to—or did y’ forget your damn place?”

you swallow your words and resort to simple moaning after you apologise, “i’m sorry, m’lord.” your blurry vision creates a trippy illusion, giving sukuna eight arms and eyes. not only are you seeing double, the feeling of ecstasy is twice as strong. you feel like you’re being ripped apart from the inside.

you can’t speak about it. you’re not allowed to open your mouth unless it’s to moan or breathe. perhaps even the latter is too much to ask. your fingers shake as they wrap around sukuna’s wrist. you try to tug at the hand that is wrapped around your throat, but your strength is gone.

your body is shaking violently with each thrust. you can’t keep up with anything that’s happening. you’re unable to process the feeling of sukuna’s second cock trying to prod its way into your cunt as well. you’re going to break — he’s going to break you.

you want to speak up and tell him you can’t take both in the same hole at once. it’s an impossible task; one can’t even fit that easily. he’s girthy and got an immense length, an inhuman one you’ve never seen before. you swear you can feel him in your tummy. the tip feeling like it's nestled right underneath your belly button.

sukuna scoffs as you tighten up around his lower cock. you’re weak; a weak human who he can’t seem to get out of his mind. he wants to exploit that obedience of yours today—to ruin you mentally and physically.

he can’t ignore those urges to ruin that what causes him weakness. he wishes to regain the power over himself again. that can only be done by consuming you, removing you from existence.

“i can’t fuckin’ stand you,” sukuna growls, his eyes darkening beyond imagination, “y’re always in the way.” you’re scared of the king of curses, which rarely happens. the last time you were afraid of his monstrous aura was during your first encounter in the woods. his manly hand squeezes your throat until you’re genuinely struggling to breathe.

there’s an unmistakable sense of danger boiling in your guts. this is the real nature of the curse named ryomen sukuna. the man above you, who’s drilling his cock into you while you’re suffering, is the real deal.

the true face of the man you thought you knew.

“i’m gonna get rid of you, y’hear? after this, y’re nothing,” sukuna pants, sweat droplets falling onto your cheeks from above. he looks like he’s internally fighting with himself. the expression on his face tells you enough. you want to reach a hand out towards his cheek and hold it.

he looks beautiful, even when he spews such serious threats at you. your cunt is burning and holding tightly onto his cock, even when you realise it may break you.

you’ve stayed for so long with him, even when you know you’ll one day die at his side or by his hands.

locks of his pink hair stick to his forehead. sweat rolls down those black tattoos. all four red eyes are burning with a carnal desire to claim you as his property—to destroy you like his property. as is his right. that’s the only way to satiate that overwhelming feeling inside of sukuna.

whenever you’re around him, he finds himself drawn by your presence. he wants you to stay by his side all day, and if you aren’t, it’s like gravity is pulling him towards you. sukuna despises it—he craves to possess you, yet also get rid of your entire being. that way he can return to his normal self. the monster he's known as.

“i’ll throw ya away—gonna get a new toy to spend more time with,” the king of curses digs his nails into the back of your knees. the tip of his upper cock glides back and forth over your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves until it’s burning. you’re losing yourself in both pleasure and pain.

the hurtful words don’t seem to affect you. you still look up at him like he’s your everything—like he’s the reason you exist. sukuna turns furious the moment he notices that his threats don’t seem to work. you’re impossible and he hates that which he cannot control.

he cuts off any air that may enter your lungs. your eyes widen and your fingers tug at his wrist so he’d let loose, but alas. you’re going to lose consciousness without a doubt. tears stream down your cheeks, though not because of the hopelessness you’re feeling.

“i do not need you anymore,” sukuna says gruffly, trying to convince himself of that statement as well. he never needed anyone else during his entire lifetime, so why would he need you? he can replace you with any another woman.

your body goes limp. sukuna’s voice is muffled as you enter a state of half consciousness. you’re at the bridge between life and death. your eyes catch a glimpse of the faint struggle in his eyes.

he looks like a monster through and through, visibly acting like one too. though you’re able to catch a glimpse of an underlying vulnerability. that part of him that always shows itself when you two are alone—making you feel special because you’re the only one allowed to witness it.

you crack a faint, weak smile. even if you perish right then and there, it’s going to be at the hands of the man you’ve learnt to love. the sorcerer who’s made you feel on top of the world, without him realising it. you’ll forever be thankful for the moments you’ve spent together.

you’ll never forget the times where sukuna has made you feel safe in those same arms that will now be your death.

a tear slides down your temple. you look sukuna in the eyes while you’re seconds away from meeting your end. you show no signs of struggle as he gives you your final command;

“die.”

you close your eyes. your fingers loosen their grip around sukuna’s wrist before you let your hand fall at your side. you’ve accepted your fate with a weary smile, honored to have sukuna be the last thing you see, “understood, my lord.”

you’ve lost feeling in all limbs and your eyelids droop. all you can do is await for death to come collect your soul. it’s dark and you can’t hear a thing anymore. you’re confused when the burning sensation in your lungs returns.

your eyes fly open the moment some oxygen is able to reach your airway again. the harsh fingers around your neck have disappeared, though not without leaving aching marks. you clutch your chest as it hurts to breathe after not being able to for the longest time.

you gasp and cough uncontrollably. you wince and blink the tears away from your eyes, refocusing your vision on the large stature detaching from your side. you’re bewildered to say the least—not realising the reason behind sukuna’s sudden change of heart. he’s sworn to get rid of you, didn’t he?

he told you to die and yet he let you live.

“fuck,” the king of curses groans after he snapped out of the dangerous state he was in. he’s panting snd staring at the hand that was once wrapped around your throat. he’s not looking at you at all.

you feel him pull out which makes you hiss. you sit up, the adrenaline helping your tired body move itself. sukuna is silent, with no emotions apparent on his face. however one thing you can conclude for sure is that he’s caught off guard by his own actions.

he can’t get it out of his head. the vision of you laying beneath him, accepting your doom as told. even on the brink of death, you oblige. you accept his every word. why? sukuna’s head is filled with unanswered questions.

you’re an enigma that he cannot solve.

“out of the way, girl,” sukuna easily shoves you to the side with one hand. he’s still not looking you in the eyes. he refuses to look in the eyes of the one woman whom he tried to kill. the sole woman who seems to accept him for who he is.

you’re the only one who’s able to understand him and yet he tried to get rid of you. perhaps he’s afraid of being understood and accepted. sukuna is fine on his own—there’s no need for anyone by his side.

you manage to get your breathing under control after a couple seconds. you’re still hyperventilating, but it’s getting better. your body shakes as you cover yourself with the sheets, your hair messily covering your vision. you reach a hand out to sukuna, curious about what’s gotten into him, “i’m, ngh- are you okay, m—”

“i said, get out,” the man raises his voice before harshly grabbing your wrist. sukuna pushes you towards the exit of his chambers. you stumble forward and manage to catch yourself by grabbing onto the nearest wall. everything is happening so fast.

you simply nod and grab your robes from the floor. you hurriedly cover yourself before stepping out of the room. you fall to your knees not two steps away into the hallway. your hand flies up to your neck, touching it as if making sure that you’re still alive.

you can’t believe sukuna spared you. if he changed his mind one second later than he originally had, you’d be a lost cause.

tears well up in your eyes as the gravity of the situation settles in. you may have accepted your fate in the heat of the moment, but now that it’s over, you’re left trembling on your own. you can’t shake off that intense look in sukuna’s eyes as he pounded you into the mattress.

he was hungry for your soul. to consume you and not leave any of your bones—to get rid of you so you’re out of his sight and mind.

you sniffle and can’t bring yourself to stand up. you’ve lost strength in your legs because the adrenaline levels in your body have dropped. you slowly crawl over the floor and hope that no one catches you in a pitiful state like this.

you manage to get a couple metres away, though soon find yourself staring at a pair of socks that come into view. you lift your head and the owner of the tabi eventually appears in sight.

“uraume,” your voice is hoarse. you make eye contact with sukuna’s personal chef as they stand before you, their expression unreadable.

the sigh they let out tells you that they’ve expected such an outcome since long ago. without a word, they reach a hand out and help you up.

. . .

it’s been a week since then. uraume has helped you recover from that unfortunate experience. the other concubines didn’t dare talk to you. they’ve noticed the change in sukuna’s behavior after that night he spent with you.

he’s gone on more rampages than he usually does. he’s been killing innocent servants who walked past him while on duty, and visiting nearby villages only to commit mass destruction. his emotions are uncontrollable at this point and no one has a clue on what to do.

the best option is to stay out of sukuna’s sight. and not to mess with you, just in case.

you’ve personally tried to approach him a couple times, but either chicken out or get totally ignored. you really want to talk it out, though it may seem impossible. you’ve evaded death once, you’re not sure if you can do that twice.

you’re currently sitting on a bench in the courtyard as uraume is applying an ointment to your throat. your neck still hurts with every move you make. the strength of sukuna’s hand is not to be underestimated, you know that.

you flinch as they rub the cold liquid over your achy skin. it helps numbing the pain, which is god sent for when you want to sleep. you can easily rest without having to suffer the unbearable discomfort in your neck muscles.

it’s a bit quiet in the garden. it isn’t unusual for uraume to be silent, but you’re aching to talk about what’s bothering you. of course, the oh-so-important subject includes no one other than the king of curses.

you sigh and start rambling about your failed attempts to reconcile your relationship with sukuna. you’re getting frustrated and sad at the situation. you want nothing more than to go back to how things were—with you receiving special treatment.

you miss his voice, his touches, his hair, his skin, his muscles, his eyes, his hugs. . . it’s all too much to bear with. you want the sukuna you know back. you don’t care if he tried to get rid of you. you’ve long understood that it was his primal, unspoken urges that had taken over his brain.

“i don’t know.. he doesn’t want to talk to me nor see me,” you shrug and pout. uraume nods and tilts your chin back gently to get the ointment in every little cranny. you stare up at the bright blue sky, the gentle breeze being comforting, both mentally and physically.

your ears pick up on footsteps behind you. heavy footsteps which you recognise as sukuna’s. you whip your head to the side, perhaps a bit too fast, causing the pain in your neck muscles to return. you hear uraume sigh as they see their hard work go to waste in under a split second.

your eyes are focused on sukuna’s large stature filling out the layout of the garden. uraume politely bows at their master after taking a few steps away from you. they don’t lift their head as sukuna walks past you both.

he doesn’t spare you a glance. it’s like you’re not there at all. you frown and pout, though know better than to make a fool out of yourself and speak up. you watch the man walk into the main building of the estate, his sharp eyes focused on the path ahead, his hands resting inside the sleeves of his black kimono.

once sukuna disappears from your vision, you sigh and slump back against the bench. you look at uraume as they move close to you again, taking a glance at your neck. you huff and cock your head to the entrance of the building, “see! that’s what i mean!”

you’re clearly fed up. you just want to make up. you don’t care about the fact that he nearly killed you in that moment. you simply desire to feel that connection between the two of you again. a complicated relationship with its many ups and downs. it may be toxic, but you crave it.

uraume hums at your worries. they radiate a sense of peace that inevitably calms you down as well. they take a quick glance at the direction where sukuna was last seen. they’ve been serving him ever since decennia back—way before you became his concubine.

they’ve never seen him this conflicted, but they don’t tell you that. uraume looks back at you with a simple nod, trusting that you’ll be fine. if your life has been spared when sukuna was in such an indescribable irrational state of mind, then there’s nothing to worry about.

you’re the only one who’s ever escaped death by his hands. that is an incredible feat by itself.

uraume rubs the oil over your neck again, getting the last spots as they reassure you with one simple sentence; “i’m sure lord sukuna simply requires some time alone.”

. . .

you take uraume’s comment seriously. if sukuna needed time, you’ll give him as much space as possible. and thus it’s been another week ever since then.

it’s a sunday night and you can’t sleep. you get up from your futon and wrap a simple blanket around your body. you can’t be bothered to brush your hair or look proper. no one will be up during this ungodly hour anyway.

you sneak out of your chambers and walk down the long hallways. you slide the door to the courtyard open and step out onto the pavement after putting on your geta. it’s a chilly night with a full moon, perfect weather to take a breather.

you walk around the familiar scenery and crouch down near a patch of flowers. they’re your favorites. sukuna had personally ordered his servants to plant them in the garden after he found out you like them. the memory brings a fond smile to your face.

such small yet meaningful actions never fail to melt your heart. it’s another reason why you want to make up with sukuna. you want to help with whatever he’s struggling with, however you know that man will never accept the aid.

you wish to support him at the very least. you want to show your devotion to him, if that already wasn’t clear to him.

you sigh and stand up. you’re caught up in your own thoughts to realise that someone’s been watching you the entire time. you walk straight forward until you reach the koi pond. you stare at the fish as they float in the clear water.

you wish you could be as carefree as them. you turn around to walk back to your room after it’s getting a bit too cold. you did not expect to bump your head against a hard surface. “ow,” you rub your forehead and look up.

there he stands; the man you’ve been dying to see and speak to. sukuna stares down at you without uttering a word, his sharp eyes finally looking into yours.

“ry— my lord,” you stammer, switching to a more polite stance. you’re thrilled, but the excitement quickly dies down as you remember uraume’s words; he needs time. you don’t want to disturb him, as much as you want to jump into his arms. you bow your head at him, “have a good night.”

your heart hurts as you force yourself away from sukuna. you step away from him and look at the ground as you walk. simply seeing him from up close again has been enough for now. though, your body yearns for more.

a simple touch will suffice. . .

you’re surprised when you feel a tug at the blanket around your shoulders. you stumble back and nearly fall on your bum if it wasn’t for sukuna holding you up. you feel an arm sneak around your waist from behind, surprisingly gentle. much gentle than ever before.

sukuna lowers his head to whisper in your ear. he lets his wet tongue slide over the shell, nibbling at the skin as if reminding himself of your taste, “stay.”

it’s an order, that you can tell. you’re weak for him and thus you obey without a single sign of protest. you feel a sudden sharp sting on the side of your neck which makes you remember what caused it. sukuna seems to notice the same thing.

it’s been getting better, but you still randomly get tingles near your neck area when you move it around too much. you silently push through the pain, which only lasts about a few seconds.

sukuna doesn’t comment on it, but takes a mental note of the sight. he’s recalling that time when you’ve nearly died at his hands. his eyes darken at the memory. he’s been trying to process the fact that he’s lost control over himself. those dark urges had taken over his mind and body, nearly consuming him whole.

they’re still hidden inside him—the desires to possess you, crush you, consume and devour your heart, body and soul. they intensify when you’re with him. it doesn’t happen with anyone else.

sukuna still cannot comprehend why you. what does that feeling in his stomach mean whenever he’s with you? it’s irritating, because it confuses him. confusing things which he doesn’t hold the answer over, annoy the king of curses.

an urge to claim someone as his forever, going as far as to want to consume them, is a new feeling to sukuna. it’s an unhealthy obsession that’s started because of you.

is that what humans call love?

he’s thought about it. perhaps, that is the case. but it must be a different type of love—one that’s so overwhelming that it’s dangerous. for both parties involved.

sukuna sighs. thinking about emotions and feelings isn’t his forte—it never really was. it’s stupid and foolish. and yet sukuna feels like a true king whenever you’re with him. your devotion to him sends shivers down his spine in a good way.

it showed two weeks ago. he saw how you accepted your position; your death. it turns him on to see you so submissive and obedient. maybe that’s also a reason why he nearly lost his mind that day.

lust is a scary thing.

sukuna’s lips avoid your neck. he rests his forehead on top of your shoulder, simply standing still against you from behind. the chilly breeze is long forgotten as his large stature protects you from the cold air. you don’t even need your blanket anymore.

you smile in content as you finally get what you want. you don’t even need an apology. hell—you don’t even need any words. this moment is more than enough to rebuild your relationship with the man behind you.

“y’re not going anywhere, yeah?” sukuna says in a low and possessive tone. it’s another command you follow without hesitation. he’s never going to tell you directly, but the lack of your presence has definitely been felt. now that he has you, his favorite concubine, he’s not going to lose you again. he won’t allow it.

you nod at sukuna’s words with a chuckle. you’re happy to be back in his warm embrace. you know that sukuna isn’t one to talk about his own inner turmoil, so you don’t push it.

those dark urges of his are to be discussed another day, if sukuna allows it. for now, this fleeting moment is more than enough. you reply to his order as you always do, to any command that leaves his lips;

“understood, my lord.”

[ode2cheol]

ꪮ౿ i’ll do it for you

➺ your boyfriend offers to help you dry and brush your hair before bed

➺ wc around 750 ,, this is self indulgent sorta kinda? warnings, none just fluff

“want me to do it for you?”

you looked up at the mirror seeing the reflection of your boyfriend leaning against the bedroom doorframe while sporting an amused grin.

“it’s alright, cheol. i’ve got it.” you shook your head, begrudgingly leaning over in the vanity chair to plug your hairdryer in.

drying your hair at night was tedious which is why you hated it so much. seungcheol learnt this pretty early on in your relationship after you spent the night at his place, which is now the both of yours’, for the first time.

“let me.” you felt a presence behind you, a comforting one because that’s what seungcheol is to you - comfort. he reached over, gently taking the hairdryer from your hands and putting it to the medium heat setting because, while you wished you could put it to the lowest and avoid heat damage to your hair, it was unbearable before bed.

seungcheol gently parted your hair, taking care in drying your hair and handling the strands in the most delicate way that should be foreign to someone who was so strong.

“thanks baby.” you spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “you really don’t have to though.”

seungcheol huffed in amusement. “you’re saying that but i feel like you’d ignore me all night if i stopped.”

“you’re making me seem like i’m always petty.” you chuckled, looking at him through the mirror. he was exaggerating, you knew he never meant any of the teasing insults he threw at you.

“you’re beautiful like this,” he started, sighing while looking between your reflection and the top of your head, “all tired and stuff.”

“you have a way with words.” you giggled teasingly, “thank you though, you’re too nice to me sometimes. i’ll get a big head because of you.”

he scoffed and took a break from drying your hair to pinch your arm lightly, almost like he was insulted at the idea that you being complimented too much could ever be bad. if it was up to seungcheol, you’d walk around thinking you were the prettiest thing on earth because that’s what he saw you as, since the minute he first met you.

“there’s no such thing as ‘being too nice’, idiot. i’m your boyfriend.” seungcheol murmured, turning the hairdryer off and grabbing your comb to start brushing your now dry hair.

“my boyfriend who calls me an idiot.” you feigned offence, wincing slightly when he tugged at a more stubborn knot and smiling when he rubbed your scalp gently while whispering a soft apology.

“where’s that oil you usually use?” you looked up at his question, wordlessly reaching for the hair oil that sat on the vanity and handing it to him. it was almost empty now. seungcheol had gotten it for you about a year ago from japan, you’d have to order it again later.

your boyfriend rubbed a little into his hand then started rubbing it into your hair. you laughed at the motions, he was getting it everywhere and nowhere all at once, looking down at you through the glass with a gummy smile at your laughter.

he picked the comb up again, brushing through your hair more carefully now and blinked up at your reflection proudly when he combed through all the knots.

“i could be a hairstylist,” he joked, braiding your hair in something that was messy and would definitely fall apart later but you didn’t have the heart to point it out. “i’ll do the members’ hair for the next comeback.”

“i think jihoon’ll run out of the dressing room before you get the chance, babe.” you chuckled, melting when he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“maybe but that won’t stop me. now up, let’s go to bed.” he gently ushered you away from the vanity and onto the bed, ignoring your protests of needing to put your skincare on.

“all of that slimy stuff won’t do a thing anyway.” he pouted, burying his head in your neck and laying over you while half heartedly pulling the blanket over your bodies.

“says the model for a skincare brand.” you scoffed lighthearted, bringing your hand up to scratch his scalp in a way he always liked.

“shut up and go to bed, darling.” he drawled, chuckling tiredly against your skin. seungcheol lifted his head and kissed your lips softly, whispering when he pulled back “i love you.”

“i love you too, cheol.” you smiled, cuddling closer to the warmth of his body.

[silasours]

ৎ⸝⸝⠀EATING YOU OUT ! —

#pairing : lucifer, alastor, vox, valentino, x fem reader. #cw : 18+ content, mdni. face sitting. edging. overstimulation. oral sex. toys usage. sub/power sub reader. praise kink. fingering. squirting. vox pleasuring himself while desperately eating you out. calling vox a 'good boy'. pretend that val has a nose here. #summary : just them enjoying their time with their face stuck up in between your legs. #note : feels like i have nobody else to write for but, oh well.

ʚ LUCIFER .

your fingers grip lucifer's blonde locks tightly, legs shaking on either side of his head. his forked tongue moves skillfully thrusting into you, hungrily gathering every drop of your juice onto his tastebuds. he groans at the taste, the vibration sending straight to your core which earns another moan that spills from your lips. the eyes of his glow in the weakly dim room, peering at your face from between your legs.

"my, aren't you a delicious one." he coos against your puffy lips before pressing his lips against them. he exaggeratedly sucked on them before releasing, his ears blessed by your high-pitched moans while his hands hold your legs apart by your thighs. lucifer draws his tongue out and licks a long stripe down your clit, teasing for a short moment before thrusting his tongue into your entrance once again.

your hold on his hair only grew stronger, face growing more flushed as you threw your head back in pleasure. your vision starts blurring up from the tears that gather around your eyes, feeling your body burn from how close you are.

of course lucifer knows you're close; he knew the moment your inner walls clenched around his slithery tongue tighter than they did before. your hips involuntarily rock against his tongue, pushing yourself further onto his face with trembling muscles. watching this made him chuckle as he allowed you to push yourself closer to him.

"pretty girl, gonna cum for me?" you nod the moment he says those words, triggering the coil to break faster than before. he groans lowly at how soaked you're getting, doing his best to not let a single drop escape from his hungry tongue. with a loud breath sucked into your throat, orgasm hits you like a strong wave that flows throughout your body.

you moan to the point where your voice cracks ever so slightly. lucifers lap your juices clean, patiently helping you to calm down from your intense high with lazy draw of lines of his tongue. once you're done, he presses a light kiss onto your clit before climbing up from your legs. his mouth and chin glisten from your release as a grin sits on his face, the sight alone making your face burn further.

ʚ ALASTOR .

how many times have you been denied release now? you've lost count. your head is clouded with desperation to finally break, yet this demon here is stopping you from doing so over and over again. with a frustrated cry, you open your eyes to gaze at alastor all teary, only to find him taking his sweet time with his lips pressed against your clit. "please, alastor.. w-wanna cum.." you barely managed to hold back a hiccup, a soft mewl rolling off your tongue.

you can feel his grin growing against you, his face pulling away which made you whine. his tongue draws out to lick around his lips, finger sneakily moving to tease the sensitive bundle of nerves of yours. "is that so?" you nod desperately, moaning at his touch in hopes of being able to convince him. he doesn't reply with any words but a smile, slowly lowering his face back to where it was.

"be careful what you wish for, my dear." he whispered before ramming two digits into your hole, your warm, gummy walls instantly tightening around them. your back arches off the bed as your eyes roll, a hand instinctively moving to his hair to tug on it. the burn on his scalp made him groan against your clit as well as his cock throbbing in the confinements of his pants.

alastor's tongue moves sloppily against your soaked clit; it was more than enough to make your body tremble especially with his fingers carelessly abusing your pretty hole. his fingers always work like magic, never once missing that sweet spot buried deep inside of you once they figure out where exactly it is.

you came without getting the chance to tell him, the back of your head pressing hard onto the bed sheets. you choke on your moans while struggling to breathe properly; alastor isn't giving you a break just yet. his maintains the speed of his tongue and fingers as you try to push his head away weakly. "too much- mnh-!"

"too much?" alastor chuckles, almost mocking your words. he withdraws his face but not his fingers, slowly sinking his teeth into the skin of your thigh while sucking on it. "we're not done just yet, darling."

ʚ VOX .

"yeah? you enjoy me sitting on your face?" you grip the headboard tightly, doing your best to maintain upwards as vox works his tongue on your clit. he moans against you at your words, his hand moving to stroke his leaking cock with a slight squeeze. despite your attitude, you can't deny how good his tongue is at targeting exactly where your weak spots are.

moans slip from your lips, your noises only causing vox's hips to thrust up into his hand. you chuckle weakly which soon gets cut off by another moan, your grip on the headboard gradually growing weak. you keep your gaze on his face, occasionally turning your head to glance over your shoulder, to see him pleasure himself and those pathetic whines of his. you breathe out a small 'good boy' at the sight.

vox groans loudly at the praise, his tongue now matching the pace of the hand on his member. his breath is hot against your soaked crotch, the increased speed only causing your legs to stumble. "fuck, vox," you whine with a sweet tone, resting your head against the headboard; the sole item that supports your body to stay upright.

he hums in return, the heavy breath signaling that he's close to his own release. you're no different, feeling the coil in your stomach crumbling with every thrust of his tongue. you huff as you gaze down at him, meeting his silent desperate plea for release. you keep your eyes fixated on his while grinding against his face, dangling the sweet release right in front of him.

you only grant him permission once you're close enough, feeling your whole body shudder as release consumes you. you screw your eyes shut, listening to vox's low groans. he lifts his hips up from the bed sheet, white strings of hot seed decorating his stomach. while you're trying to catch your breath, you notice vox's gaze on you as he slowly speaks with a shaky, muffled voice.

"please.. can i put it in you now?"

ʚ VALENTINO .

valentino's workplace is practically filled with nothing but the smell of your sweat, your sweet noises, and the buzzing sound of a vibrator. the lower half of your body is raised high from the couch, high enough to reach his face as he stands by the edge, a leg of his folded up on the plush couch. his pairs of arms hold your body firmly.

the vibrator is pressed against your sensitive bud, his long tongue twisting and turning inside of you. you squirm under his hold, hands still struggling to find a suitable place for you to hold onto because of the position you're put in. your mind is clouded, drool slowly rolling down from your lips while struggling to keep yourself from turning into more of a mess than you already are.

"looking so pretty like this, amorcito." his nose is pressed up against your clit, the liquid coating his skin as he moans at the feeling. your body shivers, feeling heat crawl up onto your face partially from how embarrassing this position is. you're fully exposed in the air as he enjoys your taste right there, not paying any mind the both of you are in his workplace with the potential of being seen and heard.

"val.. put me- down.." your voice is nearly quiet from the continuous pleasure you're receiving. valentino scoffs, ignoring your pleas without stopping his tongue. his teeth graze against your skin, the small worry of him biting into you causes you to whimper while digging your nails into one of the arms that's holding your body.

perhaps it's because you're overly clouded by pleasure, you didn't notice him reaching for the small controller that's attached to the vibrator and swiping it all the way up. the sudden strong vibration made you cry out loud, the heel of your foot digging into his shoulder, toes curled. you shake your head, eyes squeezing shut at the feeling. "no, w-wait, hngh! i'm gonna-"

you didn't even manage to finish your sentence before being fully consumed by a strong orgasm. you squirt as your legs shake violently against his hold, vision turning white while valentino watches with a grin. he slightly removes the vibrator from your now extra-sensitive bud, allowing you to calm down from your high. with a sense of pride and satisfaction sitting in his chest, he licks around your spasming pussy for a taste.

"didn't know my baby could put up such a show. do it once more for me, will ya?"

© silas ( @silasours ). all rights reserved. every work posted on this account belongs to me, and only me. please refrain from reposting, plagiarizing, translating, or reproducing my work in any form possible.

[screampied]

thinking about kuna's gf trying to convince him to let her paint his long nails 😃

✩ ‧ ˚. — tags ⋮ fem! reader, pure fluff, heian! era sukuna, panting his nails, meanie kuna but he’s a softie, petnames: little one, woman, girl.

“no.”

a downcasted frown drags against your glossed lips once you sigh. sitting on no one other than sukuna’s lap, you huff out a single vexed breath. “huhh. what do you mean no, i didn’t even ask my question yet.”

“exactly,” he replies in a low voice, leaning back against the ancient, comfortable throne. for a fleeting moment, dark, sinister eyes stare into yours before he cocks his head. “you’re gonna ask me another one of your imprudent questions.”

“kuna, just let me ask you the question,” you protest, straddling the king of curses— it was never a dull moment with him, regardless of how grumpy he turns out to be. knowing sukuna, he’s almost always grumpy. his eyes gaze into you a bit longer and he then brings his thickset upper arms to cross near his chest, a cute pout on his lips as he waits for you to finish speaking. “pretty please?”

“…….fine,” he gives in, aware that you were probably gonna persist on asking him for who knows how many more times. with a sigh, he tilts his head at you. “what is it you wish to ask me, little one?”

smug grin and all, you pick up his broad hand that was so much larger than yours, brushing a thumb against his wrist before cooing, “can i paint your nails, sukuna?”

“no.”

“sukuna!”

he’s leaning back against his throne, the well raised chair sitting up all high and mighty—one of his arms repose near the lower part of his torso and wraps around your hip, pulling you closer.

“you already know what my answer was gonna be, no?” and this time, you give him a pout.

dewey red-shot eyes peer into you for a lengthy amount of time before he groans. that cute little pout of yours, you never fail to make everything so hard for him. “hmph. why do you want to paint my nails? they’re clearly already painted, woman.”

he’s trying..

you hold back a giggle before bringing one of his hands up to your face.

glimmering eyes focus on his nails, how naturally long they were— he had a point though, they were pretty much already painted. full on richly black, the tips of them were oh-so sharp he’d be able to cut about just anything. still, you wanted to paint his nails yourself. you couldn’t really come up with a good enough answer, so you just shrug.

“i just want to,” you hum in a soft voice, intertwining your fingers with his.

he scoffs, showing little to no reaction. with a puny eyebrow raise, you feel his right thigh start to gradually bounce. “please, ryooo,” you mutter, tugging your eyebrows into a pleading, needy furrow. “this way, we can match.”

“goodness, you’re so annoying,” he grumbles, watching your grin stretch as you dangle your own hand up in front of his face.

dark cruel eyes stare at your nails, observing how well manicured and painted they were. he sighs again, uttering out a raspy, “very well,” and he sits manspread, reaching for a nearby tiny table that resides against his infamous throne. “you may paint my nails. just this once.”

with a precious giggle, you grab about two bottles nail polish from your pocket, gently placing his hand down against the porcelain glass table. he’s keeping a sharp eye on you, rolling his eyes at how ecstatic you were on this. the way you treated his hands with such care—that cute little smile never once departing from your sheeny lips,

the moment you twist off the black tight cap that sticks onto the bottle like glue, the strongly loud aroma of the polish hits against his flared nostrils.

it’s heavily strong, the familiar scent of acetone wafts against his domain entirely.

“stay still, ‘kuna.” you whisper, gathering a good amount of polish. for a moment, you swear you could have heard a low growl escape from him.

oh, you were testing his patience.

you were testing sukuna ryōmen’s patience and he was letting you.

“good, good.” you give him a closed-eye smile.

“do not praise me,” he snarls, and he’s already embarrassed. his tone made an attempt to come across as more stern and assertive, but it was just so cute.

with daunting, glaring eyes, he watches silently at the way you softly brush the tip against his nail.

each individual nail took a few seconds each— oddly enough, it was wholly soothing for a while.

“hmph,” he bleats, feeling the softness of your hand skin against his hand every so often. you were so thorough, so precise.

delicately, you lay the brush flat against the bed of his nail. the bristles coat against the layer of his nail and you feel a brief coldness of air fan against your skin. it was rather amusing to watch you pay so close attention to him, to his hands. “hm,” he raises a brow for probably the nth time today. still scowling, his face softens a bit— you had him all relaxed. “you’re quite good at that, i must admit.”

“aw. thank you,” you cheese. with a grin, you give him a cute exuberant glance, pulling up his ring finger to paint the entire part of his nail with a freshly new coat. “how’s it feel?”

sukuna groans, not liking how sentimental this moment was. the entire mood was so … soft.

you made him feel soft— he always thought things like that just wasn’t possible. especially with someone as such as him.

who would have thought that painting the almighty sukuna ryomen’s nail’s would have him falling for you ten times harder . . ?

“it’s … good,” he utters in a gruff tone, and you’re just about done.

his eyes linger toward your hands for a long time, you’re still placed on his lap before you feel the curse’s lower arms grip against your waist tightly. you felt a feeling of abrupt security and it was quite nice. within his touch, you always felt secure. moments with him like this, you’d never be anywhere else. “hurry up though, my thigh’s cramping.”

“oh shut up.” you roll your eyes with a snicker, bringing the brush towards his pinky now. he sticks it out for you, staying still as possible before you pause— dipping it back into the glass teensy bottle, swirling it, delving it around the inner crevices of the glass before finishing up his final finger.

the audacity,

the audacity of telling him to shut up, you must have been out of your mind.

but truth be told, sukuna has somewhat of a sweet spot for you. it made him kiss his teeth in sheer exasperation. he wasn’t used to such tender forms of affection. part of him wonders just why you’re always so warm to him. treating him with such care, he’s the king of curses after all, and yet here he is— acting like his long lost self, the king of love..

“alllll done,” you harmonize, he looks down to see the final results. with low hooded eyes, sukuna stares at his sharp nails— once black, now a light pinkish color. his mouth dangles opens and his face scrunches up, eyebrows curling together and it’s hilarious. for once, sukuna ryomen was speechless. “i know right? you’re gonna get so many compliments, ‘kuna.”

“you did not just paint my nails pink, woman,” he huffs out a grunt, you lean up close to him with a coy, impish look. “the nerve is beyond me..”

you giggle, flashing off your nails in his face, the two of you now having the same exact color. “oh, don’t be a baby. see, now we’re matching,” and his face is still all scrunched up. god, you had him feeling a feeling he didn’t even know he could feel. his stomach’s tight, churning ridiculously, his heart’s racing, and even his palms start to sweat. “with your long nails, you pull it off so well, heh.”

sukuna kept asking himself the same question the more he avoids eye contact.

why must you be so so cute..?

not a single reply comes from his mouth, instead he just crosses his arms into a mere fold. “mhm,” is all he replies with, tilting his head before resuming his words with an obstinate grouse. “whatever. but i’ll have you know that pink is not my color.”

you titter. “oh? what is your color then, my lord?”

you were being a brat, he sends you daggers before regretting he even said that— you always had the higher up on him, every single time.

“tch. nevermind that,” sukuna scorns, and his pout was so adorable.

pink stretched lips compressing together, stubborn as usual.

he brings his hand towards his face before exhaling lowly. “what in the— the nerve of you to put little sparkles on it too,” and he watches your smile beam at his live reaction. “i … don’t know what i’m gonna do with you.”

“you can start by thanking me,” you tease, planting your lips against his cheek.

he tenses up, the softness of your lips giving him whiplash for a moment. every time you present him either something as simple as a kiss, he was never prepared for it. “fine. thank you,” and as his bulky lower arms snake around your waist, he meets your brightly dilated irises. “are ya finished? i need a nap.”

“so old,” you stroke his cheek, and that earns a glare from him. “it’s not even the afternoon yet,” and you gift him with another mwah, the contact that your sweet lips provides has him growing more and more flustered. “but yes, i’m done ‘kuna. thank you.”

“…..good,” he responds after a long seven second pause. sukuna’s scowling before he finally returns your eye contact. his face was slowly getting more flustered from each kiss you give him before he tsks. “ah ah,” he creates a swift hand motion, “off my lap now, you’ve had your fun.”

you frown. “aw,” a sweet disappointed tone hiding underneath your voice. he’s then taken aback once he feels your humanly hands sneak their way into his hair. pink slightly curled up strands of his was a bit messy and tangled. the curse was still publicly pouting, studying your every move before you get an idea. “hm. one more thing though?”

he exhales. “what.”

“can i do your hair? i found some bows and—”

“count your days, girl.”

“stop flirting with me, ‘kuna.”

“….foolish woman,” and after a long dreadful pause, sukuna pouts yet again. so cute, his arms remain crossed before he speaks through annoyingly gritted teeth, an almost smile pokes through his lips that conceals his fangs. “fine. you may do my hair…. or whatever.”

[yourcutelittlegayfriend]

✧✦✧ PROLOGUE ✧✦✧

Yandere Platonic Bat Family x Neglected Regressing GN Reader

Warning this part will contain the following: Death (mainly MC's), MC getting hurt, implied to have died more than once, gun and gun violence, THE JOKER, Suicidal thoughts or low self-preservation, finally losing it and typos.

Note: Y/N will be gender neutral and no mention of specific physical traits except for general parts of the body, there are some easy hidden codes and number meaning in these and I'm trying out to see if I can pull this off.

English is not my forte, it's not my main language so sorry in advance if you cringe at my choice of words.

MASTERLIST Pages 1....➣

NOW PLAYING ↻◁ ||▷↺ Alien Blues - Vundabar ılıılıılılılıılıılı

Let's bring it back to ???? shall we?

-✧- 01100011 01101000 01100001 01101110 01100011 01100101 -✧-

Setbacks more than I can count.

Thousand chances I tried to save.

Rinse and Repeat

Repeat and.......Rinse out the blood.

Rinse out the Pain and Suffering.

Dry off the Tears and Sweats of my efforts.

All I ever want is for you to see me.

To understand what's it like to be me.

All that I wish is for you to atleast look at me with anything but pity and indifferece.

2,789 chances and lives I relived just to become something I regret at the end of each death.

-✧✦✧- 2 7 8 9 -✧✦✧-

Blinking I looked at the end of the gun as I sit still trying not to choke on my own blood and spit as the cackle of a maniac clown drowns my sorrows.

I look at the camera as it blinks red, looking at the dirtied lenses knowing that whoever watches this could never careless if I survive this or not.

SLAP

Searing pain woke me out of my daze as my head snap to the right while my left cheek burned from the whip of the gun.

"Look alive little one! why won't you smile for the camera? Let daddy dearest know how much you miss him, hmm?". The Clown smiles at me with his cut up lips as he grips my face and shake it around.

Looking at him I show him my own smile, teeth and gums bloodied as I laugh making him frown.

"What's so funny?" He sneers as he let go.

I continued laughing as I finally descent into madness, each wheeze and giggle as my body shakes in pain and shockingly....

Relief.

Maybe.......just maybe.....this could be it.

"Aw? why the sad face Mr. Joker? are we not having fun? Do you want me to sing for a very sad clown instead?". I giggled as I stare at him with maniac eyes leaning my tied up body to him as much as I could.

"Why so sad now? come on! you planned all this don't let it go to waste!" I say at him while tugging on my bindings.

I laughed more as I taunt him making him more angry than before.

I stop before looking at him my hair slightly covering my eyes as I smile at him one more time.

"Do it, I know you want to" I taunt him but he only frowns before smirking when he looks at something behind me.

He kicks my chair down the force making me fall on my back, slamming on the concrete floor I gasp from getting the wind knocked out of my lungs as I strain to look up and see 'him' standing.

A wide smile broke through my chapped lips , he started talking but the blood and pump of my heart muffled everything and as soon as few more of 'them' arrived making me laugh hysterically.

BANG

Suddenly everything was quiet.

Everything was calm.

I laid on the floor and see him above me cradling my body as the moonlight broke through the glass windows of this building shining and silhouetting his form and the rest.

I can't move.

I can't feel him.

I can't hear them.

I can't answer them.

How can you when you're bleeding from a hole on your head?

-✧-2 7 8 9 -- 2 7 ↓ ↓ -- 2 7 9 0-✧-

Heartbeat, repeating heartbeats.

I can hear my heartbeat again.

Gasping I look around as I see an interior of a car and turn to the window and see us pulling up somewhere.

"Here we are". I look up and see the familiar face and slightly younger face of Commissioner Gordon again as he turn to look at me as I peer up and see my reflection on the rear view mirror.

A small younger me that's about to do the same shit all over again.

'Ah Shit, here we go again'

〖 = ✧ = 〗

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN