#it's the 'capacity intensive care' shirt

[dribs-and-drabbles]

Oh btw if anyone's interested WE'RE GONNA GET BOYFRIENDS SHARING CLOTHES

[bloodstained-ballgowns]

i just rewatched ‘the woman who fell to earth’ a couple of days ago for the first time since it aired back in 2018 and the more i think about it, the more i like it.

thirteen is the only doctor for whom i feel a tangible, rose-tinted nostalgia. she wasn’t my first doctor, but she was the first doctor i watched live, the first doctor that i spent an actual extended period of time with over the episode rollout. her intro episode has middling parts (as can be expected with most episodes of Who) but there’s also so much good that i really want to highlight.

first of all, there are some really great character dynamics set up here. much more interesting than i remember, tbh. ryan is a guy who loves mechanics but is stuck in a warehouse job he hates, a guy who obviously wants to connect to people, a guy who by the end of the episode has lost both his mother and grandmother in the space of a couple of years and the step-grandfather he didn’t really want is all he has left (minus his absent father). that’s interesting.

yaz has a keen sense of justice and this raw, intense yearning to help people, to do something worthwhile, something more - the way she has chosen to express that is through law enforcement, but it’s not quite giving her the satisfaction she wants. that’s interesting.

graham’s experience with cancer means that he constantly feels like he’s living on borrowed time. meeting grace gave him purpose, gave him family, gave him the will to fight when he fought it was all but over, but now grace is gone. he and ryan aren’t related, but they’re family, and now they’ve got to figure out how to care for each other without the very lynchpin that brought them together. once again with feeling: interesting!

“i’m just a traveller. sometimes i see things that need fixing. i do what i can.” i like that they circle back to the ‘just some guy’ portrayal of the doctor here, both because it’s the one i’m partial to and because it feeds particularly well into the whole ‘the doctor is an unreliable narrator’ aspect, especially in the wake of the increased deification in the moffat era. it's a nice set up, even if it gets completely overhauled circa series 12/13. in fact, having thirteen keep this as a persistent attitude throughout the Timeless Child of it all could have been really effective re: her reticence with her companions and refusal to address or deal with her past.

the scene where thirteen builds her sonic screwdriver might be one of my favourite sequences in nuwho. i love that it’s a hybrid of alien tech and sheffield steel. i also love that they highlight the ‘mad inventor’ side of the doctor here (her teleportation circuit is based around a microwave?) and wish that they had carried it forward more. it would have been the perfect basis for her to bond with ryan over. jodie also pulls off the humour of the episode well, considering the significant shift from moffat dialogue.

i enjoy thirteen's outfit: the vibrancy of it as mirroring her childish excitability, but also as another part of the mask - if i dress all colourful then maybe i can ignore/outrun/masquerade my great capacity for darkness! etc etc. the shopping trip with yaz and ryan is a bit shoe-horned in at the end but it's cute that she finds it in a charity shop. (back in 2018 i bought a t-shirt with a couple of stripes across the chest solely because it remotely resembled the one she wore lol. nerd from a young age, me.) jodie also looks soo hot in capaldi's outfit though so a spin on the traditional suit would also have been appreciated.

some miscellaneous points: i like that she tells Karl off (“you had no right to do that”) right after saving him. i like that she gets it wrong at first and makes it clear that she’s working on the fly. she’s following her instinct, and that instinct is to help people. doctor who has been beautiful before but the cinematography takes such a huge step this era. “it’s been a long time since i bought women’s clothes” i am choosing to believe this is about river thank you and good night.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Full headcanons of MC being forced to attack M6 please 🙏🏽🙏🏽

The Arcana HCs: When MC is forced to attack M6

~ oh boy, anon friend, we're really not holding back today are we XD Hope you enjoy this sequel! ~

CW for non-gory injury descriptions, trauma disassociation, and intense guilt

-- to set the scene --

You don't know if you'll ever be able to forgive yourself.

In the moment, all you could feel was terror. The mage you were fighting rippled away as a haze of fear washed over your senses, and suddenly your worst nightmare was right next to you and readying itself to tear you limb from limb. You don't know how long you screamed and lashed out for. You don't know how many rules of fair fighting you abandoned to stay alive.

All you know is that, eventually, the terror subsides, and now you're looking at the pained face of your beloved as blood slowly trickles down their temple.

Julian

The first thing you feel is the way his arms are pinning you to him, effectively restraining you with a desperate hug

He's quietly talking to you, watching your eyes clear as you return to your senses, whispering "hey. hey, I'm here" over and over again until you're able to stop struggling and meet his gaze

You're almost relieved to see that you only managed to hit his head once, until he shakily loosens his grip and you can feel where your hands have angrily clawed and pummeled at his back

He's already nudging you to get back home, leaning a little heavily on your shoulder and telling you over and over again that it's not your fault, the threat's gone, nothing's hurt that can't be fixed

Refuses to take care of his own wounds until you've let him tend to yours and until you've started to believe that things will get better

It's hard not to let your heart break when he finally takes off his shirt and lets you get a look at his back. You tore it to shreds

Not to mention the cracked ribs that clearly make breathing hurt

He doesn't let you dwell on it, instead passing his doctor's tools back to you and talking you through the process of patching him up. Any apology is interrupted with "ah ah ah, my dear, doctors don't say sorry when they're helping people. It's not your fault."

Beyond the initial fear of losing you to the madness, he's not shaken up by your capacity to hurt him. If anything, once he's healed up, he starts praising your ferocity whenever he can

Asra

They're a little ways away from you when you regain lucidity, one shaking arm extended to hold up the magic barrier you were just struggling against. They look terrified - and heartbroken

As soon as you stop fighting and your legs begin to give out, he's sprinting the several feet over to catch you. There's a stream of apologies and reassurances leaving his mouth as he reaches you

"It's okay - it's okay - I'm so sorry, it's going to be okay - I'm sorry I didn't stop it sooner. Just hold on, my love, it'll all be okay -"

Doesn't want to let go of you. Mostly because they're injured and exhausted too, but also because it's easier not to let you see how badly they're hurt if you're both hiding in each other's necks

Won't let you look at him until he heals you first

When you do, you have a to keep a strong face, or you know they'll cover it up and take care of it themself. You didn't get through the barrier, but it seems your powerful magic attacks did. Effectively

The arm that was holding up the shield has bruises and cuts all over it. There's angry red lines reaching from his elbow across his chest where you apparently sent lightning dancing over it

They let you heal them because they know it'll help you, but they won't talk about such a painful thing openly. They don't want you to feel like you have to apologize. The nightmares think otherwise

When he does talk about it, it was seeing you so scared of him, like he was a threat to you. Like he'd hurt you. It's his greatest fear

Nadia

You open your eyes to find yourself at the other end of her drawn sword, the blade carefully hovering at an angle where only the flat of it will strike you. Her eyes look wide and scared - vulnerable

You can tell she's been moving defensively this whole time because she doesn't take advantage of your sudden pause. Rather, she watches you cautiously as you sink to the ground

She wants to believe it's over, but she's not putting her sword away until she knows for certain that it's done. Prove you're back to her

Can't bring herself to touch you or to let you touch her until you're both finished talking. You need to tell her what happened to make you act like that. She needs you to know what she did and why

She did everything she could not to hurt you. She promises

Doesn't hold it against you at all. She knew from the moment your eyes went hazy that you weren't acting of your own volition, and she feels truly sorry for the frightening thing you must've endured

But that doesn't change how startling it was to be on the receiving end of your fear and aggression. She needs to know you're okay. She needs to know she's okay. She needs to know it'll stay that way

Has a Palace medic tend to your wounds separately, but does eventually let you use healing magic on her once she's comfortable with your touch again (though that might take a few hours at least)

Insists on holding you close that night and the following evenings. She knows she's safe with you and refuses to feel otherwise

Muriel

The more your vision clears, the more your terror changes to horror. He did nothing to stop you. He did nothing to stop you

The blood trickling down his temple meets with several gashes on his jaw and neck, there's jagged gouges across his chest and shoulders, and bruises already blooming across his stomach

And yet he's giving you the gentlest look, reaching out to you slowly the same way you've seen him calm wounded beasts in the forest. You've still done much more damage than a scared rabbit

Doesn't say much, just catches you by the shoulders when you start to fall and carefully cradles your cheek when you start to cry

You don't realize how much trauma he's fighting until you've made it back to the hut and the fine tremble in his hands hasn't left

And it's because he's so busy fighting his own awful memories that he accidentally shuts you out, not saying a word, not hearing a word, turning away after setting you down so you can't see him numbly dab at his wounds and try to get the blood out of his sight

Doesn't start to break until you start to break. Somewhere in his mind is a conviction that he's not allowed to feel bad about this because he's had worse, and your tears are his permission

Healing really begins late that night as he holds you in his lap by the fire, learning to let his own tears fall while you tend to his injuries and lament the fact that Muriel didn't protect the person most precious to you - himself

Portia

When the haze lifts, you're flat on your back, all of Portia's weight on your middle while she pins your hands to the ground above your head. The worst part is that she's openly sobbing

You can feel throbbing aches and pains all over your body where you know she fought back and you've never been so happy to be injured in your life. Sadly, you still did a fair amount of damage

So relieved to see you stop struggling and recognize her that she collapses into hugging you and telling you it's over and it's okay and she loves you so much and she's so glad you're back

Furious at the mage that pulled this kind of trick on you, to the point that she can't even hear you bring it up without immediately venting all her anger at them and all the things they deserve

This accidentally makes it impossible for her to accept any kind of apology from you, because to her you're a victim. (which, you are, but that doesn't change the injuries your hands gave her)

Quick to try to cheer both of you up, dragging you home to her cottage, pulling out her first aid kit, and handing you what you need to patch her up while she gets started on you. It'll be okay

Starts processing it pretty openly the next day, at which point you're finally able to share more of how you felt through the whole thing and make the apologies you want to make (she forgives you)

There's a short period of time where you're both extra careful about consensual touch, but all in all, she bounces back quickly

Lucio

You can see his golden arm up and guarding his head while he readies his human hand to push you away again. His gaze is scared and worried, and yet vacant enough to know he's acting on instinct

Stays frozen as you fall, still mentally struggling to realize it's over, before finally collapsing next to you and reaching out to pull you into a hug. You're back. You're here. He's so glad you're here

Shaking and terrified that everything's going to fall apart after this. He just saw you more scared and angry than he's ever seen you before - as scared and angry as he's seen others often look at him

He knows deep down you were under a spell that made you see something else, but there's a worry present in his brain that this was actually you awakening to your true feelings about him

It doesn't help that he doesn't remember what all he did to fight back. Years of combat experience and battlefields kicked in, and all his thoughts went on hold while his body went on autopilot

And the last time someone he loved fought to kill him - well - it was his mother. That did not end well

He can't bring himself to care about injuries until he knows you won't leave him, until he knows you're going to work through this with him. Until he knows you can still love each other

Once you're reconciled and bandaged up, he's in his element. The amount of tender attention you're showing him is feeding his soul

Still subconsciously keeps his guard up around you, for a while

[orphicdreamers-wp]

Crowded Room — Ethan Edwards

Summary; In which Ethan never thought of you like that until he saw you show up to a party with a football player

Content Warning: 18+ Content, Smut, oral sex(f receiving), p in v sex, filth, slight degradation, hair pulling, choking, used of ‘sir’ ‘whore’ ‘slut’, mirror sex, unprotected sex(don’t be silly y’all), creampie (🫣), breeding kink, mentions of birth control, religious mentions(really quickly), JJ McCarthy getting caught in the crossfire, possessive JJ, cheating(? not really, reader and jj have gone on like 2 dates) loosely based on Lovin On Me By Jack Harlow

Pairing; Ethan Edwards & Fem Reader

You were tucked beneath JJ’s broad shoulder as you entered the fraternity house. You guys were immediately greeted with the smell of alcohol and marijuana. JJ’s grip on your hip tightened as he pulled you closer to his body. You two mingled with various athletes and a few of your sorority sisters as you made your way into the kitchen. You smiled softly at Ethan as you saw him pouring some concoction into a plastic cup as your voice came out softly, “Hey Eth.”

Ethan had been in your Ethics in sports class since freshman year and for some reason your professor always paired you two up for partner work. You would be lying in you said that you didn’t notice how attractive the hockey player was. He had the biggest and softest brown eyes you’d seen. He always had on that stupid hat and his beautiful dark hair sticking out. Anyone with eyes could see that Ethan Edwards was an attractive guy.

Ethan had never seen you as anything more than a friend. You were kind, funny and the first sorority girl he’d met that truly understood the concept of hockey. You had always been a friend to the brown haired hockey player. But you stood a mere five feet away from him, clad in a low cut cropped cheetah print top that accentuated your breasts perfectly, like the shirt was molded around your body. A fair amount of your stomach was out until it met the short leather skirt that had Ethan’s pants constricting his lower hips.

Ethan had never thought about it before but in that moment all he was thinking about was bending you over the counter and fucking the shit out of you, without a care in the world that JJ McCarthy seemed to be staking his claim on you in the kitchen. The way you said his name made him feel ridiculous for never thinking about you in this capacity. But surely you’d never thought of him that way right?

Ethan raised an eyebrow ever so slightly as he saw the grip JJ held on your hip. He could see the intensity of the hold by the skin visible between the hem of your top and the your skirt. He also noticed how JJ’s eyes were glued to him as you watched him intently. Ethan pressed the cup to his lips, “Hey Y/N, McCarthy. Didn’t know y’all were a thing.” You went to open your mouth to say that you weren’t, that tonight was your like 3rd date, when JJ spoke, “It’s new, right babe?” Your heart was beating up into your throat as you nodded, “Yep, good seeing you Eth. I have to use the ladies room.”

You looked up into JJ’s piercing blue eyes and unglued yourself from his side. You slipped out of the kitchen, feeling overwhelmed by JJ’s sudden influx of testosterone he’d felt the urge to show. You walked down the seemingly never ending hallway. You entered the bathroom and went to shut the door only for a hand to stop you. You looked up, taken aback as Ethan stood in the doorway, “Are you okay?” You felt your throat clam up, “‘M all good Eth.” Ethan shut and locked the door to the bathroom behind him as he leaned against it while you stood in front of the mirror, “Your a shitty liar Y/N. What’s going on in your pretty little head?”

You let out a nervous laugh, “I don’t even know. I’m not dating JJ by the way.” Ethan laughed heartily, “I gathered, you looked like you just shit your pants when he called you babe. Most girls don’t have that reaction.” You laughed, “Can I be honest for a minute?” Ethan grinned, “I’ve never known you to not be honest. What’s up?” You giggled nervously, partially tipsy from the bottle of Pink Whitney you had pregamed with at your sorority before leaving the house for this party.

“I’m kinda nervous being alone with you right now.” Ethan frowned, immediately feeling bad, initially believing he’d made you uncomfortable, “I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable. I can go.” You shook your head, “No it’s not you. Well not like that.” Ethan raised an eyebrow as he walked across the room and stopped next to you, “What’s wrong then?” You laughed slightly, “Being alone with you makes me nervous because your hot and I’m tipsy but I’m pretty sure this is how a handful of my wet dreams have started.”

Ethan laughed breathily, “So I make you nervous with my fleeting sex appeal? Good to know.” You rolled your eyes, “See this is why I should have kept my mouth shut. You never take anything seriously.” Ethan stood in front of you, keeping you from moving away from the counter. He placed a hand on your bare skin, “Trust me pretty, I’m taking this very seriously. Hop up on the counter for me.” You pressed your back against the mirror as Ethan dropped to his knees.

Your breath hitched as his warm breath traveled up your legs as he pressed soft wet kisses up your legs. By the time he reached your knees, you legs spread further giving Ethan easier access to your thighs and soaking core. An pornographic groan left Ethan’s mouth as his lips neared your burning core. He looked up at with his beautiful brown eyes lit up by desire, “Is this okay?” You groaned at his question, “God yes, please.” Ethan pushed your skirt up further as he pulled your panties down in one swift motion.

Your hand’s immediately flew to Ethan’s head, removing his hat and setting it near the sink as your fingers threaded through his hair as his tongue met the bundle of nerves that had a coil forming in your stomach. Ethan hummed as he pulled away, “So wet for me. Such a whore, letting me take you in a bathroom.” You felt yourself clench around the air as Ethan’s fingers slid inside of your dripping cunt. You felt a unrecognizable moan leave your lips as you clamped your legs around Ethan’s head as he began to lap up your juices as you came down from your high.

You breathed heavily as you leaned your head against the mirror and panted, “Holy shit. I can’t believe I just did that.” Ethan laughed, “Don’t worry it’s hot.” You rolled your eyes, “I cannot believe I did that. Oh god, I’m like a total whore.” Ethan pressed a kiss against your lips, “Sorry I just really wanted you to stop talking.” You groaned as you pulled him into a passionate kiss, your core clenching as you shamelessly grinded against him. Ethan pressed his hands on your hips, “Are you sure?” You reached down to unzip your skirt letting it fall to the ground as you pulled Ethan into you, “I’ve never been more sure of something.”

Ethan groaned as he pulled his shorts down and kicked them to the side. You hummed to yourself as Ethan rummaged through the drawers in search of a condom, only to come up empty handed. You groaned as you pulled him by his shirt to you, “I have an IUD, please just fuck me Eth. I need you inside me so badly.”

Ethan practically groaned at your words, “Such a desperate little slut for me. Just begging for me to fuck you raw in a random party bathroom. Didn’t peg you for a freak.” You groaned as you clenched your thighs together, “Damn it would you just fuck me already or do I need to have JJ come do that?” Ethan scoffed as he turned you to face the mirror as he adjusted himself behind you.

You felt a sharp breath leave your mouth as Ethan slid into you. Your chest tightening as he bottomed out inside you. Ethan’s hands found their way to your hips, fingers digging into your skin, harshly enough to leave bruises. A groan leaving his mouth, “You feel so good. Clenching around me, such a little slut.” You felt your eyes roll into the back of your head as Ethan’s hips began to move rhythmically. As sharp gasp left your lips as Ethan pulled at your hair, bringing your back pressed against his chest. A soft groan emitted from Ethan’s lips into your ear. You smirked pridefully, “Did I just hear Mr Ethan Edwards who has a reputation for never moaning during sex, moan?” Ethan rolled his eyes, “Shut up before I pull out.” You whines lightly at his words, “Please, alright fine sir. Just don’t stop.”

You felt Ethan tighten his grip on your hair, “Call me that again, please.” You grinned, learning Ethan’s soft spot in bed. A soft moan leaving your lips as your eyes screwed shut as you fell into the bathroom counter, “Oh god right there. Don’t stop please sir.” Ethan’s hand found it’s way around your throat, holding just tight enough to make you feel pressure but loose enough your air supply wasn’t compromised. You clenched around Ethan’s cock as he pounded up into your pussy.

You let out a pornographic moan, “Shit, I’m so close. Don’t stop.” Ethan groaned as he breathed heavily, “I’m there too. I wanna cum inside you so bad.” You groaned at his words, previously believing it was impossible to become more wet, “Cum in me Eth, I need it. Need to feel you inside me.” Ethan groaned, “I could get your pregnant right now given the chance.” You let out another moan as you felt the coil building in your stomach burst as you clenched around his cock. Your orgasm triggering Ethan’s as he came following you.

You leaned against the counter, ass bare in the air as Ethan’s cum dropped down your thighs. You finally caught your breath and grinned as Ethan got a few square of paper towel and began to wipe his cum off of your legs and helped you back into your skirt and panties. You sighed as you two made your way out of the bathroom. A sinking feeling built in your stomach as it hit you, you’d have to explain to JJ where you’d gone off to for nearly an hour.

The sinking feeling dissipated when you found JJ sprawled across the couch with a redhead perched on his lap making out. You let out a sigh of relief as Ethan draped his arm on your shoulder, “Back to another crowded room we go.” You had expected him to enter the room and abandon you to go back to his teammates and brag over the easy lay he got, but he intertwined his fingers with yours and led you over to his friends. A small smile forming on your face as he sat down and pulled you into his lap as he watched some of his teammates play beer pong.

[toomuchracket]

and this is how it starts (flatmate!matty x reader smut)

this is quite literally day 1 of the relationship. like, condom-gate was mere hours ago lmao. also, someone said just thinking about flatmate matty and girlie literally just after condom gate and they're sitting on the couch and she's just kissing his neck and making out and he gets all flustered n floaty cos he's waited for this for so long 😕 maybe she teases him for getting hard so quickly and it's just sweet, i love them <3 so it's a bit of that too. enjoy <3

matty's not totally sold on the idea of there being a heaven, but his reasoning against it is weakening with every passing second. after all, what else could the situation he's in right now be, sprawled on the living room sofa with you on his lap and your lips connected? there's no other way of describing it.

he doesn't give a shit about description right now, though. or responsibility, or even time itself. all matty cares about is kissing you, softly moving his hands to rest in previously uncharted places on your body, and getting you to make those little whimpers that draw all the blood from his brain and redirect it to his dick. your hands weave into each other's hair, and an instinctive tug from matty has you pulling back and whining his name. he goes to pout at the removal of your lips from his own, but then you grind down harder onto him and drop your head into the crook of his neck; your lips meet the soft skin of matty's neck, and he can't stop the gasp that rips from his throat (or the hardening in his sweatpants).

holy fuck. in the many (many) dreams matty’s had about your lips, not once has he ever dreamt about them in this location. 

what a twat he is.

another choked noise leaves his mouth as your tongue joins the party, and yet another follows when you moan into his skin at the way he clutches desperately at your hips. before he knows it, you're kissing him again, licking into his mouth with such intensity he's half-convinced you're trying to eat him. and he'd let you - his brain and heart have already been consumed by you, after all. why not let you devour him completely?

your teeth sink into matty's lower lip as if you might, and he whines; you giggle against him, and switch your lips back to his neck before repeating the bite, albeit softer on the delicate skin, pulling another wanton moan from him. the pain turns to pleasure in his nerves and ricochets throughout his body so hard that he feels his dick jump, despite the haze of pleasure clouding his senses and brain capacity.

judging by the way you gasp and grind down impossibly further onto your boyfriend, you feel it too. he's aware of your lips peeling from him, and then suddenly your beautiful face appears in his eyeline - your eyes and hair are wild, your lips are swollen from, well, use, and you've never looked more enticing than now. then you smile, and matty has to retract his previous statement. “i didn't know you were so into neck kissing, matthew.”

he's not sure if it's the use of his full name (chiding, teasing, patronising) or the glint in your eye (seldom seen, slightly manic, so fucking flirty) that does it, but matty feels his cheeks flood with colour and heat. you lightly run your thumb across one with a satisfied hum, and matty momentarily forgets how to breathe; when the palm of your hand brushes his throat on its way down to rest on his chest, he almost shuts down completely. but he quickly recovers enough to speak shyly. “isn’t everyone?”

“yeah, but, baby,” you roll your hips slowly against his, groaning quietly as you do, and whisper directly in his ear. “it just got you so fucking hard.”

christ.

matty says as much as he throws his head back against the sofa, and you giggle. he cracks one eye open to look at you, all happiness-glowy and dishevelled in his t-shirt, and he can't help but smile bashfully. “don’t take the piss, sweetheart.”

“i'm not!” you laugh, then smirk. “well, maybe a little bit.”

“fucking knew it,” matty lightly smacks your ass, grabbing the soft flesh and using it as leverage to rock your hips against his. “mocking me for a normal reaction to a kiss in an erogenous zone, you minx.”

“ooh, big word.”

“i’ll smack you again, i mean it.”

“do your worst,” you grin, circling your hips. “although i'll be surprised if you can focus with that - oh, fuck,” your voice trails off into a moan as matty grins and latches his lips onto your neck, sucking a bruise into the lightly-perfumed skin and soothing it with his tongue.

he smirks as he pulls back to admire his work; for all he's dreamed about marking you up as his like this, nothing comes even remotely close to the real thing. “seems to me like someone can't take it as well as she can give it,” matty coos, cupping your jaw and running his thumb over your pouty lips. “that right, baby?”

without breaking eye contact, you flick your tongue against the pad of his thumb - when you hear matty's breath hitch, you slowly slide your lips onto the digit, down to the knuckle, tongue still flicking around it. he swears under his breath, dick harder than he thinks it's ever been, other hand clutching so hard at your ass that he wouldn't be surprised if it bruised. somewhere deep in matty’s mind, there's a little part of him wracked with guilt at the thought of hurting you, sweet, beautiful you, but that part is far overshadowed by just how badly he wants to be inside you right now.

thankfully, you seem to want that too; you release his thumb with a pop and a connecting string of spit, and look doe-eyed at him. he’s not sure if he's ever seen anything so erotic on his life.“no. i can take it, matty.”

something shifts in the air when you say that - it's as if the molecules have gotten heavier, dropping a delicious tension into the atmosphere and knocking all flirty banter to the ground. you're so close he can see himself reflected amidst the desire in your eyes. so close that your breath mingles with his own, hot in the crisp autumn air. so close, and, for the first time, so available for him to touch.

and, god, does he want to touch you.

“you can take it?” matty asks, caressing your cheek and smiling when you nod. “now?”

“please.”

matty groans. “you'll kill me, sweetheart,” he quickly kisses you, smiling into your lips when you moan. “let me take you to bed and you can show me how well you take it, yeah?”

you pout. “wanna stay here.”

“so do i. but we need to go and get a condom, darlin.”

“don't worry,” you lean back slightly and pull the t-shirt over your head in a way matty can only liken to unwrapping a present; he swears when he sees the lacy black bra you're wearing, your tits threatening to spill over its scalloped trim. when you see him looking at your chest, you grin. “like my bra?”

“very much.”

“good. been saving it for you - you know, in case we ever… got to this stage in our relationship.”

matty blinks as the realisation settles in his mind and body. he's so turned on it's almost painful. “really? fuck, baby, that's so hot.”

you shrug bashfully. “got a whole drawer full of pretty underwear i only want you to see. been thinking about this for a while. which reminds me,” you reach into your bra and pull out a small foil square, and hold it up triumphantly. “no need to go to bed!”

matty laughs slightly deliriously. “you had a condom down your bra the whole time? fuck, you really want me, don't you?”

“on this couch, specifically,” you lean in to softly kiss his neck again, then drag your tongue up to whisper in his ear. “dreamt about riding you on it since the day i moved in.”

shit.

his hips buck up at the mere thought, eliciting whines from both of you. “wanna make your dream come true - need it, darlin, need you.”

“fuck,” your hands scramble to pull matty's t-shirt over his head, then pull his face to your own for a searing kiss. it doesn't last long, though, with you soon pulling back to guide matty's hands to the clasp of your bra; he catches on to your ideas quickly, undoing the thing with ease and sliding the bra from your body, while you clumsily balance on one knee at a time to get your panties off. matty huffs out a laugh when you roll your eyes and leave the underwear to dangle on your left calf, and you smile and wrap your arms around his neck. “what?”

“nothing, you're just cute - sit up for me, darlin, so i can lift my hips, thanks,” he replies, shimmying his sweatpants down with a shit-eating grin. “so impatient to fuck me that you can't even properly take your underwear off.”

you raise your eyebrows and tear the condom packet open with your teeth. matty feels his eyes roll back into his head when you finally touch him, pumping his dick three times before rolling the condom onto him - you hum happily at the weight of him in your soft hand. “i don't think i'm the impatient one here, babe.”

you're not wrong. still, disagreeing gives him a perfect excuse to rile you up with a touch, too. “no?” matty tilts his head, sliding a hand across your thigh and between your legs; before you can react, he slides a finger along your slit, catching the sticky arousal and dipping into your dripping cunt. your reaction - a shaky whimper - is incredible, almost as incredible as matty's realisation that it’s him who got you into this state. “oh, baby.”

he smiles when you whine his name, but it drops in favour of a gasp when you replace his finger in your folds with the head of his dick. without breaking eye contact, you gasp too. “matty, can i…?”

“please, angel,” matty moans, hands trailing up to squeeze your tits before returning home to your hips. “put me inside.”

“okay,” you all but whisper. a beautiful smile crosses your face, the sun breaking through clouds. “i love you.”

the way you say that, so giddy… matty thinks his heart could honestly burst. he gently cups your jaw with both hands. “i love you too.”

you giggle, and matty feels your cheeks heat up. “i'm glad i get to love you openly now.”

“me too, darlin,” matty kisses you slowly, passionately, but so sweetly; he wants you to be able to feel how much he loves you through his lips. he pulls back just enough to speak clearly, foreheads still touching. “wanna be even closer to you.”

“hold my hips, then, please,” you murmur against him, smiling and kissing him again when he obliges. shuffling around on your knees for a second, you line matty up with yourself, and slowly begin to sink down onto him. the feeling is mind-blowing for both of you, it seems - matty makes a choked groan at how tight you are, and you whimper as he stretches you further with every bit of him you slowly take. “matty.”

he responds with a moan of your name, rubbing soothing circles into your hips while you take him to the hilt with a series of dazed blinks. despite the pleasure already clouding his brain, matty touches your face in concern. “you feeling alright, darlin?”

“yeah. just full.”

“need a second?”

you nod. “sorry, baby.”

“no, not at all. feels amazing like this, anyway,” he strokes your cheek, relishing the way you melt into his touch. “knew you'd look fucking gorgeous on top.”

at that, you clench around him - he's not even sure you're aware of it, but he has to focus very hard on keeping himself from moving inside you - and speak again. “have you thought about this a lot?”

matty nods, trailing his hand down to your chest. “oh yeah.”

“so have i,” you smile, humming contentedly when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger - when he leans forward to take the bud into his mouth, you whine. “fuck, can i move now?”

“yeah,” matty moans around your tit, before pulling away and leaning back against the sofa. “ride me, angel.”

the sentence hasn't even fully left his mouth before you're obliging; the words trail into a raspy groan as you slowly pull yourself up and sink back down. his eyes want to close from the overwhelming pleasure of you fucking him, but he keeps them open because the sight of you like this is too incredible to miss even a second of. matty has no idea how many times he's dreamt of you doing exactly this to him, alone in his bedroom or hotel or tour bus bathroom, but every single fantasy pales in comparison to the real thing. after all, he couldn't have imagined the way your jaw trembles and your eyelids flutter every time he bottoms out inside you, sending an accomplishment high through his body that makes him feel better than any substance he's ever tried.

he has imagined the way your tits would bounce as you speed up your own bouncing on him. again, though, reality is so much better - not once in his dreams did you whine a plea while he tentatively touched them, or cry his name and clench around him in response to him pinching your nipples. the slight pain spurs you on, makes your hips move faster and wilder and matty's contract in pleasure, and he makes a mental note to remember the effect it has on you for future reference. 

like he'd ever forget any of this. matty’s never felt so good in his fucking life.

when he tells you as much, you beam, and speed up yet again. oh. matty smirks as best he can through the intense pleasure. “you like it when i tell you how good you are, darlin?”

“mhmm,” you nod shyly, adorably incongruous with the way you're slamming your hips down to meet matty's. “wanna be perfect for you.”

fuck. “you are, sweetheart. my perfect girl,” matty sits up to kiss you, and you whimper into his mouth at the slight change in angle of him inside you. he smiles, switching his lips to your neck. “what else do you want, gorgeous?”

“want - oh, fuck - want you to touch me,” before matty even has the chance to respond, you suck his right thumb into your mouth again and lead it to your clit. “wanna cum.”

and who the fuck is he to deny you what you want, especially after seven years of also wanting to make you do just that?

“alright, darlin,” matty smiles, jaw dropping at the way you tighten impossibly further around him as he starts working little circles into your clit. “shit, that feels good.”

“yeah?”

he nods. “keep going, angel. actually, just use me to get yourself off. whatever you need to do.”

your eyes widen. “really?”

“really. wanna see you cum for me,” matty lightly bites the inside of your tit. “used to make myself cum thinking about you falling apart on top of me like this.”

a glint of something flickers in your eyes, something matty can't quite name. “so, if i cum,” you breathily begin, still rocking your hips. “you'll cum too?”

“pretty much, yeah.”

you smirk. “alright.”

with that, you brace your arms behind you on matty's thighs, using them as leverage to fuck him as hard as you possibly can. he gasps, nerves beginning to tingle with the orgasm he's been both holding off and craving for a while now, climax creeping closer with every bounce of your hips and tits; he's mesmerised by you, your beautiful body practically shaking above him as you ride your way to ecstasy, and whines of his name and various swear words and “don't stop touching me, please” pouring from your perfect lips.

matty does as he's told, thumb staying put on the bundle of nerves between your thighs. remembering his mental note from earlier, he brings his free hand down on your ass and kisses away the cry you let out on impact. “come on, sweetheart,” he coos against your mouth. “give in. cum for me, my love, let go for me. make me feel good.”

he leans back to look at you - you look utterly fucked, eyes heavy and teary, jaw slack and lips swollen, but you're so beautiful. when you look at him (probably just as fucked-looking, to be honest), you smile sweetly, but it soon drops off your face as you rush ever closer to the precipice of orgasm. “matty,” you whimper, voice cracking from overuse. “i'm gonna cum.”

no four words have ever sounded better to him. matty holds your face with his free hand; you nuzzle into it, and a wave of love washes over him. “do it, angel.”

your head drops onto his shoulder as your hips fall out of rhythm, and you cry into his neck as your body jerks in ecstasy. matty cries, grabbing your ass and leaning back so he can fuck up into your pulsing cunt as his own orgasm hits. he holds you flush against him as he cums into the condom, then lets you gently flop down as you both recover with panting breaths.

matty's so hazy from pleasure that it takes him a minute to register the chaste kisses you're planting on his neck - you lift your head when he giggles breathily, smiling so widely he's sure your face must hurt. “hi matty.”

“hi, baby,” he kisses your nose. “i love you.”

“love you too,” you give him a little smooch. “loved that.”

“fuck, so did i,” matty sighs, grinning at you. “you're really fucking good at that.”

“only cos it's you i was fucking,” you giggle. “my need to make you feel good outweighed the burning in my thighs. would've tapped out, otherwise.”

matty rubs the offending body part. “will you let me take care of you in return, then? after you've endured the pain and climbed off me so i can get rid of the condom, that is.”

you nod, hissing as you pull yourself off matty's dick and flop onto the couch beside him. he kisses you quickly before he stands, slightly shakily, and removes and ties off the condom; you protest when he places it on the coffee table. “matthew!”

“what? i put it on a coaster. and i'm not leaving it there!”

“still! i don't want used condoms on my good coffee table, even if it's us that's used them,” you stare at him for a second, and then collapse into giggles. “new flat rule?”

matty cackles. “all condoms put in the bin immediately after use. right, hold it for a second, then - and don't give me that face, it was inside you!” he sighs as he bends down and scoops you - holding the condom between your thumb and index finger, mildly disgusted - up bridal-style into his arms. your face softens when he kisses your head as he carries you down the hall. “fancy a bath? it'll help your legs.”

“only if you come in with me.”

he hums, nudging the bathroom door open and setting you down on your shaky legs; you chuck the condom in the bin. “i like the sound of that.”

“good,” you lean up to kiss him. “now please leave the room.”

“what? why?”

“because,” you say, turning the bath's hot tap on. “i need to piss. in peace.”

matty pouts overdramatically. “but i don't want to leave you.”

“out, healy,” you point at the door as matty giggles; you kiss his cheek as he leaves, though. “bring a bottle of wine in when you come back?”

“glasses, too? or just share the bottle?”

you scoff. “you were just inside me, and now you're worried i have germs?”

he laughs. “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—   KEEP THE LIGHTS ON

SUMMARY : “Hi!! First time requesting a fic so if this is dumb.. well yeah. A fic where Dean and the reader are about to do it (😏😏) and hes very focused on her thighs/hips area and she's got stretch marks there and he traces/kisses/grabs them? It's rough, intense, and passionate? 😳😶 okay love you and your writing byeee 🏃‍♀️” — anon

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), smut, as always unspecified skin colour and weight (lol), 

WORD COUNT : 2.0k

A/N : close your eyes song title. I loved this request as soon as I got it, and that’s why it didn’t take long! I’ve seen some stretch marks are lighter than the skin and others are darker than the skin and also that they feel like grooves so, I hope this is okay! *insert Scott Pilgrim and the L-word scene bc I can’t say ILY* AND HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY Xx

You’d never been so comfortable and confident with a man before. Comfortable with yourself. Confident in your own skin.. Every insecurity you had in every other aspect of your life, sex-releated or not, flew out the window because you knew Dean. 

He had a way of making you feel beautiful all the time. Either with his facial expressions when you caught him staring, his words when you were alone, his actions at any chance he had to get his hands on you. He was very expressive, wordlessly so, and gesticulating. 

You had to get to know the real him to understand him and, you know… he’s complicated. He’s guarded, but beneath all that there’s a soft centre to him, like a brownie. And overall, he’s sweet and good and soft. Perfect. Like a brownie. 

Eventually, getting a read on him gets easier, but not entirely easy. Which is why he was currently taking your breath away with his lips moving down your neck and his hands tangled in your hair as he guided you down the hallway to his room. But only after admitting he’d been wanting to get you in his bed for years and you’d be damned if you let your fears and worries get in the way of getting your first taste of him after pining for him almost as long as he’d carried a torch for you. 

You had to be stupid to believe that Dean was shallow and cared only about a woman's appearance or attractiveness. You never thought you weren’t enough all those times Dean left with or hit on any women but you. All you thought was that he simply didn’t see you that way, which was only half of the truth. He wanted something more than one night with you and he just didn’t have the guts to tell you so. 

But tonight, after a sleepy hangout at the Dean Cave, after watching a variety of movies that Dean liked—movies he excitedly wanted you to enjoy as well when you said you’d never watched them before. And then going to the kitchen to get more snacks for the next film… 

Well, you don’t really remember what led to it, maybe you said something in your exhausted state. Or maybe he did. You had a feeling that if you made the first move and confessed something you wouldn’t have in the right state of mind, he’d hold it over you and tease you about it—if everything went well. 

Or maybe it was just a buildup of every little thing that the two of you shared with each other and all the history and all of everything else that you were. 

Now that you had his mouth on yours, quick and firm and desperate for attention and for a taste of you… You had a feeling making your stomach flutter. To some extent, the two of you were very aware of each other’s feelings and still decided to do nothing about it. 

What a waste of fucking time. 

Still, something about waiting made this much more intense. Your skin ignited at his touch when his fingers snuck up into your shirt. Your flesh became warmer and warmer after each rapid heartbeat, excitement from his wet, breathy kisses. The air in your lungs failed to escape correctly, failing to reach the full capacity of oxygen the more thrilled you became. 

You wanted to devour him whole. But all you could do was kiss him back with as much passion and fervour as you possibly could. Your palms smoothed up scarred skin, flushed and warm and taut. Your nails scratched and your fingers tugged at anything of his that you could hold onto. 

When you got to his room, he’d made your head spin more than it already was from his kiss when he pushed you into his bedroom door to shut it. 

“Sweetheart,” he moaned against your mouth and your breath audibly hitched. The sound of his voice, the way he spoke that pet-name to you made your stomach clench and your clit throb. Or maybe it was the way he pinned your lower body to the door with his hips and the way he held your gaze when he flexed his hand beneath your shirt, his fingers spread across your ribcage.

His other hand moved back up to your cheek and his thumb brushed against your cheekbone. Your lips parted at first when he did that and your eyes searched his curious eyes longingly, but he seemed to be on his own mission. You bit your lip anxiously instead as you attempted to maintain eye contact, your cheeks burned when his green eyes dropped down to your lips. All you could feel was his erection pressed into your soft skin through the flimsy layers of his pyjama pants. 

And then his cock twitched. 

It was driving you crazy.

Being this close to him felt like a chemical reaction. You bubbled as he came into contact with you and you could probably evaporate into nothing if you were just a reactant. You never thought you’d feel consumed entirely by a person as if they were a reagent. You’d be embarrassed if it were anyone else but Dean who made you feel this pathetic. 

Your eyes reacted faster than your body when Dean dove back down to capture your bottom lip. He sucked on it softly and rolled his hips into you and you breathed shakily against his mouth at the combination of pleasant sensations that occurred simultaneously. 

You buried your fingers in his hair and then you felt his own gripping your hips tightly. God, you wished he’d dig into you and mark you permanently, but instead your thoughts ran through the imaginary engine of a plane and turned into smithereens when his tongue entered your mouth.

He lifted you up and his hands slid roughly from your ass to your thighs. You clung to him and kissed him hard, pouring yourself wholly into the kiss until he drunkenly stumbled to his bed and dropped you into it. All the while, he was still completely attached to you and getting more desperate now that you were as malleable as dough in his expert hands.

He pulled away from you breathlessly, lips parted and wet and red and perfectly kissed. His cheeks puffed a little and he had a tiny smile that shined mostly in his eyes when they fluttered open. You thought you’d be sucked right into his dilated pupils as he admired you beneath him, but he went right back to your neck and your cleavage while his hands pushed and pulled away at your clothes to get you naked.

For the fraction of a second, your body snapped out of the trance he’d placed you in when you felt his fingers trace and dip gently into the marks on your skin. The magic was gone only for a few moments when you opened your eyes to him between your bare legs, he looked up at you in surprise. Surprised at your reaction.

“What?” He frowned at you. The cute pout made your eyes brighten and your body relaxed once more as you smiled down at him. 

You were hesitant and he was patient. And then his expression mirrored yours, smiley. But he was so soft, with those crinkles at the corner of his eyes, and those dimples above his pillowy lips. He didn’t even make a big deal out of it and that made you release a soft breath and with it, the tension disappeared from your body. 

“Are you sure?” You asked him, pressing your teeth into your bottom lip. He lifted a brow at you before both brows came together in amused confusion. He slowly pulled himself up your body and shamelessly dropped his hips at your centre, practically grinding his covered erection against your bare, wet core. 

You inhaled sharply and he smirked at you. He slid his forearm up beside your head to balance his upper body above yours and continued to brush his thumb against the lines you were more than familiar with that resided at your hips. 

“Wanna hear it explicitly, is that it?” He murmured, his tongue dipping out to pull his lower lip into his mouth. Then he planted his teeth on the shimmering, plump flesh. What a journey. 

You were amused when your eyes flickered back up to his and you pulled your own lip between your teeth. He was cocky and maybe it didn’t help that you were a mess beneath him, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

“I’m gonna fuck you hard in my bed,” he told you. Your eyes widened slightly and you breathed unevenly as he rocked his hips against your heat. “But first, I’m gonna memorise every inch of your body and I’m gonna make you wait ‘til I’m satisfied. And only then,” he whispered, dropping kisses along your cheek and jaw, “I’ll give you what you want.” 

You licked your lips and allowed Dean to move lower to pepper kisses along your breasts until he slowly made his way back down between your legs. Part of you wanted to whine when he brushed his fingers over your stretch marks again, but there was something about how casual he was about them that made you want to see where this was going.

“What do I want?” You grinned down at him just as his lips made contact with the lines in contrasting colour to your skin. He smirked and looked at you through his lashes. His warm breath tickled your thighs when he chuckled and you shivered, bumping his bicep playfully with your knee. 

“Me, I hope,” he answered, almost bashfully. He buried his fingers into your hips and pulled at your skin, following the lines that decorated your body while keeping his eyes on you. You squirmed as he continued to touch and mouth at your stretch marks. “But mostly, my dick.” 

You laughed, “what?” And Dean nipped at your hip, along a few lines on either side of your body and your body shuddered pleasantly. 

“You asked what you wanted. I said: me and my dick,” he recapped for you playfully. You rolled your eyes at him, but you couldn’t help smiling. Dean went from playful to sexy and dragged his lips down your pelvis. Your hips wiggled in anticipation and your breath became shallow, but Dean only breathed against your soaked cunt. “If… all ‘a this proves anything.”

The warm air slipping between his lips aroused you to the point of wanting to pull his face between your legs and trap him there with your thighs. You felt yourself turn hot at his words, both from embarrassment and from lust.

“Dean, please,” you begged with a whiny laugh. 

Instead of replying with something witty, he swirled his tongue around your entrance with a moan. You felt his spit and you held your breath when he flatted his tongue and dragged it up to your clit. You closed your eyes and arched your back when he sucked and flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit. 

And then it was all gone and your body became loose once more. You opened your eyes to Dean pulling his shirt over his head, exposing the freckled skin you’ve always wanted to kiss and mark with your mouth when you patched him up on hunts. 

Before you could get your hands on him, he got out of bed and pulled his pants and boxers down his legs swiftly. He barely gave you time to see, to admire what you came to accept as the prettiest cock you’d ever seen. 

“I told you,” he smirked, slipping between your legs and lowering himself on your body to kiss you. “I’m takin’ my time.” You groaned in protest against his lip, but eventually every complaint you had on taking it slowly dissipated from your mind as he pushed and pulled at your body in ways you didn’t think you’d liked until he began working your body. 

You didn’t want to admit it, but dammit… Sex with Dean was better and more satisfying than the sex you had with any other man. 

You couldn’t tell Dean that. Never. It’d go to his head. Rightfully so, but still. All you could think about is the embarrassment he’d cause you to feel by reminding you, every chance he had—with that smug smirk of his—about how good you said he makes you feel. Better than any other man. 

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[heartbreak-sandwich]

Billy Hargrove is your boyfriend 💕

“Baby.” All other words ceased to exist as Billy’s brain flatlined at the sight of you in your new bodycon pleather halter dress. You stood in front of your vanity mirror applying a red lipstick and giving your hair a final spritz before standing up straight and shrugging.

Moving over to your bed to put on your shoes, you were surprised when Billy wordlessly bent down to kneel in front of you, taking your left foot in his hand and resting it on his knee. He picked up the left leopard print boot and worked it carefully on, zipping it up to the top, and repeating his actions with the other, eyes running over and over you, and you could swear he was almost salivating.

“Is this okay?” you asked, gesturing to your outfit, hair, and shoes.

“Okay?” His eyes widened. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?” With the other boot zipped, he stood and offered a hand to help you up.

“It’s not too much?”

“Definitely not.”

“Well, what is it then?” He lifted your hand and spun you around slowly.

“Gorgeous, stunning, ravishing comes to mind. You’re breakin’ my heart already,” he smirked, pulling you in closer, eyes locked with yours.

“Aww, do you need me to kiss it better?” You smiled wide and rested your hands over his heart through his unbuttoned shirt.

“Always,” he replied, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead, the smell of his mint gum and spicy aftershave reminding you that this is home. 

✨ Nicknames for you: Babe, dollface, sweet thing (This defaults to “baby” when he’s turned on, and sometimes that’s the only word he can say when he sees you looking like an absolute snack.)

💕 Love language: physical touch/acts of service

Insists on being your personal chauffeur and bodyguard under any circumstances.

Even if he’s preoccupied with something, he is still touching you in some way, i.e. resting a hand on your thigh while he drives.

Loves to show you off wherever you go together with his arm around you.

Offering to fix your car, help you with the yard work, and taking care of the dishes after your meals together.

Takes you on drives to listen to music and talk about life together. He knows all the best places to park where you two can be alone and enjoy a beautiful view of the lights of the town, or a hidden stream, or the best hideout to see all of the stars.

He loves having you close to him. He will absentmindedly move to be near you in any room or situation. No matter what is going on around you, the two of you are like magnets, always finding your way back to each others’ sides.

Loses all functioning capacity when you walk into a room, having to stop and take time to stare at you, gawking and speechless, before running his hands over you and telling you how appetizing you look. He is completely obsessed with you, obviously.

💋 Kissing Billy: He is all fire and intensity. With strong hands and lips, every time kissing Billy is a dizzy adventure, and his experience level means he’s the best at what he does. Whether it’s lazy, smiley kisses tangled in the bed sheets or rough and tumble lip biting between ass grabs and muffled growls, he is always giving 110% for you. Pushing his curls out of his eyes before a kiss always earns you a warm, blinding smile from him.

[startoy]

❝ self care ❞

PAIRING gojo/reader LENGTH 5.102k RATING explicit, reader discretion advised CONTENT college au. established relationship. switch tendencies. dirty talk. oral. overstimulation. marking. fingering. sadomasochism. pretty much pwp.

SYNOPSIS after a long, torturous finals week, you decided to unwind with your boyfriend in the best way you knew how—in the comfort of your apartment, with an array of sweet-scented sheet masks and soft cremes that melted into your skin. but god, did he melt into you so much better.

NOTE wrote this over three years ago and i forgot to post on tumblr so here we go lol (i promise i write better now) LOVE, CASPIAN ☻︎

The pads of his fingers softly pressed into the fabric of the sheet mask, matching its shape more snugly on the curves of your face. He squeezed the bridge of your nose playfully, ensuring the mask would be held in its proper place. You snorted at that, turning your head to the side and rolling your eyes at him, lovingly. 

Narrowly, he peered through his own sheet mask, blinking slowly. "Did I do it right?"

"Well," you pulled the mask higher up onto your temple, "you definitely did something." 

He pouted wholeheartedly, furrowing his brows as he ran the pads of his fingers over your sheet mask once more, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles that formed when you spoke. "You're fucking evil," Satoru said, "but," he fell back on the bed, now laying next to you, "it definitely suits you."

"Thank you," you said and meant it, "If you didn't think I was evil by now I'd break up with you."

Satoru gasped, his hand on his chest as he feigned heartbreak. He lolled his head unto his shoulder, sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth, and closed his eyes. "Cause of death," he groaned, "future milf." 

The both of you broke out into a fit of laughter after that, your torso curving and falling into his chest as you released snorts and wheezes. His arms came to wrap around you, tightly pressing you close to him to feel your body laugh along with your voice—the shake of your arms, the vibrations from your chest to your neck and finally your mouth, the scrunch of your nose and eyes, and everything in between. Satoru preferred to hold every part of you in his arms so that he could feel you in your fullest capacity. 

Intensely. He loved you intensely and on purpose and he wanted to hold you for a long time. As long as you would allow him to. 

Your laughter died but the happiness still hung from your cheeks, pressed against the skin of his neck that smelled faintly of cleanser and wet hair. You carefully flopped to his side, adjusting your sheet mask in its proper place again. 

He breathed evenly; wholly as he relished in the heat that you shared where your sides met and refused to distinguish themselves, melting into each other and overlapping and combing together softly; beautifully, in the same way a hug could reach further than skin deep. He thought and continued to think: "I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you"—and it never came out that way exactly except for when it did, but in a multitude of forms that felt natural, too. 

Draping his heavy arm over your stomach, you released a harsh breath at the sudden weight. "Fucker," you slapped his wrist, "that hurt." 

"Really?" he hummed, pulling his arm back slightly to splay his hand over your shirt. "I just wanted to touch you again." Satoru took the fabric between his thumb and pointer finger, absentmindedly fiddling with the single layer between him and you. "And this shirt's kinda ugly," he said, "don't you think?"

You sighed and close your eyes, patting the apples of your cheeks to absorb more of the mask's contents. "That's why I'm wearing it as pajamas," you said right back, "dumbass." 

"I was trying to be smooth and say some shit like 'it's ugly because it's not my shirt'," Satoru continued to play with it, "but no, I guess not." 

You groaned playfully, moving your arm to drum your fingers against his knuckles. "If you hate it so much," you paused, "take it off." 

The lilt in your voice sent a chill up his spine, the blush blooming on his features luckily hidden. Satoru sat up, his eyelids suddenly heavy and blinks slower as he watched you breathe, your eyes now screwed shut in anticipation. He peeled off his mask, abandoning it in the trash can beside the bed, slipping his warm hand under the blasphemous shirt that, allegedly, he hated so much. 

Hearing your lungs stutter at the contact, Satoru drew circles on your waist, then underneath your breasts, his nail the pen, and your body a map he was more than eager to annotate. He held your sides and motioned you to sit up, and you obeyed, your eyes still closed. 

His finger gently tilted your chin up, pulling off the mask on your face as it met a similar fate to his. Satoru examined your expression, blowing a puff of air in your face to watch your eyelids flutter. "Look at me," he said, holding your jaw square between his fingers. "You want me to," he trailed off, "what?"

"Take off my shirt," you said, your voice firm but not as loud as you thought it would come out. 

He clicked his tongue. "Open your eyes." 

As your eyes opened, Satoru leaned in to meet your lips in a soft kiss, his hand snaking up your neck to hold your jaw. His thumb touched your cheek and brushed your skin, begging you to kiss him harder. There, in his hand, he held you again, tasting your mouth in his and it felt as if he wanted so much; too much. He wondered if his selfishness would cause him to swallow you whole, but you were arguably, just as selfish as him. 

You sucked harshly on his lower lip, your sigh into the kiss dangerously close to a moan. Satoru remained insistent of tasting you directly on his mouth, your lips parting and inviting his tongue. He could kiss you all too well, sucking the flesh and sloppily mixing his saliva with yours in a hungry exchange that could make you blush at the thought. 

"I-I'm so hard," he stuttered into your teeth, moving his hands down to your sides to pushing you down onto the bed. "You make me so fucking hard so fucking fast," Satoru caught his breath while stealing yours, "I fucking love you." 

Smiling as he placed open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, your face contorted in pleasure as he bit on the sensitive skin there. "Dumbass," you said, the word cut short as he toyed with your nipples over your shirt. "My dumbass." Your thighs twitched as he pulled up your tee over your head, leaving you in your underwear and exposing the skin he loved so much. 

Satoru kneaded your breasts between his fingers and in his calloused palm, leaving hickeys down your torso and paying special attention to your hips that twitched upon contact. "Sweetheart," he said, his voice strained as he continued to touch you everywhere except where you needed him, "you're so quiet." He nipped at your waist particularly hard, "It's pathetic." 

Your cheeks heated up at the insinuation, your lips not only swollen from his earlier assault but from your own biting to keep yourself from being embarrassingly loud. So why did him accusing you of silence make you even more embarrassed? 

"Trying to act shy with me," Satoru said, "you want me to fuck you stupid, don't you?" 

Your face burned with shame so badly you felt as if it might scar. "I-I'm not acting shy," you defended yourself, "you're just—!" Racking your brain for an excuse, your mind went blank as he sucked on your skin and pinched your nipples harshly. "Not fucking me good enough!" you blurted out, realizing too late the damage done. 

"Oh," Satoru rose from his place between your legs, moving up the bed to sit against the headrest. "Really?" He laughed, tongue in cheek as he palmed himself through his pants. "Try talking shit," Satoru slapped your breast, "when you're choking on my cock." 

Settling between his legs, his boxers left the muscle of his thighs bare, your hands finding purpose there as you eyed his bulge.

Satoru grabbed you by the chin, smirking down at you, his sweetheart so prettily situated in front of his lap. "Acting shy," he scoffed, "even while drooling over my dick." 

Your hands inched inside his bottoms, your finger swiping the head of his cock and causing him to groan lowly. "Not so bitchy with my hand around you, huh?" Pumping his member in your palm gently, his hips bucked forward and he shut his eyes, mouth falling open at the minimal satisfaction you provided. "Imagining you're fucking me, aren't you?" you said. "God, what a fucking pervert," you tightened your grip, "so desperate for me, yeah?" 

"So what if I am?" he slurred his words together, slowly fucking into your hand. "I bet you're so wet," his voice shook slightly, "I could stuff you full right n—oh, shit." 

Your mouth enveloped him roughly, the tip hitting the back of your throat as you fought your gag reflex. Cockwarming him in your mouth, Satoru groaned as your throat spasmed around him. To tease him further, you swallowed, knowing how taut the feeling would be around him. At the action, his moaning morphed into an impatient curse, quickly entangling a hand in your hair and pulling your head up as he began fucking into your mouth. 

Your eyes welled up as he repeatedly abused your throat, brutally forcing you to take him until your nose touched his pelvis and you choked on his cock. Looking up at him with tears in your eyes, you found his expression godly—furrowed brows, teeth gritted, jaw tensed, and eyes fluttering as he focused on the warm sensation of your lewd gagging. Foaming spit gathered at the corner of your mouth, dripping down your jaw and causing a sticky mess down your neck that bulged with his dick print. 

Seemingly amused at your helplessness, he pulled your hair at an angle, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Fucking your mouth feels so good," Satoru said, continuing to fuck your face with a playful smirk. "Almost forgot how much of a brat you are."

Your nails dug into the ripe muscle of his thighs, the skin stretching over your knuckles lightening under your deadly grip. With your jaw growing sore, your throat sporadically tightened and loosened; the bodily reaction sending heavenly waves of sexual satisfaction through his nerves. His thighs twitched more often and his breathing grew heavier—tell-tale signs of his impending orgasm. 

Just as he stiffened, ready to cum, you fought out of his grip and released his cock from your mouth, strings of saliva and precum the only link between you and him. 

"Baby," you said while wiping your mouth, "you're so predictable." 

His hand came around your throat and put pressure there, holding your head up but his strength wavered, still weak and vulnerable from the suffocating need to cum. "For fuck's sake," Satoru hissed through his teeth, "you're going to hell for that." 

"Well," you licked your lips, "I hope you can make me cum before I get there." A tinge of lightheadedness caused your vision to dim, but riling him further always resulted in a good fuck. And who are you to waste an opportunity like that?

Despite your mocking, never had Satoru failed to make you cum. In fact, he could make you cum so much that you would be sensitive for a week and walk with a limp for a few days at least. He prided himself in that; after all, it was the thing he looked forward to so often. The expression on your face and the cry in your voice, body shaking as an onslaught of pleasure overwhelmed your senses—was all his doing! And you just looked so pretty whenever you came. Like his little angel whose divinity remained in the glow of your eyes and the blush on your cheeks, immorally sticking your tongue out and blabbering a plethora of swears. His own sinful paradox that he loved oh so very much. 

Meeting your lips in a kiss, much sloppier than before, Satoru rid himself of his own tee, having you straddle his lap as your moundful chest pressed against his. He licked the spit that smeared your neck, gladly lapping it up as you rolled your hips against him, the first brush of your clothed sex against his cock dragging a guttural growl from him. 

"I'll get you back so nice for that," his words more a promise than a threat. His fingers clasped your waist and Satoru kissed your ear before whispering into it. "So sit on my face," he cooed, pressing another kiss to reiterate his command. "Sweetheart." 

Your heartbeat increased tenfold, almost shuddering in his lap at the thought. 

At your hesitation, Satoru immediately found your mouth and put it on his, holding the back of your head to deepen the kiss. He pulled away and tilted his head, staring at you. "You really think I can't handle it?"

You scoffed, not answering his question out of embarrassment. 

"I think," Satoru muttered, lifting your hips so he could move downward. "I deserve a facial," he said, looking much cuter beneath you. "Self-care."

His head remained between your thighs, your knees on either side. Satoru eyed the wet spot on your underwear and nearly cursed aloud, the scent alone enough to make his mouth water because he knew you tasted just as good as you smelled. Your hand pulled the fabric of your panties to the side, his hot breath fanning over your wet folds and causing your sex to twitch around nothing at all—something he was keen enough to notice.

"Pretty little cunt," he praised, swiping his tongue over his teeth. "All fucking drenched and dripping," Satoru wrapped his arms around your thighs and forced you down on his face, his words lost between your legs and drowned out by the obscene gush of his tongue in your hole. 

You whimpered without meaning to, tucking your head into your neck as you scrunched your eyes shut at the sudden intrusion. He mercilessly ate you out, the flat of his tongue repeatedly flicking over your clit and slurping the juices that dripped from you, his moans vibrating against your sex. Satoru couldn't help but be loud whenever he devoured you, knowing the effect it had: an intense blush crossed your features and your thighs tried to push together, holding back your whines by biting your lip. 

Already flustered, your eyes remained screwed shut, unsure if you could handle watching your boyfriend lapping at your cunt as if it was his only purpose of living. "S-Satoru," you let out, "fuck, fuck, fuck—!" Your thighs began to shake, your breathing growing ragged and your mouth dropping open to silently gasp, "So, so close!" 

He hummed into your sex, already aware. Satoru sucked and savored your unforgettable flavor, not wanting to waste a droplet of your wetness. "Cum on my face," the command clear despite being muffled by your weight, "come on, cum, cum—"

You cried out and fisted the pillowcases below you, your eyes snapping open and rolling back at the deluge of euphoria that coursed through every vein and smoothed over every bone. "Oh fuck," you puffed out, "ow, fuck." Your high died down after a while, your eyes blinking tiredly as the pleasure never ceased and turned tortuous from sensitivity. 

Continuing to eat you out even after you came, Satoru smirked into your sex, your brain finally recognizing the overstimulation. Your hips tried to move away from his mouth, but his arms flexed and kept you in place.

"S-Satoru—t-too much," you drawled out, finding his hair and entangling your fingers in the tresses. "Too much, too, too much—!"

At your whining, he decided to eat you like his last supper. His lips brushed your clit and his tongue relentlessly pushed past your folds and inside you, your poor pussy spasming and squeezing so much that you could feel your release building again.

Satoru groaned as you pulled his hair, the action spurring him on rather than deterring him. "Look down," he murmured, "look at me." 

He saw your eyes welling up again, your irises glassy as your lust-blown pupils gazed down at him. Your lips parted to speak but no proper words came out, cries suspiciously close to his name leaving instead. 

"Cum for me again?" Satoru asked, locking with your eyes and analyzing your every detail. 

Your head nodded weakly, your mouth drooling from keeping it open for so long. 

"Say it," he said, his grip on your thighs rougher than before, "beg."

Breathing out shakily, your voice came out pathetically, any train of thought clouded by the looming wish to finish once more. "Wanna cum again," you said while mindlessly massaging his scalp. "I-I—so close," you breathed in and out quickly, slightly lightheaded as you chased the sensation of his tongue. 

As much as he loved you on display for him, Satoru couldn't miss an opportunity to be a shameless display himself, and so he rolled his eyes back and gutturally groaned beneath you, his mouth open wide as a mix of your juices and his drool gathered on his lips. He felt the sporadic tense of your legs and clench of your hole against him, his fingers instinctively into digging your skin to press your weight on his tongue, immersing himself in your sex. 

Satoru curved his wrist and slapped your ass, massaging the flesh as it flushed red. "Not good enough," he mumbled into your folds, "sweetheart." He chuckled into your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive nerves and causing you to violently twitch on his face at the feeling. 

You whined again, fisting his hair and panting out your desperate need to cum and for him to allow you. "P-Please, Satoru, pl-please—" you squeezed your thighs but his arms kept your legs apart, "wanna cum, wanna cum on your pretty face—!"

He swiped the flat on his tongue through your folds roughly, stopping to suck directly on your clit. "Cum on my pretty fucking face," Satoru teased, his hands finding purpose on your waist to squeeze and hold you tight against him. The grip of his fingers was harsh enough to bruise, guiding your hips as you rolled mindlessly on his face. 

A searing heat in your stomach felt hot enough to burn you from the inside out, your legs convulsing at the side of his head and your upper half slouching inward at the bliss that consumed your senses. His name poured out of your mouth repeatedly, your voice breaking and cracking under the pressure of your orgasm. Satoru held you up, your body collapsing against the headboard and nearly panting as you gathered your sanity—or at least, the remains of it. 

You moved and he shifted, sitting back up as his puffed lips glistened with your juices, a droplet on the tip of his nose and chin evidence of your indecency. His tongue parted his lips and he sighed, happily trying to gather what was left on his face; savoring the flavor. Satoru stared at you and swiped two fingers across his chin, bringing them to your mouth and silently commanding you to suck. 

Leaning forward, you tasted yourself on his fingers, hollowing your cheeks to swallow his digits in the heat of your mouth. 

"You're so fucking—god," he pulled them out of your mouth and grabbed your jaw, pulling you towards his face. "So much better than beating my dick to the thought of you." 

You rolled your eyes, pressing your lips against his in a messy kiss. "I'd like to see that," you whispered into his ear, your hands grazing his chest and then forcing his back against the pillows. "Sweetheart." 

Satoru shuddered under your touch, his hand coming between your bodies to wrap around his dick, pumping gently. His thumb rubbing over the head, running between the slit as his other fingers squeezed the bulging veins. You sat on his thighs, running your nails over the sensitive parts of his neck, gentle red stripes drawn onto his pulse points down to his collar bones.

"This sucks," he complained, despite the airiness in his voice. "Your pussy," Satoru breathed in and then out, "is so much better than my hand." 

"I know, baby," you said, feathering a kiss on his chest, "I know." 

Precum leaked from his tip, slicking his member as his hand sped up. Satoru accidentally bucked his hips, his eyes hazy as your kisses turned into sloppy marking, sucking on his skin to create love bites that purpled with time. He growled when your teeth grazed his nipple, his hips bucking more often as you toyed with him. 

Your hand reached down to cup his balls, Satoru sucking in air through his teeth and whimpering your name. Fondling them in your hand, you met his gaze to examine his expression, falling in love with the way his eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched, Satoru's signature smirk lighting up his features as he locked eyes with you. His hand jerked quickly, the unmistakable twitch of his thighs signaling that he was close. 

"It'd be a shame if you came so fast," you said softly, your hand reaching his face and your thumb caressing his flushed cheek. "All over your stomach instead of in me." 

His eyes widened at your words, his teeth gritting as he fought the urge to cum. God, did he love finishing inside you. Satoru preferred your pussy full of his seed, so stuffed and so his—truly a shame to finish now; a waste! His body rejected him as he slowed his hand, the ache enough to make his head spin. 

Satoru edged himself as you giggled on his lap, praising him for his self control. Which, if he was being honest, was very thin to begin with. As someone who usually indulged themselves, Satoru found your stubborn need to torture him hot in all aspects, but he found it equally if not more enjoyable if he tortured you. After all, he did think you were prettier than him. But he would never say that to your face—he was too prideful for that. So he figured that fucking you until you confessed every sin was the only way to show his appreciation. Respectfully. 

He blinked slowly, tongue in cheek as you watched him with faux innocence. "You're right," Satoru concurred, "but you think with your cunt more than your brain sometimes, you know?" His harsh tone cut through the air and he noticed your soft shudder, something anyone else would have missed due to its subtlety. "But it suits you," he said, his eyes tracing the lines of your body, somehow stripping you further despite your present nakedness. "My good girl."

Your breath hitched in your throat at the familiar pet name—one that Satoru seldom used considering you behaved more like a brat most of the time. Nodding slowly, you wanted to hear him praise you again, again, and again, your ears eagerly searching for his voice. 

"Your good girl," you repeated, staring up at him as you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck. 

His hands found your lower back and rubbed gentle circles, Satoru breathing evenly against your ear. "You're so tense," he murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss against your earlobe. "Can you fucking relax so I can fuck you sooner?" Satoru snapped while giving your ass a slap, pushing your hips against his to rub his cock against your folds. 

You whimpered at the sudden stimulation, biting his shoulder in a pathetic attempt to muffle your cry and appease his command. Twitching, your hips gave you away, Satoru clicking his tongue at your graceful fall toward disgrace. 

He moved his hand to cup your pussy, his fingers and palm meeting the sticky mess between your thighs and pressing roughly against your mound. "Maybe good girl wasn't the right term," his teeth bit your ear and he hummed, as if asking for an answer from you. "So needy for cock you're shivering just thinking about it," he mocked you as his middle and ring finger pushed past your folds, sucked into your heat and swallowed by your walls. "Mhm," Satoru praised politely, "good?" 

"S-So good," you said, clenching around his fingers. Your eyes blurred for a moment, lost in the feeling of his digits as they searched for the sweet spot in your pussy, wetness gushing past his knuckles and covering his hand in a sheen of arousal. 

Curling his fingers inside and stroking the spongy wall in your cunt, your eyes crossed and you felt him chuckle above you, kissing the top of your head as he repeated the motion, hitting your sweet spot over and over.

You felt apart in his arms, Satoru whispering words of dirty admiration that pulled you closer to the edge until he dangled you there, slowing his hand to refocus your attention on his voice. 

Satoru groaned himself, his dick strained against his stomach and the head weeping with precum. "That's e-fucking-nough," he growled, moving you so that your back pressed against his chest and your legs spread with his hands on your thighs, completely helpless as he had you on display for him and him alone. 

Your head lolled over onto your shoulder, his chin on the other as he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip grazing your folds. He pulled your legs up, forcing your face toward your cunt as his mouth hung open in anticipation. Satoru hummed in satisfaction at his work, looking forward and hungrily staring at the reflection in the mirror across your bed, adoring the way your eyes diverted away from the lewd image. 

He kissed your temple, as gentle as he could. "Tell me you want me."

"Want you," you said, leaning into his touch, "want you—fuck!"

Stuffing himself in your cunt, he fucked you slowly for the first few thrusts, your name and cuss words interspersed as his senses drowned in the suffocating warmth of your hole. Satoru then sped up his pace, your legs limp as he pulled them against his chest and his cock disappeared inside of you, snapping his hips rough enough to bruise your insides. 

Satoru loved watching you succumb to his very own heavenly hell, preening over the dazed expression on your beautiful face. Drool leaked from the corners of your lips and gathered on the tip of your tongue, strings of saliva connecting your teeth as you gasped in absolute reverie, your eyes fluttering as your lust-blown pupils stared into the mirror. The violent flush on your face spread to your neck and chest, your stomach bulging with his cock as he slipped in and out of your welcoming cunt. Words broke off into moans and his name fell from your tongue in a cosmic cry that he would adore until the day he died. 

"My pretty little fuck toy," he rasped, your pussy clenching at the pet name and squeezing his cock. "Touch yourself for me," Satoru said, "rub that clit," he saw your arm move weakly between your thighs, a smile grazing his features as you listened to him. "Mhm," he nodded as he fucked you further, "love seeing my good girl play with their pretty pussy." 

Flames spread over your skin as you burned with bliss, crackling under his praise that you would live and die for. "Breed me," you slurred out, "breed me so full, Toru, please—!" 

The act of sex suddenly became more primal; to fulfill the carnal desire to have you full of his seed; to claim your insides and carve them into the shape of his cock. And you craved nothing more than exactly that: to have him in his entirety stuffing your pussy until his name is the only one you can remember. 

Satoru released his hands from your thighs and flipped you over, his hand pressing against your back to arch your ass up. "Hands," he said, using his fingers as handcuffs around your wrists, pinning them behind you. "Sweetheart," Satoru pushed his dick inside you once more, hovering over you to wrap his forearm around your neck, brutally curving your back and deepening his thrusts inside your walls. "Slutty baby," he hissed into your ear, "gonna cum inside you and you're gonna love it, yeah?"

You choked on your words but nodded in case the message wasn't clear. Satoru tightened the pressure on your neck, black spots dotting your vision but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, your need to cum and for him to cum in you more important. 

His fingers parted your lips, tilting your head back as your mouth hung open. "So fucking tight," Satoru gritted out, "god, you're gonna be the death of me, fuck—!" His hips stuttered and he felt incredibly close to cumming, his impending release hanging on strings of sanity as Satoru longed to hear you cry out for him. "Say you want it," he said gruffly, "say you want my cum."

"Wanna be stuffed," you drawled out with his fingers still in your mouth, "cum inside me, cum in me, Toru—!"

Satoru shuddered on top of you as his cock spurted inside of your cunt, your walls greedily covered in white ropes of his seed. He continued to fuck you through his orgasm, reaching to rub your clit as you came soon after him, the sight between your legs so goddamn messy that he almost came again just from looking at you. 

He pulled out and pressed his fingers against your hole, causing you to twitch with oversensitivity. "Wouldn't wanna waste a drop of cum," Satoru said tactfully, gently fingering his seed inside you, "I worked so hard to get it there." 

"Fuck you," you said, scrunching your eyes as you buried your face into a pillow. 

"That's what just happened," he said dryly, "dumbass." 

He was gentle and made sure to clean you up thoroughly after, pressing kisses all over your skin as he gave you his shirt to wear this time. Satoru returned from the bathroom to see you dozing off in the very bed he fucked you in, peaceful and as lovable as could be. Clad in his boxers, he crawled into bed with you, insisting that he would be the little spoon as you groggily wrapped your arms around him. 

He snuggled into your touch, and you briefly forgot that this was the same Satoru that pinned you down and forced you to take his cock, but you were too sleepy to think any harder. And apparently, so was he, already snoring in your arms.

[skzdarlings]

part vii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 9600 words)

chapter warnings: beginnings of some kink exploration (dom/sub, mentions of discipline, breeding kink)

-

At one of your father’s dinner parties, a pompous idiot with too much to drink touches you.  It takes Felix seconds to rip that hand away, holding it in a painful clutch and threatening to snap his wrist if the man tries anything again.  Safe to say, he does not, and everyone else gives you a blissfully wide berth.    

You look at Felix on the ride back to the apartment.  The armed limo is huge and empty with just the two of you, the partition up for a modicum of privacy, but he is still quiet.   His head is on his fist as he stares out the tinted window.    It is not a particularly morose quietude; you suspect he is just tired because of the long day and late hour. 

You are tired too, your gaze dreamy and unfocussed as you look at him.  The security uniform tonight is a black dress shirt and black suit.  It makes him look severe, lean and dark, all high cheekbones and dark brows, his shock of blonde hair tied smoothly back.  

He looks very intimidating when he doesn’t smile, fitting a plethora of roles when it suits him.  This one stirs something deep in the core of you, something that makes you feel flushed and a little embarrassed. 

It seems like such a cliché, someone with your history getting turned on by a mean man with a meaner hand.  Your stubborn side is irrefutably against you even acknowledging such a desire, but the desire wins out anyway.  You and Felix know real violence better than anyone.  You know the power propelling your passion is not his deep voice snapping at that man, not his powerful stance or harsh action.  It was the way he looked at you after.  The way he so gently touched your side to comfort you, using that low voice not to threaten but console, asking so sincerely if you were all right and if you needed anything.  You know if you asked, he would have given you anything. 

Your father looks at Felix and sees an inhuman soldier.  Others look at him and see his masks, his roles, his duties.  You see all those things and more, his capacity for goodness among them.

Felix has taken beatings for you.  He has protected you with all his painfully won abilities.  He has trusted you with the darkest parts of himself, just as he seen the worst of your wounds.  You know he will always take care of those scars, and there is immense relief in trusting that way. 

You doze in your dreaminess, stirring when he gently shakes your shoulder at arrival.  You groan, more for show than actual displeasure.  He chuckles and squeezes your arm. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs.  “Gotta get to bed before you can sleep, yeah?” 

You blink your eyes open.  He is close, close enough to count each freckle.  You brush back a fallen strand of blonde hair, your gaze tracing it to the root.  He needs another touch-up.  You smile, thinking about the simple domestic routine that is helping him with his hair, a part of his body he can control and that he trusts you with completely.     

“C’mon,” he says again, as the driver opens the door.  “Let’s go.”

Felix steps out first, always assessing.  You follow when he offers his hand.  You both acknowledge the driver with the usual politeness then Felix escorts you into the building.  In the elevator, you rest your head on his shoulder and yawn.  He stands straight and stoic, aware of the cameras and surveillance.  You bumbling about in your tipsiness is normal but he should be indifferent to it. 

He takes your heels when you pass them to him, walking calmly while you sashay out of the elevator with a showy flourish.  You know it is killing him not to laugh until you are safe inside the apartment. 

“You’re a menace,” he says, tossing your shoes to the side.  You giggle and reach for him but he swerves and ignores your pout.  “Go to bed,” he says.  “I’m just gonna let your dad know we’re back.” 

The usual routine.  Phone call, security check, bed.  Sometimes he takes longer than necessary so you are asleep when he climbs into bed, but when you are awake he smiles despite himself. 

That smile dimples his cheeks tonight.  You are sitting at your vanity, wiping the last of your make-up when he walks into the bedroom.  He unknots his tie while swooping down, his mouth by your ear and your gazes meeting in the mirror. 

“You should be in bed,” he says.  His tone colours it so suggestively that he might as well have murmured something filthy. 

You feign indifference as you turn to him.  He straightens and you stand, your gazes locked in a challenging contest of wills.  You take the ends of his tie and tug him closer.  He is too coordinated to truly stumble so you know he does it for your benefit, looking charmed the whole time. 

“I need help, remember?”  You smile sweetly.  “You’ve been derelict in duty.” 

“Ah,” he says.  “Sorry to leave you waiting.” 

“You should be.” 

It seems long ago now that you were standing in your closet at the house, wishing you had an excuse for Felix to put his hands on you.  That was when you hoped for a circumstantial resolution, so you would not have to ask, so it would just happen. 

Things have changed.  He was with you when you bought this dress.  He was in this room when you stepped into it.  He zipped it because you asked, in on the same joke when you smiled at him through the mirror. 

Now you turn around and offer your back.  There were some tingles when he zipped you up, just like there were sparks when you tied his tie despite him knowing how, but having him undress you feels different.  A little shiver dances down your spine as he lowers the zipper, slower than he needs to, either tormenting you or bracing himself.   

He doesn’t need to slide the straps down your shoulders, nor help you step out of the dress, but he does.  He gathers it at your waist and sinks to his knees, letting you step out of the gown.  Then he drapes it over his arm and stands, pointedly not looking any lower than your neck. 

“Will that be all?” he asks, dryly, playing your little game. 

You lift an eyebrow and smirk.  He laughs, shaking his head. 

“Proper classes start next week, yeah?”  He leaves to hang your dress.  “You should try and get on a better sleep schedule.” 

“Ugh,” is your reply.  “You and your common sense.  I hate you.” 

He smirks, looking down at the dress as he slides it onto the hanger.  “I know,” he says. 

There is one more party before the summer ends.  You know there will be lots of socializing, the final summer bash an excruciatingly long event, so you take your time preparing.  You permit a little indulgence, lounging in a bubble bath while reading on your phone. 

You tend to mentally insert Felix into all the stories.  His understated dominance, deriving from a secure sense of competence, is far more tantalizing than some of the dramatically brusque characters, so you really have no choice but to think of your bodyguard as you slide your free hand under the water…

As if he knows you are about to be naughty, Felix knocks at the bathroom door. 

“Yes?” you ask, turning off your screen.  “What is it?”

“Uhh, is my jacket still in there?  I can’t find it.” 

“Yup.”

“All right.  Can you bring it when you’re done—”    

“You can come in,” you say.  You place your phone aside then sink into the water.  “I’m decent.” 

Felix opens the door only to immediately jump back a step.

“O-o-okaaay,” he says before laughing in disbelief.  He scrubs a hand over his face.  “Yeah, uhh, that was my fault.  I should have known better.” 

You giggle, blowing a few bubbles apart. 

“Don’t be a baby,” you say.  “You can’t see anything.”  That much is true as the bubbles blanket the water.  “Besides,” you say, smiling, “it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” 

He sighs and looks at you sideways.  You raise a wet hand and wiggle your fingers. 

“Uh-huh,” he says, amused despite himself.   He sighs again, his voice breaking on the upward lilt, making you laugh.  He crosses the room, pointedly not looking in your direction and fetching his jacket off the counter.  

He is leaving when you call his name in a syrupy voice.  

“Yes?” he asks, his back to you.  He is in a white dress shirt but ripped jeans, his hair in a messy half-ponytail.  He is only halfway ready, halfway your father’s man, but all the way yours when you call him back to you. 

He tosses the jacket on the counter again.  He crosses his arms, looking at you with an expectant tip of the head. 

You lift a leg and rest your toes on the end of the tub.  His eyes flick down the length of bare skin before settling on your face, his expression seemingly unmoved despite the compulsion to look. 

You hum casually as you wave a razor. 

“Are you kidding,” he says, more of a statement than a question, already knowing the answer. 

“What?  You’re here to help me, aren’t you?” you ask, blinking innocently. 

“I’m here to, hmm, stop you from being killed and, ah, what did your father say again…”  He taps a finger on his chin while ambling towards the tub.  He smiles as if remembering, nodding with utmost seriousness.  “Yeah, that was it.  Use my, uhh, discretion?  To discipline you?” 

“Do you want to discipline me, Felix?” 

There is a moment of tense silence.  He takes the final step to the tub and perches himself on the edge.  He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, carefully folding each crease up to his elbow.  You watch it, far more rapt than any person should be, looking at his forearms, his wrists, his hands, and wondering how you can be so attracted to even the most innocuous parts of him. 

“You know…” he says, without any teasing or irony, drawing your eyes up to his face.  “Sometimes I think… you know, I’ll be a monster my whole life no matter what I do.”  He takes the razor while you are distracted with forming an interjection.  He keeps speaking, lathering some soap on his fingertips.  “I don’t how you can ask me things like that, and somehow… just… make me feel like no matter what I’m doing, I’m still doing something, mmm, holy… and good.” 

You are good, you want to say.    

He clasps your ankle and rests it on his knee, then draws the razor along your calf, concentrated.  You are hyperaware of the kiss of metal, how easily he could hurt you, how he is so careful not to, even by accident.  He rinses the razor then starts again, eyes turned to his task while he speaks.   

“The way you look at me, ah,” he says, smiling and shaking his head.  “It almost scares me, yeah, just what I’d do if it was for you.”

“Well,” you say, letting your leg sink back into the water when he finishes.  “That’s because you’re a good bodyguard.”  It is the most you trust yourself to say.

“Am I?” he asks, with a tilt of the head. 

Your eyes meet for as long as you can bear to look at him, then you force yourself to shrug.

“You already know how I feel about you,” is what you say. 

He lets out a breath of a laugh, then stands and turns to leave.  You clear your throat loudly and he looks back at you.

“I have another leg,” you say dryly. 

He laughs and sits back down.

-

The party is a typical event.  Everyone blends together, a restless sea of noisy faces.  You do not take particular note of anyone. 

Until you see Hyunjin. 

He is across the room, sitting with his parents and a few other people.  It has only been a few months but his hair has grown, now touching his jaw.  He is handsome as ever but he is no longer faking happiness.  You relate to the look on his face, the open contempt as he regards a few characters at his table. 

He is helping himself to the complimentary wine, a blush on his cheeks from mild intoxication.  You watch him swing out of his seat and strut up to the bar, his father glaring behind him the whole time. 

Then his father spots you and you have to refrain from rolling your eyes.  You take a sip of your own drink, sighing as Hyunjin’s father crosses the room to whisper something to him.

Hyunjin looks your way.  Though there are many people between you, the fuss of the party fades away.  You see him, his slouch, how tired he looks, aged in just a few short months.  You want to ask him so many questions.  You hope he is okay, but he is here so that must be limited. 

Hyunjin looks at his father and shakes his head.  A quiet argument seems to brew between them, ending with Hyunjin storming off into the corridor.  You watch him retreat, debating whether or not you want to follow when your father says, “Don’t.”

You did not realize he had returned to the table.  He is sipping a coffee and watching you with obvious disapproval.

 “Don’t what?” you ask.  The question punches out of you very sharply.  The ordeal with Hyunjin reminds you of everything that followed with Jisung.  You cannot help the way your adrenaline kicks in, frightened and frantic. 

Your father is always happiest when he has an underling squirming.  He smiles into his coffee then slowly places it down.  He takes his time wiping his mouth, tossing the napkin on the floor after. 

“You’re not a child anymore,” he says.  “You don’t need a boy like that.” 

“I don’t want a boy like that,” you say.  “We’re still friends, though.” 

“You don’t need friends like that either,” he says.  “You’re better than this.” 

The absolute nerve of this man to act like he never liked Hyunjin, that your break-up was his plan all along, that your decision was actually his own.  To act like he is still in control.  

A part of you wants so badly to swing back with your own words, to tell him everything about you, about Felix, just to see the look on his face.  He’s not in control of your life, you are, and he can throw you into whatever situation he wants, but you will continue to make your own choices.  You have carved out your own happiness right under his nose.  You have done the impossible over and over and over again.   

You do not say anything, of course.  A few moments of gloating satisfaction is not worth the devastating outcome of such a revelation.  You just shake your head and clench your jaw, fixing your stare on nothing particular.  You count your breath to temper yourself. 

“I am pleased you agree with me on such an assertion,” your father says. 

He must know he is riling you up, but he gets to act calm and collected because he has no emotional investment in it.  Hyunjin was a means an end.  Jisung was nothing and no one.  Felix is a soldier.  He doesn’t care about Hyunjin’s artistic side, that he has a deeply sensitive nature.  He doesn’t care that Jisung is funny and brilliant and creative, that he brightens lives just by being there.  He doesn’t care that Felix has a hundred complicated layers, that he is good and goofy and kind, that he is sad and sorrowful and angry. 

He doesn’t care that you love them.  He cares that people play their part so he can play his, above them all where he is safe in his power.      

“I do what I have to,” you say through gritted teeth. 

“A valuable lesson for the Hwang boy if he wants to move up in the world,” your father says, otherwise dismissive as he looks at his watch.  The conversation is evidently starting to bore him.

That annoys you more than anything else.  Though you know better, your vexation propels you to blurt, “And what lesson was Jisung supposed to learn?” 

You regret it as soon as you say it.  You do not want to do anything that would ever endanger him again.  

Your fleeting panic is for nothing.  Your father is perplexed, looking at you like he thinks you may have finally gone insane. 

“Who?” he says. 

A twisted combination of fury and relief spins inside you like a hurricane.  Who.  Your best friend, an innocent civilian that he targeted and harassed, a good and kind boy who never wanted anything more than to love his friends and be loved in return.  One of the most heartbreaking separations of your life, a source of so much agony and anger.  It was only a few months ago.   

And your father says who. 

You are so stunned, you can only stare back at him, completely at a loss for words. 

Your father is standing, prepared to leave, when realization blooms on his face.

“Ah, right, the schoolboy,” he says.  Then he just laughs, like you told an absolutely hilarious joke.  He puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes amiably.  “He learned not to aim higher than he’s worth,” your father says, laughing some more like he cracked a punchline too.  “Some people are destined to live and die as nothing.”

He walks away with a smile.  You stare into the distance, stone-faced. 

When the timing is less suspicious, you make your way over to Felix.  He is standing with the security team, armed and ready for action.  He unhooks his earpiece so he can hear when you whisper. 

“As soon as possible,” you say, “get me alone with Hyunjin.  And be as discreet, please.” 

It is obvious he was not expecting that.  He opens his mouth to say something then closes it again, looking confused.

“Please,” you say, then walk away so you do not arouse suspicion.  There is only so much conversation you would reasonably need to have with your bodyguard in the middle of a party. 

Felix pops his earpiece back in, frowning to himself as he resumes position.  You go to the bar for another drink, smiling at the appropriate guests, making small talk when prompted.   Hyunjin eventually returns to the room, so you and Felix make eye contact.  He straightens his jacket and moves across the room, blending in as security should.    

You wait by the balcony doors as Felix approaches Hyunjin.  At first, Hyunjin appears to be dismissing him, then he does a double-take and realizes it is Felix.  He looks confused but Felix departs as swiftly as he arrived.  He joins you by the balcony doors, following you outside. 

You wait, leaning on the balcony railing and looking over the hotel courtyard with unseeing eyes.  Your mind is faraway, already racing with questions, thoughts, concerns.  You told yourself you would never see Hyunjin or Jisung again, but that was before Hyunjin disappeared then reappeared.  You have a million things you want to know.  Did he try running?  Did he fail?  Will he try again? 

Then Hyunjin steps onto the balcony and you forget the tedium of words.  You hug him and he hugs you back, a tight but brief embrace.  You both laugh a little. 

You see Felix out of the corner of your eye.  He is lingering a few feet back like a bodyguard would, but he is staring like a jealous boyfriend until he remembers himself.  He clears his throat and stands straight, looking away. 

Hyunjin glances at him too, then looks at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“I’m guessing there’s… a story here…” he says. 

“You’re one to talk,” you say, thumping his arm.  “Where were you?  Was it…?”

Hyunjin glances at Felix who is stoic as can be.  Hyunjin clearly does not know what to make of him, so he errs on the side of the caution, speaking quietly. 

“Paris,” he says.  “My dad sent me to live with family for the summer.  It was supposed to be a punishment, sending me away from my friends, but I loved it.”   

You smile.  You have to commend Hyunjin’s ability to find happiness despite how his parents try to control him.  They tried to terrify him as a boy, chasing him into the shadows to hide, but it only took a few moments with Minho for him to lean back into sunlight.  It pours out of him now in cracks and fissures, punching holes in his grim exhaustion and bringing him to life before your eyes. 

“They watched me closely the whole time, though,” he says.  “They still are.  I’m just biding my time.  What about you?” 

“Honestly,” you say softly, “I’m just taking it one day at a time.”

“You’re not alone, though,” he says, nodding toward Felix. 

In the face of Hyunjin’s honesty, past and present, you cannot lie.  One glance towards Felix reveals all your thoughts.   

Hyunjin smiles and pats your arm. 

“That’s good, at least,” he says.  “When none of you showed up to the graduation parties, I was worried.  I phoned Jisung but he said he didn’t know where you were.”

“Jisung?” you say.  “He didn’t go to grad?” 

“No.” Hyunjin shakes his head.  “He said it didn’t matter.  I figured that’s because your dad wasn’t letting you go or something, and Jisung probably wouldn’t have fun without you.  I told him to hang out with me but, whatever, he was kinda stubborn.” 

“Oh.” 

“You didn’t know?” Hyunjin asks, brow furrowed.  “What happened after you left my house?” 

“A lot happened,” you say.  You do not where to start, the story exhausting.  “Basically some of my father’s enemies… well, let’s just say things got out of control and my dad got mad.  Jisung was kinda in the middle of things so… I can’t see him again.  For both our sakes.”   

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin says.  “I know you guys were close.”

You want to deflect and joke, maybe point out that most people lose contact with friends after high school.  But you can’t do that.  Your first true friend will always be a part of you and you cannot pretend otherwise.  You don’t want to pretend otherwise.   

“Yeah,” is what you say.  “We were.  I just hope he’ll be happy out there.” 

Hyunjin wraps you up for another hug, speaking low, “I hope we all will.” 

You close your eyes and squeeze him back.  You are not sure when you will see him again, but you honestly hope it is never.  You hope he gets away.  You hope the light inside him bursts through its restraints, never to be obscured again. 

Hyunjin returns to the party first.  You watch him go, reflective.  Eventually you look at Felix, expecting to find him stoic and composed, but he is frowning. 

Flustered by all the drama, you forgot Felix gets a little jealous around Hyunjin.  He still does not know the exact nature of your relationship, only that you faked a romance.  Given the peculiarity of the situation, you cannot blame his marginal envy, especially because he is not impolite or aggressive about it.  He understands you are all in difficult circumstances. 

Considering those dramatic circumstances, petty jealousy is hilariously trivial.  Felix can take out two armed agents in less than ten seconds but he cannot stop frowning at a rival pretty boy. 

 You touch his cheek, lifting the corner of his mouth into a smile.  It drops the second you let go. 

“We’re just friends,” you say. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he says.

“Oh, good,” you say.  “Because for a second there my very professional bodyguard almost looked jealous.” 

Felix smiles one of his toothy, saccharine smiles, eyes crinkled with overnice mirth. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says.  “I already told you, he doesn’t have what it takes to handle you, yeah?” 

He says it so sweetly, but he says it while sliding his palm down the curve of your ass.  You jump when he squeezes you, then his hand appropriately returns to the middle of your back to escort you inside. 

It leaves you both sufficiently keyed up for the remainder of the party.  It does not take much these days.  A particularly thorough regard in a quiet room is enough to get you hot. 

You find it hard to look away from him.  In the limo, you inch your hand closer and closer to his lap, but he catches your fingers when they graze his thigh.  Inside the building, you pretend to be more intoxicated than you are, so he is forced to sweep you into a bridal hold and carry you to the elevators.  You drop your head on his shoulder, sighing with deep satisfaction.  Your breath flutters the collar of his shirt. 

“Menace,” Felix says affectionately. 

He takes his time doing the security check.  You resort to reading on your phone, inadvertently losing yourself in the erotic romance.  You slide a hand under the covers, cupping yourself through your underwear.   Other than a t-shirt, it is all you are wearing.

Felix returns, dressed in his t-shirt and boxers for sleep.  He sits on the bed but it takes him a second to notice your guilty face.  He pauses, looking at your phone then where your arm disappears under the covers. 

“Hello,” he says dryly.  “What are you doing?” 

You pass him the phone.  He lifts an eyebrow but takes it, sitting up against the headboard to read.  He does not smile or frown, nor does he laugh or reprimand you.  He reads, brow furrowed in concentration.  At one point he flicks his thumb over his bottom lip, then he flips some hair out of his eyes. 

Finally, he exhales and turns the screen off.     

“Felix,” you say after a moment of silence. “Can I touch myself, please?”

“You, uhh…” He clears his throat.  “You don’t need my, uhh, permission for that.” 

“I want to do it here.”  Your smirk softens to a shy smile when he looks at you.  You wet your lips, his eyes flicking there before meeting your gaze.  “And aren’t you in charge at all times?” you tease. 

He laughs, a sharp breath through his nose.  Amusement tickles across his face, dimples deepening with a barely restrained smile. 

“I, uhh, I don’t think anyone could really take charge of you.”  He laughs, then jokes, “But the politeness is a nice change, I guess.” 

“I can be polite,” you say, batting your eyelashes.  “And I can be good.  But not for just anyone.” 

He swallows.  You watch the surrendering shrug of his shoulders, the tension leaving his body.  He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.   He does not look at you when he says, “Yeah.  Okay.” 

“Okay?”  You smirk again.  

Your prolonged teasing backfires when he looks at you without a trace of nervousness.  He tips his head and looks at you expectantly, with a lifted brow and stern set to his mouth. 

“Okay,” he says, voice rough.  “Touch yourself.” 

You are shy under the intensity of his gaze, feeling especially vulnerable as you are laying down and he is sitting up.  But it is that same intensity that encourages you.  This is your Felix in your shared bed, his wandering gaze the same loving caress as always.

You push the covers down.  His eyes follow your hands as they hook into your underwear to shimmy down your hips.  It’s seductive in theory, but it feels silly to pull back your legs and tug the fabric down.  If it looks ridiculous, it does not show on his face, utterly transfixed in its devotion. 

You touch yourself at the same time his hand falls into his lap.  You can see him taking shape beneath his boxers, his hand finding the curve of his dick through the material. 

You make a soft noise and his hand freezes, his dark eyes fixed between your legs then gradually sweeping up to your face. 

Your hand pauses too.   

There is no action and no sound between you for a long moment.  You really do feel like you can read his face, every little detail, but maybe you simply see your own desires reflected back to you, the same way you have seen your own fears and insecurities over the years. 

Right now, you see all that mutual yearning.  Imploring, begging, to cross this space between you.  You cannot find the words to ask.  He just breathes deeply. 

“Felix,” you finally say.   

In the end, it’s all you need to say.  He slides across the space between you. 

He lays along your side, propping his head in one hand and letting the other drift down your torso.  Your own hand jumps to your chest, resting just above your rapidly beating heart.  He looks into your face as you part your legs in invitation. 

The moment he touches you, you swear it obliterates all the pain you have ever felt, suffused completely in the pleasure of his hand.  When he last touched you so intimately, you were rushed, stealing whatever touches you could in that stolen moment.  Now he takes his time, feeling you, rubbing softly at your most tender places.  You are so wet that his fingers glide so easily, each press silky and soft as he fits his fingers inside you, as your body welcomes him.    

Your whole body feels taut, rearing under his hand and wanting so much more.  He speaks to you in a low voice, nonsense sweetness that leaves you flushed and sweaty.

You grasp the collar of his shirt, tugging with thoughtless desperation, and his hand slows down.  You whimper miserably, looking at him with your saddest eyes, wondering why he is stopping.  Then you realize you grabbed him with the hand that was between your legs.   

You remember the time he came with your fingers in his mouth, the taste of you touching his tongue.  It spurs you to touch his mouth now.  His lips part with a gasping breath, as if he is trying to remember how to breathe.  The tip of his tongue touches the tip of your finger, then his whole face scrunches up like he is bracing himself for a hit. 

He exhales, then moves. 

You push yourself up on your elbows, looking down with equal parts disbelief and exhilaration.  He hooks a hand under your thigh and moves you, guiding it over his shoulder as he lowers his face between your legs.  His breath touches you first, then the cup of his lips, then his tongue, feasting and eager. 

You want to throw back your head with pleasure, but you also don’t want to look away.  You watch him through slitted eyes, his mouth, his flushed cheeks, his tongue.  He tastes you like he is savouring each second, like this is a luxury to be indulged reverently, with broad strokes of his tongue and a hungry press to his lips.  His open-mouthed kiss is wet and thorough, and his moan is a rumbling vibration, your thighs twitching around his head from the effect of both. 

You say his name, and you say please, and you say a string of hazy supplications until you think you might cry.  You touch his head, fingers sinking into his hair and tugging, making him moan and making you come.  You hold him there as he takes you over, licking you until you are a trembling mess of aftershocks and sensitivity. 

You gasp and he finally lifts his face.  He gazes at you while he sits back on his heels.  You watch him wipe his mouth, thumb circling his lips. 

Your eyes go from his mouth down, down, down, begging.   “Please,” you say, in a rasping voice.   

“You, uhh…”  His voice is so rough that even when he clears his throat, it still comes out dark.  “You don’t—shouldn’t—”

“I want to,” you say, already shifting. 

“You, uhhh, ah, you—” 

It’s a half-hearted protestation if that, inarticulate and spoken at the same time he reaches for you.  His hand curls around the back of your head, gently guiding you closer.   He kneels upright and you sit lower, fumbling with his waistband.  You are not sure if you are excited or nervous or both, but you forget to be shy when you finally take him in your mouth. 

He starts swearing in multiple languages.  Feeling him unravel with pleasure ignites more fire in your core.  Inexpert though you must be, you know him, so you listen and respond.  You show him the same reverence, with a slow drag of your mouth, looking up while he is between your lips.  He makes a sound that comes from deep in his chest, running a hand through his hair as he curses again. 

You are helpless but to moan as well.  He warns when he is close, to which you hum in acknowledgement.  He curses yet again, forgetting all his restraint and rules of behaviour.  He cups your face, then that hard body with all its hidden power goes soft and sweet just for you.   You are a little messy swallowing, but he is so dazed that he does not notice anything for a good few seconds. 

“Wow,” he finally says while you sit back and wipe your lips.  You cannot help but giggle back at him.  “That was, uh.  Wow.” 

“Wow,” you repeat, your voice still ragged but teasing nonetheless.  “No lecture, no scolding, no warning… just wow.” 

He laughs and shakes his head.  “Would you even listen if I did?” he asks. 

You pretend to think about it, making him laugh again, then you grin with a hearty, “Nope!” 

He is still smiling when he takes you in his arms, when he puts you on your back, when he kisses across your thighs until his face is back where you want him. 

“Mmm, then I won’t waste my breath,” he says.

You are still giggling when he parts his lips, though it softens when he starts licking at you slowly.  He works you up again gradually on his tongue.  Somewhere along the way, you realize are still smiling.  You have been so afraid of so many touches for so long that it is a marvel on its own – that you like him touching you so much, that you like it enough to smile and laugh even at the height of pleasure. 

Maybe it is that thought, or just the overwhelming burst of sensation when he sucks on you, when he licks at you, when he presses his face so intimately and thoroughly between your legs that you come even harder the second time.  Maybe it is a part of this.  Maybe it is all of this. 

But tears escape from the corner of your eyes.  You find yourself gasping, a shuddery sound.  He is surfacing and wiping his mouth when he notices, then he is leaning over you, touching the side of your face, his face full of concern. 

“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s the good kind, I promise.”  It is easy to prove because you are laughing through those tears, a bubbly torrent of giggles that you cannot contain.     

There is still a crease in his brow, maybe a little confused, but he smiles back at you. 

“Well, I only like the good kind,” he says, wiping his thumb across your cheek. 

“Mm.”  You take his hand and kiss his palm.  He sighs like it is somehow more torturously pleasurable than anything else.  “You’re a good bodyguard,” you murmur.  “It’s never the bad kind if you’re around.”

His eyes close.  Though he cannot meet your gaze, he leans down and kisses your forehead. 

When he withdraws, you touch his jaw and guide him close.  He cups your head as your lips meet, the tangy shock on his tongue rippling through you.  You do not shy away, holding him close, kissing him until you are both sated and sleepy.  He lays his head on the soft curve of your chest and you run your fingers through his hair. 

You get dozy, your eyes closing, your fingers slowing.  He exhales. 

“Mmm,” his voice is sleepy, words meandering in their low murmur, “Wish I could say… wish you could hear… Maybe…mmm… maybe you can hear me anyway, yeah…  Whatever you’re dreaming about…  I’ll tell you there, ‘kay.  Just listen.  Sweetheart.  Yeah.  Sweetheart…”

Though his sleepy ramblings are a little nonsensical, the sentiment is heartfelt and easily understood.   

That quiet, dozy space between dreaming and waking is the only place you dare accept it so brazenly. 

-

Every time is supposed to be the last time, just like the first time was supposed to be the only time. 

You feel so alive and so safe whenever he touches you, even if you know it actually puts you in more danger.   But real world ramifications feel far away.  Some days you almost feel normal, studying and attending class, wandering around campus, sharing a bed in your quiet apartment. 

He still phones your father with reports, though there is little to cover anyway.  It is easy to disappear on that sprawling university campus, just another face among hundreds.  Your friendships are cordial and mostly superficial.  Felix does not need to lie as your routine genuinely revolves around class and studying, maybe some casual day trips in approved public locations. 

The only lie is the biggest lie, that Felix is the perfect inhuman soldier your father wants, and you are the begrudging child licking your wounds until the day you accept your place.  Your father is so wretchedly trapped in himself that you doubt he could see the truth even if someone outright told him. 

A few weeks pass.  The season changes into autumn.  Everything turns red and gold, and the blue sky is an ashy violet on the best of days. Even in the dying browns of nature, you feel more alive than ever. 

As constant as the seasonal cycle is the cycle of rest and nightmares.  It is difficult to gauge when all that pain and anxiety might interrupt the peace.   It comes and goes, like a restless creature begging for attention.  You are not sure it will ever be truly tamed. 

You wake early one morning to Felix sitting up in bed.  His hair is a wavy, unkempt mess, like he was tossing more than usual.  Daylight is little more than a mist in the darkness, laying over the room like a gauzy film, making everything feel very still.   

He sighs and looks down at you, jumping when he sees you are awake.  Usually he is much more alert.  This nightmare must have been severe to keep him so occupied. 

He settles, though he looks away from you. 

“Sleep,” he says.  “It’s early still.” 

“Will you sleep with me?” you ask. 

He nods, looking into the distance.  He does not fully lay down, slouching against the headboard, but he holds out his arm.  You nestle into his side and he wraps that arm around you.  

He feels far away despite his proximity, returning to you in little breaths and touches until he is stroking his fingers across your back.  You hum with pleasure and snuggle closer.  It makes him sigh. 

You want to stay awake to comfort him but the early hour bests you.  Suddenly you are waking again, this time to your morning alarm.  You are on his side of the bed but Felix is gone, though you can hear the shower running so you do not fret for long. 

You are more awake this time, as is the morning itself, the daylight more determined to brighten the room.  You sit up in bed and scroll through your phone, waking more surely and waiting for Felix to show.  He never takes too long in the shower, functional and swift about everything.  The water stops before long and you can hear him puttering around the sink.    

Usually, you would not pester him during any private time, but you are still concerned after his strange start to the morning.  You shuffle to the bathroom door where you gently knock. 

“Yeah?”  His voice sounds brighter and more alert.   Maybe the worst has passed.  Sometimes going about your routine is the best remedy. 

“Alarm went,” you say.  “Just need a shower too.  Can I come in?” 

“Uhhh, yeah, sure.” 

You step into the bathroom.  He is standing at the sink, wearing only a towel slung low around his hips.  He didn’t wash his hair but it is still damp in parts, exacerbating his already messy bedhead.  He brushes some of it back and smiles at you. 

You feel warm and flushed like a child with a crush, suddenly very affected by the casual domesticity of this scene.    

Your hesitation concerns him.  He cocks his head, brow furrowing.  “Y’okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say softly.  “Sorry.  You?” 

“Mhm,” he says.  

It seems preposterous that you should feel so flushed, as if you have not seen more of him and in more compromising positions.  It seems just as ridiculous that his eyes should linger the way they do, skimming your bare legs, up to where your long sweatshirt covers your thighs.  He has had his face there several times over the last few weeks, more than acquainted with the most intimate parts of your body.  Surely you should both be past gawking at each other like you have never seen any partial nudity. 

But he looks and you look back.  When he realizes he is staring, he draws himself away.  He fumbles with his toothbrush, then jams it in his mouth without toothpaste. 

You cannot help but smile.  This sort of tension, while torturous in its own right, is far preferable to the darker variety.

He looks at you through the mirror, not very subtly.   Your eyes meet and stay locked.  You grab the hem of your sweatshirt and lift it off, leaving you completely naked in a single sweep.  He takes the toothbrush out of his mouth.  His exhale shakes. 

He looks away and meets the gaze of his own reflection.  It makes him freeze in a way you recognize, the way you sometimes freeze.   Felix’s mind drifts easily, jumping from thought to thought, but this is the fastest you have seem him retreat.  

He does not look at you again, but he also does not leave.  He changes distraction tactics, reaching for his shaving cream instead.  

Taking the cue, you wrap a towel around yourself, the material tucked neatly under the arms so you are marginally modest.   You step up to the counter.  He meets your gaze through the mirror while he lathers shaving cream over his face. 

“Yes?” he says after a moment.   

You perch yourself up on the counter, just smiling and kicking your legs.  Felix jabs his tongue into his cheek to withhold his own smile.  He manages to reign himself in, clearing his throat.  He regards his reflection seriously as he evens out the shaving cream on his jaw.   

You reach out and flick a little, catching it on your fingertip.  You give it an inquisitive look. 

“Do you even grow that much facial hair?” you ask as he rummages through his things for his razor.

He laughs at the question and shakes his head. 

“Uhh, no, it’s splotchy and just… not sexy,” he says.  “Which is why I need to get rid of it.” 

“I see,” you say.  “I suppose I can’t have my bodyguard looking ‘not sexy’.  Tsk, tsk, the way people would talk.  I’d never be able to show my face at another luncheon.”

“Mmm, I’m sure that would be devastating to you,” he says dryly. 

Though he laughs along with your joke, a sombre air falls over him like a hush.  He finds his razor and rinses it, but he takes a little too long, his mind wandering away again. 

Your own giddiness fades.  Felix is prone to the same emotional whiplash as you, though he has always been better controlling it, but right now he is vacillating so quickly between glee and sorrow that you cannot keep up. 

You wonder if it was the nightmare, some dark thought still lingering in his waking mind.  It could be anything. You know Felix has many complicated feelings.  He is torn between his own personhood and the duty he has assigned himself, burdened by whatever treatise exists between him and your father.   What I get is a life worth more than mine, was all he told you.  You do not fully know what he meant; you just know how much it upset you to hear him describe his own life in such pithy terms.  

He has done a great deal to keep you safe as he can, often at his own expense.  He has grappled with his duty in relation to this.  Protect your life, protect another life.  He never says anything about protecting his own.  He does not expect his service to be returned.  He does not think it should be. 

“Can I?” you say when he lifts the razor to his face.  It makes him pause, looking from his reflection to you, clearly confused with the question.  When you nod to the razor in his hand, his brow furrows and he looks at it. 

“Uhh,” he says.  “I guess.  Sure.  Why do you—”

You take the razor and hook a leg around his waist, guiding him closer to you.  He comes slowly, almost warily, but his gaze softens when you touch his chin and tilt his head, your actions gentle.  He looks at you, not his reflection, his gaze thoughtful just as yours is attentive.  You are very careful, aware of how sensitive a face will be beneath the cut of a blade.  

He leans even closer while you work, drawn to your affection like a magnet.  He fits between your open legs, his hands bracketing your hips.  He is leaning close, his breath touching your skin, your hand and blade steady where you care for him. 

You wipe his face when all is said and done, smiling triumphantly up at him.   The smile he returns is practically glowing.  You cannot help but trace the line of his smooth jaw, all the way up into his hair where you flatten a few unruly strands of blonde. 

He makes a sweet noise, a low grunt of pleasure, tipping his head into your head.  You scratch at his scalp, down to his nape.  His shoulders loosen and he leans even closer to you. 

His eyes lift.  He catches his own reflection behind you and it makes him pause again.  You can’t possibly hate yourself that much, you think, morose. 

You sigh.  Holding the back of his neck, you pull his face closer.  His nose skims your throat, his cheek on your shoulder, and his gaze is forcibly drawn away from his reflection.  He exhales and you shiver.  His hand brushes your hip before settling on the counter again. 

“When I have nightmares, I like to be spoken to,” you say, the least pushy way of begging, talk to me about yours now. 

Given his breath of a laugh, he understands.  He makes another noise, one irrefutably guttural and suggestive, even though you are doing nothing to draw it out.  It makes you swallow, your fingers shaky in his hair. 

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” he says, voice so low and right by your ear.  It turns your insides molten. 

“Oh?” is the reply you manage.

“Mm.  The opposite, really.” 

“It seemed like a nightmare,” you say. 

“Only when I woke up,” he says, then pulls back.  “And it wasn’t real.”  His gaze goes from you to his reflection, then down at nothing.  His brow pinches.  “I should— Uhh.  I should go.  You should… shower.  I should…”

He says this, but he does not step away.   It makes it easy to trace a finger up the planes of his abdomen and chest, leading his gaze up and up just as surely. 

“Should,” you say.  “Stupid word.  Awful word.  Imagine if I did what I should.”

“I can’t,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips.  “Not for a second.”  The solemnness falls again, his gaze skittish.  “But I’m not you, yeah?  And I should go.” 

“Be me,” you say, pressing your knees into his hips to stop him from moving.  He could very easily pull away.  You know you are no match for him, physically.  But he lets himself be caught, as he lets no one catch him.   The world comes at him with violence and he combats it easily.   He only surrenders under the gentle sweep of your hand when you cup his jaw.  “Be me,” you say again.  “Don’t do what you should.  Felix.  Don’t think about what he wants.  What I want.  What any of them want.”  You slide your hand down his shoulder, his arm.  You touch the back of his hand.  “What do you want?” you ask.  “More than anything?”

You expect any number of replies, everything from a joke to deflection.  He just stares at you for a moment, a little panicked behind his eyes, his thoughts running quickly.  You worry you will have to catch him, to guide him back slowly and cautiously, but then he looks down.  Not away, but low. 

Then he unties your towel, parting it, revealing you slowly to his gaze.  He looks at you like he has never seen you, even though you stripped down just seconds ago. 

It leaves you warm and flustered, your fingers fluttering with the instinctive desire to cover yourself.  You do not, though you cannot help but breathe a little harder.  The cool mirror at your back has your nipples pebbling in the chill, especially with the towel gone. 

Your legs are open and he is already between them, keeping them them apart.  He looks down the whole length of you, wanting, hungry, then meets your gaze with an unmistakable plea.

You nod.  You wet your lips, a quick flick of your tongue, then his mouth is on yours and you are gasping against his lips.  You make a rough sound, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him back.   The kiss is so good and deep, wasting no more time.  

It fully conquers your senses, so you are surprised when he suddenly tugs you closer.  It is a sharp tug, his hands on your hips, yanking you to the edge of the counter.   

“Felix,” you say, his reply little more than a grunt. 

Your hand collides with his, reaching for his towel.  You leave him to it, raising your fingers to your own lips to lick them.  You put those fingers between your legs, touching yourself, finding you are already so wet, not even needing help. 

His eyes never leave your fingers, and they continue to watch the gentle rub of your hand between your thighs.  His towel hits the ground, then his hand skims your thigh, joining your fingers at the centre.  His fingertips are calloused, his touch distinct from yours.  You drop your hand and lift your hips, rising under the now-practiced stroke of his fingers. 

When he slides two fingers inside you, he moans so dark and roughly, as if more of him was already inside you.  “So fucking soft,” he murmurs, breathing hard.  His mouth skims your cheek, a kiss on your jaw.

Then he sucks a hard kiss on your throat, possessive, wet and hot and mean.  You clench around his fingers, gasping. 

He licks over his bite, no doubt leaving a bruise.  You will have to cover it, but for a moment you let yourself imagine differently, wearing his mark where anyone could see, where everyone would know he is yours and you are his.  It makes you whimper, practically pulsing around his fingers, squeezing him in, wanting more. 

“Felix,” you say again, and it is much more of a whine this time. 

He answers with a kiss, warm on your lips, just as tenderly bruising.  His wet fingers slide along your thigh, his other hand does the same, then he hooks his hands under your knees to lift them a little higher.   You lean onto your palms, holding the position while he licks his palm and glides it over himself.  His hair is a mess again, but you are hardly composed, as out of breath when he finally presses the head of his dick against you.   

You are not even sure if you are saying his name or just moaning incoherently, noises pitifully wanting when he eases himself into you.  It is far slower than you want.  Yes, there is a burn, as it has been some time, but you want it, the good and the bad, the pain and the pleasure.  You wrap your legs around his waist and lock your ankles, pulling him into you so he sinks fully to hilt in a quick glide.  

His hand slaps up against the mirror, a hard thud, twin to his sharp exhale.  His eyes are heavy-lidded, his pink mouth open.  His tongue swipes at your upper lip, then he kisses you softly.  He moves his hips.   

You hold his sides, legs still tight around him.  Your position has him leaning over you, pressing weight into his hand on the mirror.  You stare up at him, his closed eyes and the stern, focussed set to his features.  When you make a sweet noise, he looks down at you through slitted eyes, then dives down to kiss you.  It is a little less hurried, his erratic thrusting slowing to a more steady cadence, one that has you gasping on every deep push. 

“Yeah,” you say, rasping. “Yeah, yes, please…”     

He makes a deep noise, then exhales.  “We should—” he starts. 

“No shoulds,” you bark back. 

He laughs, the sound filling you with even more warmth and pleasure.  You luxuriate in the feeling. 

“I was going to say, should be using protection or something,” he says.   

“S’fine,” you say, logic too hard to comprehend because he is still fucking you, and it makes words too complicated. 

“Not if I knock you up, it won’t be,” he says.  “You want that?” 

He asks it very dryly as the answer is obvious.  No, you do not want that.  It would blow up your lives astronomically.  Even if you were safe, you doubt you would want children right now. 

But the notion enters the same fantasy as the simple bite on your throat, a reality that only hazily resembles your own, where you let him come inside you and you let it change everything. 

So he asks, and you say nothing, but you squeeze him inside you, an entirely accidental clench. 

“Oh,” he says, and laughs again.  It is not that golden jingle, but a low chuckle.  “You do want that.” 

“Shut up,” you say, slapping his shoulder.  “Do not.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few sharper thrusts that make your eyes close and mouth open.  “Okay, sweetheart,” he says.  It is playfully condescending and it makes you look at him with equally playful aggravation.  He smiles.  “What?” he asks. 

“You talk a lot for a guy who has fucked me twice but never once in a bed,” you say.  Then you drop the joking ire because the realization makes you laugh.  “Despite the fact we have been sharing a bed for literal years.” 

He tries to catch his unexpected laugh, resulting in a sputter that makes you giggle more. 

He slows his actions then has the audacity to slowly pull out. You whine, pouting up at him.  He touches your face and shushes you, kissing your temple, then cheek, then the sore little bite on your throat.  It placates you temporarily, long enough for him to scoop his hands under your body and lift you up.  You cling to him, kissing his freckled cheek while he carries you out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom.  There, he drops you on the bed with a soft bounce.  He pushes your legs open while he climbs up between them. 

“There,” he says.  “Bed.”  Then he leans down, hand between your bodies to put himself back inside you.  You are humming with satisfaction when he grabs your arms to put them around his neck again.  He kisses your cheek then below your ear.  His breath caresses your skin, then he whispers, “Hold on.” 

He clearly mistakes fuck me in a bed for fuck me into the mattress, because he very much proceeds to make up for all those years of sharing a bed without doing so. 

After, you are laying in his arms, a bit sticky and sweaty and gross and very out of breath, but the glow has returned to his face and you feel just as warm.   You take his hand and kiss his palm, then curl your fingers around his.  He squeezes your hand back, resting it over his still racing heart. 

The morning light has turned a sunnier yellow.  You are going to miss your class. 

You will deal with the consequences tomorrow.   

[fillthattank]

Heavyweight

A huge thanks to @plumpboybellies for requesting this story, it was very fun to write! Also, a shout out to a few friends for giving me a few ideas (you'll recognize yourselves!). This story wouldn't exist without you!

***

"I want you to move up a weight class," Colton's coach said. "I know you've been playing at this weight for a while, but you have a big frame. You'll be even better with more meat on you."

"How big do you want me?" Colton asked. 

Colton was a wrestler. 6'2'', 190 lbs, all of it muscle. His singlet hugged his lean body, highlighting every bit of definition. You could even guess the outline of his abs through the fabric.

"As big as you can? They removed the maximum weight limit a few years ago," Coach said. "Just bulk up as much as possible in the off season, we'll see how it works out after."

Colton nodded. This sounded fun.

"You'll probably have to kiss that eight-pack goodbye, but the extra muscle and all the heavyweight matches you'll be winning should more than make up for it," Coach laughed, slapping Colton's flat stomach.

Like any self respecting jock, Colton had a big appetite, but sticking to his wrestling weight meant he had to keep it under control. Every so often, Colton would overeat, whether it was wanting to impress his friends, having too much fun at a party, or just his stomach having the better of him, and he'd have to go on a brutal diet to cut back down.

This was, starting now, a thing of the past. After his meeting with Coach, Colton went to the nearest fast-food joint, and ordered 3 massive burgers from the get go. He knew he had the capacity, and now he could binge guilt-free.

Colton came back for a 4th. And a fifth. By then, his belly was bloated and stretching his shirt, making a gentle curve from under his pecs. That belly felt good, firm and heavy, a symbol of his newfound freedom.

"You sure about this?" Asked the vendor, as he ordered his 6th burger. Jocks overloading their bellies was a common occurrence, so some concern was natural.

"One hundred percent," he said, giving his bloated belly a good rub. It was starting to feel tight, but Colton knew there was room for at least one more.

Back at his flat, Colton took off his shirt, and checked out his gut. The six burgers had bloated him so much, it stuck out by a good 6 inches from under his pecs. His abs were still visible, making the belly look like a turtleshell.

This would be the last time Colton saw his abs, as he then opened his fridge, and continued his rampage. Chugging milk from the jug, eating an entire tub of grated carrots with the better part of a jar of mayo. Colton wasn't even sure of what some things were, he just ate them, and his belly stuck out even more. Not that he cared. He just wanted as much food as possible inside him.

Eventually, Colton got so bloated he had to lie down. His belly was a perfect ball now, his abs completely smoothed out by the tremendous volumes inside him. As if he'd been blown up like a balloon, except rather than air, it was solid, heavy food. His huge tank hurt, a bit, but it was a good pain. The kind you got after intense exercise, one that comes with a deep feeling of satisfaction. 

Colton stayed on his bed for a while, feeling up his tank of a belly, enjoying the fullness. He could have stayed like that all evening, but was this really his limit? He no longer had to keep his appetite under control, he could experiment a bit, right?

Still flat on his back, the bloated jock grabbed his phone from the bedside table, and ordered a pizza. His guilty-pleasure pizza, large and with all his favorite toppings, the one he always ordered when he felt down, or wanted to treat himself.

Waiting for the pizza to come was a haze. Digestion was starting to heat up his belly, to make him feel sleepy. When the bell rang, getting up was harder than expected. His gut was so heavy, his abs were so stretched, his quads working so hard to bear his weight. His stomach like a wrecking ball inside him. Maybe this was too much ?

All doubt vanished when he opened the door and smelled his favorite pizza. Colton felt the delivery guy's gaze on his muscular body and massive belly, giving him an extra confidence boost. He was a jock, and he had the muscle and the gut to eat meals smaller guys could only dream of.

Colton brought the pizza back to his bed, and ate it flat on his back, watching his musclegut rise a little bit with each slice. His stomach had probably reached capacity a while back, the jock now eating by sheer force of will. Pizza being dragged into his monster stomach by muscle memory. The pressure inside his stomach, the weight of all that food, the stretch on his abs, the heat of digestion, it was all one big dream-like haze. It wasn't a new feeling, but the stretching felt like heaven. The jock passed out not long after the last slice, using what strength was left in his tired body to give his bloated belly one final rub. This offseason was going to be fun

*

Colton woke up still bloated the next morning. He'd eaten so much even his rocket-speed metabolism hadn't been able to digest it all in one night. Weirdest of all, he was hungry. His belly didn't so much feel half full as it felt half empty.

Colton liked this. He made himself the biggest breakfast ever, and ate it all.

This became an everyday occurrence. Colton's belly was constantly bloated, and Colton was constantly eating. Each time his bloat went down a bit, he'd top it back up. And when his belly looked close to the limit, he'd force more food in the tank. He figured out a neat trick, if he rubbed the side of his belly with one finger after it got full, his stomach would be able to stretch a little more, allowing him to eat more.

Colton had no idea how fat he was or wasn't getting, or even what his weight was. He had to be constantly lugging a few dozens of pounds inside his gut, and it was so packed at all times he couldn't tell how much of it was muscle, fat, or just plain bloat.

All Colton knew is that he was indeed getting bigger, and was getting stronger. His arms were bigger, his pecs, his back, his legs, every muscle, actually, though with a big asterisk over his abs. Sure, people stared at him when he turned up at the gym looking pregnant, but their judgement turned to admiration when they saw how much he was lifting, or how much he could put away in just one meal.

*

The day before wrestling resumed, Colton checked himself out in the mirror. He looked so massive, so beefy, his big round gut looking great on his muscular frame. Colton picked up his singlet, unworn since the end of last season, looking forward to seeing what he'd be looking like for the next few months.

Putting it over his legs proved tough. Even his calves were tight, nevermind his massive quads. Colton painfully got it over his lower body, but when it reached his waist, the singlet blocked. Colton's enormous belly stuck out by about a foot over the girdle, so far out he didn't think he could pull the rest of it up without risking tearing the fabric.

Colton tried to suck in his belly. Tried, and failed. He could barely get it to stick out by a few inches less, and trying to suck it in any further made him feel he was about to throw up.

He stared at his reflection, his singlet hanging around his waist, his belly looking way too big. Maybe he'd taken the eating a bit too far? 

Colton decided to fast for the rest of the day. He needed his bloat to go down to fit in his singlet, and anyway, it would be useful to know his actual weight. Never mind that he probably had enough food still in his system to hibernate a whole winter.

The rest of the evening was miserable. Somehow, the many pounds of food inside Colton's enormous belly weren't enough. He now needed to be permanently stuffed. The overbulked jock went out on a run, the first in a while, hoping it would speed up his metabolism and help his belly deflate faster, but it just made him hungrier. And after months of non-stop overeating, falling asleep on a stomach that wasn't stuffed to the limit proved tough.

Out of habit, Colton took a pack of pancakes to eat as he cooked a monster omelette, before remembering. He miserably put the food back in the cupboards, his huge stomach begging him not to.

Getting dressed for his first day back wrestling, Colton found almost everything in his wardrobe was still tight around his belly, even empty. The jock had always liked wearing clothes that highlighted his physique, and had carried the bloated gut as a point of pride all the off-season, but now he felt almost embarrassed. Maybe he'd gone too far, maybe the hunger was just putting him on edge. He settled on a baggy tank top, that was loose everywhere, but that made up by showing off his meaty arms.

Colton was driving to his wrestling practice when he snapped. He passed the same burger place he'd had his first cheat meal at. Remembered stuffing himself, how good it had tasted, how nice his belly had felt. And decided he was so hungry it was probably unsafe to drive.

"You sure about this?" The vendor said, as he ordered one burger. "Don't even want a second, big guy?"

Colton's orders had been progressively getting bigger over his offseason, so this was a sudden change. Still, a second wouldn't hurt?

Colton started eating, and this was the best a cheap burger had ever tasted. He could feel the life force coming back to him as he gorged, as the food flowed into his huge hungry belly.  He ordered a 3rd burger, then a 4th, and kept eating more and more. He needed the food. It was a matter of life or death.

The jock returned to his car with his 8 burgers comfortably packed in his big round belly. He'd worry about his singlet when he got there. His belly felt so good. And he wasn't going to perform well if he was too hungry, right?

Stepping into the locker room, Colton noticed he was way bigger than the other wrestlers. Even bigger than he expected. Guys he used to think of as massive, he now outbulked. Some had trimmed down, others had beefed up, but no one had gained as much as Colton, and he wasn't the only one to notice.

"Wow Colt', look at those guns!" said a jock.

"Bro the other heavyweights won't stand a chance," said another, feeling up his biceps and triceps. Because of his loose tank top, his arms stood out the most. And yeah, they had grown a lot bigger.

Colton was more than happy to have all the guys playing withis his big arms. His bulk had been a success, after all. The tune changed, however, when Colton took off his shirt, revealing his massive belly.

"Bro, you got pregnant or what?" 

"Damn dude, I know coach said bulk up but damn. It looks like you've done nothing but eat everyday until that belly is past its limit! That's some serious extra heft bro."

Other wrestlers stopped what they were doing, and came up to see Colton's new belly for themselves.

"I ate a lot at lunch time," Colton said, trying to defend himself.

"Yeah, and at breakfast, and at dinner, and a lot of snacking too, everyday. We can tell," one wrestler replied. Colton couldn't think of a come-back, the guy was right.

"Guys just how much do you think we can fit in here?" said one guy, passing a hand over Colton's big belly. "A gallon? Two gallons? Maybe even three gallons? It's really huge!"

The whole wrestling team was around him, playing with his belly, when Coach stepped into the locker rooms.

"You guys never seen a heavyweight wrestler, or what?" 

The other jocks stepped back. Coach walked up to Colton, eyeing up his belly. Gave it a few slaps.

"They've got a point, though. This is one big belly," Coach said, giving it a few more pats. "Go get changed, son."

Colton blushed and acquiesced. As the other jocks walked out, Colton pulled his singlet out of his bag. He hadn't eaten that much, only eight burgers, and he'd fasted before, so he was probably going to fit, right?

As last night, it was tight around his legs, the fabric straining over his bulked quads. Getting it over his meaty butt was even harder. It hadn't grown as much as his belly, but he couldn't suck it in, meaning he had to force hard.

Then came the belly. Colton sucked it in as hard as he could, pulled the singlet up, and nothing happened. He just felt really tight around the places he'd already put it on.

Colton relaxed, took a few breaths. Looked at his huge round belly on his beefy frame. The extremely tight singlet around his quads. He checked out his backside in a mirror, it looked vacuum sealed. Still, if he could get it over his butt, he could get it over his belly, right?

The jock breathed out all the air in his lungs. Sucked his gut in so hard he almost felt one of the burgers come back up. The belly still stuck out by a few inches, but Colton could now slowly inch the singlet up over his paunch. By the time he'd gotten his arms through the holes, he'd been holding his breath for so long he was about to pass out.

Colton's singlet was back on, clinging tightly to every bit of his bulked body. So tight, it was as if it had been spray painted on him. His beefy pecs, his quads, and of course his big round belly, prominent even as he sucked it in. A big change from last season. 

Pleased with himself, Colton relaxed, breathing normally once again.

crrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaack

Colton heard fabric tearing. He looked down, and saw his singlet completely torn, his bare belly sticking far out.

"Uh, Coach!" he called out, "I have a problem."

[dribs-and-drabbles]

Let's talk about... Mhok's Fart Proudly t-shirt

Let's be honest here, this IS a ridiculous shirt. But it is just so Director Aof to put one of his characters in such a ridiculous shirt during a poignant scene.

This is Baseball Mom 2.0

And I say that not only because it's ridiculous but because, just like Baseball Mom, it also has a deeper meaning connected to the narrative - as is Aof's style - and it's what I adore about his work, that he puts so much attention to detail into the characters' wardrobe.

But on to the shirt.

If we can get past the loudness of the "FART PROUDLY" we can see the rest of the text reads approximately as thus:

I believe a fart is a healthy, natural thing - and is nothing to be embarrassed about. I have pledged myself to changing society's attitude towards farts by showing that I am not afraid to release my farts freely - wherever, whenever - and without shame.

And yes, it's about farts BUT the underlying messages here are the parts I have highlighted.

Throughout ep 2, Mhok tries to encourage Day to get out of his room, to "open his eyes" to things, to remind him the rest of his body still 'works' ("Your hands are available" / "You can still hear"), to try things before dismissing them. He learns that Day is scared of how he is perceived by others and tells Aon there's nothing to be embarrassed about. He asks Day why he cares what people think...all the while knowing to some capacity what it's like to to be judged on face-value. And Mhok is able to let that judgement roll off him, it seems he's able to meet his challenges without shame.

After Mhok gets fired, he uses this confidence to spend time in the market blindfolded. He's not afraid to feel uncomfortable and vulnerable in order to understand Day and what he's experiencing. He proudly endeavours to navigate through the space and to eat without his sight regardless of what others may think of him. He feels the fear, but does it anyway. He has no qualms about doing more than necessary - after all he could have just walked away and not thought about Day again. But, as the wardrobe choices tell us as well, the best never rest. And Mhok is one of the best.

Day used to be "a guy with confidence", and Mhok is trying to give that back to him. The t-shirt also asks "Can I count on you, now, to stand behind me?" which, in the context of the farting, could be 'are you willing to endure my farts?' or 'will you join me in farting freely', but with Mhok and Day it's 'are you with me? Can you be brave enough to not be embarrassed? To say fuck it and live your life regardless of others?' and/or 'will you let me help and protect you?'.

Mhok cares a lot. Not about what others think of him - he had no hesitation to get naked and let people watch when Day asked ('do this and I'll forgive you' -> 'how brave are you? how brave can you be for me?') - but about Day and the other people in his life. And Day is also starting to care - he not only left his house to see Mhok but agreed to let a relative stranger take him to a very crowded and, having been shut in his room for a year, what must have been a very scary place. Which makes Day's t-shit in this scene equally fitting. "Capacity Intensive Care".

It may be small now - their care and affection for each other - but it will soon grow, even if they don't see it yet. But they'll both be getting "more care, more often, right where [they] live".

[jakkon-and-rose-topic]

Cw: Mentions to Cannibalism, Alchohol abuse/usage, Murder, torture, Slavery, and VERY HEAVY SWEARING

@corinneglass YOU ASKED FOR THIS also, @blueberryseast1 @darkandstormydolls @aalinaaaaaa here's a new scene for you lovelies :]]]

ARGUMENT TIME

Fuck it, it's probably bad, but I'm not editing it anymoreeeeee

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

“Horns. What's wrong?” Rose eyed her brother-in-law.

Jakkon shrank down in his seat. “It's nothing, Petals.”

“Clearly not!”

“Please just let it go.”

“No, you're making things worse by not telling me!”

“Rose, I'm fine.”

“Oh Really Jak? Because you sure don't look like it.” Rose narrowed her eyes. “Stop trying to lie to me! Your hands are fucking shaking! You look paler than a piece of parchment, like you're going to be sick at any moment! You can't say a single kind word, and your voice sounds like you've been shredded through a cheese grater! Just tell me what's wrong!”

“NO! There's nothing wrong! This whole fucking conversation is the thing making things worse! Everything you say is so patronizing! ‘How was your day Jak? You're gonna be okay Jak. Everything you do is a source of stress Jak. Everything's gonna be okay Jak! Look at me Jak, I can cry without seeing Eveny die in my mind Jak. I have the capacity to care about someone other than myself because I'm a good fucking person Jak!’ JUST SHUT UP!”

“Well I can’t do what you want and leave you alone if you’re around me! I won’t leave until I know what’s bothering you!”

Jakkon gritted his teeth as Rose glared hotly at him. “Fine.” He growled, voice deep and gravelly, the smoke damage adding to the menace of his snarl. “You want to know Rose? It’s you. Every day it’s just worry, worry, worry, ‘I worry about you. You’re worrying me Jak.’ STOP! YOU’RE ONLY STRESSING ME OUT MORE AND MAKING IT WORSE! NO ROSE, IT’S NOT GOING TO BE OKAY! I’M NOT GOING TO BE OKAY! AND IT’S TIME YOU LEARNED THAT!” Jakkon gasped, his breaths rasping like his voice as the wheeze from his damaged lungs cut itself on the shattered tension in the air.

Rose clenched her fists, wings unfurling as her Petals grew black and red, thorns spiking out all over her as she growled, matching his intensity. “WELL YOU DON’T TELL ME A DAMN THING JAK! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? ALL YOU DO IS DRINK AND TRY TO FUCKING KILL YOURSELF! I CARE ABOUT YOU!”

“Do you want to know why Rosenia?” Both were shouting now, voices matched in intensity and anger, so that their volume didn’t have any more impact. But neither quieted. Even with Rose’s voice choked by tears and Jakkon’s shredding itself with ash. He gripped at his fur, hands shaking violently as he exposed sharp teeth and Rose’s vines wrapped around her arms. Jakkon tensed at the thorns, his voice rising to a strained tone. “Why do I do it Rosenia? Because I’m more addicted than the sun is to rising! BECAUSE EVERYONE I KNEW, EVERYONE I LOVED IS FUCKING DEAD!”

In that moment, anger combined with fear and grief, and the sharp tension cut their words into things neither ever meant, or wanted to say. But nonetheless, they hurt. Rose’s thorns spiked to twice their length as she grabbed Jakkon’s shirt and yanked him down a little, lowering her voice to a snarl. “You’re fucking worthless Jakkon. Why can’t you just get a grip on yourself and Let. It. Go.”

Jakkon’s eyes widened for a moment, stunned and hurt for a moment, before the heat of the moment took him back and he retaliated, slapping her hand away from him hard enough to make her cry out in pain. “Fuck off Rosenia! You don’t care about me. You didn’t care about them either. All you care about is running away from your guilt by pretending to care about me just to fix your own sad excuse for a fucking life.”

Rose froze this time, cradling her injured hand against her chest, but neither slowed from the hurt, the pain just fueling both of them in all of their unspoken emotions. “That’s because you’re a mistake, and everyone who loves you makes a mistake. A mistake that gets them killed. And what do you do? You don’t honor their memory one bit. You destroy yourself. Just be honest from once in your damn life and maybe someone would care!”

In that moment, with those words, any last shred of dishonesty and blame Jakkon had, which held him from telling Rose the truth snapped. He stopped caring about protecting her, about letting her believe what she had about his past and his family. And he told her everything.

His voice dropped everything but a solemn tone and the scratchy rasp of smoke. “You want honesty? Then have it. This is what you wanted.” His tone lifted to a high mocking tone as he made a nasty face. “Why, Rosenia? You and your little fragile little heart want to know why I can’t let go?” His voice fell back down. “Because Eveny, Rune and I were kidnapped for those two weeks we were missing. They were tortured while I was chained to a wall and forced to watch. Then he made me choose. Our Captor looked at my wife and my son and told me to choose which would die. I didn’t choose. So he injured both badly and let me free. Eveny was strong. She could handle it. She only fell unconscious. Rune couldn’t hear me when I talked to him, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.”

Jakkon paused to take a trembling breath as Rose stopped entirely, too horrified and confused to interrupt. “So I had to make a split second decision. He was going to die. Would I let him live for a finite more amount of time and endure all that pain? No. I took his pain away. That’s what I told myself Rosenia. ‘I'm taking his pain away. I'm giving him peace. I can only take one to get a healer and I can’t let his final moments be alone.’ that’s what I told myself, that’s what I still tell myself every time I remember driving the knife into his back.”

Jakkon looked like he wanted to stop, like he was about to be sick at any moment, but he choked back the tears and regret and pushed forward. “Then while Eveny was in a coma because she was tortured to hurt me. I was sent to war. All the friends I made, they broke. They couldn’t think either, shocked out of who they were by what they had done. I took care of them for 2 years. I never visited Rune’s grave, and for all I knew, Eveny would die any day and I wouldn’t be there. But they were all I had to talk to. Then they went missing. One by one. Eveny woke up. I thought things might go back to normal. But then… but then she… she… she burned. It was my fault. And… she didn't burn alone. I found that… if she'd been alive for 7 more months… I would have had a second child. Then someone stole her corpse.”

Rose flinched.

“But that’s not the end of it Rose. Listen to me very closely, you understand? This is the most important part. Why I can’t sleep. Why I can’t eat. I was taken two days after. I was sold. And I was bought by a Serial Killer. I worked for my freedom. But he tied me up Rosenia. He tied me to a post. I couldn't move. He gagged me, drugged me, tortured me. But worst of all, he took the corpses of my friends whom he had killed and cut them into tiny pieces in front of my eyes. Then he came over to me, and forced them down my throat, piece by bloody fucking piece. But that’s not it either Rosenia, is it? Because the final corpse wasn’t a friend. It was her. It was Eveny.”

Rose stopped, her eyes widening in horror as Jakkon began to shiver, wrapping his arms around himself. “I loved her more than anything in the world, Rose. Then she was taken from me. But then they gave her back, tiny piece by tiny piece. She was a person, my love, my life, my everything AND I FUCKING ATE HER ROSE!” His voice splintered, turning into a raspy screeching mess as he screamed and his hands flew to his head, tearing viciously at handfuls of his thick black curls.

Rose flinched back away from him as he began to mutter under her breath as his words previously from the argument and this new news all hit her like a mountain crumbling over her, as she stared at her brother-in-law in horror, and ran.

“Hey, what's all the shouting-” Finn froze in the doorway as Jakkon shook violently, muttering to himself.

“Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. Purple. Petals. Blood. Ash. Shadows… get it out… get it out… they already cut the exit, GET IT OUT OF ME! THEY’RE WATCHING ME FROM THE SHADOWS! THEY KNOW WHAT I AM! THEY KNOW WHAT IVE DONE! Drip drip, tick tock, crushed between my teeth. THEY KNOW EVERYTHING!”

“What-” Finn stopped. “What the fuck is going on? What are you talking about? What the fuck? Jakkon. Jakkon. Jakkon!”

But the Satyr didn’t respond, giggling maniacally as he ripped at more of his hair. “Petals, pretty flowers, sunset, sunrise, what does it matter? They watch me all the same and They know what I've done. I'M SORRY! I’M SORRY! I DIDN’T WANT TO! I DIDN’T MEAN TO! LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE! Leave me alone. Leave me alone.” He whimpered softly, drawing his knees to his chest.

“Jakkon!” Finn suddenly stopped, remembering the phrase he'd overheard his old friend say to Rose when he'd walked by. ‘I’m more addicted than the sun is to rising.’ Withdrawals. Of course. How had he not suspected? With the limited supplies, he had prioritized everyone but himself. His shaky hands, his constant irritability since the supply shortage had begun, and now the hallucinations. Rose had told him everything and he still hadn't picked it up.

[cherrysoulth]

THE WAITER'S - CHAPTER 5: DESTINY'S FOOL

🍵 Be careful with this green beverage 🍵

💕Pairing: Jimin x Reader x Jungkook

✏️Genre/au: Angst, Romance, Slice of life with some action, Smut

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Word count: 3761 

⚠️Chapter warnings: possessiveness, jealousy, rivalry, provocations

<<<𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 5 | 𝕸𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 7>>>

Chapter 6 Ambitions

Monday morning was hectic, if you would have stepped on a nail during the work day, you would have probably not noticed until you were home and out of the frenzy. The numbness to the stress, to which you were used to, couldn’t silence the reminder of Saturday night. Every time you saw your reflection, your eyes would trail on your throat, where the concealer was hiding a prominent hickey that Jimin had left. If you dared to touch it, even the slightest, a flood of memories would send you back to that moment.

The smoothness of his skin under your digits. The smell of his skin at his clavicle where a faint flush of perfume lingered, mixing with his own scent. The taste of it when you nibbled on him at the chest, the shoulders. The sight of his toned body over yours, that angelical face duality with those sharp lusty eyes. The sound of his breathing, his grunts, his voice when he spoke, and the undertones of it echoing in your ears like a melody. The way the world seemed to stop and mute for you to revive all those sensations, drove you crazy, hitting south.

By the time Friday came, you were so fed up with it, your cynicism to what came upon you made you question if you weren’t in some sort of trance, hallucinating. Two hours into the office, and you were ready to be checked into an asylum. The irony of it was that, for an instant, you wished that was the case. 

When Jungkook entered the hallway of the law firm you worked in, you were handing some paperwork to a workmate.It looked like Jungkook's Chairman, with a team of four surrounding him, was speaking to your boss with her secretary working quickly to take notes. You were at a loss of words, again, calculating if it was real, or your brain had melted with your case on gun trafficking. After losing contact for almost two years, he was there, fresh as ever and ready to kill with the looks. More built, more mature, more handsome, and more attractive. Wearing a professional suit in grey with a matching silk shirt and tie, he looked just as you'd imagined he would as a CEO of a company. Which he turned out to be.

Your skin crawled, and you damned yourself when your coworker called your attention back to him and smiled politely before commenting on the content of the papers. It turned out to be a futile effort because another coworker rushed to you and told you Eunyeji, your boss, wanted you in the main meeting room immediately. Then you saw Jungkook’s boss leave with one of his team members towards the elevator where two black-suited bodyguards were waiting for him. It felt odd, but you barely had time to think twice when you were rushed by your coworker.

As you entered, you saw the way Jungkook sat like he owned the place, confidence oozing out of his every pore. Your boss expressed she wanted you to be a consultant for the assigned team. It was partially due to your workaholic personality that you had gained a name for yourself at that early stage in your career, which made her think of you for the case. The good memory and your capacity to defend or accuse at court with a high range of success were qualities to value in any case, but mostly because she didn’t want you dropping your many assignments for a magnate who only needed paperwork management so far. 

He kept glancing at you as you stayed behind your superior during the meeting, wanting for once to get business over quickly, if only to escape his intensity. The joke was on you when that same glancing over had your boss asking you to deal with accompanying him out to the main hall as she went back to work. She said that unmistakable attraction could be used to benefit the contract they had just signed, where three members of the law firm were now his attorneys by any means required. Also, she mentioned something to be a good starting point to establish cordiality; the fact that you both had studied at the same university.

However, as you accompanied him to the entrance of the building, hearing out his last petitions while making sure to take mental note of them, he sent his team ahead to have a second of privacy. His attitude relaxed just the slightest to ask you out for dinner to catch up. To which there was only one possible answer: yes. 

As unlikely as you were to care about anyone’s lives besides those near you, you wanted to know what had been of your time apart. How he had become this man her boss wanted so badly to keep content to see success in her ambitions. 

Finally done with the week, you went home since you agreed for him not to pick you up at the office. So quick to take his number, everyone would have thought you were just writing down another adjustment to his expectations from the team. 

He picked you up in his immaculate Porche and although time had passed, it felt natural to sit there being taken gods know where to have some boujee dinner.  However, the formality of it all, the privacy of the table at the restaurant, and the way he kept getting closer and closer as the date went on, were obvious signs of the road he was taking. The moment he placed one of your hair threads behind your ear and intensely stared towards your lips as you spoke, suggested he wanted to catch up in another way too. 

Not holding grudges against each other from your break up and with you not being completely over him, the deal was signed with crimson letters of passion.

Jungkook had been your first, the one with whom you discovered what it was like to be with a man. The first one to rub you with his body until you were shivering in desire, the first one to touch you in ways you had only experienced in the intimacy of your bedroom. The first one to be inside of you and to make your toes curl while drawing a wide smile on your mouth as you reached an orgasm. The first one to cuddle with you naked. The first one to caress the curve of your shoulder and whisper “I love you” thinking you were asleep.

He was also, the first one to make out with you against a wall in the middle of an argument and to fuck you raw while standing after succumbing to a fit of jealousy. Giving you a taste of what rough sex was and making it a desirable thing. He was the one who came to mind when you touched yourself on your lonely nights when you needed relief to go to sleep, and the reminiscence of any of his many acts of passion, always did the trick for you. 

He was dedicated, sweet, indulgent, appreciative, supportive and many more things that had left the standards very high for the rest, especially as partners. Your boyfriend, Sejun, was the perfect boyfriend, sweet, caring, smart and attractive, but he wasn’t Jungkook. You lasted only four months together. After that, you had a few encounters but never got into a relationship again.  Although you lied to yourself for months, you weren’t over Jungkook.

To add more fun to the situation and to twist it even further, Jimin popped into your mind more than a few times when you, very willingly, showed your apartment to Jungkook. Like an intrusive thought that kept repeating itself to your jadedness.  It was especially annoying when you felt Jungkook’s breath as he leaned to speak in your ear, brushing your jawline with his nose as he moved, and your mind compared them. ‘The perfect boyfriend, to a one-night stand. You gotta be kidding me!’ Unfortunately, your mind was indeed, not kidding. 

“Wow… You definitely have taste!” said Jungkook as you started showing him the loft. 

The place isn’t big per se but it’s the perfect size for a woman who had no plans on forming a family any time soon. That was normally attractive to the few guys you had brought over the past year. The kind of place that screamed ‘no ties’ to those who only wanted to have fun on the upper floor, where the loft’s upper part extended from a living area to your room. The angle of the roof and how spacious that part of the loft was happened to be the main reason you bought it. You always wanted a room at the top of the building; flat ceiling penthouses are too expensive and lack charm in your opinion.  

You had tried to make some privacy to your room by keeping the wall that separated it from the living room, but the wall that directed to the stairs was torn down, and you made work on placing glass windows in its place. The light came in beautifully when you hung out there during the day and you were always able to draw the custom blinds if you wanted it dark. 

That was practically all the big structure changes you had done to the space. There is another living area in the open space of the first floor, connected to the kitchen by a dining area. You have an extra bathroom and bedroom for guests but it practically had your friends’ names written in it the first time Sofie came over.

“Thank you!” you said as you made your last stop in the kitchen where everything lay perfectly cleaned as if you never used it, although you do. "May I offer you something to drink?” You wondered and took a little bottle of banana milk out of the stainless steel fridge, shaking it next to your face with a smile. He chuckled and looked at the ceiling completely caught off guard. 

“Does your boyfriend drink this too?” he wondered, with a smirk. ‘Smart question,’ you thought while chuckling too. Then you gave him an intense look that surely raised interest in him. His eyes studied your every move.

“What makes you think I have one?” you suggested, and then he started advancing towards you, at a pace you knew way too well from past experience. He knew you well, you wouldn't have invited him over, alone, if you did. Not him. Not with how not closed-and-over everything had ended. 

You were the prey now. Your words had given him all the confirmation he needed.

His energy was different, strong, creating pressure under your belly, making you take one involuntary step backwards against the counter. But you didn’t resist his approach, and when he put two fingers on your chin to kiss you, touching your lower lip with his thumb while biting his own, you fastly moved away, walking backwards toward the other side of the aisle. 

He smirked and poked his tongue inside his cheek, he moved his head to the side, feeling provoked. You weren't initially playing games, just giving yourself a second to weigh the consequences since you had confirmed it was free for him to get what he was chasing after.

“What are you doing?” you wondered, hiding an obvious smirk while raising an eyebrow, keeping your fingertips over the counter, ready to push yourself backwards to run. It had been a thing of the past and your inner self craved to relive those moments.

“Some things never change, huh?” he said, sliding his hands over the counter at each side of his body, slightly leaning over it as a way to distract you while looking up. He seemed to want to jump over the stovetop, to you, and with those arms, you had your bets that he could easily do so.

“I guess…” you said, looking at him straight in the eye before pacing backwards, slowly. 

He then skirted the aisle with one hand sliding over the black countertop, without any rush. Against your prediction. Pacing your way, the two of you kept on moving until your back met the rail of the stairs, trying to use the space of the open room to escape but misplacing things as you kept your focus. He towered you as he broke the last distance with your body, almost touching you with the chiselled abdomen you could perceive through his shiny shirt. 

His warm breath tickled your nose from above while you kept the stare from underneath, not ready to expose your neck, and he waited for you to take the next move. As soon as he realised you weren’t going to cave in, he snaked underneath your nose, searching for your lips. 

The first touch of his lips was light, a teaser, barely there. Separating just the slightest to give himself a chance to back off with his pride untouched. The lack of refusal from your side gave him a chance to have more contact.  Resting his right hand on your waist, still keeping a prudent body distance, his lips pressed against yours once more, fulfilling the contact. His warm and soft lips pressed with yours in a cast peck, making sure there was a will to accept. 

With the slight movement of your chin up in his direction, how almost imperceptibly your lips parted towards him, you gave him the answer he was looking for. Within seconds his left hand was resting underneath your ear, his thumb on your jawline while the rest of his digits meet the raised skin at your nape. The touch, petal-like, felt out of a fairytale. The taste of his heart-shaped lips was whipped cream with his tongue offering liquid caramel.

The third one, bewildered you, his lips pressed against yours, stronger, as he took in a silent deep breath through his nose. His grip also turned more firm but still gentle. You teased him as you followed, the lingering presence of his whole being extended through that one pure act. His eyes were closed tight as if something was hurting him. It did. 

The way his new energy waved against your body, ripped open a door you had closed the day after he left. A door you didn't know had been cracking open for the last week. The one that brought you to the final conclusion of not being over him, snapping out of your denial. Then Jimin came to mind. 

His ethereal beauty during his sleep, just like Jungkook’s before he left. The way your heart had clutched hearing your name come out of his plump lips, made your hands entwine at the back of Jungkook's nape as your now shallow breath mixed with his in a demanding open-mouthed kiss. Jimin's was different.

Your body pressed against Jungkook’s, making his right arm embrace your waist. You didn't want to think about it. But Jimin felt so different. Their energies within the passion were similar. But with the same movements, they couldn't feel more different. Yet you stopped thinking about Jimin when Jungkook’s tongue slid between your lips. That muscle, so part of his expressiveness, now meeting yours. They tasted different. Both were addictive, but it didn't matter anymore.

Something old took over as you moaned for air against Jungkook's lips. An old memory, that seemed to rip a hole through your chest at first, filling it with a warm and known sensation after. Without much more thought he leaned you over the sofa, which you couldn't recall getting close to, and struggling to be careful, he leaned over you, pulling your legs around his waist. 

The kiss extended longer than the two of you could be aware of, but your lips felt used, and their skin was enraged with the action. The moment he separated to go down to your throat and unavoidably pressed his lips in the still sensitive mark, you gasped; feeling yourself more wet than his action should have. It called his attention, making him raise his head slightly, wondering only to see the fading mark of a hickey where his lips had been. The cookie-flavoured make-up slightly cleaned by the moistness of his lips. It made his blood boil.

He had no right, no claim, and he had been realistically aware that you wouldn't have been a saint during the time he had disappeared. But it still made him jealous.

The idea of another man having your body, your being, that deep down he kept considering his, didn't sit well with him. From your side, your thoughts had shown you Jimin as he teased the mark, the memory of that smirk you hadn't been able to see him make against your throat. The memory was so vivid, you could feel his breath the way you did that night. 

Until Jungkook's lips clasped over it; branding a new one. Making you gasp in pain and pleasure. You pulled his head backwards by yanking on his hair, instinctively. Only for him to hiss and open his dark eyes in a warning, making you swallow. The grip on your hip so unwilling to let go, you almost squirmed. It would leave a bruise, although it wasn't really painful.

You almost felt the need to apologise due to his angry energy, but it seemed he was overreacting to what you thought caused it. You frowned, and it made him realise his mistake, leaning forward to kiss you, making you release him.

However, the jealousy had sent a rush of adrenaline that made him want to go faster than he originally planned to. After not seeing you for such a long period of time, he wanted to make love to you, remind you of the beautiful thing you once had. Make you want it back just as badly as he did. He pulled your lower lip between his teeth while licking it with the tip of his tongue, making your skin crawl and involuntarily press your core against his crotch. 

He grunted, his sensitive swollen member, making him remember how good it felt to be wrapped by your walls. The rest went fast.

His hands slid underneath your pencil skirt, reaching for the band of your purple lace culotte panties pulling it down as he traced your cleavage with his nose. The reminder of another man being inside of you, messing with his self-control; pulling it so fast, and then undoing his own bottoms just as quickly shocked you. 

His length, as straight and perfectly hard as it had been in the past, was something you looked forward to feeling again, but when he leaned to kiss you, you freaked out. His bareness and yours, making you aware of the missing part of the puzzle, putting your hands on his chest to stop him, looking in between your bodies.

Fastly reaching at his previously abandoned jacket over the back of the couch for a condom, he unwrapped it with his teeth while holding his weight on one arm. The motion, so sensual,  made you want him even more.

The way he slid the rubber against his length while frowning, also brought Jimin up and you screamed inside in frustration. But it was at the moment you felt Jungkook's tip slide between the moist of your folds, at the moment that you felt his form sliding in, that Jimin vanished. The pressure of his thickness against your walls, making you feel like being split, taking your full focus. His clenched jaw while pushing in, knowing exactly how he needed to work your body to fit himself in, made his question come expectedly.

"Are you uncomfortable?" he said, stopping suddenly, making you raise your brows either way. "You are way too tight… As if you don't-"

"I want it," you said, moving your hip up to ease his access, not really knowing why being as wet and horny as you felt, your body had slightly rejected him at first.

However, the quick idea that whoever had left the hickey wasn't as thick as he made him proud, and biting his lower lip he leaned closer, almost crushing you. His nose rubbed against yours, as his hips went towards your slightly raised ones, making it all quite tender. Still, it wouldn't fool you. 

Even love-making with Jungkook was intense enough to not be called slow or vanilla. Once Jungkook started his thrusts he had only one thing in mind, please his partner. 

He bit your jaw as he deepened when being in the middle of your channel, pushing further without pulling out, not willing to lose any contact. He grunted to your wall’s resistance, and you strangled a moan to the pressure. Then he started thrusting to ease his access to your depths, suddenly realising he was way too excited to do it for long before releasing earlier than he’d like.

He stopped when he reached the bottom kissing over your nose bridge to unwind from the situation. You stared at him as he did that with his eyes closed and caressed the hair falling on his temples and forehead brushing it to one side. 

The situation suddenly turned romantic and stirred up old feelings that you weren't ready to get back; feeling vulnerable in his embrace. With that, you entwined your fingers in his hair to lead a kiss, making him come back to the moment but much more calmer. Then he started moving again, the first thrust just as fierce as your kiss, making your lips stop for a second. His drew a smirk while his left hand pulled your thigh higher on his waist to give himself more room to thrust into you. 

He wasn't trying to be intense. He was in the midst of the lovemaking he wanted but a snap close to losing it. He wasn't trying anything. You knew that very well. Yet the sensation had an overwhelming aftertaste that made you struggle to breathe. You finally matched what he was feeling. 

His pace turned stable while he placed his abdomen against yours, trying not to lose his mind in the wave of memories that your smell, feeling you, and touching you brought back. Then his possessiveness hit even harder. Whoever you had been seeing before him, would lose importance and would stand no chance to get near you with him around again.

You were his. He was going to get you back. End of question.

🍵 Did you burn your tongue? 🍵

I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! Let me know your thoughts and reblog if you liked it.

I want to thank once more, @moonleeai for the beta work 💜

© 2024 Cherry Soulth, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

Taglist: @lemarkjun

[doyou000me]

T-shirt of the week!

Capacity Intensive Care

Also, as many other's have pointer out already, the fact that Mork choses a brightly coloured shirt that'll be easier for Day to see

[ru5t]

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ more or less as u please i am just.... brrrrrr on vibes for some reason for them i'm so sorry ik it's shown aKHBJSCHNCS

Every ⭐️ exchanges for a headcanon about our characters’ (potential or existing) dynamic.

I did not mark the codependent box but I think. actually. the potential exists because I have now realized Maddy's brother simply does not exist in this verse (or they were separated before they could really. get dependent on each other but-) which that. sounds like I'm saying CJ would replace her brother and it's not like that i just mean like. maddy has that kind of bonding as a capacity and given that it isn't filled it might even be more relevant than ever, in this verse, which I had not previously considered. especially if they're like, in any way bonded before/while she's otherwise on her own, y'know? and it could be like. kind of like that thread to follow that says "the world is bigger than where you are" if that??? makes sense?? b/c... she does a weird version of codependent where it's less like being tied at the hip and more like running to the end of a tether so hard that it yanks her to a stop and then going back to the person holding her down(positive) and then. running again. rinse n repeat. still tied but she's gonna like, yo-yo about it. and she does that with several of her dynamics but it's stronger in some than others just like, depending. and i think that could happen here in a really intense way esp because i almost feel like CJ is kind of the same way so it's just like. idk weird mutual push n pull

with the way their birthdays are (April 17th and May 5th) this makes it possible that like. they're just a couple weeks short of a perfect year's age difference and i think this is the ideal age distance between them where Maddy is older but like, not by enough that it makes a huge difference and i don't know there's just something about it being almost a perfect year but not quite that my brain really likes. and then they can have little squabbles about it ("well i'm older so you have to do what i say" "well im taller, so fuck you" and then the threats start) and ultimately it's like. it's only 11 months and for all intents and purposes they're the same age ;dkfjg;ldkjg

CJ being a clothes thief and Maddy also being a clothes thief ("borrower") potentially means that sometimes. CJ will steal something from someone and then Maddy steals it from CJ and this has probably resulted in some very silly shenanigans at least once but maybe lots of times. and also more squabbling ft. them arguing over the shirt and the person it originally belonged to like ????? IT'S NEITHER OF URS?????

i think. the initial 'found a stray cat' maybe didn't take? like hear me out like. it was maybe the first time she runs away after CJ encourages it and it creates the thought/pattern of Maddy repeatedly trying to escape right but i think. that first time everybody's too little and by isle law Maddy like, belongs to a different faction and in the place she ended up so she just gets shipped right back and there's not a lot anyone (of the people who care even a little bit) can do about it. so there's still those years of kind of being trapped. and it's for both of them. b/c Maddy's trapped where she is and CJ's under Hook's thumb for most of this era and it all just generally generates the wedge between them except the wedge being there might even be part of the motivator to spend any time together (for the Spite of it all, against the 'rules' and the challenge of it and maybe even common sense) and it's not until Maddy can fight her own way out and make herself useful to the other gang that she actually gets to get away for real and by then i think CJ would have fallen into her more party-like dalliances (after the siblings left) and just generally being out of touch which would put some distance between them as it's very much not Maddy's thing and also she's not so eager to risk being like, too far out of what is for the first time in a long time something even kind of safe and THEN CJ freakin evaporates from isle D:< and eventually comes back and you think Maddy'd be mad about it and she definitely was but like, in that "I am going to KICK YOUR ASS" while marveling at the fact she's not dead and probably even hugging her before they both get weird about it

and I really do think they squabble and snark and stuff constantly like just.... sarcasm and bitey little comments. and yet they're still hanging out and doing that tether thing. this is because they're nice to each other in Code, because that's the way being nice works, obviously. you have to hide it under like 12 layers of being a little bitch.

CJ....Maddy's scary dog privilege. send post.

[araneitela]

Words however didn't need to be driven in any capacity to mark this point. Caelus is someone who lives within choice, where indecision stays one of his great foes. In this case however, there was never any question to be gleaned. For once golden currents fell into her violet depths, he found himself immersed as one of those broad hands reached forth in order to cup her cheek. ..Well, one word found itself fitting. "Kafka." His decision, his resolve, it's exactly what led to his thumb drawing a careful curve along the apple of her cheek, savoring this softness as he'd close the distance between them entirely. Once rendered to a moot point, he'd mesh the warmth of his lips directly against her's. Softness was forsaken for firmness, letting the raw vigor of his emotions both answer and embrace the boundless delight of kissing her. Another arm always remained attentive, carefully wrapping itself around the small of her back in order to keep her pressed flush against him.

Prompt: Unprompted. // @astrxlfinale

This one had never needed to be coaxed. No, he had drawn and wrapped himself within this web that encircled her wholly of an own accord and behest, time, and time again. And an indulgence, would prove that she would never much mind. Not in their past, present, nor their future. "Mm?" It tickled, this human oddity felt under the caress of skin to skin, and were she any other woman, perhaps her lips would tug into a smile before he'd manage to claim, she knew, what he had craved and sought. It was funny, how one's memory worked, how even separation in more than merely space, but time, too; would prove that her skin had always remembered every trace of his fingers from too long a time ago. Perhaps, there were moments such as now, where the question arose for the briefest sliver in time, as to how, but such curiosities could not survive where there was no space for them to claim as much of a whisper of existence.

Fingers of her own rested to his chin when all distance perished between them, all of it lost to the warmth of his lips, and foregone entirely to a silent symphony of shared breaths. There would be no hitch to ever trouble the sigh that came from her then, for that was simply it, she felt only relief. Their meetings had been no more than woefully inconsistent of late, and far too few, but perhaps, that was exactly what made them what they were: beautiful, as all rare things were. Destined, some might claim them to be, they were as fleeting as the stars in a galaxy that held their paths tightly lodged within its grasp, shimmering in an intensity borne of anticipation. Perhaps there, at that, he would feel the tug to her lips beneath his own— anticipation had always run so very deeply within his veins in ways so unparalleled, a reality in which she found certain delight. And so for some time, here, she'd exist within the embrace into which he'd tugged her and she knew he would again, fingers descending to the top hem of his shirt for no other purpose than that of their repose, further made evident from the subtle hook of two fingers to it. And though as she had surrendered, fervently and effortlessly, to his draw of her into him, yielding to a kiss that she, too, had craved in his absence; he would soon find himself caught in the inevitable, that which always hovered much too near, web of those games and teases of hers. Her chin would dip to sever her from him, and his lips would find the replacement of her own soon thereafter: two fingers of her other hand held ever so lightly against him. "You are greedy."