#like i can’t be the only one who thought so

[lenkist]

Good job, detective

Detective!Agatha x fem!reader (3.2k words)

summary: you’re a newly minted detective who just cracked your first murder case, and the entire police department decided to celebrate with a small party—naturally, Agatha Harkness was there.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, g!p agatha harkness, smut, dirty talk, penetration, blowjob, mommy issue, explicit language, age gap, praising kink, outdoor, unprotected sex, slight footjob

a/n: I was a little high on edibles and listening to Crush by Ethel Cain while writing this. Let me know if you guys want part 2!

Case closed. The bad guy got caught. You did it.

The air in the bar is filled with the smell of spilled beer and the stale scent of whiskey that lingered from the bar’s low-lit corners.

Tonight, the place felt even smaller than usual, the laughter of the police officers in the corner fading into the background as you kept your eyes on the one person who hadn't yet congratulated you on your first solved murder case: Detective Agatha Harkness.

She was sitting by herself like she always did. A worn cigarette dangled from her lips, ash falling off in slow, lazy bits. Her beer, the cheapest they had, was halfway gone, and her navy cargo pants and dark flannel looked as though they’d seen too many long nights like this.

She looked at ease, but the slight tension in her posture told you she wasn’t entirely relaxed. Maybe she hadn’t been for years.

“Good job, newbie,” Herb said, clinking his beer against your shoulder, snapping you back to the present.

You offered him a polite smile. Herb was one of the few people in the department you found easy to talk to. “Thanks, but it wasn’t just me. Agatha helped a lot with the case.”

“She did,” Herb said, his gaze drifting over your shoulder. You didn’t need to look to know he was watching Agatha. “She can be tough, sure, but she’s one hell of a mentor—and an even better detective. The best we’ve got.”

Your heartbeat quickened, and you felt your cheeks flush as you nodded. “Yeah,” you agreed, your voice quieter. “She’s really good at that.”

You’d been watching her all night, trying to figure out if she was as untouchable as she seemed. Now, drunk and buzzed from the alcohol, you figured you might as well try.

You waited until the last of the other cops had filtered out and the bar had quieted before finally making your move toward her.

You wobbled slightly as you approached her booth, the floor beneath your boots feeling unsteady. Agatha didn’t even look up. She didn’t need to. She already knew you were coming.

“Detective,” you said, your voice slurring just a bit. “Thought I’d join you.”

Agatha looked up slowly, her blue eyes narrowing just the slightest as she took in your unsteady stance. She didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word for a long moment. The only sound was the faint clink of her beer hitting the table.

“You’re drunk.” She muttered, voice rough like she hadn’t spoken all night. Her cigarette dangled from her lips, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light.

You didn’t care. You were tired of playing it safe, tired of pretending you didn’t notice her, that you didn’t feel that pull when you were around her. “So what?” you said, voice a little more defiant than you intended. “Doesn’t mean I can’t talk to you.”

She took a long drag from her cigarette, eyes still locked on you, sizing you up. “It means you can’t think straight,” she said, voice flat. “And you’re about to make a fool of yourself.”

“Maybe I do want to make a fool of myself.”

Agatha snorted softly, shaking her head as a sly smirk curved her lips. “I know exactly what you’re doing,”

“Oh?” you replied, tilting your head. “And what’s that?”

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as if she were interrogating a suspect. “Trying to sleep with your senior detective to fast-track your career. It’s cute, really.”

“It’s not about climbing the ladder,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of her scrutiny. “I just wanna have a drink with you, that’s all. Celebrating our success on the case. We worked so hard together, didn’t we?”

“Isn’t it, though?” Agatha countered, her eyes narrowing like she was analyzing every detail of your reaction. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks that way.”

“I’m not interested in hiding my desires, detective,” you said softly, looking down and seeing a noticeable bulge on Agatha’s pants. You wet your lips. “Can’t say the same to you, though.”

For the first time, Agatha didn’t look away. But she didn’t smile either. Instead, her gaze darkened, and she put the cigarette out in the ashtray between you. “I’m not the one you want, kid,” she said, voice a little more serious now, almost a warning. “I’m trouble. And you’re better off without it.”

You scoffed, your head swimming a little more with every word she said, but you pushed through. “You think I’m some little rookie who’s scared of a little trouble?”

“Yeah,” she replied, voice thick with that Southern drawl. “I think that’s exactly what you are. And you think you’re the first one who’s tried to make a move on me after a few drinks?”

Her words hit harder than you expected, but you didn’t back off. You weren’t going to let her get away with pushing you away like she had with everyone else.

“No,” you said, shaking your head, the alcohol making your thoughts fuzzier. “But I’m more fun. You’ll see.”

Agatha tilted her head, studying you carefully. You could see the wheels turning behind her eyes, and for a split second, there was something soft there— curiosity, maybe. But then it was gone, replaced by that cold, distant look that made her so damn good at shutting people out.

“I’ve been down that road, sweetheart,” she said, her voice low, cocky. “I don’t need another mess in my life. Especially not one that can’t even hold their liquor.”

“I can hold my liquor just fine,” you said, your voice firm now, the alcohol starting to fuel your stubbornness. “I just think maybe you’re a little scared of me.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Scared of you?” she repeated, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’ve been around, kid. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You leaned in closer, your chest almost brushing against the edge of the table. “Maybe I’m not the one who’s scared,” you said softly, words coming out before you could think. “Maybe you’re just too afraid to let someone in.”

She didn’t confirm, or deny. She didn’t need to.

Instead, Agatha stood up suddenly, her movements slow, deliberate. “You’re drunk, rookie, get rest. Go home,” she muttered, her voice almost tired now. “See you tomorrow.”

And with that, she walked out of the booth, her figure disappearing into the dim light of the small bar.

You watched the smoke from her last cigarette curl in the air, and it seemed to mock you, reminding you of the way Agatha had pulled away from you without a second thought. But you weren’t going to let it end like that. Not tonight.

You weren’t a fool. You could tell by the way she looked at you—half dismissive, half something else—that she wasn’t immune to whatever this was. That flicker of vulnerability that she quickly buried every time you came close, the little moments where she didn’t pull away fast enough. She might have tried to shut you down, but you could see it, just beneath the surface.

And you weren’t backing down.

You pushed yourself away from the booth and stumbled a little as you made your way to the door, your boots clicking a little too loudly against the worn wooden floors. You had no idea where she went, but you had a feeling you didn’t need to look far.

Agatha was at the far end of the empty parking lot, leaning against her car, a cigarette in her hand. The glow of the streetlamp cast a shadow over her, making her look even more like she belonged to the night than she had inside.

You walked toward her slowly, your thoughts still clouded by the alcohol, but your steps steady.

She didn’t look up when you stopped a few feet away from her. “Thought I told you to go home,” Agatha’s voice was low and rough, and she didn’t turn to face you. Her thumb flickers a cigarette’s butt.

You didn’t take a step back. “I don’t think you told me that,” you replied, your voice more confident than you felt. “You just tried to get rid of me.”

“Same thing.” She took another drag. “You’ve already had your fun for the night. Go back inside, have another drink with the others. Let them keep telling you how great you are.”

“They’re all already gone home.”

Agatha shrugged. “And you should too, kid.”

Then, without warning,

You stepped forward, close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from her, the tension so thick between you two that it almost made the air crackle. Agatha’s breath hitched as you grabbed her crotch.

Fuck it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You said you didn’t want me, liar,” you said softly, your voice low, your chest tight. “You’re hard, detective.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away. But when she did, it wasn’t with words. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing the back of your neck before pulling you in. The kiss was slow, deliberate, testing, like she was still deciding if she wanted this, if you were worth it.

You moan into her greedy mouth. Your hand squeezes her bulge, earning a sweet moan and a soft hip buck from Agatha. You’re practically throwing yourself into her arms. That pulled-up sleeve of her flannel is making your head dizzy. She’s such a handsome woman, and you want nothing more than for her to ruin you, to have your fingernails clawing onto her veiny arms as she choked you in bed.

When she pulled back, her blue eyes were darker than they had been before. Her breath was shallow, but she still didn’t say anything.

“Agatha?” you call for her, unsure if you have pushed it too far. “I—”

“Get in the car,” she demands, pulling your hair with force. “Now.”

Swallowing hard, you took a step back and reluctantly broke away from her embrace. As you walked towards the car, you felt a mixture of excitement and fear coursing through your veins. This was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, but the idea of being with Agatha, having her in every way possible, was intoxicating.

As you reached the car, Agatha slid into the driver's seat, her eyes never leaving yours. You could see the hunger and desire mirrored in her gaze. It made your heart race even faster and sent a surge of adrenaline through your body.

"You’ve been bad," she whispered, breathing hard. She didn’t even bother to take off her clothes. Agatha just unzipped her cargo pants and freed her hardened, big, thick cock, and sighed in relief.

“God, Agatha—”

"Look at the mess you made me, hon."

You couldn't help but lick your lips in anticipation. The sight of it was overwhelming, and you felt a surge of arousal that you had never experienced before. You knew this was wrong to fuck your peer, but all you could think about was feeling that perfect cock inside you, being impaled on it and taken by the woman you had been so drawn to for months.

Your cunt clenched around nothing with the thought of Agatha’s hands on your hips, fucking your pussy. “Please.”

"Begging me to fuck you already, huh?" she said, her voice low and sexy. "I bet you'd be great at anything I asked you to do."

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment, feeling a warm sensation spread through your body. "What do you want me to do next?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward to press her lips against yours in a gentle, possessive kiss. "I think it's time for you to show me just how good you are," she said, her voice low and husky. She reached down, grasping your hair gently and pulling you toward her cock. "Suck me off, baby," she commanded, her voice firm and authoritative.

You didn't need to be told twice. You eagerly took Agatha's cock into your mouth, savoring the taste of her leaks like a sweet honey.

She groaned in pleasure as you began to suck and stroke her, feeling her cock twitch and grow harder in your mouth. She’s so big that you can’t even fit it down your throat without choking in tears.

“It’s fine, baby, take it slow.”

You nodded and ran your tongue over the head of her cock. You could feel her thighs trembling as you worked your way down her length, teasing the sensitive areas with your tongue and lips. Agatha moaned loudly, her hands gripping your hair tightly as she enjoyed the sensations.

You moved faster, knowing that you had to bring her to climax soon. You could feel a powerful energy building within you just from pleasuring her, and you knew that this was something you wanted to do for her again and again. Her hips bucked against you, both her hands now gripping your hair as she began to lose in the sensation, each movement pushing her cock deeper and deeper.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, her voice a low growl. Her head was throwing against the seat, her eyes were closed and her lips parted in messy moans as she held your head still and fucked into your mouth. She looked high and drunk in absolute pleasure, and that made you feel proud of yourself. "Yes, just like that."

You could feel the tension building within her, and you knew that she was close. Her breathing grew ragged, and her grip on your hair tightened as she neared the edge.

"I'm going to cum," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Yes, right there."

And then it happened – Agatha's body stiffened, and her cock throbbed in your mouth as she came. You felt the warm rush of her climax as she flooded your mouth with hot fluids. Your eyes rolled in pleasure and your nose pressed against her pubic hair. She cried out, her voice a mix of pleasure and relief, as she rode out her orgasm.

Eventually, she softened and pulled out of your mouth, collapsing back onto her seat. You pushed yourself up, catching your breath. You’re dripping wet and Agatha noticed the needs in your eyes.

Then, Agatha commands. “On your knees.”

You quickly obeyed, moving to the backseat, getting down on all fours with your ass in the air. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and you pushed yourself back against Agatha's legs, yearning for her touch.

You’re so ready to get fucked out of your sanity. You‘re a mess, drunk in alcohol and Agatha’s touch.

"That's it, baby," Agatha crooned, her hand running up and down your spine, sending shivers through your entire body. "Just like that."

With a grunt of effort, Agatha positioned herself behind you. You could feel the head of her cock probing against your entrance, testing your readiness. You whimpered softly, a mix of fear and excitement washing over you.

With a fierce grip on your hips, Agatha thrust forward. You felt the head of her cock push past your tight entrance, stretching you in a way you never thought possible. A gasp escaped from you as she continued to push deeper, and you felt every inch of her cock slide into you. It was both painful and exhilarating, the sensation overwhelming.

"Oh god, yes," you cried out, your voice shaking with emotion. "Fuck me, Agatha. Fuck me hard."

Agatha didn't need to be told twice. She began thrusting into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body. The slapping sounds of her hips hitting against your ass filled the car, punctuated by the occasional moan or gasp from either one of you.

Your hands reached back, gripping onto the seat belt clasps for support as Agatha pounded into you relentlessly. Her breaths came in short pants, her muscles tense with exertion. You could feel her heart pounding against your back, in sync with your own rapid heartbeat.

"This is what you want, huh?" you nodded, chanting her name like a sacred prayer. She growled, her grip tightening on your hips. "This is it, right? Getting fucked by an older woman’s cock, is that your kink?”

“Yes! Mommy,” you cried out, “yes, yesyesyes.”

Your body responded to her words, your pussy clenching around Agatha's cock with each thrust. The feeling was indescribable, and you knew that this was something you would never forget.

"Fuck, Agatha," you moaned, lifting your hips to meet each of her strokes. "I'm going to come so hard."

"Good," Agatha murmured, her voice thick with desire. "I want to feel it, baby. I want to feel you come apart.”

Her words sent you over the edge. The pleasure built up inside of you, rushing through your body like wildfire until finally, it exploded out of you in waves of bliss. You screamed out her name, your pussy clenching down on her cock as your orgasm washed over you.

Agatha groaned as she felt your pussy contract around her cock, the sensation pushing her closer to her own release. "Fuck, hon," she hissed, "I'm right there with you."

Her hips bucked harder, each thrust more messy than the last. You could feel the tension in her tight grip on your hips, her veins popping up on her neck and her arms as she neared her climax. The feeling was intoxicating, knowing that you were driving her to such heights of pleasure.

"Cum for me, Agatha," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "Cum inside me."

This was all it took. With a final, powerful thrust, Agatha cried out, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her cock jerked inside you, shooting pulse after pulse of hot cum deep into your pussy. It was intense, almost painful in its intensity, but so incredibly pleasurable. You wondered how many women have had Agatha cumming inside them like this, the thought made you feel a wave of jealousy right through your chest.

As Agatha's orgasm subsided, her breathing slowly returning to normal, she pulled out of you with a soft pop. You felt a warm, wet sensation between your legs as her cock slipped from you, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more.

Her eyes flicked down to her slick, cum-covered cock before returning to you with a wicked smirk playing on her lips. She scoffed, flipping your body effortlessly onto your back. Your eyes followed her movements, now lying on your back as you watched Agatha try to catch her breath.

"Tired already, detective?" you challenged playfully. Your feet shifted towards her thigh, feeling her up through the rough fabrics of her cargo pants before pressing your feet on her sensitive cock, teasingly giving her a foot job that caused Agatha to buck her hips and whimper in sudden pleasure. You were certain that you could make her cum again, or even drive her to overstimulation if she’d let you.

She stopped your movements with one firm grasp.

"Not enough, huh?" she asked, gazing at her own cum running down between your legs and looking back at you like she couldn’t believe you still wanted more. “Are you trying to get yourself knocked up or something?”

“Maybe,” you teased, giggling softly before grabbing her collar and pulling her into a kiss. “You’re incredible,” you whispered, your fingers slipping into her hair. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Agatha’s smirk widened as she cocked her head, her southern charm slipping effortlessly into her tone. “Well, sugar, ’course you haven’t,” she drawled, her voice dripping with a honeyed confidence that made your cheeks burn. “I’m exceptional.”

[kamitv]

▷ Holiday Headcanons

Synopsis . Things your jjk partner does during the holidays! / Pairings . (Separate) Gojo x f!reader, Geto x f!reader, Toji x f!reader, Sukuna x f!reader, Ino x f!reader, Yuki x f!reader, Shoko x f!reader, Choso x f!reader, Nanami x f!reader / Content . afab!reader, established relationships, modern au, fluff, creampies, soft sex, rough sex, filth, breeding, bondage, choking, oral sex, praise, dirty talk, sfw content, etc . / wc . idk ngl...!

A/N: Merry Christmas Ladies & Gentlemen! This isn’t proofread so please excuse any errors. Thank you guys sm for 7k on this account!! I hope you all have a wonderful day/night!! <33 [MDNI]

❅ Gojo Satoru

NSFW

Who's first present to you comes early in the morning at the ass crack of dawn, consisting of his warm breath caressing the shell of your ear as he rasps a needy plead—aching to get a taste of you to start his Christmas off "properly."

Naturally, you let Gojo get what he wants since that’s one less gift you have to worry about. That, and it’s a gift that just keeps on giving because as soon as he’s settled in between your legs, he’s smiling from ear to ear and swallowing down the drool that threatens to spill past his eager lips.

And when he finally latches that heavenly mouth of his onto you? Oh it’s over. He’s so glad he woke up early for this because nothing could pull him away from the honeyed slick of your cunt at this very moment��not even the perfectly wrapped presents awaiting the two of you just out in your shared living room.

Part of what has him so feral once his tongue is on you is probably the lacy festive blue panties you decided to sleep with. They match his eyes and there’s this pretty bow in the center… unfortunately, he was too caught up on trying to get your pussy against his tongue to admire the fabric longer. Now the garment lays in tatters just a few inches away from your quivering legs that dangle so prettily over his shoulders.

SFW

Had a snowball fight with you seconds after the first speck of white came falling from the sky.

Who spent weeks making sure that every inch of your shared home was adorned in pretty festive decorations.

Has literally bought you all that you couldn't think of and more for the special day. Gift after gift awaits you in that overly decorated living room of yours.

Adores this day and season because he has another excuse to spoil the fuck out of you. It’s no big deal that he bought you a vacation home or two… right? And the three vehicles he purchased were only necessary since you’d mentioned how much you liked them one time (around six months ago or something—not that he kept track or anything…) as the model drove by…

❅ Geto Suguru

NSFW

With Suguru, it’s actually you who’s extra freaky around Christmas. Sure, you love the festivities and everything but what/who do you love even more than that? Your husband. Or, more specifically, the thick cock he gifts you with all year long.

How could you not spend Christmas night with Geto’s dick sliding in and out of your mouth—having told him some measly excuse about how the mistletoe is hanging in the back of your throat this year and there’s only one way to share a kiss beneath it properly..!

Your glossy eyes remain up on his darkened purple ones and he looks so fucking grateful to have you. Geto stands with parted lips and bated breath as he watches you use that slutty mouth of yours to worship every inch of his pretty cock. You’ve got drool and spit dripping all down your chin but you don’t seem to have a care in the world. Hell, you probably don’t even have a thought in that cockdrunk head of yours right now either.

Geto even tries to pull himself out of your mouth (so he can catch a small break) only for you to let off a needy whine of his name and chase after him—latching your lips and tongue onto his oh-so-sensitive drooling tip just to suckle on him like you can’t function properly without his cock resting against your lips (and hey, maybe you can’t).

SFW

Impresses your parents on Christmas day flawlessly with the most perfect gifts for them (he unintentionally outdoes your gifts).

Spoils you like crazy with more than just gifts by being at your beck and call a bit more than usual. He’s always attentive but on Christmas he seems to he even moreso than normal.

Who lets you style his hair however you want with ribbons and bows while actively wearing a poorly made Christmas sweater the two of you made the year prior to the current.

Loves playing Christmas themed games with you because they remind him of playing games with Satoru (who occasionally joins the two of you around this time). You’re just as competitive as he is and even the most simple games turn into full on competitive events between the two of you.

❅ Toji Fushiguro

NSFW

It’s not until Christmas night that you get your real present from Mr. Fushiguro, your doting husband of God knows how many years now.

Watching you care and love on Megumi and Tsumiki all day was just the push he needed to later want to fuck yet another child into that gorgeous body of yours.

It started off as him being all soft with you, giving you that big bear hug from behind as he murmured into your ear—asking you if you enjoyed this year’s Christmas ‘n whatnot… only to lead to him casually suggesting that you two make the family a bit larger. Later rasping into your ear again, this time while you’re folded into a mind-numbing mating press, about how it’s time to give you your last present of the day.

His cock is throbbing more than normal too, whole body tense with a coarse mix of lust and love that he has for you. Oh how he could never truly get over the sight of you all under him like this with your eyes flickering back, nails clawing against his skin, and sweet softened moans of his name spilling from your lips.

It’s not long before the headboard is making not-so-subtle taps against the wall as he loses himself within the warm gushing depths of your cunt, fat cockhead only swelling more and more when you have the gall to utter the words, “Y-Yeah.. hnngh, fuck another b-baby into me, Toji,” And who ever is he to deny you of such a request?

SFW

Spends most of the day trying to bite back his smile as he watched his two kids open presents you bought for them. Their eyes light up with each gift and Toji’s poor heart only flutters with that uncomfortable warmth of love he can never quite get used to.

Keeps his best poker face on when Tsumiki and Megumi give him a gift. Toji tries to act like the little family drawing the two kids made doesn’t mean anything to him, going as far as laughing at how wonky the artwork is and everything but… the drawing is stuck onto the fridge the very second after the kids turn their head away from him and if anyone paid close enough attention to the big softie—they would’ve spotted his eyes glossing over ever so slightly.

You always get him the best gifts. Or at least, that’s what Toji tells you. Whether it be cologne or simply just a plate of Christmas breakfast in the morning—the man swears his wife outdoes herself every year. What would he do without you?

Doesn’t care too much for the snow but seeing you build snowmen and make snow-angels with his kids will always make him stand out in the crisp cold air for moments longer than he normally ever would. Usually with a hot cup of coffee in his hand, standing all mysteriously and brooding by the front door of your shared home as he watches you three run around and make fools of yourself—anyone who looks at him at the right second would catch a little grin quirking against those scared lips of his.

❅ Sukuna Ryomen

NSFW

As soon as the clock strikes twelve and Christmas has hit, he’s grabbing every red ribbon of fabric in the vicinity and wrapping his most important present (you) up to his liking.

Sukuna just loves seeing you tied up, especially on Christmas Day. One year he had your arms box-tied at your arched back as your cheeks were buried down into the sheets and his rough tattooed hands scaled along each exposed sliver of your skin. You were, quite literally, his prettiest present every year.

Sometimes you surprised him and tied yourself up in a new way—the sight never once failing to make his cock spring up. Oh and when he fucks you while you’re all tied up? He loses his mind every single time. Which is part of why he doesn’t do this all year long.

Christmas is the only day of the year where he really goes above and beyond with the whole bondage thing. Truth be told, seeing your fingers wiggle for touch and your body twitching for a moment of release as he fucks you to tears is one of his biggest and sole weaknesses in the world. It’s so sexy—especially with the cries of his name that follows along with the pleasing for him to let you touch his body.

Oh, and don’t even get him started on the way you always try wiggling away from him while your limbs are bound, no matter the position. The face you make, the way your cunt spasms—you do it every single time you’re about to cum for the nth time and it drives him fucking insane. Suddenly he can’t help but bully his angry cock into that sensitive sappy spot inside you that you’re so desperately trying to pull away from…

SFW

Definitely dresses up as the Grinch just to terrorize his child nephew, Yuji—who he knows you adore more than anything.

Yeah, you thought it was odd when you woke up on Christmas morning and your husband was nowhere to be found but when you made your way downstairs alongside a five or six year old Yuji to get the morning started… here comes your husband dressed in that iconic furred green suit and red coat—invoking a shriek from the poor boy beside you as he watched his uncle snatch up all the presents from beneath the Christmas tree.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or scold the man in the moment but either way, the event was memorable nonetheless. In Sukuna’s mind, nothing will ever beat the widening of your eyes and the dramatics that brat beside you displayed over some toys being snatched up.

He’ll never ever say it out loud to anyone aside from you but, he actually quite enjoys Christmas. Or, he has enjoyed it ever since you made him watch The Grinch—hence his antics surrounding the character. Hell, his first comment about that movie was something along the lines of, “Hah. I like the way this guy thinks already.”

Mind you, you were barely even half an hour in.

❅ Ino Takuma

NSFW

On Christmas, it’s just you and him this year so… after all the literal gifts have been opened and all the sweet things have been exchanged……. Ino’s offering his body to you entirely.

Mid-day, you swear you left him in your bedroom for hardly even five minutes only to return to his legs sprawled apart and his hard cock exposed & decorated with a cute bow wrapped around his hefty base. Then his hands are tied behind his back—part of you wondering how he even managed to do that in such a short period of time..

His brown hair is all tousled and his breathing is unsteady already. You’ve seen and felt every inch of him time and time before but offering himself ip to you like this was oh so embarrassing for the poor man. The instant your eyes fall onto his cock, his tip leaks in a messy slip of pre.

Ino can only take a deep breath and try to work up his confidence just to weigh his head to the side and lift a brow, “Well, baby? Merry Christmas. Come unwrap your final present…”

SFW

Ino loves going out with you durning the holiday season. Especially ice skating—even if you’re good or bad at it, he loves being out there on the ice with you.

Something about laughing in the cold until your cheeks burn makes his heart throb within his chest. Ino loves spending this season with you because he swears every small moment feels like a movie when he’s with you.

He definitely still leaves out cookies and milk for Santa and will debate with you for hours on end about how the guy is 100% real.

Goes, “Aww, babbyyyyy..” to literally each and every single gift you give him, soon followed by a sweet, “You didn’t have to get this for mee..!” He’s not ungrateful or anything but, even though you’re his girlfriend of like two years now, he’ll never quite get used to receiving gifts from you & he’s too damn humble for his own good.

❅ Yuki Tsukumo

NSFW

You make the ‘mistake’ of gifting her a strap for Christmas and she makes good use of it that same night.

Practically every position you can imagine & be stretched into—she’s got you in. You always knew your girlfriend had some mean hips on her but when she’s got this lengthy cock strapped onto those hips and she just working the thick ‘n hard inches of the plastic inside you at a brutal pace, you can’t even breathe properly enough to respond to her little comments of, “Aw, look at my girll… takin’ all of me so well, aren’t you pretty?”

Teasing you too with huffs of, “This is the best gift ever, cutie. I mean, hah..” She’d flash that knowing sexy grin of hers, “Jus’ look at this pussy—I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this wet before.”

You’re not too sure if you regret the purchase or if it’s the best thing you’ve ever bought for the woman but either way; in return for buying her that damn strap, Yuki gifts you with the meanest backshots not too long after opening her gift. She’s gotta make sure it works, right?

Hand around your throat, tipping your head back, lustful eye contact, heavy pants of your name, and praises pouring from her blush pink lips—Yuki’s probably never letting this gift go to waste.

SFW

She’s competitive so around this time of year, any winter spot imaginable… you’re playing or participating in with her (and probably losing).

Who loves making snow angels with you and then comparing the sized of the two, making fun of yours even if it were only the slightest bit smaller than her own.

Goes on these insane morning runs with shorts on ‘n everything. You find her bizarre for it and almost died the one time she’d convinced you to go on one with her.

Both of you would definitely give each other the same number of gifts literally every year. It’s always unintentional and completely coincidental but for whatever reason, if you got ten gifts: she got ten. If she got thirty, you got thirty. Even if you got one, she somehow got one as well. It’s silly but it keeps happening and both of you assume it’s the world’s way of telling you you’re perfect for one another.

❅ Shoko Ieiri

NSFW

Ties a bow around her middle and ring finger and gives you this smirk that leads to literally everything else.

It’d be after gifts have been opened and stories have been shared that she’s out by the fireplace with you, knuckle deep in your cunt as your sweet slick trickles down her slender fingers and coats the fabric she has around her digits.

Who doesn’t ever get tired of fingering you and never ever fails to amaze you because somehow her hands never seem to cramp up on her (or maybe that’s just from the years she spent with you but who knows..).

Once she’s satisfied with getting you off numerous times, Shoko will tell you that there’s another bow she wants you to find. That’s how you end up in between her pretty legs, tugging a lacey red bow that was tired around her upper thigh down her leg. And from there, it’s only fair that you enjoy your Christmas dessert that’s presented so deliciously in front of you—especially when she takes those two fingers from earlier and spreads herself open for you. The drool from her cunt matches the drool from your lips—how cute.

SFW

Building snowmen with you is something she cant get enough of. Especially considering the time you both built one another and you’d given her a small stick to resemble the cigarette she’s always got lodged in between her lips.

Who loves going to new cafes with you around this time for whatever reason. Something about the cold just makes her want to try all sorts of different warm beverages and who better to go try these things with than her loving wife?

Goes on a Christmas movie marathon with you because your presence during movies alone is enough to make her heart flutter.

You got her a pack of cigarettes one year as a joke but she actually appreciated it more than you realized. This was earlier on in your relationship and that gift was part of what motivated her to want to quit smoking (well, that & she’d like to live by your side for as long as possible).

❅ Choso Kamo

NSFW

Fucking his cum into you for a few hours is as good as any other gift he’s given you, right? Especially after seeing how you are around his brothers—so kind and doting, you’d make the perfect mother.

Hence the incoherent mutters of Choso wanting you to have his child later that night. All you did was give him the lovestruck look when he suggested it and it was over from there. He couldn’t stop himself from bending you in all sorts of positions, angling his hips into you perfecting and moaning about how desperately he needs you to take everything he gives you.

Who can’t even think straight when you look him in the eyes and praise him for how good he’s funking you—not that this is new or anything… But then you started teasing him. “C’mon Cho, r-right there. Gimme one more, fuck me nice ‘n full—mmgh..” Oh, you were sure to be the cause of his death that night.

He sees white by the time he cums again, something he’ll later tease you about with a stupidly unserious comment of, “Guess we really did have a white Christmas after all, huh?”

SFW

It’s winter so whenever you two walk together, he takes your hand, holds it tightly, and then pulls it into his pocket as the two of you walk together.

Who kinda adores the snow and cold weather for the simple fact that it hides how much he blushes around you and gives him a new excuse to use.

Loves seeing the happy look on your fave when you open presents, it makes him fall for you even harder and all he wants to do is provide the whole world and more just to keep that expression on your face.

Spends most of the holiday with his brothers and majority of his paychecks around this time are blown on providing gifts for his siblings—many purchases made without even so much as a price check beforehand.

❅ Nanami Kento

NSFW

Cooking Christmas dinner ends up with you either bent over the counter or spread out on top of the counter every year. Nanami basically calls it tradition at this point. He just has to have you instead of focusing on finishing the meal set for Christmas day.

And what makes it so much better is that Nanami also uses this time to reveal how much he’s into food play. The man can’t help but want to lick some sort of frosting or cream (aside from his own) up off of your soft skin. Swearing everything tastes better when it’s eaten off of you.

Or, sometimes Nanami claims that pistoning his sharp hips into you while you’re bent over the counter helps him focus on reading the recipe to whatever he’s making. Apparently your moans keep him focused on the task at hand (literally) and each clench of your cunt around his thick shaft make his senses sharper (his words not mine…).

That, and there’s nothing more fun than leaving a cliche powdered handprint on the fat of your ass after a couple smacks in between his rough thrusts. You find his ability to multitask insane. He’s fucking your legs to complete mush and yet baking a cake at the same time like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Not to mention the way he’ll have you suck a taste test off of his fingers just to hear you moan out a stuttered response of how good it tastes.

SFW

Nanami is the best gift giver, naturally. Okay, yeah, you mentioned this item once as you were describing to him a dream you had like three years ago before the two of you were even together but who caresss, right? It’s not his fault he has such a sharp memory and has hung off of your every word for as long as he’s known you…

One thing your husband loves to do around this time is slow dance with you to some classical Christmas music. It feels sappy and sweet—swaying with the love of his life as joyful steady music flitters within the air.

He definitely cannot wait to have children with you because he sees the way your face lights up as you watch children durning the holidays. Their laughter is so pure and really brings the Christmas spirit into the hearts of anyone nearby.

Who doesn’t go crazy with decorations or anything but he will have one absurdly large tree with a ridiculous number of ornaments just because.

[finelinevogue]

bump

summary - you don’t like people constantly touching your baby bump

word count - +1k

pairing - azriel x reader

✨🌙💫🌟✨🌙💫🌟✨🌙💫🌟✨🌙💫🌟✨

The party was in full swing.

It had been 2 weeks since you’d announced to your close friends and family that you and Azriel were pregnant - after having 1 month living with the news just you two.

Somehow, Rhys had managed to plan and pull-off a party in that short space of time in order to celebrate your pregnancy.

It was relatively low-key, only people that were closest to you and your family having been invited - mainly because you didn’t want a huge thing made of it but also because Azriel was a mad-man at the moment and wouldn’t let anyone he didn’t trust with his life near you.

Azriel had been overprotective to say the least.

Just the other day you’d tried to reach for your favourite mug in a very accessible shelf above you, but Azriel saw what you were doing and instantly panicked - moving you gently out of the way and fetching it for you. To which he also proceeded in making you a tea as he didn’t want you anywhere near boiling water.

“I can make my own cup of tea, Az.” You sighed.

“I know you can, but I can also make one for you.” He replied. That was his usual reply nowadays.

“I’m not incapable you know?”

“I know. I just… I can–.”

“Yes I know you can, love, but I don’t need you to all the time, okay? I love that you want to take care of me, but I also don’t want to feel useless.”

“How could you be useless? You’re currently doing the most important thing that you could ever be doing.” Azriel placed a soft hand on your stomach.

But after shunning Azriel for being too overprotective, you sort of wish he would bring it back again in this moment.

This party was lovely, but it was also so overwhelming.

You didn’t realise how many people would be so interested in coming up to you and feeling your baby bump. Hands constantly touching you when they usually wouldn’t if you weren’t pregnant. It felt weird and uncomfortable.

“Y/N!” Layla called, walking up to you with a glass of bubbly in her hand.

“Layla, hi.” You smiled at your friend who had worked with you in the Velaris bakery for many years.

“I can’t believe you’re pregnant.” She gushed, giggling a bit with excitement.

“Really? With the amount Y/N and Az sneak around every moment they get, I thought it was about damn time.” Nesta came up alongside you, rolling her eyes as is her and Cassian don’t do the exact same thing.

“Well with a mate like Azriel, I don’t blame you.” Layla wiggled her eyebrows and you gave her a small smile - feeling a little insecure that someone as beautiful as Layla was gushing over your mate whilst you were starting to look like an inflated balloon.

You felt Nesta give you a side look before wandering off into the crowd, leaving you to once again speak to Layla alone.

“So how far along are you?” Layla asked.

It would have been fine if she just asked that, but she had to go and put her hand against your bump at the same time.

You were far too polite to say anything but you really didn’t like her hand on your stomach. Not just hers but also everyone else’s who’d decided to just touch you without asking first.

It was starting to feel invasive.

“About 12 weeks.” You gave her a small smile, stepping back slightly.

Unfortunately for you she just followed, adding her hand back.

“Wow so you didn’t have any symptoms for a while then?” She asked, cupping the roundness of your belly with her palm.

It didn’t feel as comforting as when Azriel touched you. Nothing ever would, but there was something so overstimulating about someone other than your mate just touching you before asking. It felt a little violating.

Before you could get emotional about it in front of a crowded room you excused yourself.

You hurried as fast as you could out of the nearest door and walked through the corridors of the House of Wind.

The tears had arrived as you were walking, your heart beating fast and hands shaking with nerves.

Was it rude to not let people touch your bump? You couldn’t help but think.

Yet, at the same time you would never just go up to a female and put your hands on her pregnant bump - even if it was Feyre - You respect their boundaries too much. So why did you feel like getting upset about this was silly?

Was it the hormones? Because they had been making you feel slightly crazy recently.

You made it to the kitchen without bumping in to anyone.

You braced your arms on the kitchen counter and sunk your chin to your chest, letting out small whimpers as the tears fell.

There was no need to jump from your skin when Azriel’s arms snaked around your waist to hug you because you’d felt his presence the moment he’d appeared in the room. His cheek was delicately placed on the back of your head to still allow you the time and space to be upset.

Some of his shadows were already snaking around your arms in support and stomach in protection.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asked and you had to laugh at his tone.

“Ask me what you really want to ask, Az.” You lifted your chin up and tilted your head to the side to try and see him.

“I’m not sure asking you who I need to kill is the right thing to say when you’re crying.”

You chuckled, kissing the side of his face.

Azriel let you turn around in his hold, not letting your waist go for a moment though. Now his head was tilted down to face yours.

“Tell me.” He said softly.

Your smile broke as your lips wobbled, trying to focus on not crying and instead talk it through with your mate.

“I hate it.” Your voice wavered.

“Hate what? Who?”

“I hate purple touching my bump.”

“Okay.” Azriel said but didn’t add any thoughts for you. He wanted to hear you say everything on your mind first.

“N-not you. But, people have been touching my bump all day without asking and I hate it. I hate it so much, but I feel like a witch if I tell them to get off. Like it’s just my stomach at the end of the day..”

Azriel moved his hands quickly from your waist to cup your cheeks, stroking his thumb carefully over your cheeks. His touch immediately stopped you from talking.

“Woah, woah, woah. No. Don’t do that. Don’t try and talk yourself out of feeling the way you do. It’s your stomach, love. It’s your baby. No one should be doing anything you’re not comfortable with - ever.”

“No I know, but…”

“No buts. Y/N, love, if you feel uncomfortable then that’s the line I draw. The next person to touch your bump without asking is going to lose their hand.”

You give him a stoic look, but part of you was seriously wondering whether he was being truthful.

“Will you stay with me for the rest of the night?”

“Or how about we don’t go back at all.” He raised his eyebrows in suggestion at you.

“If you’re on the same wavelength as me then yes - please!”

“Perfect.” He kissed you softly, both your chests warming at the touch, “You get the ice-cream and I will get the blankets.”

[rainydayathogwarts]

One of us - platonic!marauders x reader

summary: when the marauders find out you're an animagus, you're forced into the beginning of a friendship with them. wc: 1.2k+

With a piece of toast halfway through your mouth, actively listening to Evan’s story, the last thing you’d been expecting on a Monday morning was for Dumbledore to stand up for an announcement. “Will the following students please report to Professor McGonagall’s office.” The old wizard cleared his throat and Evan rolled his eyes, mockingly starting to list off the names of the marauders. “Sirius Black,” You and Evan burst into a fit of giggles at the accuracy of his prediction, listening closely for the other students’ names. “James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and,” Dumbledore paused, squinting his eyes at the slip of paper he was staring at as Evan mumbled ‘Remus Lupin’.

“Uh, Y/N L/N.” You felt all the blood drain away from your face and Evan’s jaw dropped from where he sat in front of you. You felt everyone’s eyes turn towards you and furrowed your eyes in confusion. Evan widened his eyes at you, nodding his head towards the entrance of the Great Hall. You gestured at him with your hands, expressing how you had no idea what you'd done, and grabbed the rest of your toast, sticking it between your teeth as you gathered your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

Turning around, you were surprised to find the three other students lingering in the doorway, waiting for you. You bit through your toast, catching the piece of bread in your hand as you sped up your footsteps, catching up to them. The gears in your head churned as you thought about every single rule you broke in your last seven years at Hogwarts. But why on earth would you be called to see the head of gryffindor house when you weren’t even a gryffindor? You gasped, stopping in your tracks. The three boys in front of you spun around to look at you, a panicked look on your face. “Oh, looks like someone knows what they’re in trouble for.” Sirius teased in a sing song voice, a smirk making its way on his face.

“Oh, can you tell us please! Because, we’re probably in trouble for the same thing, and we always get in trouble so it could be anything! And you, you never get in trouble.” You grimaced at Pettigrew’s little rant, debating whether you should tell them. You shook your head quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat, saying with an embarrassing squeak “I can’t tell you.” Because being an unregistered animagus was not only breaking school rules, but breaking the law. And the only reason you would be called to Professor McGonagall’s office was because she too, was an animagus, and she’d be the only Professor who would know how to deal with situations like these. You looked at the three boys in front of you, rushing past them. But if that was the case, why on earth would they be called into her office too?

You huffed, making the final turn to Professor McGonagall’s office. You put your fist up, ready to knock, but held yourself back. “Hey,” You turned your head to look at the boy speaking to you, a gentle smile on his face. “Don’t worry. If you were in real bad trouble, you wouldn’t be called in with other people.” James nodded towards his two friends, mumbling “Speaking from experience here.” You scoffed in amusement, unable to help the small smile on your face, finally knocking on the wooden door. The “Come in!” was instant. You gulped, smile instantly dropping.

The three of you entered the room in a single file line, sitting down on the four chairs lined up in front of the deputy headmistress’ desk. Professor McGonagall didn’t look up at you until you were all settled, slamming a stack of papers down on the wooden surface of her desk. “Well,” She started with her familiar croak, adjusting her glasses on her nose. “This isn’t how I thought I’d start my week, but what’s life without surprises?” You laughed nervously at her words, but you could tell from her monotonous voice and serious facial expression that you were out of order.

“Recently, a few members of staff have heard students talking about how animals from the forbidden forest are getting comfortable and wandering on school grounds.” You sucked in a sharp breath, straightening your posture as you peeked at the three boys from the corner of your eye. They were glancing right back at you. “More specifically, mentions of a stag, the grim, and a white tiger.” Professor McGonagall looked straight up at you. “Ms. L/N the dog and stag may get away with it, and no one has even noticed the rat, but a white tiger? Students are claiming they’ve made the scientific discovery of the century because white tigers are apparently inhabitants of Scotland now. Scotland!!”

You felt heat rush to your face as she said those words, reaching up to take her glasses off and folding them in front of her. You smiled nervously, rearranging the the tie around your neck as you said “Frankly, Professor McGonagall, I’m not quite sure I know what you’re talking about.” A noise of disagreement came from Sirius, who was wincing at your challenging tone. Professor McGonagall reached for her wand, and you barely had time to react before she was mumbling “Revelio” under her breath. You felt your bones shift, the familiar warm feeling of your animagus form overtaking your body. You squealed, or rather roared, your thick, furry paws sending you leaping into the air as you quickly forced yourself to take shape of your human form again.

You stood awkwardly next to the chair you’d be sat on, patting your hands down on your hair to tame it and straightening out your shirt. Sounds of amazement came from the three marauders at your animagus state, watching as you calmly sat down, clearing your throat. “Alright then.” You muttered, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “You need to sign these registration forms.” The four of you made sounds of exclamation, standing up in unison. “That’s what I thought.” Professor McGonagall continued, a satisfied smile on tugging at her lips, “Now you four be careful. If I call you up here again, know that these forms will be waiting for you.”

You all made noises of agreement, speeding towards the door. You slammed the door open, taking a deep breath when you finally escaped Professor McGonagall’s wrath. You sighed, looking to where Remus Lupin leaned against the wall waiting for his friends. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at your dishevelled state. “Moons, you’ll never guess!” Sirius brushed past you, ranting on to his friend about your transformation. “Oh my goodness, be quiet!” You snapped, spinning on the balls of your feet to face him. Remus laughed, watching as James slung an arm over your shoulders, saying how you had to transform for them again, whilst Peter went on about how soft your white fur looked.

“You know what this means don’t you?” The tall boy called out, looking at how your shoulders became stiff and you tried prying your hair out from under James’s arm. You raised your eyebrows in question, prompting Remus to go on.

“It means you’re one of us now.”

[retrosabers]

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐝.

FICMAS DAY 5 - UNWRAPPING

A RETROSABERS X PANDAPETALS DOUBLE FEATURE

old man logan x fem!reader

summary: logan didn’t believe in exchanging christmas presents. so, you offer him something you know he can’t refuse. a night where’s he’s free to have you all to himself.

contains: 18+ content below the cut. MINORS DNI. making out, some dry humping if you squint, oral (fem receiving), implied age gap, a dash of angst, swearing

word count: 2.6k

a/n: you thought i’d let a whole season pass without a little taste of some festive smut? absolutely hilarious. this is my first time writing for old man logan, and i think i did pretty alright considering i have yet to watch the movie (i’m terrified of the pain it will bring)

any feedback is always greatly appreciated!

also, don’t be confused by the fact that this says day 5 when i still haven’t posted day 4, i’m writing these bad boys out of order

and finally, a huge shoutout & thanks to the wildly talented @pandapetals for agreeing to do a little collaboration! please go check out her blog and all of her amazing work! <3

FIND HER PART HERE

!! divider by @estrelinha-s !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

“are you sure your eyes are closed?”

logan grunts. “they’re closed, darlin’. promise.”

he’s been sitting here for almost fifteen minutes now, waiting for you to bring out this so-called “surprise.” from the ambient lighting and freshly washed bed sheets, the man thinks he’s got a general idea of what it is, but you’ve been fiddling in the bathroom too long for him to be certain.

still, he appeases you, and waits patiently at the foot of your bed. even if it’s a little bit uncomfortable on his knees.

meanwhile you’re fussing over every little detail of your appearance in the groggy bathroom mirror.

this was your solution to getting around logan’s “i don’t need anything for christmas” rule. you always begrudgingly abided by it, save for the box of cigars that always mysteriously turnt up in his nightstand on christmas eve. you knew he could never turn it down, no matter how much he tried.

logan could never say no to a smoke break with a nice pack of cubans. and he most certainly couldn’t say no to you.

that's how you decided upon this whole scheme. dolling yourself up and donning a new set of lingerie themed to the occasion, knowing logan had no leg to stand on. because technically, you didn’t buy anything for him. you bought this for you. he just so happened to be the person who was going to help take it off.

or rip it off, knowing your man’s track record of impatience and eagerness.

you share the exact same sentiment, though your tendency to be anile overpowers all else. you know it doesn’t matter if you have a hair or two out of place, or if your lips are slightly over lined. perfection never mattered to logan, but it still didn’t stop you from doing everything in your power to be pretty damn close to it tonight.

even if it meant making him wait a few extra minutes.

you pay your reflection one final glance before sauntering out into the bedroom.

he smells you before he hears you.

your scent wafting into the room captures his attention more than anything else. logan’s senses may not be as keen as they once were, but the fragrance of you was something utterly unmistakable. a sweet yet sultry aroma that he ached to have on his skin, his clothes, anywhere, to keep him grounded. to remind himself that you were real and you were his. it only adds to the anticipation building inside, the mere seconds he has to wait dragging on like hours in his mind.

a wave of lust overtakes you as logan comes into view. somehow just the sight of him is enough to send a bout of arousal down to your core.

that crisp white dress shirt he always wears is unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to reveal those chiseled forearms you love to have wrapped around you. the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the weathered curves of his face so beautifully. a contrast to the ruggedness of his position; legs lazily spread wide and long, thick fingers tapping mindlessly against his thigh.

the picture of a real man. and he’s all yours for the taking.

the sound of your footsteps padding against the floor grows louder. obediently, logan’s eyes stay shut, despite the fact that the other aroma you carry is hot and heavy in his nostrils. his upper lip twitches with a knowing smirk.

so this is exactly what he had in mind.

on instinct, his thighs spread even further when he senses your approach, hands itching to find their place on you somehow. when your own stay glued to your sides, he takes that as his cue to do the same.

logan really hates to admit it, but there’s something about this little bit of mystery that’s got him going before you’ve even begun.

“you ready?” your voice comes out breathy, and if logan didn’t know any better he’d think you’re nervous. and truth be told, you were. not that logan wouldn’t get his kicks, you were certain of that. more so that you’d be unable to walk come tomorrow morning.

though neither of you would consider it a bad thing

“yes ma’am,” he grumbles in response, knowing exactly the effect it has on you. the cockiness on his face is inevitable when he hears your breath hitch.

tease. if that’s how he wants to play, you’re in for a long night.

with a quiet sigh, you splay your fingers over the expanse of his broad shoulders. the man takes it as permission, calloused palms wrapping around your calves and not daring to travel any further. he knows he’ll lose any remaining self control if he gets so much as an inch closer to the apex of your thighs.

“okay.” you murmur. “you can open your eyes.”

slowly, those dark irises begin to drink you in. his grip on you tightens as soon as he gets the whole picture, a visible tent forming in his dress slacks almost immediately.

logan thought you were the most beautiful women he’s ever seen under any conditions. didn’t matter if you were sick, if you were bare faced, none of that changed how otherworldly you looked in his eyes. but nothing, and i mean nothing, compared to the sight of you before him right now.

you look like something out of a dream. hair styled in a way that drives him particularly crazy, makeup done to highlight your features so elegantly in the dim light. the best, and quite possibly logan’s favorite part, however, is that your lips are painted a shade of red to perfectly match the ensemble adorning your body. it sparks a slideshow of rather lewd images in his brain, wanting the color scattered across his cheek, his chest, his cock. anywhere you’re willing to brand him.

he’s committed every inch of you to memory by now. countless nights of exploring, mapping out your curves with hand and tongue. and still, everytime he sees you like this, practically offering yourself on a silver platter, he can’t help but stare back as though this is the very first time.

especially when that crimson silk is accentuating your figure so nicely.

“do you like it?” you ask coyly, bottom lip tucked between your teeth like you’re not fully aware of the power you have over him.

logan scoffs out a laugh, dragging his hands higher and higher until they tug at your hips, pulling you to straddle his lap in one swift motion. you squeak at the sudden display of strength, forgetting that despite his age, he was still infinitely stronger than any man you’ve ever met.

even beneath the layers of fabric between you, the sheer size of him was impossible to ignore. fuck, and he wasn’t even fully hard. you bite back a moan at the outline of his length pressed between your legs.

“that answer your question?” he quips back lowly, smirking smugly.

you hum in content, pressing your hands further into his shoulders as you experimentally grind your hips. the pair of you preen at the contact, desperate for any form of relief after being pent up and waiting.

“careful,” logan grits out in warning. “gonna cum in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager if you keep that up.”

you tsk in response, cocking your head with faux concern. “can’t have that, now can we?”

logan shakes his head at your antics, eyes wandering back over your body once more. before tonight, his favorite set of lingerie you owned was a black lacy number. simple and classic. but the more time he spends inspecting what’s currently adorning your frame, the more he thinks that red might be his new favorite color.

something warm spills over him when he glances at your chest again. something different than what he normally experiences every time he catches a glimpse of your cleavage, anyways.

“is that a bow?” he questions, a little bit amused.

you let out a soft giggle, nodding in reply.

“wanted you to be able to unwrap your present.”

you can count the amount of times logan has laughed, really truly laughed, on one hand. and as much as it sounds like music to your ears, you’re rather confused as to why he’s laughing right now.

“what’s so funny?” you huff, brows knit together and bottom lip jutted in a near pout.

logan averts your inquiry, burying his face in your neck so you can’t see him grinning like an idiot. instead, he busies himself with dragging his lips up and down the column of your throat, reveling in the breathy moans spilling from your lips with each and every press against your skin.

from the moment you met logan howlett, you fantasized about that salt and pepper beard. longed to feel the delicious sting of scruff against every part of you. as addicting as it is, the sensation isn’t enough to keep you completely distracted.

“logan,” you whine, titling your head back to grant him more access. “m’serious.”

he doesn’t halt his ministrations, too consumed with making sure your neck is painted every shade of lavender under the sun. he only stops when you rake your fingers in his hair and physically pull him off, much to both your dismays.

you give him a look. that pursed lips, narrow eyed “what aren’t you saying to me” look that signals he’s going to have to fess up to whatever’s on his mind, or else the evening would be coming to an end right here and now. from the way he’s about to burst through the zipper on his dress slacks, you know he’s not considering weighing options.

logan sighs heavily. if you didn’t know all the variations of the sound, you’d think he was upset with you. but that was far from how the older man felt. he begins to examine your face, observing everything from the slopes of your bone structure, to the color of your irises. he studies your features like an artisan in a gallery, content on not missing a single detail.

after a moment, the corners of his mouth turn up a hair. eyes almost dopey; filled with a lovesickness he never thought could be possible.

“you’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” he murmurs into the air, rough fingertips tracing back and forth across your spine.

you speak the language of logan fluently, knowing exactly what the underlying message of his words were. in reality, he was saying, “what did i do in this life to deserve you? will you ever know how much i love you? i hope you’ll be mine for as long as you’ll have me.”

suddenly his round of laughter from before rings brighter in your ears.

instead of saying another word, you guide his face to yours, connecting your lips in a silent understanding.

logan always kisses you like a man starved, devouring you whole as though every kiss may be the last. there was nothing tame, or tender about the man they once called the wolverine, but you managed to slip between the cracks of his stony disposition, and bring forth all the parts of himself he swore he lost decades ago.

your hands encircle around the back of his neck, logan’s squeezing at the flesh of your hips. he pulls you impossibly closer, pressing the swell of your chest against his own. the feeling of your nipples pebbling through velvet fabric reminds him of the true nature of your current situation.

tonight was for him. his pleasure, his enjoyment. he knew you’d be heavily dissatisfied if he didn’t indulge in what you were offering.

and what kind of man would logan be, if he disappointed his sweet girl?

you’re not expecting him to be so gentle when he turns and flips you over, mouth never once leaving yours. a large hand spread across your back as he lowers you down onto the mattress with a care reserved for you and only you. a fact that adds to your current state of arousal. your legs open like second nature, and logan slots himself between them as though that’s where he was always meant to be.

the whine that leaves you when he pulls away would be embarrassing if it weren’t for the hunger in his stare. those normally hazel pupils now a brownish black that overshadowed bright white. he sits back on his haunches, glazing over your pretty little lingerie with a newfound appreciation.

he reaches to toy with the end of the bow tied snugly between your breasts, a teasing invitation that he graciously accepts.

at a tantalizing pace, he begins to unwrap his present, watching with lustful eyes as more and more skin becomes exposed. you arch your back the slightest bit to get the job done faster, the shoe of impatience now snug on your foot instead of his.

normally, logan would scold, spit something about “being a good girl and waiting.” but he’s just as riled up and eager as you are, and he gives the velvet one final tug that has your breasts springing free.

god you were absolute perfection.

he can’t resist running a thumb over your erect nipples, reveling in the way you squirm over such a small touch. your color coated lips swollen and shiny from his kisses. body already relaxed and pliant, willing to do whatever he so pleases.

a few minutes ago, he would’ve torn your outfit off without second thought and shown no mercy. let the shitty week he was having take control, guide him through the motions of achieving pleasure. but something inside logan urges him to be a little sentimental; take his sweet time on the off chance that he wakes up and discovers this was all a dream.

so he decides that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

the path down to your core was a familiar one, a route he knew like the back of his hand. sloppy, wet kisses trail down your stomach, a small crack in logan’s otherwise composed exterior. by the time he reaches the hem of your panties, tongue teasing beneath the waistband, you’re bursting at the seams with desire, unable to stop yourself from whimpering and bucking your hips upward.

“i gotcha honey,” he whispers against the inside of your thigh, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. “m’gonna take real good care of ya.”

logan knew you were soaked the second you walked into the room. didn’t need to see or feel it to know. still, he indulges his ego and stares proudly at the dark patch in the center of your underwear. knowing it was all his doing, that he was the only one who could get you like this.

when he pulls the fabric to the side and is met with your glistening folds, he can’t help the groan that rumbles in his chest.

“merry fuckin’ christmas to me,” he all but growls before diving right in.

it’s in moments like these where he wishes that photographic memory was his mutation, though he doubts he’ll ever forget this. his perfect girl, laid out so delicately beneath him, basking in the pale moonlight that seeped in between the curtains. his own personal utopia, paradise within the four walls of this rickety building you called home.

logan wonders if maybe he’s finally succumbed to the poison in his bones. because this sure does feel like heaven.

at the very least, it most definitely feels like christmas.

because having the privilege of watching you come undone was the gift that kept on giving all year round.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @alastor-simp @j4desblurbs @pandapetals @hextech-bros

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

-

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl. 

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head. 

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint. 

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew. 

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence. 

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent. 

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time. 

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission. 

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from. 

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful. 

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?” 

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words. 

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare. 

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation. 

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig. 

“It’s not about that,” you croak. 

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours. 

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly. 

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden. 

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out. 

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her. 

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance. 

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers. 

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction. 

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers. 

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening. 

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head. 

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much. 

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence. 

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously. 

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal. 

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway. 

But he does have a scent. 

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing. 

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm. 

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.  

Something is very wrong. 

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door. 

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now. 

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours. 

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold. 

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height. 

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”

[butyoucouldberadiant]

Athena’s verse in “I Can’t Help but Wonder” is such a great author/audience insert?? Because to our modern ears I think the way Epic ends is a little disappointing. We want Odysseus to find his way back to Open Arms just as much as we want him to find his way back to Penelope and Telemachus. Athena’s verse allows a place for that desire to interact with the reality.

To me, it views Epic as a tragedy even though he gets his family back. Because it says, did it really have to end this way? Could something different have happened? Whose failure led to this? Was it Athena? Or was this destiny?

Was he right in his Ruthlessness? Or if more people chose Open Arms, would such a tragedy have happened?

And to me, those questions make the disappointment that Odysseus couldn’t go back to Open Arms fade, because it feels like the story is acknowledging that and accommodating it. It’s maybe saying that even though life sometimes changed us and takes us away from who we thought we were or who we ought to be, there is goodness and there is value and we can continue on in spite of that sorrow. We might have those questions: what if I was more kind to others? What if others were more kind to me? How would my life have been different? But those questions are more valuable for how they affect our future than for how they affect our past. When we ask those questions, we hopefully become more empathetic in the future and prevent this tragedy in others’ lives. If we ask them with more of a focus on our past than our future, we may become bitter. We may say, “no one was kind to me, so therefore I will be Ruthless to others.”

The only person who seems to consider these questions raised by Athena before this point in the story is Circe. Circe is the only one in the Epic who successfully implements Open Arms. She chooses to show Odysseus mercy, and it doesn’t backfire on her. And she chooses it because she has had tragedy and Ruthlessness inflicted upon her, and has been Ruthless herself. And she thinks maybe things could be better if that wasn’t how people treated each other. And she decides it starts with her.

[salemlunaa]

∘˚౨ৎ no need for desperation ౨ৎ∘˚

no matter what you’re going through, the state of pure consciousness is yours.

∘˚౨ৎ ACT I | why desperation isn’t needed…

“I need to “enter” RIGHT NOW, my circumstances have gotten 100x worse”

“you don’t understand i need help, an instant method, something”

“time is running out i need to induce pure consciousness and get my dream life”

You need to stop with that, take a second now and breathe. 1: Time doesn’t exist, you say you can get all the time back you’ve supposedly “wasted” if you properly apply what you know. 2: You don’t need anything, kill that thought of being the one in need, because you aren’t. 3: circumstances aren’t real, they are nothing. and everything will be worth it when realise you already have everything.

∘˚౨ৎ METHOD | the only one you need.

Whether you’re sooo desperate for pure consciousness or not, whether your life depends on it, this is the only method you need: (at anytime of the day, mind you)

eyes closed

breathe, relax, let go of everything around you

you don’t have to be in a certain position and you don’t have to be a statue, both dumb pieces of misinformation, scratch that itch, lay where you’re comfortable

you are “I Am”, whether in pure consciousness or not, you can remind yourself of that by affirming “I AM” if you believe it helps you,

or your mind can trail off and think about ANYTHING, whether that be your new life or one of your favourite songs, take that mind off the 3d

before you know it, you’ve induce pure consciousness

this is all you need, not some grandiose, 50-step intricate method. Just relax and focus on all but your 3d THATS IT BABE

you don’t need to be desperate for something so easy

there’s is no “it doesn’t work for me”, you’re not exempt from the law of shifting awareness, you’re not some special person who “just can’t” make it work. Inducing the “I AM” state is in our nature.

౨ৎ˚∘ACT II | get out of the cycle, you aren’t yearning anymore.

This desperation won’t get you anywhere. And it puts you in a vicious cycle. You’re desperate to change your life → you see the void state as the only ticket out of here → you put all your faith and adoration into the state of pure consciousness instead of you → you put it on a pedestal → you believe pure consciousness is the only thing that can pull you out of your misery= therefore, you are relying on external factors for something you must do.

And if you look at the base law for loa: think as if you have it. Would you have feelings of desperation if you’re a void master, if you supposedly have your dream life?

So leave the circumstances behind, like now this time, really don’t say you’re going to and go back to complaining in 2 days

“i have school soon and if i don’t induce-” no.

“i NEED to induce before-” shhh. you can do it right now, you know that.

“my circumstances are getting so bad and-” what circumstances?

“no you don’t understand how life is getting-” i thought you had your dream life?

The days of desperation are no more. No more will you beg for something that is so easy, something that is owed to you. No more will “fail”, failure doesn’t exist for you. Just believe it.

There’s nothing to be desperate about because circumstances aren’t real and you can have your desire whenever.

Would a baker be desperate to get ahold of the recipe for a cake he already knows how to make?

🎄🎅 it’s your reality, don’t allow external factors to make you desperate for something so easy.

also merry christmas lovies (and happy holidays regardless for those who don’t celebrate) hope you guys are digging the theme 😏

[darnell-la]

i love the darkpervy!logan x reader content, pls make more!

summary: logan hated picking y/n up from bars and clubs, especially if her male best friend was there. she never listens to him, and tonight, he could only show her what happens when she gets as drunk as she does in public.

note: I think we’ve made a similar story like this, so we’ll try to make it a bit different.

“She’s drunk, peanut. Go and pick her up for me,” Wade told Logan as his eyes stayed on Vanessa who danced in front of him. “Why would I? She’s old enough to get around herself,” Logan said as he took a sip of his drink.

“It’s not like you’re enjoying this amazing, godsend of a woman dancing in front of us, anyway. Plus, Max is there, and you don’t want him taking her home, right?”

Logan’s fist tightened at the thought of Max being anywhere near y/n. He knew what kind of man that boy was. Logan wouldn’t be able to live in his shared apartment, knowing Max fucked her somewhere in there.

Logan got up without saying a word. “By the way, I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. I’m spending time with my future wife,” Wade shouted as Logan walked out of the bar door.

Logan had been sitting in his car for a while now. Usually, y/n comes right out, but by the videos, her friends are posting online, he knew she was having too much fun there.

Logan groaned as he stepped out of his truck, knowing he’d hate the sight of seeing y/n all over Max like she always is. He hated that thought. There was nothing special about Maximilian in any way.

“I’ll be right back, bub,” Logan told the security guard, so he wouldn’t have his truck removed from in front of the building. “Five minutes,” was all the guard gave him.

Logan quickly made his way to the section y/n and her friends always buy, and with no surprise, Max was all in y/n’s ear. The way she giggled, made Logan’s fists tightened.

“Alright, bub — Time to go home,” Logan spoke as he walked up to the section. “Logan! Have a drink with us,” Y/n offered as she raised her hand to give him her glass, but he didn’t take it.

“I don’t think he wants to drink from you, princess. Let him get his own glass,” Max spoke for Logan, and that was something he wouldn’t allow. Who does this man actually think he is?

Logan took y/n’s glass and chugged the whole thing, knowing he wouldn’t feel anything. All she drank were sweet drinks.

“Happy, princess?” Logan said, claiming her nickname back from Max. “That’s not fair, Lo. You’ve gotta drink more,” y/n said as she grabbed bottles to mix them in a glass.

“We can do that another time, bub, let’s get you home,” Logan said as he pushed past Max and softly grabbed y/n’s hand. Y/n whined as she got up to move past Max with him.

“Next week, same time?” Max asked, and right as y/n opened her mouth, Logan spoke for her. “I’m taking her out with Wade, so, no thank you,” Logan winked at the younger man before dragging y/n towards the exit with him.

“What are we gonna do next weekend?” Y/n asked, very excited, but anyone could tell she was drunk out of her mind. Logan knew once she got in his trust, she’d be passed out in his back seat, and that’s what she was.

“You can’t be drinkin’ like this, y/n. No Uber would actually take you home, seeing you like this,” Logan only told the truth as she whined in the back seat. She could barely understand the man.

“I’ve thought about what I should say to you, on my way here, but no matter what I’ll say, you won’t listen. You probably won’t even remember from how drunk you are,”

Logan pulled into a dark park that was only around the corner from their shared apartment. Wade wasn’t home, and y/n was vulnerable. Only one thing could cross Logan’s mind that he’s been wanting to do, but couldn’t. He never knew how, and when to, but tonight was the night.

“I’m hungry,” y/n struggled to say. Lovna could barely hear her. “I’ll make something at home, but right now, you’re in trouble,” Logan got out of the car as y/n repeatedly asked why.

“You see,” Logan opened the back doors to his truck and hopped in. “You would’ve taken the Uber tonight, right?” Logan asked as he moved y/n so her back was on the seat. “Mhmh,” y/n replied as her head spun.

“Yeah, so let’s see how you’d get through the night in an Uber,” Logan said as he began tugging at her dress, lighting it up until her skin touched his seat. “Huh? What?” Y/n asked, her voice seeming so far away.

“What would you do in this situation? If the Uber didn’t take you right home?” Logan asked as he hooked his fingers around her panties before ripping them clean off of her.

“Hey- Logan?” Y/n didn’t know what to do or say. What was even happening? Y/n couldn’t think straight, and the sight of that angered Logan, yet, turned him on. It’s not like he couldn’t get what he wanted if she was sober. He was stronger than her either way.

“And, this is why you can’t go out drunk. Look at you. You can’t even lift your head to look at me,” Logan said as he unbuckled his pants, feeling how hard his cock rubbed against his fabric. She looked sweeter than ever.

“Lo? What- happening?” Y/n wanted to know what was going on as Logan moved between her legs, always feeling close to the sight of her folds. She looked wet, smooth, and sweet. Just like he’d imagine.

“I’m not Logan, remember? I’m your Uber driver,” Logan said as he pushed at y/n’s entrance. At first, she didn’t feel too much to alarm her, until his tip slipped past her folds.

“Logan- Logan!” Y/n whined loudly as she lifted her arms to push at his chest. “Nah uh, you let me in,” Logan continued painting through her folds as her feet curled and mouth parted.

“N-No,” y/n felt her heart pound, getting scared of what was happening. She knew this was Logan, but she was too drunk tonight. There was too much pressure running through her body.

“Why? Tell me why, baby, and I might stop,” Logan lied. He just wanted to hear her speak. “T-Too big — I-I came breath,” y/n stuttered, and being the asshole Logan was, he lifted y/n’s legs over his shoulder to make her feel more trapped.

“Lo- please! I-I can’t,” y/n begged as her stomach twitched. “Oh, yeah? But, you can fuck Max, huh? You can fuck him at his place, but can’t give me a little attention at home?”

Y/n shook her head as she tried to comprehend what Logan was saying. Why was he bringing up Max? Why did he sound so angry? Why did he speed up his thrust the more she pushed at his lower stomach?

“G-Get up — Please,” y/n begged, feeling the need to pee, which meant she was close to an orgasm. That was too embarrassing for her. She couldn’t cum on Logan’s cock. This was inappropriate.

“Stop trying to push me away, y/n. It’s not gonna fucking work,” growled as he slapped y/n’a hands away. “No! N-No, I won’t,” y/n got fussy with the man as she fought his hands from pushing her away.

“W-We can’t do this!” Y/n tried shouting at Logan, but nothing about her in this situation made him think she’d get out of this. “I don’t care how embarrassed you are, y/n. You’re gonna fucking cum on me like you do to Max,”

Logan’s hands wrapped around y/n’s neck, making her gasp. “Logan, please — I-I’m gonna cum, and- I- Please,” y/n begged the man, but her eyes soon rolled to the back of her head.

“Ah huh,” Logan snapped his hips as his grip pulled her into his thrust. “G-Gonna cum,” y/n cried low as she gushed around the man. Her legs shook and nails dug right into Logan’s wrists.

“That’s it — It feels good, doesn’t it? Better than Max, right? C’mon, baby, tell me,” Logan slowed his strokes down, but made sure to dig deep in her cunt, causing her lower belly to ache.

“P-Please, please,” y/n tried holding it back, but she gushed again, spilling all over his seats with a loud cry. “Oh, yeah — That’s my, girl. Only for me,”

[ink-stainedkiss]

Boxer Katsuki Bakugo Headcannons ✧˖°

Boxer!Katsuki who finds it endearing that you research his opponents before his matches. While he doesn’t expect you, nor need you to, it shows how much you care about and support his career. In the car, if you five him a fact about the person he’s fighting, he’ll nod and accept the information. And sure, his manager and coach have already told him everything he needs to know, but he would never tell you that.

Boxer!Katsuki who always gets you into his games for free. No discussion. You walk in with the undefeated Dynamight, nobody is questioning you. The staff practically acts like you’re on the same level as Katsuki, but that’s because they know if they were to treat you rudely, Katsuki wouldn’t be too happy.

Boxer!Katsuki who lets you relax in his locker room. He loves practicing his moves while you watch, because you aren’t very subtle when you stare at his chest. Katsuki doesn’t complain though and he prides himself on how much you love his figure. He’ll add cocky comments now and then, telling you to quit gawking, but the threats are never truthful.

You sat on a foldable chair next to the wall of lockers as your body friend struck a large punching bag over and over. Sweat beaded down his forehead, making his blonde hair stick to the skin. Grunts and pants pushed their way out of his mouth and occasionally he would let out short growls. Even if you were ‘mindlessly scrolling on your phone’ you knew that Katsuki was sexy as hell. A smirk appeared on your face at the thought. Unknowingly, your boyfriend had caught you looking like a pervert at him and he slowed the swinging bag, raising a brow at your lost-in-thought face.

“Like what you see?” He teased from afar, noticing how you were torn from your thoughts and a small blush appeared on your face. You scoffed, going back to your phone that had turned off from lack of use,”I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He chuckled, obviously not believing you for a second,”You sure? ‘Cause it looks like you’re drooling over me.”

You looked up, glaring at the man, which he only found cute,”You’re clearly seeing things, maybe you want me to look at you.” Katsuki realized you wouldn’t accept your defeat and moved off of the platform, smirking as you didn’t look up from your screen. He removed one of his gloves and lifted your chin,”I’m just messing with you.” Before you could comment and deny, he locked his lips with yours, smiling just a bit as you melted against his mouth.

Boxer!Katsuki who doesn’t care if someone walks in during your guy’s make out sesh. You’ll stand next to him, blushing like crazy, and Katsuki won’t even bat an eye. He has his hand resting on your waist, listening to whatever the person had to say. He really doesn’t care about Pda and if he wants a kiss, he’s gonna get a kiss. In the beginning of your relationship, you often worried how the media would react to it, but after a certain game, Katsuki kissed you right in front of the cameras. He made it clear he didn’t give a shit what people thought about the two of you.

Boxer!Katsuki who finds it cute that you worry so much about him. He’s been boxing for years now and no one frets over his being as much as you do. When his manager tells him he has five minutes before entering the ring, he gives you a long kiss, then always expects you to tell him to be safe. If his opponent is known for being rough in the ring, then you are extra stressed out. You understand that there are paramedics for a reason and injuries are bound to happen, but you can’t stand to see Katsuki in pain.

Boxer!Katsuki who almost winds up late to the match because he forgets the time and can’t seem to leave without one more kiss. Though his manager gets annoyed, he could never ask you to leave, because if Katsuki heard of this, he would immediately drop him and find someone new to be his manager. Which wouldn’t be hard since people are already obsessed over his records and fame.

Boxer!Katsuki who searches for you in the crowd as he’s being introduced. Without failing, he’ll scan past the screaming and crazed fans and see you in the reserved area. Sometimes, you love having a little surprise for him as he walks out. Since he’s portrayed as a big bad boxer, you like making him chuckle by making large cardboard cutouts of his face and waving them around proudly.

Boxer!Katsuki who fights like an underdog coming to their senses and finally realizing their strength. And it’s all for you. He hits hard and fast, making sure when the ref breaks them up, he sneaks a glance at you and your astonished face.

Boxer!Katsuki who if he does end up with a small injury after the fight, like a nose bleed or his face burning up, never goes to the provided nurses, instead he lets you take care of him. Before you met Katsuki you had taken some medical classes for small things and injuries, so he sees you as a perfect nurse for him.

You had been sitting in the locker room for a while now, resting in the nicer area with a small tv and a large couch. When the door opened, you quickly looked over, gasping softly as you took notice of your boyfriend. He was wearing a bedazzled robe with his title on the back and still in his gloves but you were only focusing on the scarlet liquid dripping from his nose. Instantly you rise from the couch, grabbing his hand and yanking him to the wash room,”I didn’t see your nose start bleeding out there.”

He had a lazy smile as you walked around the bathroom, taking immediate action for something so small,”It started in the hallway and I knew you would help me.” You huffed, knowing he could easily clean it himself, but he needed you to do it. Although, you would be lying if you said you didn’t love seeing him watch you with such adoring eyes.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed and you retried a small cotton pad and alcohol. You got to work, using the dry gauze to soak up any of the fresh blood,”You did good out there.” The boxer chuckled under his breath, wrapping an arm around your waist to drag you closer,”Just good?” You tossed the cotton into a small bin beside the two of you, smirking at his words,”Well, I can’t boost your ego that much.”

The blonde’s grin grew and leaned in for a kiss, but you put a finger up, pushing him away,”You still have blood all over you.” He frowned, suddenly not liking his bloodied nose. Fortunately for Katsuki, it didn’t take long for you to wipe away the dried substance that had gotten as far as his collarbone.

Once you were done, you put away the supplies and finally you cupped his cheeks, pulling him into a slow kiss. Alas, it didn’t last long as you felt his face was hot to the touch.

Boxer!Katsuki who rested his head in your lap, a cold rag across his forehead, and talked on about the fight from his perspective. You watched him dreamily, humming in response to his words, and you played with his messy golden locks. All you could really think about was how the media would react if they found out their scary champion, who had just K.O’d his opponent an hour earlier, enjoyed being pampered by his loving girlfriend.

[midnightswels]

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES HEADCANONS

a/n: was thinking about being roommates with ellie and realised i NEED to write it down [recent work]

tw: i mean, it's poor fluff, mention of drinking, making out

roommate!ellie who is looking for a new roommate after her last one moved out to live with their partner. dina, ever the matchmaker, gives ellie your number, telling her you're perfect for the spot since you're laid-back, responsible, and (most importantly) not annoying.

roommate!ellie who rolled her eyes when dina mention you're into girls. "why does this matter?", she'd ask in an irritated tone but secretly thinks it’s awesome—less chance of awkwardness and more chance for shared queer culture jokes (and subtle flirting, though she'd never admit it).

roommate!ellie who was very nervous when dina invited you to a movie night together for you to meet her before moving in. she keeps overthinking—“what if she hates my movie choices? what if she thinks I’m a slob?” she even cleans the living room twice, just in case.

roommate!ellie who tries to act chill during the movie night but ends up awkwardly offering you snacks every five minutes to fill the silence ignoring dina's chuckles. when you compliment her vintage movie poster collection, she stumbles over her words and just mumbles, “yeah, uh, I guess they’re cool.”

roommate!ellie who turns out to be the perfect mix of chill and chaotic. she’ll let you borrow her clothes, but only if you ask first, because “boundaries, dude.” however, she’s also the type to borrow your hoodie without asking, especially if it smells like your perfume but she says it's just comfy.

roommate!ellie who can’t stop herself from smiling when she sees you curled up on the couch with her t-shirt with band picture on, binge-watching something ridiculous. she teases you about stealing her clothes but secretly loves it.

roommate!ellie who has an entire bookshelf filled with graphic novels, old paperbacks, and her sketchbooks when you have one with books and diaries. she’s shy about showing you her sketches at first, but eventually, she leaves one out for you to find—a drawing of you laughing during one of your late-night conversations. same about you: at first you refused to let her read your annotated copy of your favourite childhood book but then lent her it.

roommate!ellie who blasts her guitar late at night, apologizes profusely for it, then invites you to listen instead of going to bed. she’ll sheepishly admit she’s working on a new song but won’t look you in the eye when you compliment her voice.

roommate!ellie who invites you to play video games with her but always lets you win because she loves hearing you gloat about how “you’re the superior gamer.”

roommate!ellie who shake her head when dina and jessie hinting that she probably likes you. "that would be too cliché," she would say.

roommate!ellie who insists on cooking dinner together once a week. it’s usually something simple like pasta or tacos, but she’ll make it competitive, declaring herself “the gordon ramsay of roommates” when her side of the meal turns out better.

roommate!ellie who came up with the idea of making fridays your guys unofficial roommate day. she decides to surprise you one friday with homemade pizza, her guitar, and a makeshift dance floor in the living room. she twirls you around, singing the song off-key but with so much enthusiasm that you can’t help but laugh.

roommate!ellie who always finds little excuses to be near you—helping you hang posters, sitting close during movie nights, or brushing your hair out of your face when you’re deep in thought. when you call her out on it, she just shrugs and smirks. “what? i’m a tactile person.”

roommate!ellie who secretly learns how to bake your favorite dessert just to surprise you on a bad day. she’ll act casual about it, saying, “It’s no big deal,” but blushed when you tell her it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for you and got embarrassed when you started crying with happiness.

roommate!ellie who gets oddly protective of you when you’re upset. she’ll sit with you on the couch, offering her shoulder and awkwardly patting your back, mumbling, “i’m not great at this comforting stuff, but I’m here, okay?”

roommate!ellie who has a polaroid camera that she uses to document your time as roommates. she has a growing collection of photos: you holding her cat, you mid-laugh during a late-night chat, you asleep on the couch with her hoodie on. one night, you stumble upon a stack of these pictures and realize how much she’s been cherishing these little moments but was too embarrassed to tell her you saw it.

dina who is the ultimate instigator, constantly pointing out how much time you and ellie spend together. “roommates? sure. more like a domestic partnership.” ellie always rolls her eyes but can’t help the blush creeping up her neck.

dina and jessie who smirked when you both show up late to group hangouts but actually set you up for couple-y questions during truth or dare. “ellie, would you ever kiss your roommate?” jesse asks with a mischievous grin, and ellie glares at him, muttering, “you’re the worst.”

roommate!ellie who thought a lot after that night (thanks to jessie and dina) and almost confesses during a deep, late-night conversation. you’re lying on the couch, sharing a blanket, and she says, “I feel like... I don’t know. I don’t deserve how good you are to me.” you tease her about being sappy, and she loses her nerve.

roommate!ellie who spends the rest of the night sulking, when she saw one of your friends flirts with you during a party. when you finally ask what’s wrong, she blurts out, “I don’t want to watch someone else get what I—what we could have.”

roommate!ellie who offers some wine to relax after a stressful week full of exams.

roommate!ellie with whom you playing cards while being tipsy and who leans in to grab the deck from your hands, and you both freeze when her face is way too close to yours.

roommate!ellie who stares at you, her lips parting slightly, and before you can think, you lean in and kiss her. It’s short and sweet, but it lingers in the air like an unspoken promise.

roommate!ellie who's eyes widen, and she blurts out, “was that...?” while looking away, but you were too fed up about it so cut her off, laughing nervously. “yeah. It was.” after a moment, she smirks, “wanna do it again?” and you simply nodded kissing her one more time — now passionately, like your life depends on it.

roommate!ellie who ends up making out with you next 20 minutes before you two fall asleep

roommate!ellie who wakes up the next morning with her head still spinning from the kiss(es) you shared the night before. She finds you in the kitchen, making coffee like nothing happened. ellie nervously clears her throat, scratching the back of her neck. “so, uh... about last night—”

you cut her off again, smirking over your mug. “what about it?”

ellie shifts awkwardly before finally blurting out, “I liked it. like... a lot. and I don’t want it to just be a one-time thing.”

you step closer, setting your coffee down and tilting your head at her. “good. because I liked it too.”

[leona-hawthorne]

okay i have been waiting for this on the edge of my seat and i'm so fucking grateful that i finally got to sit down and read it (alone, of course, because my reactions were quite literally animalistic)

let me also add that the warnings themselves had me fucking moaning—alright now let's get into this!!

zoya, your writing truly has me in complete awe. "english is not my first language" okay and it appears that that literally does not matter at all because this??? this was a goddamn masterpiece.

(apologies in advance bc this is going to be an extremely long reblog)

He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying.

okay, but this right here??? the way you captured mattheo's essence so perfectly, i’m obsessed. like, he’s not just reckless—he’s raw and magnetic, and that’s such a powerful way to describe someone who’s constantly teetering on the edge of chaos. it’s like you reached into his chaotic little soul and pulled out the perfect words. it’s giving “force of nature,” and the way you wrote it feels so vivid and alive, like i can see him and feel the tension he carries everywhere he goes. your writing is so sharp and evocative, i can’t stop rereading this bit.

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

my babyyy, he craves trouble like it’s the only way he can feel noticed. it’s like he’s reduced his own worth to just being seen and perceived by others, even if it means chaos. love how you captured that desperation in such a short line.

every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

how do you set the tone so well?!? the imagery is wildly vivid—i can almost feel the heaviness of the space, like it’s got its own dark history!!

The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

oh this killed me—the tension between wanting something and being terrified of it. mattheo’s vulnerability here is chef's kiss, showing how much he's fighting against his feelings, even when he’s almost lost to them. such a perfect snapshot of their dynamic.

He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.

Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers.

okay i am genuinely so in love with this whole part, i had to reread it like 3 times 😵‍💫 the internal conflict is so palpable—like, he’s torn between wanting to control something that’s clearly already beyond his grasp, but also secretly wishing to surrender to the one person who can break him. the image of him physically pressing down on his chest to stop it??? i am actually crying, zoya. ugh, and the fact that he doesn't care whether he'd be hurt or cared for—he just wants her, FUCK he is obsessed.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you.

AHDHSFG his possessive ass actually enjoying sharing something??? aw he likes her 😚🤗

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand.

the way he kept laughing like a fucking maniac throughout the entirety of this fic OMG i can almost hear it in my head, he's so fucking hot.

his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there

I'M BLUSHING, idk if he's doing that solely because of the ritual but either way, the fact that he wants to reassure himself that she didn't go anywhere is making my heart squeeze in my chest 🥹

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence.

BITCH??!?! YOU ASSHOLE, hold my hand i'm scared ☹️

He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one. 

this is so true—HE'S FUCKING MEAN, but i genuinely have never seen a more angelic man 😭🪽

Shit, you’re not wearing a bra.

Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

alr here we go (i'm horny now)

Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care.

well shit, now we're both hard, mattheo!! 🤜💥🤛 (i am drooling at the thought of this rn)

Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin.

no, you actually don't understand—this is so intimate, i can just imagine the silence and the only sound being their heavy ass breathing, its so 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 also i think i would lose my mind if my nips were like JUST BARELY brushing against him, what a tease

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did.

idk if you've seen stranger things but this is making me think of when nancy and jonathan did the same exact thing and cut their palms. that scene and the matching scars and just them in general is so dear to me, so this is making me feel so many things rn

Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood.

“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.”

okay mr vampire!! (this is so fucking hot i am literally struggling to function rn and i am lucky i didn't read this during ovulation 🙂‍↕️)

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?”

MY JAW DROPPED PLEASE OH MY GOD, HIM SPREADING THE COLD BLOOD ON HER STOMACH?? I CAN IMAGINE MYSELF JERKING AWAY OMF YES DADDY I LOVE IT

Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound...

i'm being so serious, this part will live on in my brain forever. him MIMICKING/MOCKING HER MOAN??? HE'S SO MEAN AND COCKY HOLY FUCK THAT WAS SO HOT

he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth. 

spreading her own blood all over her body just so he can lick it off, oml can you spread my legs open next, mattheo? 😇 (jk, they're already spread)

The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger.

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

first, AJDGHFDJHDRFGJHAFGHJSRGFJHSRF him pressing her tits together just to SHOVE HIS FACE IN BETWEEN oh he's so down bad 🤭 also the "your tits..." BOY. he was so cocky and degrading before—now he's all pathetic and obsessing over her tits? ah, just what I love to see 😮‍💨

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

yes sir please spit in my mouth (he's so nasty and disgusting and i fucking love him for it)

You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this...

YES PLEASE LET ME SUFFOCATE YOU BETWEEN MY LEGS MATTY PLS 🙏 "let him one day die like this" he is so obsessed god i love this so much

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

THE WAY HE CAN'T TEAR HIS FACE AWAY EVEN JUST FOR A MOMENT TO SPEAK AJDGSGDFHSDFG i would actually be dying at all the praise

clearly, i got a little carried away with this reblog (this is literally the longest reblog i’ve ever made 🧍🏻‍♀️), but what can i say? this was 6.3k words of art and i had to include all my favorite parts 🤷‍♀️🙂‍↕️

love you zoya!!!! 🫂🤍

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which mattheo seeks power and needs your help to perform a blood ritual. WORDS. +6.3K. english is not my first language.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, porn w//plot, mean mattheo, aged up characters, friends to fuck buddies, blood play, blood kink, cuts, spitting, nipple sucking, oral sex f!receiving, pussy drunk mattheo, handjob, dirty talk, biting, marking.

navigation -> masterlist

He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying. Every move he made, every word he spoke, every breath he took was saturated with confidence and superiority.

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

Mattheo was like a storm no one could outrun, an enigma without resolution, and that was exactly what made him so intoxicating. There was something in his presence that pulled people toward him, whether in admiration or fear, and no one could quite decide if it was for better or worse. He wasn’t just hard to ignore; he was impossible to overlook. He demanded attention simply by existing, and it was maddening, the way he could dominate a room with nothing more than a simple glance.

It could have been for a lot of reasons. Maybe it was the way he acted like he didn’t have a care in the world, the sharp, biting comments he always seemed to have ready, words that stuck like blood on stone.Or maybe it was the fights, the way he seemed to throw himself into them too often, always coming out with the same satisfied expression. After all, he was the only son of the Dark Lord, and that alone was enough to draw all kinds of attention.

Whatever was the reason, chaos seemed to follow him everywhere, like he thrived on it. Perhaps he didn’t care at all. No outsider really knew, and no one ever tried to figure him out. Nobody had the courage to do so.

Either way, there were always whispers about him, cruel rumors about his personality and massive ego, some saying he was just like his father, or maybe even a darker version of him, while others came from students eager to get close in obscene ways, hoping to spend a night with their bodies tangled in his. 

Yet Mattheo didn’t show that he cared, always pretending to be focused on his own goals, moving through the chaos unshaken and unbothered, though deep down, the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

But you had seen enough to know the truth. He was cruel, ruthless, and everything people whispered about him, perhaps even worse. And yet, here you were, trapped in his chaos, each moment with him drawing you deeper into the darkness.

You were trapped. Absolutely trapped.

Perhaps it was in the way he looked at you, his deep brown eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath away, leaving you struggling to keep your heart from racing, as if he saw something inside of you that you weren’t capable of seeing. Or maybe it was the way his words stayed in your mind long after they were spoken, carving their way into your thoughts like a knife you didn’t want to pull out, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already in too deep.

If you thought about it more, you didn’t know what had brought you here. The main factor to why you were so attracted to an ongoing fire.

Could be the adrenaline from his strange proposal, or the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, his presence always glued to your mind. Could also be the need to be near him, the way your body moved toward his as if it had no will of its own, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to control your heart in a way you couldn’t even understand. It was twisted, even a little scary, but neither of you cared.

After all, you were friends.

You didn’t know when it stopped feeling like curiosity—just a lingering thought— but the doubt never really went away. Instead it became prominent, tight in your chest whenever he was around. There was something darker about him, something dangerous in the way he lived recklessly, only focused on his own desires, how he thrived on the attention he got, pulling you deeper without even trying.

And now, standing there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever came next, there was no turning back. No escape.

The Room of Requirement was cloaked in dark shadows, the silence broken only by the faint hiss of flickering candles. Their soft, wavering light offered a fragile sense of comfort, though it did little to ease the tension hanging in the air. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, saturated with the acrid tang of burning incense and something darker, almost unspoken.

Torchlight flickered across the cold stone walls, making jagged patterns that twisted and stretched with each almost shiny flicker. That night, the requirement room felt weird, unlike the form other students seemed to used—every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

The faint metallic scent in the air lingered, sharp and heavy, mixed with something even more heavy, felt almost like a warning. On the stone floor, crude runes spiraled out in precise, jagged lines, their edges glowing faintly as though alive and energetic, pulsing in time with the biting silence as if they were watching, waiting to know what was about to take place.

In the center of it all stood Mattheo Riddle, the one person who seemed to take up every space in your mind, his dark robes draping loosely over his strong frame, giving him an effortless air of power, his features, defined and almost angelic, partially hidden by his messy curls that always fell into his pretty eyes.

The flickering torchlight danced off his hair with every movement, making it seem almost alive; there was something strange about how his appearance seemed almost angelic, yet you knew Mattheo’s true personality, making him all the more dangerous, like a trap just waiting for you to step in.

He could look still, even controlled, but there was nothing controlled about this. Nothing about him was controlled.

Mattheo looked at the dagger in his hands, his gaze drifting over the blade, but it wasn’t the dagger that had his attention. It was you. Your eyes were on him, and it felt like he was being torn apart with just that look. It wasn’t like the attention he was used to—no fear or admiration in it.

No, this was different. It was more like an assessment. The weight of your gaze was almost suffocating, as if you were digging into him, getting under his skin in a way that made him feel stupidly exposed and making him feel a strange sensation tighten in his chest, choking his throat in ways he couldn’t understand, and he hated it.

He hated how you made him feel like this—torn between wanting to get closer and wanting to run away from that. And even if it was good or bad; neither mattered. He didn’t want to know. The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.

Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers. He wasn't certain which would provide him with greater comfort, but he was certain that if you gave him that satisfaction, he will never be the same again.

Mattheo sighed and shook his head rapidly, making a dramatic gesture as he attempted to avoid your concentrated, evaluating stare on him once more. He concentrated on the tiny silver dagger in his hand, trying not to hold it too firmly in his palm, but nothing could take away the sensation, and even if it didn't cause him any discomfort, the pressure that made it was obvious.

He let out another sigh, this time frustrated, rubbing his forehead, but couldn’t help releasing another, this time a relieved one, when he saw your attention shift to the two circles drawn around him, almost like some kind of illustration, and he couldn’t help but smirk knowingly as he noticed the change in your expression; at the confusion in your eyes and at your furrowed brows as you tried to make sense of the strange symbols, carefully etched inside the circles on the floor.

Mattheo looked away, quickly shifting his focus to the symbol at his feet. In comparison with the other symbols, this one was far more complex, with each line and curve being meticulous and precise. As he raised his chin in satisfaction with what he did, Mattheo couldn't help but widen his smirk into a full grin, an equal amount of pride and arrogance coming across his expression.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you. Even though you were there not completely voluntarily, you still had a place in it, whether you liked it or not. 

This time, it was Mattheo who looked at you with an intense, almost predatory gaze, his hand tightening once more around the blade in his palm as he kept his eyes on you. He was already preparing to take the first step toward the power he would gain from what you two were about to do. All he needed was your final confirmation and for you to step into the middle of the circle with him.

“Are you ready for this?” His voice broke the silence, low and almost a purr, making you look up at him. Ready? Fuck no. In fact, you were terrified. Every part of you screamed to run, to get as far away from this room and this stupid ritual as possible. But your body didn’t listen to your brain. Your heart didn’t either. Instead, you stayed still, frozen, your eyes locked with his own, already filled with amusement and something darker, like a challenge. 

You knew this was stupid. Hell, it was almost suicidal. A ritual to give him more power, cutting your own hand, spilling your blood, mixing it with his just to make him stronger. It was madness. More than that, even.

But then again, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to leave a piece of yourself with him, to bind yourself to him in some twisted way. And for some fucked-up reason, you craved that. You wanted to be marked by him, to have a part of you inside him forever. Mattheo had already carved his mark into your mind, into the darkest corners of your heart, and now you wanted to do the same.

Stupid curiosity.

“Well?” Mattheo asked again, his voice dripping with amusement, though you could hear the faint edge of annoyance creeping in. He tried to hold onto his usual confident, relaxed demeanor, but it was slipping. “What’s it gonna be?” The same damn question. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to make him ask a third time. 

“I…” You paused, your voice cracking, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath as you felt his gaze digging into you, waiting for the answer he wanted. “I think I’m ready,” you finally said, taking a step forward, ignoring the part of you screaming to get the hell out of there. Yet your body moved faster than your mind, and before you knew it, you took an unconscious step closer to him, making his eyebrow quirk in amusement. 

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think?” he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. He almost laughed; if it were not for the situation you two were in.

“Fuck—” you hissed under your breath, cursing yourself again, and Mattheo’s smirk stretched wider. “I’m ready.” You corrected yourself, the words tasting wrong. “I’m ready,” you said again, this time to convince yourself more than him.

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, and your cheeks flushed as his voice echoed in your ears. When he looked back at you, his eyes were softer than before, though the usual intensity remained, as if he was offering something that, despite not being comfort, somehow left you feeling relieved in a way.

He stretched his hand towards you, his voice calmer than before but still firm. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner this thing is going to end.” The sooner he would have control. Mattheo called you again, and you let out a soft sigh before taking that first step.

Each step you took was filled with hesitation, but your body didn’t seem to care. It moved toward the circle, fighting the doubt gnawing on your mind. When you finally stepped inside, you couldn’t hold back a small sigh as your hand found Mattheo’s. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing as you saw the same smirk on his lips, the reaction causing a tug on your heart. He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel how much he enjoyed this, how much he knew the effect he had on you.

Sometimes you wanted to punch him. 

As soon as you took his hand, Mattheo’s confidence wavered slightly; his heart pounded just by your touch. However, he couldn’t hide the dark amusement in his eyes as he watched your flushed cheeks and how your body betrayed you. It was too easy.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the intricate runes carved into the floor with the tip of his dagger, his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there. “It’s going to hurt like hell.” He said it with such ease, as if the pain and the blood were just a minor part. You swallowed hard, the confirmation of what you already knew settling deep in your stomach. “At least for you,” he added with an eyebrow raised, his voice laced with amusement.

His words weren’t reassuring at all—not that you expected them to be. He didn’t care about calming you or making this easier to bear. That wasn’t his style, and it never had been. Mattheo thrived in chaos, in mess, and he wanted you to feel every bit of it. He wanted to pull you into the madness, to push you until you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re not exactly helping me calm down, you know?” you said through gritted teeth, barely stopping yourself from telling him to go fuck himself. 

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence. “Glad to know, sweetheart.” He said casually, like it didn’t matter at all. “But who said I want you to calm down?” he murmured, and you might have thought he was joking if it weren’t for the fact that you had known him for years.

You scoffed at his lack of sympathy. It wasn’t surprising, though; his attitude was one of the things that drew you to him, even if it wasn’t exactly healthy. You watched as he lit more candles, the flame dancing with every step he took, highlighting the sharp lines of his features. He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one. 

After a few seconds, Mattheo stood up, still holding the dagger in his hand. He glanced at you, and for a brief moment, something in his gaze made his heartbeat almost thud down his ribs. He took a few steps toward you, and your eyes met. His dark eyes were intense, unreadable, and the weight of the air between you made your stomach twist. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, with a hint of mischief in his tone. The corner of his mouth twitched, the excitement creeping slowly.

“Take off your shirt.”

You blinked, shocked, and for a few seconds, all your fear vanished. “Excuse me?!”

Mattheo observed you, almost as if he were stripping you bare. “Your shirt,” he repeated, his tone annoyingly dismissive. He spun the dagger in his palm with flawless precision, taking a step closer as if your hesitancy pleased him. “Take it off,” he said almost coolly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

You crossed your arms, feeling your heart race as your face flushed with heat. “And why, exactly, do I need to do that?” You snapped, your voice sharp. You had fantasized a thousand times about Mattheo asking you to do this, but you never imagined it would actually happen, especially not now, in this situation. 

“For the ritual,” he said simply, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that bordered on taunting, as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “I need access to your skin, sweetheart. The magic won’t work otherwise.” His words were smooth, but you couldn’t shake the feeling they held a hint of mockery.

You hesitated, studying him closely. There was something about his response that didn’t sit right, too casual in a way that felt almost taunting, like he wasn’t being completely honest. “You’re making that up,” you said flatly, letting your arms drop to your sides, your eyes narrowing as you searched on his face for a sign of truth. 

His smirk widened, and he continued to twirl the dagger between his fingers, his eyes locked on you. The sight of your flushed cheeks only seemed to make him think with his other head. “Am I?” He took another step closer. 

“Please, Mattheo, I know that’s bullshit!” you spat out, trying to ignore how his smug expression made your skin heat, though particularly of you couldn’t help but consider it.

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, stepping closer, the tension between you nearly unbearable. His voice dipped, rough and almost deliberate, as his dark eyes shamelessly trailed down your body before locking onto yours again.

“Alright,” he murmured, a smile laying wickedly on his lips. “Maybe it’s not entirely necessary. But it helps. A lot.”

The dagger moved lazily in his hand, the sharp edge skimming his palm without cutting his palm. His gaze never left you, steady and intense, like a predator watching its prey. “And we both know you want this to work out, don’t we, sweetheart?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, a truth you hated to admit even to yourself. You wanted him to notice you—really notice you—the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare, peeling back layers you didn’t even realize you had. But the sharp flare of anger clawed its way up your chest, tangling with the strange pull he always seemed to have over you, leaving you somewhere between furious and helpless.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head, the disappointment cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You weren’t sure if it was aimed at him or at yourself for falling into this moment—this trap. Probably both. 

“And yet,” he said, taking another step toward you, “here you are.” He mocked you, making you bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off. 

The space between you two was basically nonexistent now, and Mattheo fucking hated it. Hated that it was him moving closer, like he couldn’t help himself. Hated how his body had a mind of its own, reacting to you in ways that made him feel like an idiot. The thought of you, without your shirt, without anything, was driving him insane, his imagination running wild no matter how much he tried to shove it down.

Fuck. He could already feel the strain in his pants, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. It pissed him off—how easily you got under his skin, how fucking hard it was to keep his cool around you. 

“Fine,” you bit out, your voice rougher than you felt, and Mattheo’s smile twisted with satisfaction, practically waiting for you to do it. You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way his eyes were glued to you. Your fingers lingered at the hem of your shirt, heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find the guts to go through with it. 

Mattheo’s smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving you, and for a moment, it felt like he was inside your head, reading you like a damn book. His gaze dropped low, just enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. You seemed so fucking soft. “Need help?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery. 

“Shut up, Mattheo” you snapped, yanking the fabric over your head in one swift motion, a shiver running through your whole body. Shit, you’re not wearing a bra.

The second the shirt left your body, the air felt heavier, but you felt the coldness against your exposed skin and nipples. Mattheo’s expression shifted, his smirk slipping for a moment as his eyes scanned over you, taking in more than you were prepared to show. You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra under the thin fabric, your chest bare under the dim torchlight and his searing gaze. Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

You couldn't help but feel trapped by his piercing stare as his eyes remained on you, shamelessly tracing your hard nipples. He seemed oblivious; nonetheless, his eyes burned with need as his mind wandered, thinking about the taste of his tongue on your nipples, sucking and biting until all you could think about was the feel of his wet tongue. He held the dagger tightly, only reacting when the blade cut into his flesh.

“Well,” he began, attempting to put the thoughts flowing through his head to the back of his mind, his voice rougher than before, “guess you were more ready than we thought.” He mocked you again, but it seemed like he was also mocking himself.

You could feel your cheeks burning, a mix of anger and something else boiling inside you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to block him out, but the moment you saw the way Mattheo’s eyes were fixed on you filled with desire, your hands fell to your sides, betraying your own brain. You wanted this. You wanted him to see you, to really see you.

But as you realized you were staring at him in the same way, you quickly shook your head, trying to push down the desire and need, force some control back into your own voice. “Just get on with it,” you ‘snapped’, trying to hide how much it stung, how much you craved that attention. 

Mattheo’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, full with devilment. He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, and gestured toward the circle with a lazy flick of his hand. “As you wish.”

His expression didn’t shift, his confidence simmering just below the surface as he stepped even closer to you, trying not to look at your bare chest. His eyes flickered to the symbols on the ground, their faint glow reflecting in the depths of his gaze. Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care. He didn’t look at you but still waited for your reaction. You had already drawn one from him—only fair if he returned the favor, right?

You, on the other hand, swallowed hard, your gaze shamelessly tracing the lines of his abdomen and bare, muscular chest. The candles and torchlight cast sharp shadows across the scars etched into his skin, and you held your breath without meaning to. When he glanced forward slightly, his eyes still on the ground as he did so, he had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of your clenched fists, trying to control yourself.

This was going to be fun, at least.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke or moved. The silence stretched thin, both of you consumed by the same thoughts, the same dirty images racing through your minds. Your chests rose and fell heavily, both of you struggling to regain a normal breath. It was fucking madness. 

Mattheo quickly composed himself, standing at the point of the small symbol on the ground, making sure you mirrored his position on the opposite side. Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin. He gave a low sigh, words slipping from his lips in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice deep and commanding.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the symbols on the floor pulsed to life, glowing with an eerie light, while the candle flames flickered wildly, as though responding to his words. 

He looked at the dagger in his hand, a proud glint in his eyes before letting his gaze drift up to your face. His eyes lingered on your features, the softness of your eyes, the way your lips parted just enough to drive him insane. He almost couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch you, but he stayed still, his jaw tight. “Are you ready?” he asked, his lips moving without sound. “I am,” you mouthed back, the hesitation in your eyes impossible to miss. But he ignored it, choosing to focus on the way you stood there—no turning back now, and honestly? He didn’t want you to cover up. 

Mattheo gripped the dagger with steady hands, his brown eyes flickering briefly to the runes as if making sure everything was aligned. Without a second thought, he pressed the sharp blade to his palm, slicing through the skin with quick, practiced precision. The blood surged from the cut, dripping thick and dark onto the glowing runes below. They reacted violently, flaring brighter, more alive, as if the blood was feeding the symbols, feeding him. 

You held your breath, knowing you were next. But you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the ground, watching his blood drip onto the floor beneath both of your feet.

After a few seconds, he lifted his chin, pride in his eyes, his curls moving like the magic around the circles. He grabbed your hand without a word, pressing the dagger into your palm, his gaze never leaving yours. He was waiting, daring you to cut yourself just like he had. 

You felt his blood drip onto your wrist, the warmth of it sending a jolt through your veins. As the dagger pressed into your palm, a breath caught in your throat. The weight of the blade was more than you expected, and for a moment, your eyes lingered on the crimson stains left by Mattheo’s cut, almost hypnotic, tempting you.

Your heart quickened, your pulse echoing in your ears. You hesitated—for a moment. His eyes found you once again, a look that urged you to continue. The hesitation lingering in your heart suddenly dispersed; you wanted nothing but to mark him as yours.

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did. The pain was sharp, fleeting, quickly replaced by the blood spilling down your skin, as the runes reacted violently to your action, their glow flaring in response. 

It was instantaneous. The moment your blood touched the floor, the room seemed to exhale, the light flaring brighter and the air humming with a charged, almost electric energy as the ritual began. But the reaction was brief, for Mattheo’s focus shifted.

Mattheo’s gaze was fixed on the cut on your hand, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he was mesmerized by the crimson blood streaks trailing down your wrist, mingling with his the drops of his blood already on your skin. His jaw clenched, and you swore you saw him swallow hard as he continued to look, his chest rising and falling with a depth of intensity you’d never seen in him before. 

“Mattheo?” You called softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your heartbeat quickening against your bare chest. Yet, it was enough to break his attention.

His eyes naturally met yours once again, vulnerability flickering in his gaze, though the rest of his expression remained unreadable, like a contrast to the hunger simmering beneath. But Mattheo didn't step back. Instead, his calloused fingers brushed against the blood on your wrist, smearing it slightly. The contact sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, neither of you remembered how to breathe.

“Mattheo…” you called out again, but this time it was almost a plea for him not to stop. He obeyed your unspoken request, his fingers tracing your skin as if exploring new territory, so gently that it almost made you forget the lingering sting in your hand. 

Mattheo’s hands moved deliberately, spreading the blood from the deep cut on your hand. He seemed oblivious to the matching wound on his own skin as he dragged the crimson trail up to your neck, smearing it across your skin. Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood. He let out a low groan at the taste, and you couldn’t suppress your own when you felt the warmth of his tongue against you. 

“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.” His teeth continued to drag along your skin, while his hand slid down your arm, seeking more of your blood. His fingers tightened around your palm, squeezing to draw out more of the liquid, making you groan in a mix of pain and pleasure as the burn surged through you. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mattheo whispered, biting your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin painfully. He didn’t care about the grunt of pain that escaped your lips, not when more blood joined the one already staining your throat. Right after his first bite, you moaned, your thighs rubbing together in an attempt to ease the wetness in your cunt. 

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured against your throat, pressing his lips to the marks he had left with his teeth. But when he noticed you hadn’t answered, he bit your neck harder than before and squeezed your stomach, causing more blood to spread across the area. 

You swallowed hard, locking eyes with him as you tried to form a sentence, but the only words that escaped your lips were a barely audible, “Yes, fucking yes,” which only made him laugh harder. He tightened his grip on your skin, sending a sharp sting through your own body. 

“Of course you do… such a fucking slut,” Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound, feeling his pants tighten around his cock as he tasted your blood again on his teeth. His tongue throbbed with desire, savoring the metallic taste. Holy shit, he could cum just from the taste of your blood. “But you taste so damn good.” 

He seemed to have completely forgotten the ritual, and you, too, had let it slip away. You didn’t want to remember, not when his blood stained your skin, not when your own blood marked him, and not when his mark lingered on you. 

Mattheo pulled back slightly, looking at your state and the way your plush lips were parted as you stared at him, your eyes filled with the same desire he showed. 

Without warning, Mattheo grabbed your cut hand with the one resting on your stomach, his blood mingling with yours as he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth. 

You let out a loud moan as you felt his tongue teasing the tips of your bloodied breasts, the taste of your blood on his tongue making him swirl around your breast more eagerly. The sensation only made him harder beneath his robes, each moan of his growing louder as he savored the taste of you. 

You were lost in the pleasure of his mouth, concentrated with the way his tongue lapped like a hungry animal. The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger. You didn’t hear nothing but the sounds of his mouth nor saw how he desperately reached for release, your body causing him to react out of character.

“Fuck...” he murmured, his hand releasing the softness of your skin as he reached down towards his pants. Fast, uncoordinated, he released his cock from the restraints, his bloody hands wrapping around his cock that dripped with precum. His movements grew faster, driven by the growing intensity of the taste of blood on his tongue.

You looked down, catching a glimpse through the small crease of his neck as he dragged his palm over his hard cock while sucking on your nipples. You couldn’t help but moan louder, your bloody hand gripping his shoulders as you tried to ignore how your body was responding—the wetness between your legs that you knew he could feel. 

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

“Fuck, your blood tastes so fucking good.” He moaned louder, and as he sucked harder on your nipples, his mouth closing around the bud tighter. Your chest was now covered in his bites, the marks of Mattheo Riddle, almost like a sign of ownership. Your body quivered against his hold, rubbing pathetically against him as you felt the tingle flutter in your stomach. You were close, lost in the daze, you had no idea whether it was from pleasure or the lost of blood—or both. You were desperately clinging to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips like a spell.

The hold on his length tightened in his hand, and he came instantly. Another hoarse moan escaped his throat, and he pulled away from your chest for a moment, gasping for air. You gripped onto his shoulders once more, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. So sudden, so quick you fell against his hold as your body convulsed with pleasure.

Mattheo leaned against you, allowing himself a moment to relax. But when he noticed the blood still running down your throat from where he had placed your hand, he couldn’t help but let out a growl. He yanked your hair back harshly, making you gasp and exposing your throat, your scream barely escaping as he did so. 

“Mattheo…!” You tried to speak, but he didn’t care; he never did. He only pushed you further against him, your nipples pressed against his bare chest as he licked your throat, letting out another groan as he tasted the metallic flavor again. His tongue traced the line of your throat, dragging the blood up to your chin, before he licked it off obscenely, making you sigh at the sensation. 

Mattheo’s hand in your hair tightened, and in one swift motion, he turned you onto your back, pulling your hair even harder as your back arched against him. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

The kiss was rough and erotic, the fire burning from the inside making it impossible to avoid it. You could taste your own blood on his tongue, and it only made your cunt wetter, the intensity overwhelming. It was too much—more than you’d ever imagined.

You had pictured moments like this, where you and Mattheo would kiss, tasting each other’s tongues, but this was different. It wasn’t the fantasy you had dreamed of; it was raw, wild, and rougher than anything you could have ever anticipated. His teeth clashed with yours, and your tongue tangled with his, as he unleashed his most primal side. He was giving you a taste of the part of you he had consumed, and you were trapped, just as you always would be.

You didn’t care about the pain in your scalp, only the hand that held you.

Mattheo’s hands were rough, touching everything he could. His mouth marking you over and over as he swallowed every small noise you released. He was warm, too warm, a sting feeling in your mouth as he sucked and bit into your lips, the softness of your skin tethering as his mouth was once again filled with the sweetness of your blood.

He was about to lose his mind.

Mattheo sighed against your now split lip, “Stop me… Tell me to stop, and I will.” He wouldn’t; you both knew it.

You held him against you tighter; you were already too deep into him—all you wanted was to devour him, mark him enough to show everyone he belonged to you, only you. You wanted to inflict a pain he would never forget, a pain similar to the pain he caused you, so you did. Your hands wrapped around his neck, your mouth tracing his lips, then his cheeks, then suddenly the warmth of his neck. Mattheo gripped you hard; he made no sudden movement, anxiously awaiting your motive. You bit into his neck, sucking the flushed skin as your teeth marked him with the same strength he did to you. 

Another soft flow came into your mouth, you gasped, the metallic taste odd in your mouth but enough to send your heart thundering.

Mattheo whimpered, his dominant facade slipping as he sickly enjoyed the way you took control. You were so sweet, so delicate—you were completely the opposite. The idea he corrupted you twisted a sick, powerful thought in his brain. You were his. 

Your tongue reached towards his mouth again, finding yourself eye to eye with the man you wanted nothing more than to control. “Don’t ever stop; I need you.”

Mattheo grinned, his lips bloody, his brown eyes becoming dark as he suddenly pushed you towards the runes that glowed against your body. The symbols glowed, vibrating with the blood that dripped onto it. As he stood over you, he wished to capture the moment forever. You looked so fucking pretty.

He leaned over, his knees staining with the blood smeared against the cold tiles. His fingers moved quickly, desperately. He watched as your body spoke to him, reacting to every touch. Your breasts covered in his marks, his blood and yours on them that caused his cock to twitch violently.

He wanted more than the taste of your breasts; he wanted to taste the juices that gathered in the silk of your panties. He wanted to feel the way your cunt twitched and throbbed against his mouth, and damn, did he want nothing more than to have you fuck yourself on his tongue. The sweetest angel from Hogwarts all displayed for him, to hell with the ritual; now he just wanted to swallow you whole. 

Without warning, he hoisted your legs onto his shoulders with an almost violent urgency, a deep moan escaping his lips as he leaned closer to your wet pussy. The intoxicating scent filled his senses, making his bloodied hand tighten around your thigh, gripping it as if commanding you to choke him; a command you had no intention of disobeying.

Mattheo looked at your face, the dried blood around your parted lips, your cheeks flushed from everything he was doing to you, and your dilated pupils watching him anxiously. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and you instantly bit your lip. Fuck, he was about to get hard again. 

“Please, I need you, Mattheo,” you begged, rubbing your hips desperately, trying to get closer to his flushed face. You needed his mouth, and he was more than willing to be a good friend and give you exactly what you wanted. 

“No need to beg like a slut, sweetheart,” he said, moving closer to your pulsing cunt, the light from the dunes making your wetness glisten even more. You held your breath as his warm breath ghosted over your slick folds. “I’m eager to give you what you want,” he murmured, leaning even closer, his nose brushing against your arousal as he took in your scent. Just as you were about to beg him to do something, his tongue was quicker—teasing, tasting, and finally giving in to the need to lick you.

Mattheo followed his instincts and hunger, his palms gripping your thighs even tighter, leaving bloodstained marks on your skin just as he had on the rest of your body. The sting of his own cut burned with the pressure, but he didn’t stop, sliding his hands to your hips as his tongue moved swiftly against your folds, savoring and memorizing every inch of you.

You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this—only after his hunger was completely satisfied. Your back arched, heat swirling in your stomach as Mattheo licked your pussy with reckless desperation.

He was ravenous, savoring every part of you, and when your nails dug into his scalp, he let out another growl, pushing himself even deeper between your legs, making you moan even louder.

“Fucking yes, sweetheart,” he murmured against your pussy, sucking harder as your cries of pleasure filled the room. “Keep moaning like a slut, keep saying my name.” He bit down on your flesh, making you moan even louder, your legs trembling around him. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations of his laughter sending shocks through your body and making you cry out even more.

Fuck the ritual, fuck the power—the only power he craved was the power he held over you.

“Mattheo,” you moaned even louder, rocking your hips against his face as your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him closer. “Right there, oh my—!” you cried out, feeling him lose himself between your legs, consumed by his thoughts and the blood still staining his lips.

Mattheo’s fast, steady movements continued, his almost feral tongue lapping at your cunt as his hands roamed your body. He could feel his cock harden at the sound of your sweet moans. Fuck, the taste of your blood mingled with your arousal was divine—almost too much for him to bear. 

He continued kissing your clit, desperate to savor your full taste, his tongue messily exploring your folds, drinking in every drop he could. All you felt in the moment was him. The sounds muffled as if underwater. Your fingers dug into his scalp, causing him to flick his tongue against your bud faster, his fingers circling it, his grin plastered with pride as he heard you cry loudly.

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

You only released a jumble of words, your bare back arching as you squirmed beneath him. You were on the edge, and you could feel it—both of you could. The anticipation was electric, and you were both eager for the release. All he wanted was to make you cum.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured against your folds, the scent of your cunt making him dizzy. “Come for me.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than you let out a final scream, the orgasm hitting you hard as your body arched, feeling your cum dripping from your pussy.

Mattheo groaned against your cunt once more, lapping at your release as he lost himself in your flavor. Quickly, he grabbed your cut hand, spreading its blood over your pussy to mix with the cum. When he felt it was enough, he ran his tongue over your folds, savoring the metallic taste of blood combined with the sweet remnants of your orgasm, only stopping when not a drop remained, and you pushed him away.

The runes still flickered on the ground, glowing brighter with the smell of your release in the air. Blood stained both your bodies, marking each other, marking the new connection between you that neither of you wanted to escape. Mattheo stood there, watching you, his brown eyes observing, shining with pride watching your state. His eyes traced the blood on your skin, lingering on the cut on your hand, before meeting your eyes again. 

“We didn’t finish the ritual,” you managed to say, your voice soft, timid once again compared to the wildness you held as you let Mattheo control you, your body still shaking from one of the best orgasms you ever experienced.

Mattheo’s smirk grew, just a little as he continued to look at the mess he had done. “It’s fine, sweetheart. We can always try again.”

He was right; after all, friends helped each other.

© 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝₂₀₂₄ — 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.

— please be nice, it’s 4 am it probably has some mistakes!

likes and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏻

also a big thank you for my favorite beta readers @earth4angels & @astrxq , without them i couldn’t write all this!! i love you both off you forever

venting: sometimes, i hate english because my hard lines in portuguese don’t make sense and seem so repetitive :(

[kingofbodyrolls]

Stuck in a Cave (m) | pjm

Trapped in a snowbound cave over the Christmas holidays with your long-time rival, Park Jimin, you're forced to face the simmering feelings you've both been burying beneath layers of denial. As the cold closes in, unspoken desires begin to thaw, setting your hearts ablaze in a season meant for warmth and wonder.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: enemies to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / comedy / forced proximity → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 9k → Warnings + triggers: unprotected sex in the form of oral (female and male receiving), fingering, breast play, nipple play, dry humping, kissing, creampie, squirting, biting, slapping, multiple orgasms, a little bit exhibitionism, avalanche and being buried in the snow. → Author’s note: I KNOW, I KNOW—I totally said the last one was the last one, but surprise! Here we are again! 😂 Look, I’m not even gonna jinx it by saying this is the actual last one, because let’s be real, who knows? Maybe this hilariously chaotic couple will spark something in me again when I least expect it. But, uh… don’t place any bets on it, okay? I actually wrote this back in November (along with all my December posts—productive queen energy, am I right?). As for when I’ll write again? TBD! But in the meantime, I really, really hope you enjoy this little gem 🫶✨ → Read the spoiler? [group chat texts]  → Read on AO3? [link] 

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a mini series ‘The Winter Collection’, but it can be read as a stand alone (as can all the installments in the series).

“Tell me again why we’re trudging up these stupid mountains?” you groan, each step heavy with snow and the weight of too many unspoken things. Your boots feel like lead, sinking deeper into the cold ground, and the cabin—warm, distant, almost mythical now—is but a tiny speck on the white horizon.

“Because we can’t just hibernate in that cabin all day,” Jungkook sing-songs, absurdly gleeful, his cheeks flushed pink by the crisp air, his laugh echoing against the snow-covered pines. You try not to roll your eyes, picturing instead the warm glow of the fireplace, the flickering shadows, and your room… the one you share with Jimin. You chase away that thought, try to ignore how close he walks ahead of you, his snowsuit doing nothing to hide that damned perky ass. The world is a cruel place, you sigh. 

If only your heart hadn’t shifted. He’s still your mortal enemy—or so you keep telling yourself. But ever since that night in the cabin, when he stumbled on you tangled in sheets, with your sparkly dildo deep inside your cunt… something different stirred. The hatred’s still there, raw and defiant, but now it’s wrapped in something softer, warmer, and maddeningly confusing.

“Keep up, Y/N, or are those legs of yours already giving out?” Jimin turns, his eyes glinting, tongue poking out in that infuriating way, and a flush creeps up your cheeks. It’s his fucking fault your legs feel like jelly. Him and his insufferable grin, his teasing remarks, and… his stupid, perfect, cock. No, you’re not in love, you tell yourself.

You scoff, forcing a smirk. “Oh, is that a volunteer to carry me the rest of the way?” you toss back. “But then again, I doubt you’re strong enough,” you add, savoring the flare of irritation in his eyes. Your friends, accustomed to this fiery dance between you and Jimin, fall into a knowing silence. They know the drill—the barbs, the heat, the grudging laughter—all too well. They’ve long stopped trying to intervene, though sometimes, in rare moments, you suspect they see right through you both.

Jimin’s gaze sharpens, his smirk dropping. “Oh, we both know I could carry you,” he says, his voice low, “but since you’re such a brat about it, I won’t.”

You cross your arms, fuming like a child denied their favorite toy. “Fine!” you spit, your voice sharper than the biting wind. “I don’t want you touching me anyway!”

Jimin leans in with a wicked grin. “Not what you said last night…” he murmurs, the sing-song lilt in his voice hitting you right in the chest. You hate that he knows how to rile you up, that he says it so casually, right in front of everyone. The knowledge that they all know—their sly looks, the teasing remarks, even Seokjin’s smirk as he tossed you a pre-packed box of condoms when you arrived at the stupid cabin. Namjoon’s knowing grin, Taehyung’s shoulder-pat for Jimin, Yoongi’s dry threat to make your lives hell if you wake him up again…

Yes, they’re a chaotic bunch, your friends. And Jimin? He’s chaos itself.

Snowflakes begin to fall, delicate and silent, each one like a whispered secret from the heavens. They drift lazily at first, dancing on the wind before settling on your outstretched palm. You pull off your glove and catch one, marveling at its intricate beauty before it melts against your warm skin, leaving only a glistening trace.

“Let’s keep moving—we’re getting to the top,” Jungkook calls out, his eyes bright with the thrill of the climb. Yoongi only grunts, casting a longing glance back toward where the cabin lies hidden, nestled far below. You can almost read his mind; he’d probably be back there with you now if it weren’t for Jungkook’s threat to cut the cabin heat unless every last one of you joined him on this “bonding adventure.” What a tyrant, you think with a wry smile.

“The top?” you nearly yell, unable to believe his determination. Your legs ache, every muscle weighed down by the stiff bulk of your snowsuit. Sure, it keeps the cold at bay, but you feel like you’re dragging half the mountain with you. And to think—once you reach the summit, you’ll have to make the long descent all over again. You didn’t pack for this kind of endurance test; a few snacks, a water bottle, and a first aid kit are all that line the bottom of your backpack.

“We’ve been going since dawn! We started before the sun was even up,” you pant, each breath puffing out in frosty clouds.

Jungkook just grins, a giddy light in his eyes. “But wasn’t the sunrise worth it?” he asks, and you reluctantly admit that he’s right. The first rays of morning had painted the snow in hues of rose and gold, spilling across the horizon and seeping into the untouched drifts like watercolor on silk. It had been beautiful—almost painfully so. But not as beautiful as the warmth of the bed you’d left behind, or the person you’d woken up next to, making you question things you’d rather not dwell on.

As you trudge forward, the landscape transforms around you—trees bowed under the weight of snow, deer darting into the thicket, startled by your approach. Occasionally, you catch sight of dark caverns nestled into the mountainside, and one finally catches your eye. “Can we rest in there?” you ask, pointing.

Jungkook sighs, reluctantly nodding. “Fine, but only long enough for a snack and some water.”

You and Yoongi both exhale in relief, each of you slinging off backpacks as you duck into the small, cold shelter of the cave. Jimin strolls past, tossing a wink your way, and you can’t help but curse inwardly at how infuriatingly good he looks in that white and blue snowsuit, his blonde hair practically glowing against the muted backdrop of snow and rock. No, you tell yourself, forcing your gaze elsewhere. You will not let him get under your skin. Not today.

Inside, you settle on the rocky ground, pulling out a protein bar with trembling fingers, too cold to bother savoring the taste. Outside, the snow has thickened, the wind howling as it funnels through the cave’s mouth, whipping icy tendrils against your skin. You shiver involuntarily, glancing at the darkening sky. The storm clouds gather, swirling overhead, and the wind feels more menacing now, as if urging you back to the cabin’s warmth.

“The weather’s getting worse—don’t you think we should head back?” you ask, casting an uneasy glance at the others, but Jungkook shakes his head resolutely. You can’t fathom his determination, his relentless drive to conquer the mountain as if it’s some mythical prize that only he can claim.

Reluctantly, you pull on your goggles, shielding your eyes against the stinging snow, and follow the group out into the blizzard’s embrace. The world around you is pure white chaos, the snowflakes swirling in a furious dance, but somehow, you keep moving, each step drawing you higher into the snowstorm.

You don’t know how long you’ve been trudging forward, but when you glance back, the cabin is nowhere in sight, swallowed by snow and distance, leaving a hollow ache in your stomach. The snowfall thickens, shrouding the world in a relentless white, pulling you back to memories of the snowstorm you braved with Jimin on the way to Seokjin’s Christmas party. You shake off the thought and face the group, voice firm and brooking no argument. “I can’t see a thing. I’m done—let’s turn back.”

Yoongi sighs with relief, already turning around. “I’m with you,” he mutters, not hiding his frustration.

Jungkook, still a stubborn figure cutting through the snow, scoffs. “What, are we scared now?”

You let your words fly over the whistling wind, fury sparking in your eyes. “Call it scared if you want, but I’m not planning to be buried out here. It’s not safe.”

Namjoon checks his phone, frowning as he reads, “The weather app says a storm’s coming—and it’s not letting up for days.”

A heavy silence falls, filled only by the wailing wind and the cold sting of snow against your face. Another storm. Your heart sinks.

“Told you this was a mistake,” Yoongi grumbles.

Jungkook finally concedes, his tone subdued. “Alright. We’ll head back.” Despite his daredevil spirit, he knows there’s no pushing through this. Relief flows through you at the thought of the warm cabin, the crackling fire, and eggnog shared between friends.

As you start the descent, birds flit across the white-gray sky, a fleeting touch of beauty against the coming storm. But a strange creak rises over the howl of the wind. An uneasy chill runs through you. “Did anyone else hear that?”

“What sound?” Taehyung shouts, eyes squinting as he tries to make out shapes in the swirling snow.

The wind muffles it again, but then—another deep, ominous creak, louder this time. Everyone freezes, and in the silence, you hear it: a faint roar that steadily grows, like a beast roused from its slumber. The snow shifts, and dread settles like lead in your gut.

“Let’s hurry,” you say, voice tense, and everyone quickens their pace. You and Jimin are at the back, struggling against the thickening storm. Then it comes again, an unmistakable, thunderous rumble echoing down the mountainside. You whip around in time to see it: a churning cloud of snow cascading toward you.

“Avalanche!” you scream, panic seizing you as the world erupts into chaos. The group scatters in every direction, shouts lost in the storm, but Jimin’s hand is on yours, firm and unyielding as he drags you down the slope, weaving through trees with urgent speed. The ground trembles underfoot, and you feel the roaring snow closing in, seconds from swallowing you whole. Breath ragged, heart pounding, you realize with icy dread that this might be the end.

But just as the avalanche draws near, a dark shape looms before you—a rocky cave. Jimin pulls you inside, the world plunging into blackness just as the avalanche thunders past, shaking the walls around you. You collapse, gasping, Jimin’s hand steady against your trembling glove covered fingers. Snow clogs the cave entrance, sealing you in darkness, yet somehow his presence keeps you grounded, the steady rhythm of his breath slowing your racing pulse as silence falls once more.

“Jimin?” you whisper into the dark, your voice a soft tremor against the silence.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he replies, though his tone is taut, barely concealing the edge of panic. The tension in his voice mirrors the tightness building in your chest.

“I think… we’re stuck.” The words fall out softly, as if speaking them too loudly might somehow make them more real.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing at the snow-packed entrance, his expression tense and shadowed. “Our way out’s completely blocked.” Slowly, as your eyes adjust, his face emerges from the shadows—concern etched into every line, vulnerability softening the usual spark in his eyes.

“It’s alright. The others will find us soon.” You try to sound confident, to reassure him, even as a chill of doubt creeps through you.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice carrying the barest hint of uncertainty.

A moment of heavy silence passes before you offer, “We could try digging us out. Fresh snow should be lighter, easy enough to move.”

But Jimin just sighs, moving deeper into the cave before sinking down onto the rough, cold ground. “Too tired,” he murmurs, reclining against his backpack and looking up at the darkness above.

You join him with a huff, feeling the exhaustion seep into your bones as you sit beside him. “Yeah, me too.”

He shifts slightly, making room as you slide closer, the cold penetrating even through your thick snowsuit. “Maybe we just… wait,” he suggests, his voice low and resigned, and you nod, grateful just to have him beside you.

In the quiet of the cave, you take out your phone, pull your gloves off, fingers stiff from the cold as you type a quick message to the group chat. Is everyone okay? Can anyone help us get out of this cave? You hit send, hoping the signal reaches, hoping that somehow, somewhere, they’re safe and will see your message.

Time passes, an endless stretch of waiting in the darkness. The cold presses closer, burrowing deep, and you pull your knees up, trying to conserve warmth. “It’s so cold,” you whisper, teeth chattering.

“Yeah,” Jimin murmurs, slipping an arm around your shoulders, drawing you against him. His warmth radiates through the layers of clothing, his breathing soft and steady against your cheek. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice small as you settle against him, aware of his closeness—the gentle rise and fall of his chest, his steady warmth grounding you. 

A silence stretches between you, and for the first time, you notice the delicate details of his face in the dim light. His lips, full and red, look as if he’s been worrying them with his teeth, the faint hint of color a stark contrast to his now pale skin. Your gaze lingers, and your heart skips a beat as he catches you staring.

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence. His eyes flicker toward you, a breath catching as he seems to consider his answer.

Finally, he exhales softly, the sound barely a sigh. “Why do you hate me?” His voice is unguarded, almost vulnerable, like he’s been carrying the question far too long.

You blink, taken aback by the rawness in his question, and the easy reply slips away. It’s not hate, not really, but how can you tell him that? How do you explain the sharp, confusing tangle of emotions you feel every time you’re near him, the way he gets under your skin in a way no one else does?

You take a slow breath, willing yourself to find the right words in the quiet space between you.

“Jimin, I—” You trail off, the words twisting on your tongue, tangled somewhere between honesty and hesitation. Searching his gaze, you feel an odd, disarming softness in your own. “I don’t hate you,” you say, the admission spilling out quietly, as if confessing to yourself as much as to him.

“But you call me your enemy,” he replies, a sudden edge of hurt threading through his voice, as though you’ve wounded him in some way you hadn’t intended.

“I…” You hesitate. “I do.”

A crease forms between his brows as he looks at you, like he’s trying to decipher a riddle hidden behind your eyes. “I just don’t get it. You say you hate me so much, but you still… you still choose to sleep with me.” He pauses, cheeks tinged with something that might be vulnerability, though his voice stays steady. “And don’t get me wrong—the sex is… incredible. But this,” he gestures between you, “it’s confusing.”

Your pulse quickens, and you nod, feeling the truth slipping closer, almost within reach. “Do you want the truth?” The words are barely a whisper, a question woven through the cool silence between you.

His gaze softens, and he nods, leaning forward. “I’d love for you to tell me the truth. Don’t hide anymore.”

The walls between you feel thin, as if the icy cave itself might crack open under the weight of your confession. With a long, trembling breath, you gather the words from the depths of your chest, feeling each one like a stone in your throat. “I hate you because… because you’re perfect. Everything seems to fall effortlessly into your hands—grades, women, money, opportunities, whatever you want, like it’s just waiting to be handed to you. You’re good-looking, too,” you add, unable to meet his eyes, “and you… act like you know it all, like you’re better than everyone. Like it’s easy to just be good, without ever showing a flaw, a struggle, anything real.”

Jimin’s face is shadowed, yet you see the surprise flicker across it as he absorbs your words.

“It’s irritating,” you continue, emboldened now, “to watch you from a distance, to see you seem so above it all. Would it hurt to be a little human?” You exhale, feeling the tension spill out with each word. “And if I’m being honest, it started long before any of this… since kindergarten, actually.”

A confused frown deepens on his face, and he tilts his head, caramel eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Kindergarten?” he repeats softly. “What did I ever do to you in kindergarten?”

A dry, self-deprecating laugh slips out as you remember the humiliation so clearly etched into your memory. “You stuffed worms in my locker, my shoes, the pockets of my jackets. Then one day, in front of everyone, you pulled my pants down and told everyone I was a boy. I was humiliated… crying… and you laughed like it was nothing.”

Jimin’s mouth parts in shock, his eyes widening as he absorbs your words. He falls silent, as though his mind is spinning back, searching for the fragments of his memory that still hold that image. 

“That was you?” His voice cracks slightly, touched by disbelief. He looks at you with something between remorse and horror.

You nod your head, a mixture of anger and sorrow swelling in your chest. “You don’t even remember?”

He winces, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he searches for words. “I… I’m so… I’m so sorry.” His voice is raw, laced with an almost childlike shame. He turns to you, eyes earnest and heavy with regret. “I was a kid—a stupid kid. I… never realized the weight of what I did.”

You shake your head, meeting his gaze evenly. “You’ve always been a dick, Jimin. A bully,” you add, hoping it stings just enough.

He nods slowly, his lips pulling into a remorseful line. “I know. I know I’ve been… careless. And I wish I could take all that back. I wish I could change what I was, what I… did.” He pauses, glancing down, biting his lip like he’s gathering courage. 

But then his hand reaches out, gently brushing yours in the cold. His eyes meet yours, brimming with apology. “If you’ll let me, I want to try and be… better. Real. Not perfect, just… me.”

“It was humiliating, Jimin. I was the laughing stock for years—well into school,” you say, voice softening with a hurt you’d almost forgotten. Your gaze flickers to his, hesitant, but steady. “And even now, as adults, you never stopped singling me out, teasing me. At first, I thought you were just bullying me all over again.” You hold his eyes, bracing yourself. “But that’s not what it was, was it?”

He swallows hard, his throat working as he searches for words. “No,” he replies, voice almost a whisper. “I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. Not then, not now.”

“I know that… now,” you breathe, barely above a whisper. You can feel something shifting, unspoken.

He looks down, mittens pressed against his temples, and you see him struggling, caught between words. “It’s your turn to be honest, Park,” you prompt gently, needing him to lay his truth bare, even though you think you already know. You’ve been holding onto a realization, but you want him to say it, to free you both from these years of misunderstandings.

He lets out a shaky sigh, his gaze tracing your face with a softness that catches you off guard. “I… I liked you. Even back then, I thought you were amazing—strong, fierce, and different from anyone else. I wanted so badly to get your attention, to make you notice me. But the only thing that seemed to work was… making fun of you.” He pauses, rubbing his head with a small, almost defeated smile. “I know how it sounds. I was a stupid kid. I just didn’t know any other way.”

You stare at him, breath catching, your chest tight. He liked you. Past tense. Your heart beats louder as you whisper, “And now?”

He meets your gaze, a spark of humor and something deeper lighting his expression. “To be clear, I still like you,” he says, words filled with a raw honesty. “I still think you’re fierce and strong and… stubborn as hell.” He laughs softly, glancing down as his cheeks flush. “But I’m sorry, truly. I’ve been a jerk, trying to get close to you in all the wrong ways.”

A laugh slips from your lips, warm and soft. “That you are,” you tease, hoping it stings just a little, though your voice is laced with a fondness you can’t hide.

He chuckles, a little nervously, but he inches closer. “Maybe, but…” His voice lowers. “I’m your jerk.”

And that’s all it takes. You move toward him, closing the space, and press your lips to his with a need that has simmered, unacknowledged, for so long. His mouth is soft, tender and cold at first, but as the kiss deepens, warmth spreads, igniting between you like a long-awaited spark finally catching flame. His hand rises to your cheek, his touch hesitant, reverent, as though he’s savoring each moment, each breath.

A low sound escapes him, his lips parting just enough for his tongue to trace your lips, soft but insistent. You open to him, feeling his breath, tasting him in a slow, heated dance that feels both new and achingly familiar. It’s as though every word left unsaid, every look and touch left unshared, has led to this moment—an unspoken promise unfolding between you.

For years, you’d run from this, denying the pull between you, clinging to your hate to hide the want. But in his kiss, there is a confession, a surrender to the fire you’d both fed. You feel him breathe out, his lips curving into a soft smile against yours, and you can’t help but return it. For the first time, that tension between you isn’t a battle—it’s something beautiful.

Whatever it is that’s sparked between you and Jimin these past few weeks—this whole holiday season, really—has been wild, confusing, and so, so good. He knows how to rile you up, pulling at every loose thread in you, but somehow it always leaves you wanting more. You breathe out a laugh and press a kiss to his cold cheek, feeling the scrape of winter on your lips.

“I don’t… I don’t really hate you anymore,” you whisper, breath mingling with his as it hangs in the frozen air.

He tilts his head, eyes dark and half-lidded as he gazes into yours. “Hmm?” he murmurs, his voice low, dangerous in a way that thrills you.

You feel a warmth rise through you and giggle, words spilling free. “Actually, I think I kind of like your stupid ass.” Your confession hangs between you, breaking the ice you’d held onto for too long.

He lets out a deep, satisfied chuckle, brushing his lips over yours before catching your bottom lip gently between his teeth. “So you do, do you?” he murmurs, his smirk curving just right.

He laughs, soft but filled with a rough, quiet possession. “You’re such a brat,” he teases, voice a warm rumble against your skin. “But you’re mine. Right?”

“Yes, yours,” you gasp, feeling heat spread through you, even through layers of wool and fleece. And when his gloved hand traces your cheek, the cold feels electric, meeting the fire he stirs in you.

You press closer to him, fighting against the fabric that holds you back, and your fingers drift to the zipper of your snowsuit. “I think you’re the only one who can warm me up,” you murmur, voice laced with a tempting edge as you bat your eyes up at him. You ease the zipper down slowly, watching his eyes track the movement, the hunger flickering there, even in the shadows.

He watches your movements, tongue flicking across his lips. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” he asks, voice low, but his own fingers stray to his zipper, betraying his anticipation.

“Don’t you want me?” you ask, coy, breathless. “I’m freezing,” you whisper, letting his name fall from your lips like honey. “Warm me up, Jimin.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you slip out of your snowsuit, baring your skin to the chill. You let each layer fall away, watching his gaze darken with every inch. The way he looks at you makes you feel like a fire ready to ignite, even in this icy cave.

“Do you want to touch me?” you murmur, letting your hands slide up over your skin, cupping your breasts and circling your perk nipples with your fingers. “Keep me warm?”

His breath catches, and you hear the small intake of air as his eyes roam over you. “You’ll be the death of me,” he says, words rough, barely restrained. His mittens fall away, and his hands shake slightly as he unzips his own suit, each motion slow, deliberate, eyes locked onto you as he bares himself, piece by piece.

His last layer falls away, and he stands before you, bare, his skin glowing in the dim light. He’s beautiful—always has been—but now, here, he’s something else entirely, a vision you want to savor, every single inch.

Your body feels like it’s burning, a heat that cuts through the cold and wraps around you both, a living, pulsing warmth that’s only intensified by the nearness of his skin against yours. You press closer, savoring the spark that flares between you.

Here, in the shelter of the cave, the storm howling outside, you can finally give in to him—no barriers, no misunderstandings, just you and him, bodies and hearts both raw, reaching for the warmth of each other, finally unguarded.

“Maybe you should look in a mirror sometime,” you pant, voice soft but daring as you lean closer, fingers sliding to rest on his strong, tense thighs. “Then you’d understand why everyone either hates you or wants you—you’re too damn good-looking.”

He shivers, the surprise flickering across his face, quickly replaced by a laugh. “Cold! God, your hands are freezing,” he says, teeth flashing in a grin that’s both playful and predatory.

“But my mouth is warm,” you whisper, your words laden with heat, slipping between you like a spark catching flame. “Would you like me to warm you up?”

A low groan tumbles from his lips, raw and resonant in the stillness of the cave. His eyes flash with need. “Fuck, yes… show me how much of a filthy brat you are, how good you take my cock,” he murmurs, biting his lip as he watches you, the hunger in his gaze unmistakable.

You move closer, lips parting as you take him into the warmth of your mouth, and he gasps, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. You know your hands are icy, so you hold them steady on his thighs, giving all the warmth you can to him through the softness of your lips, each deliberate, tender movement of your tongue.

“Here, hold on,” he breathes, voice catching as he leans forward, resting his hand on your shoulder. “I don’t care if your hands are cold—hold me. We’ll warm up together.”

You let your fingers dig gently into his thighs, and the intensity of his gaze on you sends a rush of warmth down your spine. With every movement, every soft sound he makes, you can feel your own heart quicken, feel his fingers thread into your hair, guiding you just the way he likes. He groans low, head falling back, eyes squeezed shut.

“Can I fuck your mouth now?” he whispers, his voice barely a breath, desire heavy in each syllable.

You squeeze his thigh in answer, and he tightens his hold, moving with a newfound rhythm, a need that’s both patient and wild. He moves against you, each movement controlled but trembling at the edges, and you let yourself melt into the moment, matching his pace, losing yourself in the heat of his touch and the unspoken need between you.

“So dirty,” he rasps, one hand sliding to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing over your skin in a soft, reverent gesture. “Your mouth is perfect.”

His praise sends a thrill through you, and you can’t help but respond, letting him feel the depth of your want in the press of your lips, the urgency in the way you take him. He gently brushes a thumb across your cheek, his hand soothing even as his breathing grows more erratic.

But then he pulls back, gaze tender yet intense as he catches his breath, looking down at you with an expression that makes you feel like the world’s slipping away outside the cave, leaving just the two of you.

“I want to cum inside your pussy, but first I want to taste it,” he murmurs, voice rough with need, his thumb lingering just below your lip. 

With the back of your hand, you wipe the dampness from your lips, whispering a single word, “Please.”

A grin curls across his lips, admiration flickering in his eyes. “My little cockslut,” he murmurs, voice low with praise.

“Lie down,” he instructs, gesturing to the soft fold of your snowsuit. You spread it on the ground, sinking onto it and parting your legs, heat radiating as you yield to him, vulnerability and desire intertwining.

He lets out a soft, appreciative sound, dropping to his knees and gazing down at you, his face close enough that you feel his breath trace delicate patterns along your skin. “So pretty and wet,” he groans, eyes dark with promise. “And I’m going to devour you. I think you deserve it, don’t you?”

A shiver skims through you as his breath fans over your skin, stirring the ache in you, anticipation pooling like molten warmth. He lowers his head, pressing soft, reverent kisses along your thighs, moving ever closer to where you need him most, his eyes locked on yours as if he’s drinking you in.

Without another word, he dives in, his mouth covering you with deliberate intensity, the warmth of his tongue drawing desperate sounds from your throat. Your hands find their way to his hair, tangling in the softness there, and you close your eyes, letting yourself surrender to each unhurried touch, each flicker of sensation he sends rippling through you.

“Fuck, Jimin,” you pant in pleasure.

The world outside the cave melts away as he moves with breathtaking skill, every graze and stroke pulling you deeper under his spell. He hums against you, his hands gripping your hips, and the vibrations send fresh waves of longing through you, toes curling as pleasure builds, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge, “That sinful tongue, Park,” you moan.

“I’m gonna come soon.”

You feel the touch of his cool fingers trace along your thighs, sending shivers through you, every nerve alight with anticipation. His fingertips graze your skin, drawing a soft quiver from deep within as his hand slides into you with reverence, coaxing you to open wider, instinctively welcoming him.

His lips and tongue explore with both gentleness and urgency, and each flicker, each lingering movement ignites a fire in your core, every cell in your body pulled taut, straining toward release. His hand moves with deliberate care, matching the rhythm of his mouth, deepening your pleasure as he senses the way your breath catches, your body arching and moving under his touch.

As his fingers press further, a delicious warmth blooms and pulses within you, and everything—your breath, your heartbeat, the world beyond—fades, leaving only the intensity of the connection between you. It builds slowly, steadily, like a wave gathering strength before it crests, your body and his locked in the timeless dance of anticipation and fulfillment.

“Jimin!” When your release finally overtakes you, it’s like being swept under by a warm current, filling you, leaving you breathless as he continues to hold you, his movements gentle, guiding you back down. He leans up, his face radiant, his gaze tender as he meets your eyes, and then he’s kissing you, his lips soft and warm, grounding you in the closeness you share.

“Jimin, please—fuck me like you did yesterday,” you whisper, your voice a sultry caress in the dim light, a soft yet desperate plea. Yet, deep down, you know there’s no need for such entreaties; he would give you the universe if you asked, for he is undeniably weak for you—a truth that has lingered in the air between you from the very beginning. 

As he crawls over you, you can feel his cock stirring, his body pressing closer, the warmth of his skin igniting a delicious ache within you. His face glistens with the evidence of your orgasm. He leans down, capturing your lips with his, the kiss deep and hungry, wrapping you in his embrace, soft and inviting. 

You savor the taste of yourself on his mouth, an intoxicating blend of sweetness and urgency that sends shivers racing down your spine. You can feel him, hard and throbbing, poised over your sensitive core, and every nerve ending ignites in anticipation. A heady mix of longing and need courses through you, the world outside fading away as you focus solely on him, yearning for the moment he finally fills you completely.

You gaze into his eyes, a storm of emotions swirling within you, wondering why it took so long to confront the truth that has simmered beneath the surface. With a rush of boldness, you bite your lip and pull him into a deep, fervent kiss, surrendering to the heat that has long been building between you.

When he finally pulls away, a teasing smile dances on his lips. “My needy little brat,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry. “I’ll give you what you crave, don’t worry.” His hand strokes his cock, teasingly placing it against your slick folds, nudging them apart, igniting a fire of desire deep within you. You feel elated, ready for him to claim you as his own—like he can’t enter you fast enough.

Slowly, he pushes into you, a low groan escaping his lips as he fills you completely. “You’re always so fucking tight, no matter how many times I fill this perfect pussy,” he pants, anchoring himself on either side of your arms, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with lust and admiration.

You don’t respond, lost in the bliss of the stretch, the way he fills you up just as you crave. He grunts as he reaches the hilt, pausing to catch his breath before pulling back, only to thrust back into you with delicious force. 

“Fuck!” you gasp as he finds a rhythm, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure coursing through you. You revel in the sensation, your body alive with longing. 

“You really like my cock, huh, brat?” he teases, the usual playful tension replaced with a tenderness that sends warmth flooding through your chest. 

“Yes. I’m obsessed with your cock, Jimin,” you breathe, your hands roaming, gripping your thighs to change your angle, urging him deeper.

“Right there—fuck, it’s so good,” you mumble, each thrust striking your g-spot perfectly, sending sparks of ecstasy dancing behind your eyelids. 

“My brat, all mine,” he pants, driving into you deeper, harder, an intoxicating blend of pleasure and possession. 

“Hugging me so perfectly,” he breathes, his words wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

He leans down, his warmth enveloping you as his mouth finds a nipple, sucking hungrily. You moan, your fingers tangling in his hair, craving more of his touch. 

A new orgasm builds within you, heightened by the way he fills you, surrounds you with his warmth and the intoxicating scent of him—musky and primal. His tongue dances over your nipple, teasing it before moving to the other, and you feel yourself spiraling, stars flickering in your vision.

“Jimin, I’m coming again,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as he sneaks a hand between your bodies, circling your clit with deft precision. The tension inside you tightens, coiling like a spring ready to snap. Your body arches, pressing your breast into his warm mouth as he continues to thrust into you. 

Just as the wave crashes over you, he pulls his finger away from your clit, leaving you panting, blissfully dazed. He pops off your nipple, gazing at you with a mix of admiration and desire. “My sweet brat,” he whispers, his voice thick with longing. “So beautiful when you come.” 

You bite your lip, feeling the throb of his cock deep inside you, aware that he’s close too, and the thought ignites another wave of need within you.

“Jimin-ah,” you pant, your voice thick with desire, “fill me up with your seed,” you moan, lost in a haze of pleasure.

“I’m gonna fill you up real good,” he promises, urgency lacing his tone as he quickens his thrusts, snapping his hips against you with raw fervor. 

“Fuck. I’m gonna come too,” he grunts, each word a desperate plea as your pussy throbs around him. With a strained moan of your name, he releases, his warm essence flooding you, filling you completely. A wave of ecstasy washes over you, and you can’t help but moan in response, a sound of both satisfaction and yearning.

He stills inside you, breathless, both of you bursting into laughter at the sheer intensity of your desperation. He lays his head against your chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of your heart, the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Why did we waste so much time?” he asks, his voice soft and breathless.

“Because you’re a jerk and I’m a stubborn brat,” you reply with a teasing laugh, your fingers threading through his hair, ruffling it playfully. “But we’re here now,” you add, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, a promise of what’s to come.

For a while, he remains within you, and you don’t mind that his semen seeps out, mingling with the cold air of the cave. The chill surrounds you, but in this moment, you’re cocooned in each other’s presence, and you drift off to sleep, naked and intertwined.

When you wake, a chill has settled over you, and Jimin lies beside you, his arm wrapped protectively around your frame. But the cold bites at your skin, and you shiver, unsure of the hour or how long you’ve been ensconced in this cave.

A discomfort lingers between your legs, a reminder of the night before, and you groan at the sticky feeling. Jimin stirs beside you, his voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?” he murmurs, eyes still closed.

You reach for your backpack, fingers fumbling until you pull out your phone. A rush of surprise hits you as you see that an entire day has slipped away. “It’s morning apparently,” you say, the words echoing in the quiet cave.

“Ugh, it’s so cold,” he groans, drawing you closer, seeking warmth as you let him spoon you, his body a comforting heat against the biting chill.

“We should eat something though,” you suggest, your stomach rumbling in agreement.

“Do you have more protein bars?” he asks, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Yeah, a few. But do you have water? I’m almost out,” you reply, feeling his warm hands wander across your skin, igniting a soft sigh of pleasure from your lips.

“I do,” he answers, and with a reluctant sigh, you both rise, reaching for sustenance. You munch on protein bars and sip water, but a quick glance at your phone reveals a troubling truth—there’s no signal, and both your phones are perilously low on battery in the relentless cold.

“My stomach hurts,” you admit, a twinge of discomfort settling in.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern knitting his brows as he studies your face, his warm gaze searching for answers.

“I have to…,” you hesitate, a flush of embarrassment creeping over you. “I have to poop.” 

He bursts out laughing, the sound echoing in the cave like a burst of sunlight breaking through clouds. You stare at him, disbelief mingling with mortification. “If you have to go, don’t hold it in; that’s not healthy, you know. Just go over in that corner,” he points to the very spot where you’d relieved yourself yesterday. God. This is so not sexy at all.

“I’m not pooping in the corner. I’ll just hold it in,” you groan, mortified.

“Suit yourself, but you never know when the others will find us,” he says matter-of-factly. “Maybe we should try digging ourselves out?” A playful grin lights up his face, and you hate that you confided in him.

“I just don’t think I can do that in front of you,” you mutter, getting up to put your clothes back on, your cheeks burning.

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, “but at this point, we’re practically married. I’ve seen you cry, be a brat, pee, and everything else in between.” 

You sulk, the fiery banter reigniting as you jut out your bottom lip and cross your arms while he gets dressed, the familiar warmth of your friendship sparking once more.

“But be my guest and keep it in,” he says, moving toward the entrance. He begins to dig with his gloved hands, but the effort seems futile. You walk over to him, helping him remove the stubborn snow, only to find it’s solid ice. 

“I think it’s frozen over from the night. Damn it,” he pants, frustration seeping into his tone. “How are we going to get out?” you ask, desperation creeping back into your voice.

“I think we just have to wait for the others to find us. We still have some food and water, so we’re fine,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, retreating to your previous spot. You follow him, sitting down beside him, feeling utterly deflated.

“Hey, try to look happy while being stuck with me,” he huffs, curling his legs up for warmth.

“Sorry,” you reply, momentarily forgetting about your stomach’s protest. “I just don’t know what we can do,” you admit, feeling the weight of uncertainty.

“Well, we could always keep each other warm again,” he suggests, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, and that’s all it takes for the fire to reignite within you. You shed your clothing, drawn into his embrace, kissing him with an urgency that banishes all thoughts of discomfort. Time stretches and bends, and you lose count of how many times you and Jimin have surrendered to each other in this cave. Both of you feel drained and cold, so you curl up together, using your snowsuit as a mattress and his as a duvet, your bodies intertwined.

“What if we’re going to die in here?” you muse, unable to find the solace of sleep.

“Relax, we won’t,” he murmurs, nudging your naked back as he wraps an arm and leg around you, the softness of his skin warming you. You feel his gentle presence against your backside, a comforting weight.

“How can you be so sure?” you ask softly, your voice barely a whisper.

“I can’t, but one of us has to be positive,” he grunts, his breath deep and steady, a lullaby that eases your fears.

You drift into sleep like that, cocooned in his warmth, surrounded by the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.

When you awaken, the warmth of Jimin’s rock-hard cock presses against your back, and you catch your breath, a jolt of electricity coursing through you. Seeking his warmth, you instinctively arch your hips back, pressing your ass further into him. He groans softly, his arm slipping over your bare breasts, fingers grazing a sensitive nipple, sending a wave of pleasure radiating through you. 

“Jimin—,” you moan, rolling your hips against him once more, and his delight-filled groan vibrates through your body, igniting a primal urge within you.

He begins to move against you, rutting against your ass, grunting in time with his thrusts. His fingers play with your nipple, teasing and pinching, and your pussy throbs in response, each pull of your breath turning quicker and deeper as arousal ignites your body like wildfire. 

Suddenly, he withdraws his hand from your nipple, positioning it at his cock, pressing it between your cheeks. “Move forward a bit,” he instructs, his voice low and sultry, and you obey, angling your body just right for him.

In an instant, he starts to thrust against you, not yet entering, but the heat of it makes you shiver with desire. His hand trails down your stomach, gliding toward your slick folds. With deft fingers, he begins to rub circles around your clitoris, and you can’t help but moan, the sensation overwhelming you.

He leans closer, his breath warm against your ear as you lie side by side. “My dirty brat wants dick again?”

“Didn’t get enough yesterday?” he teases, pressing down harder on your clit, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“I’m always hungry for you Jimin,” you pant, the naked truth spilling from your lips. You crave him, a desperate yearning that cannot be quenched, and in this moment, you can’t stay away.

“So dirty, my girl, right?” he breathes, the question lingering between you like a sweet promise.

“I’m yours, only yours,” you confess, needing him to know—because you are infuriatingly in love with him.

“And I’m yours,” he replies, kissing your shoulder tenderly, fingers working your clit with growing urgency. “Are you gonna come on my fingers?” he whispers, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes—,” you choke out, the coil of pleasure inside you tightening with rapid intensity.

His fingers dance left to right, up and down, then he pinches your sensitive nub, and you bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan. “I want to hear you,” he urges, his voice dripping with desire.

Your toes tingle, your entire body igniting in heat. “Jimin—, I’m gonna,” you pant, and then the waves crash over you as you reach your orgasm, the world around you fading into bliss thanks to his skilled fingers and that filthy mouth of his. He nibbles at your ear while rubbing you through your orgasm, his cock thrusting insistently between your cheeks.

“Fuck, you almost had me coming too. It’s so tight between your ass,” he murmurs, his voice warm and sultry as you descend from your high. Jimin’s hand wraps around your leg, hoisting it up, and he positions his cock at your entrance, your pussy fluttering in anticipation, still tingling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. 

Then he slides in, grunting, “So fucking good, always.”

You moan his name in sheer delight, “Please move.”

He grunts, and with a rhythm that feels like poetry, he begins to move his hips, his cock gliding in and out of you, drawing you deeper into the exquisite sensation.

“You can go faster,” you murmur, breath catching as he holds your leg up, his fingers strong against your thigh.

A low hum escapes him as he obliges, thrusting harder, each movement reverberating through you. “So wet for me,” he pants, his hand squeezing your thigh as he picks up speed, sending waves of pleasure radiating outward.

When he starts hitting that perfect spot, stars blur your vision, your body arching instinctively into him. You’re spent from all of yesterday, your muscles deliciously sore, yet here you are again, craving more. 

His breath is hot against your ear, voice a low rasp. “My filthy girl. Always wet for me, always begging for my cock,” he murmurs, and you feel yourself clench around him in response, his words driving you wild, pushing you further toward the edge.

You pant as he thrusts deeper, each motion a sweet agony, his hips snapping against yours, the rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin filling the cave, a symphony just for you. “Little tease,” he breathes, “playing hard to get just to end up like this,” he says, almost growling the words against your neck, his tone both scolding and adoring, and it sends delicious shivers down your spine.

“Holy… Shit,” you moan, his relentless rhythm pushing you higher, his hands and cock guiding you past the breaking point. Your body tenses, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you come, and he doesn’t miss a beat. His hand finds your clit, rubbing it gently as you shake beneath him, his fingers slipping over your slickness before he brings them to his lips. “You squirted,” he grins, pride gleaming in his eyes as he tastes you, his gaze dark and devouring. “And you fucking taste incredible.”

His praise makes you clench around him, and he groans, driving into you, refusing to let up even as you try to catch your breath. “Fuck, Jimin,” you gasp, legs trembling with exertion.

“I’ve got you,” he assures, gently lowering your leg. Before you know it, he’s helping you to all fours, your head nestled against the softness of your snowsuit, and he lifts your hips, fingers firm at your waist. “Just a little more. I know you’re tired,” he whispers, his voice gentle but laced with desire. Settling onto his knees, he guides himself back into you, a deep moan slipping from your lips as he fills you to the hilt.

Gripping your hips, he pulls you back with each thrust, his rhythm quick, and every plunge feels deeper, more consuming. “So fucking tight,” he grunts, leaning down to nip at your shoulder as his hand smacks your ass, leaving a warm sting that only heightens the intensity.

He grips you tighter, fingers digging into your skin as he picks up the pace, and you feel yourself spiraling again, a third orgasm cresting before you’ve even come down from the second. Your body clenches around him, and it undoes him completely, a shudder ripping through him as he thrusts one last time, filling you as he groans in surrender, his release warm and full.

Breathless, he leans over you, his hand tracing gentle circles over your back. “Incredible,” he murmurs, caressing you in the afterglow, his praise softening the edges of exhaustion as you rest in his arms, completely spent but undeniably fulfilled.

Breathless and laughing, the two of you cling to each other as a noise echoes from the cave entrance. Suddenly, a chunk of snow tumbles inward, letting a burst of light cut through the dimness. Shielding your eyes from the sudden brightness, you spot Jungkook peering in through a widening gap. “Found them!” he calls out, then cringes, squinting. “Oh God—naked,” he grunts, feigning disgust as you scramble to pull your snowsuits over your bare skin, huddling together in hurried, flustered movements.

More snow is chipped away, allowing the full daylight to flood in, and soon the entrance is free. There, framed against the blinding white snow, stand all your friends, gawking with expressions ranging from surprise to outright amusement. You feel your cheeks ignite as they take in the scene—clearly, there’s no hiding what went on in the cave.

“We thought you were going to kill each other,” Taehyung quips, his eyes wide with mock horror as he takes in the scene.

Yoongi shakes his head, unfazed. “Told you they’d end up like this,” he mutters, already turning away to put his shovel back over his shoulder.

Seokjin groans theatrically, pressing a hand to his forehead. “For the love of all things holy, put some clothes on!”

Flushed and flustered, you stammer, “Could you maybe look away? A little privacy?” Jimin only chuckles at your side, entirely unbothered.

“Fine, fine,” Jungkook says, still grinning as they turn around, murmuring to each other, muffling laughter that echoes in the frosty air. You and Jimin hastily pull on your clothes, cocooning yourselves back into thick layers, but you feel oddly reluctant to step out of this little haven that the two of you created.

Just before heading out, you turn to him, and with a hand still bare, you reach up, cupping his cheek. “I meant everything I said, Jimin,” you murmur softly, your thumb brushing over his skin. 

He leans into your touch, eyes meeting yours with a warmth that seems to banish the cold. “Me too,” he whispers, and a beat passes, his gaze dropping to your lips before he finally asks, “Would you… do you want to make it official? Date me?” He’s almost shy, his heart racing, caught somewhere between hope and vulnerability, as if this simple question holds so much more.

The light in the cave catches the shimmer in your eyes as you tiptoe up to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “Yes, I want to date you, Park,” you whisper against his mouth, warmth radiating between you.

A smile breaks over his face, and soon it twists into that familiar, mischievous smirk. “Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teases, already slipping back into the confident Jimin you know so well.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile as you grab his hand, fingers lacing together naturally. And as you step out into the bright snow, your friends’ teasing laughter ringing through the air, you realize you’re ready to endure anything, as long as you’ve got Jimin by your side.

“Have you checked your phone lately?” Jungkook asks, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as if he’s holding back a secret, a playful glimmer dancing in his eyes.

“No, why?” you reply, the curiosity rising in your voice. “It ran out of battery—Jimin’s too.”

The others nod in silent understanding, but when you finally make your way back to the cabin, plug your phone into the charger, and open the group chat, your heart sinks. The screen floods with a storm of messages, a chaotic wave of words and emojis that makes your stomach twist and your cheeks burn. With wide eyes, you instinctively flip the phone over, as if doing so might somehow erase the flood of embarrassing texts, as if they might vanish with a simple turn of the screen.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

→ Series taglist: @yopjm @chimmy-licious @aubrey0moore @jeonsbabygirlsworld @haru-jiminn @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @nora12379 @joonsmagicshop @goldietigers294 @pjmxxjm @jimineepaboya 

→ Author’s endnote: HAHAHAHA 😂 How is it even possible for this couple to get more chaotic? Truly, their energy is unmatched. Did you have fun finally uncovering why they’ve been throwing daggers at each other this whole time? What do you think—was it worth the wait? Honestly, writing this unapologetically jerk version of Jimin has been an absolute blast for me 🤭 Like, it’s almost too fun to lean into his sass and pettiness! (Should I be concerned?) Can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the End - Post-Apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - The final obstacles.

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader, injuries, masturbation

Masterlist

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For the next two nights they dote on Gaz and Soap, the two most injured of their pack, despite their grumblings and huffs. Though Soap can’t hide his chuffs as well as Gaz can and he earns a cheeky wink from his fellow mask alpha. Of course sitting in enemy woods is less then ideal while getting cozy and romantic but that hardly stops Gaz from being sat in Price’s lap while he dotes on his fellow alpha.

“Price, really this isn’t necssary,” Gaz insists but Price shakes his head and pushes what’s left of his rations for the night to Gaz.

“Please Kyle?” He damn nears begs for his partnered alpha to take the last half of the portions.

“John-” Gaz sighs and gingerly takes the portions from Price. “You know you’re playing dirty with those puppy eyes,” he snips but Price smiles and gives Gaz a little nuzzle to which he chuckles from.

Soap meanwhile is completely passed out, leaning against Ghost with his head on his shoulder and his injured shoulder rebandaged and treated with some salve they had learned to make from a fellow group of survivors. Sometimes Gaz wonders if they made it or if they ended up zombie flesh. They were really kind people. The kind don’t often make it he thought blearily as his eyes began to droop before a familiar scent filled his nose.

He immediately perks up and sniffs the air a few more times before his head snaps to the north where the wind is blowing from. “Do you smell that John? Simon?” He asks and gets silent nods as Soap wakes from his slumber as well.

“Aye, I smell it too,” Johnny says and shares a look with Ghost. “We’re close.”

“That we are. What do you say men? Ready to get going tomorrow at sun rise?” Price asks and the three other men give their affirmations. “Tomorrow at sun rise it is.”

The sun rising the next morning never felt so refreshing. Gaz, though he hardly slept because he kept catching small whiffs of the scent on the wind just enough for him. Just for him, it felt like a sirens call. Come to me Kyle, the scent whispers and there’s an extra sweet tinge to it around the edges, that if Gaz is recalling correctly means one thing and one thing only.

Heat.

They traversed together, practically holding hands. Hell, Soap might’ve actually held hands with Ghost for a little while until Gaz started to look a little too closely. They were not going to be split up this time by different traps or scents. They followed Gaz who was the one who was leading them towards where their precious, if not sadistic, omega was. Several times they, mostly Soap, almost fell for another trap but was yanked back by a member of their pack.

They were silent otherwise, their boots crunching the snow beneath them and it made some of them wince. Well, it made Ghost wince as he thought about how important it might be to get the element of surprise on such a vicious omega. Ghost had never encountered an omega so vicious and territorial. Then again, he thought, I’ve never met an omega who’s been alone for years. Truly alone.

Ghost could vaguely recall how he had been once he had been picked up in Mexico after digging himself out of that grave. Violent, baring his teeth at anyone who came near and he had needed to be sedated by the end of it. An unpleasant experience overall. As they walk, he tries to relate that to the omega. Alone in the woods for years, maybe even years before the end of the world as they knew it. It had taken them a while to get this far up north after being stranded in the country side of France.

He did not want to think about that time.

Then as they pushed through a few bushes there it was. A log cabin, the chimney did not emit smoke. “Clever girl,” Price comments as he observes the state of the cabin. “Windows boarded up and I’m willing to bet there’s a bar or something preventing us from opening the door easily,” he says, mostly to himself before he turns to the rest of his pack.

You can hear them. Even though they tread quietly, underneath them you can hear every foot step after they finally opened the door. Certainly surprised to find it only locked. You wince as you think about having to replace that lock and venturing into town again. It’s such a long hike and you’ve been worn through the last few days.

The never ending anxiety and… well you’ve been trying to avoid the truth of it all. But it seems impossible at this point. And this on coming heat. The cotton stuffed into your nose only does so much and your inner omega whines and begs to take it out. To just breathe in their scents, that aroma that makes your head spin and heat go straight to your core.

Against your better judgement you do so. As if your hands aren’t your own, you take out the cotton stuffed up your nose and breathe in deeply. Their scents, this close, hits like a freight train. You cover your mouth right before a whine escapes and you rub your thighs together as an ache between them forms. You can’t possibily be quiet enough to eek another orgasm out, you’ve already had five in the last two hours. You keep waiting to hit a wall but it doesn’t come and the ache persists. Like an itch you cannot scratch yourself. Your omega purrs again at the thought of one of them. Or two. Hell maybe even three of them surviving the traps you have laid out for them in the cabin.

One last test, your omega purrs as you slide a hand between your legs as you lay in the nest you had built a day before. One last test and we can see who is fit to be our alpha. Or alphas.

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[wonderjanga]

I May be a Kid but I’m not a Kid Kid.

When Billy’s secret identity was revealed, he started getting treated like a little kid. It really annoys him whenever these guys try to baby him.

Supes: “Billy, uhm… we were wondering if you would like to be moved to the Teen Titans.”

Marvel: “What…?” *sounds absolutely horrified at the thought of that* “Why?”

Supes: “You’d around kids your age.”

Marvel: *stares and blinks rapidly* “Are you saying you’re gonna demote me to the Teen Titans of all things? No offense.”

Supes: “Billy, it’s not a demotion.”

Marvel: “But it is. I’ve been on this team for what? Four years- almost five. You guys are acting like my age automatically means I can’t be a good hero anymore.”

Supes: “We’re not saying that. We just think it’d be good if you were on a team of heroes around your age.”

Marvel: “But you are. You’re literally all but saying it. I like those kids but not enough to want to be on a team with them.” *doesn’t know if he’d like listening to Robin’s condescension in more than small doses* “I prefer you guys. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Supes: “Of course!” *happy Billy is still somewhat comfortable around them*

Marvel: “Good.” *smiles* “Besides, I do hang out with kids around my age. Mary and I are the same age while Junior’s a year older than us.”

Supes: “He’s the oldest?”

This conversation got them to back off about kicking him off the team. That didn’t stop them from poking their stupid adult noses into other parts of Billy’s heroics though.

Marvel: *helping someone at like 2am because he patrols as much as he can*

Supes: “Captain! Whatcha doing up this late, champ?”

Marvel: *makes a face that being called champ, but doesn’t say anything about it* “Uh… patrolling? *finishes helping the person*

Supes: “Patrolling? It’s a little late- er early for that. Isn’t it?”

Marvel: “I guess…? I still have a couple more hours.”

Supes: “Shouldn’t you be turning in earlier?”

Marvel: “No…?”

Supes: “Aren’t you tired though? Kids need plenty of sleep.”

Marvel: *a little irked at being called a kid but brushes it off* “Stamina of Atlas, remember?”

Supes: “Oh.” *silence* “Well, maybe you could still turn in earlier?”

Marvel: *looks around for any hidden cameras* “No.”

Supes: “Oh okay…” *doesn’t really want to seem controlling so he just sulks while flying back to Metropolis*

Don’t worry, Superman trying to give him a curfew isn’t the only thing a nosy adult tried to do.

Marvel: “Mr. Batman Sir? Are the new long term mission signs up sheets out yet?”

Batman: “Ah, yes.” *hands him the sign up tablet* “There are three new ones.”

Marvel: “Great! Any potential overlaps?”

Batman: “Only these two.” *points to two missions*

Marvel: “How long would these two last?” *points to one of the overlapping missions and the one that doesn’t overlap*

Batman: “Together would be about a month and a half or longer.”

Marvel: “Cool.” *is about to sign up for them*

Batman: *remembers school exists* “And school?”

Marvel: *pauses so he can look at Bruce confused* “What about it?”

Batman: “If you sign up for these, you’ll miss at least a month or two. You’d be stuck catching up.”

Marvel: *laughs* “You say that if I actually go to school.”

Batman: “You don’t?”

Marvel: “No.”

Batman: “I see.” *takes the tablet away before Billy can sign* “Well, you’ll go now then.”

Marvel: *thinks he’s joking* “What?”

Batman: “I’ll enroll you in a school in Fawcett.”

Marvel: *stares for a solid minute* “Mr. Batman Sir, you’re not sending me to school.”

Batman: “Yes, I am. William-”

Marvel: “Don’t call me that.”

Batman: *sighs* “Billy, education is important. You shouldn’t put it off for heroics. Even Robin goes to school.”

Marvel: “Okay? I’m not a Robin though. And that only works because you guys patrol at night. If I go to school I’ll miss my day-patrol.”

Batman: “I’m sure there are plenty of other heroes in Fawcett who patrol during the day. Why not leave it to one of them?”

Marvel: “Because I don’t want to. I like saving people. The more heroes who are out in Fawcett, the less likely somebody might get glossed over and hurt because a hero wasn’t there in time to save them. I don’t wanna be the person that failed them just because I was busy with school or because I went to bed early… I say that last part because no matter what Supes thinks, he’s not subtle about wanting me to have a darn curfew.”

Batman: *stares in silence because he now feels a little bad and also empathizes with that “what if I’m not there mentality*

Marvel: *thinks that silence is Bruce still not understanding him* “Look, if you still don’t get what I’m trying to say, imagine if someone came into Gotham and tried pushing you out of the superhero business just because they thought you unfit to be hero. That’s how I feel in this situation. I don’t tell you guys how to your jobs, so why are you trying to tell me?” *reaches over to grab the tablet a sign up for the two missions he wanted to take*

Yeah… Batman started treating him normally after that. Supes also did because his superhearing caught the convo.

Then, there’s his relationship with Flash and GL. They’d taken to treating him like a little kid or nephew even though Billy doesn’t want that.

Marvel: “Could you guys uh- stop treating me like a kid?” *sounds disappointed them*

Flash: *somehow still feels dread at the disappointment even though, NO, this guy is younger than him, why does Barry still feel like he disappointed his dad?* “You are a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, I know, but you didn’t used to do this before.”

GL: *also dislikes that he’s bothered by the Dad Disappointment™️ radiating off of Marvel* “That was before we knew you were a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, well I don’t care. I don’t need you to act like this. I don’t want you to act like this. I want friends, not chaperones or parental figures or anything stupid like that. I don’t like that you’re treating me differently now.” *sounds bitter* “You guys seem to forget that I’ve been doing this since before most of you were even, excuse my language, sperm cells. And sure, there was suspendium, but I fought Nazis, commies, and my own villains on top of that, all without being treated like a defenseless little kid and I ended up just fine. So I don’t need any of you acting like I’m a stupid little baby.”

That shut them up. It didn’t make any of the relationships between Billy and them go back to normal though. Not completely anyways. At least it was somewhat better though.

By the way, Billy, throughout all of this, just sounds bitter about being treated like this. He misses his friends guys :(.

[aroooheartzzz]

Toxic! Baby Mama Jenna (18+)

“Who the fuck was she!?” Jenna Yelled Hitting your forearm angrily. You and Jenna broke up about a year ago it was her decision for Mia, we both would split the days you would get her on the weekends while Jenna keeps her throughout the week days, it wasn’t all that complicated until Jenna saw you with another girl. Was it jealousy she was feeling.

“You had my fucking daughter around some other hoe, what the fuck is wrong with you y/n!” You let out a frustrating sigh as you look down at the shorter girl you couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t fine as hell all mad and shit while screaming at you, but you quickly push those thoughts aside.

“Jenna please your gonna wake Mia calm the fuck down will Ya, it’s not a big fucking deal all we did was take Mia out to dinner and then just to an arcade she was just having fun for crying out loud your being dramatic for what-“ Jenna cuts you off swiftly.

“Did you fuck her?” You didn’t answer which only made Jenna More furious then before, you didn’t want to answer because she already knew what the answer was gonna be a simple Yes at heart.

“ call your mom, to come get Mia, don’t ask why!. just do it” and so you did your mom graciously took Mia and Left now you and Jenna Where all alone.

“ what the fuck is your problem you broke up with me now your pissed off because I’m happily in a relationship with someone that’s pretty low of you Jenna”

“ oh baby one things for sure, she can’t fuck you like I can”. Jenna whispers with a smirk.

“ fuck Jenna Please, can I cum already” you Begged. right now Jenna was on top of your riding you like her life depended on it her ass Recoling was the best thing you could’ve seen you weren’t complaining at all. Not one bit.

“ No, you were being bad so.. you don’t get to cum for another 5 minutes your gonna watch me get myself off to this Big Fucking Cock understand” you couldn’t get a complete sentence out without stuttering.

Jenna noticed you haven’t said anything so she decided to torture you some more by clenching around your hard aching cock, your eyes rolled back as you let out a loud. “yes fuck yes I Understand!”

“ good,fuck Y/n you feel so good I’m about to cum soon” Jenna Moaned Loudly you were holding it with all your power, but you knew you were gonna fail miserably with how hard she was clenching around you.

“Fuck Jenna I can’t hold it much longer” Your thrusts over powered you. The sound of skin clapping filled the room, Jenna’s Moans are loud loud enough to the point the cops would probably be called.

“ shit y/n cum inside of me please fill me up Baby” As she wished you did as she asked. You spilled deep inside of her, she clenched around you tightly causing your eyes to roll in the back of your head.

“You were Jealous weren’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up”.