#metal bed frame adjustable

[homishguide]

How To Cover Metal Bed Frame?

Best and Complete Guide 2023

Safety Of metal beds

Metal beds are a popular choice for many people due to their durability, affordability, and aesthetic appeal. However, concerns have been raised about the safety of metal beds, particularly in terms of the potential for injury. One of the main concerns is that metal beds can be sharp, and can cause cuts or scrapes if someone bumps into them. Additionally, metal beds can rust or corrode over time, which can also pose a safety hazard.

Another concern is the potential for metal beds to be unstable or wobbly, which can be dangerous if the bed collapses or becomes unstable while someone is sleeping on it. To mitigate these risks, it is important to ensure that the metal bed is of high quality and is properly constructed. It is also important to regularly inspect the bed for any signs of wear or damage, and to take steps to prevent rust or corrosion.

Moreover, metal beds with sharp edges can be covered with corner guards or tape. The bed frame should be sturdy and not wobble when you move around on it. It's also important to ensure that the bed is assembled properly and that the bolts and screws are tightened securely.

Overall, while there are some concerns about the safety of metal beds, these risks can be minimized by taking the proper precautions and ensuring that the bed is of high quality. With proper care and maintenance, a metal bed can be a safe and durable option for many years to come.

Read More: https://homishguide.com/how-to-cover-metal-bed-frame

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[khetangroup]

Building a Custom Bed Frame: A Guide to Choosing the Right Bed Fittings

Have you ever imagined a bed that offers the ideal night’s sleep and harmoniously blends into the decor of your room? You may make that fantasy come true by creating a unique bed frame! But there’s one important thing to think about before you go all timber and sawdust: picking the correct Bed fittings.

These seemingly insignificant parts are what give your bed frame its stability, longevity, and functionality. Therefore, this guide will provide you with the expertise to navigate the world of Bed fittings and choose the ideal ones for your custom bed frame project, regardless of whether you’re an experienced do-it-yourselfer or a curious beginner.

What are Bed Fittings?

The speciality hardware pieces known as Bed fittings join the different sections of your bed frame and guarantee the stability and operation of the whole structure. These fittings are made of different materials, come in different sizes, and have different purposes.

To Know More Read The Full Blog : https://www.khetangroup.net/blog-post/bed-fittings-manufacturer/

[spxllcxstxr]

Mornings • S

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hello✨ I would like to ask a morning routine with Silco (head cannons or fanfic or a little bit of both, whatever you’re comfortable with, I don’t mind). Just describe how his routine changed after s/o appeared in his life or someone like this. With the best wishes and patiently waiting for the answer 🌚🫰-- anon

Summary: Silco adjusts to no longer living alone

Warnings: gn!reader raised in the undercity, established relationship though first time living with each other, food/drink mention, reformed bachelor silco doesn't know what breakfast is nor self-care lmao

Word Count: 962

A.N: Wrote this with young silco in mind because, let's be honest here, he's a bit more put together than his older self lmao. I'm also a sucker for longterm love so like, this is the first of many mornings you would experience with him ykwim lmao, first time writing silco! Enjoy!!!

•

The palm of Silco's hand is warm against your skin when your eyes open. It's still dark outside but the murky green hue of his bedroom windows offer you dim light.

Deep snores and faint whimpers emit from the man next to you, dark brows furrowed in his sleep. You dip your head down to kiss his forehead, hand running through his long hair at the same time. The tension eases from his pale face almost instantaneously. You smile at his sleeping form, now finally peaceful.

Moments later you quietly shift the covers from over top your body, placing Silco's hand beside him as well. He shifts at your movement, the mattress springs creaking underneath his bodyweight.

Growing up in the Undercity stressed the importance of rationing and saving food, meaning the three square meals a day the citizens of Piltover were used to were normally cut out altogether. Since then, however, Zaun’s food supply and imports had drastically improved and that along with your decent job wages, meals like breakfast had become important to you.

Cooking for two would be a change, certainly, but a welcomed one.

The chill in the air engulfs you as you move from the bedroom to the kitchen, which causes a slight shiver to move down your spine.

Yawning, you flick the light switch on. The sharpness of the yellow-white overhead light in the kitchen causes you to wince. The contrast of the brightness, or lack thereof, forces you to wake up a bit faster than you wished.

The light reveals a cluttered kitchen—not cluttered with pots and pans, but with various pieces of scrap metal and rusted screws. The counterspace is littered with schematics and maps of both Piltover and the Undercity.

Silco was usually a tidy man, his space at the Last Drop was well organized along with all of the other tiny rooms in the apartment. Clearly, the kitchen was not a space he frequented enough for his attention to be drawn to it.

Cracking your knuckles, you start shifting things over and away from the stovetop. You take everything flamible and place it precariously on an equally messy table.

After rummaging through the icebox, you discover a carton of mostly cracked or broken eggs, which were better than nothing. Getting straight to the point, you bring them over to the counterspace near the stovetop, which you light with one of Silco's lighters. The fire crackles to life, heating the pan above it.

"What in the world are you doing?"

You look behind you, pan still in hand. Silco stands behind you, leaning against the threshold to the little kitchen. His long dark hair hands loosely over his shoulders, fringe dangling messily over his face. Silco yawns, exhaustion still hanging over him.

The simplicity of his figure is a lot more attractive than it realistically should be. A red shirt is tight over his slim frame, causing your face to heat up. You're tempted to forego breakfast altogether in favor for grabbing your boyfriend by the hand and dragging him back to bed. He just looks that good.

But your stomach grumbles and your routine demands to be followed so you push that thought to the back of your mind, determined to act on it later.

His blue eyes take in the sight before him, you, still clad in your sleepwear with a small flame haphazardly lit underneath a small pan he doesn't recognize. Silco's brows are quirked up in confusion.

"Good morning to you too, darling..." You tease, rolling your eyes. Silco smirks, making your heart skip another beat. "And I'm making breakfast. Like a normal person."

"Breakfast? This kitchen hasn't seen the light of day since I've holed up here." His voice is raspy and deeper than usual. Blue eyes quickly scan over the room before landing back on your own. "As you could probably tell."

You nod in agreement, turning back to the task in front of you and the questionable carton of eggs off to the side.

"And I've been eating breakfast for years, so that's going to change now that I'm here."

"Is that so?" His voice is laced with a teasing curiosity that draws him towards you.

Silco stands behind you, breath just barely tickling the back of your neck. You feel his eyes carefully following your hands as they crack eggs on the edge of the pan. Steam rises as they sizzle against the hot surface.

You hum as you watch the whites of the egg turn opaque. It isn't any song in particular, just something you vaguely remember hearing at sone point in your life.

"I'm not used to this, dearest; this...domesticity," Silco mutters in your ear, this tip of his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of the crook of you neck.

"Maybe that's why you're so skinny." You tease, leaning into his touch. Briefly your eyelids flutter shut before returning to the unpredictable stovetop.

"Hm, maybe so." You feel his small smile against your skin. "If we were running on my routine, we'd already be out the door with a lukewarm coffee in hand."

With the eggs finished, you scrape them onto a freshly rinsed plate with a vaguely spatula-shaped item. Shopping for at least some sort of kitchen utensils was something you needed to do in order to make this place livable for someone other than your beloved Silco.

"Well this is your new routine, dear," You reply, placing a kiss to his cheek. "And you will love it."

With one hand placed on his waist and the other holding onto the plate of breakfast, you smile, almost like you're asking for him to challenge you on this. Instead, his eyes settle on your yours, signature smirk growing.

"I'm sure I will."

•

[gutsby]

Homemade

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Warnings: 18+. Sneaky sex tape fun with dbf!Joel ;-) Unprotected p-in-v. Age gap. Daddy kink. Facefucking. Joel being the world’s worst cameraman. Shower sex. Overstimulation via adjustable shower head. Dirty talk. Screaming ‘daddy’ too loud, and your father shows up.

Translations: In Chile, pico is slang for penis. Joel’s is big.

Part of the Waiting Game series

“If this ever ends up on PornHub, I’ll kill you, Miller.”

Joel knew you meant it, too.

The only reason you’d agreed to make this dumb little ‘home video’ at all was because you were headed back to college tomorrow and wouldn’t see him again until May. Doing long distance was tough, but doing long distance while simultaneously trying to keep a risqué, torrid, and totally-not-age-appropriate love affair with your father’s best friend under wraps was infinitely more difficult. This was the safest way to keep desire alive in the meantime.

Immortalized on a Sony CCD-TR70—because neither one of you trusted iCloud to keep a sex tape secret.

It had also been the only video camera you could find in the closet before your dad had plopped down on the couch just outside your room and announced he would be watching Oppenheimer for the third time. You’d had to scurry off fast before he could invite you to join him.

“I’ll be damned—this thing’s gotta be as old as I am,” Joel mused as he stood at the foot of the bed, camcorder pointed at your semi-nude form.

“I didn’t know they had cameras back in the Stone Age.”

Your smirk didn't flinch, even when Joel flipped you off.

You were lying on your side, head propped up on one hand while the other picked at a few loose strings from the comforter. The lacy, pastel pink bustier holding your tits in place was currently making breathing feel like a chore, and your skin was on fire from the warmth of the room, but you tried not to show it. Joel twisted a dial.

“Alright, now...flash ‘em for daddy,” he grinned as soon as the lens focused in where he wanted: your cleavage.

You rolled your eyes.

“A little closer, please,” you said, patting the space in front of you.

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still cradling the camera, he clambered over the bed so fast he nearly tripped and took a nosedive in the headboard. You had to cover your mouth to contain a shriek of laughter—and terror—as his frame barreled into yours.

“JOEL!”

Fortunately, your cameraman was quick to recollect himself, planting a knee on either side of your chest once he’d knocked you onto your back. Then, from above, he angled the grey-black hunk of metal just a foot away:

“Anything you’d like to say to the folks watching at home, ma’am?” Joel inquired, suddenly assuming all the poise and matter-of-fact elocution of a news reporter.

You stuck your tongue out at the camera and blew the wettest, fattest raspberry you could muster in response.

Joel hummed, zoomed in on your lips, and nodded.

“Fascinating,” he said, pretending to make sense of the fart noise you’d just made with your mouth, “Have you ever given thought to maybe...sucking cock on camera?”

The swiftness with which he was able to dodge your kick was remarkable. He swayed the camera just out of reach before you could shove it away and say, ‘Joel, quit being GROSS’ and he promptly replied, ‘Ain’t that the whole point of a sex tape, sweet pea? Bein’ a little bit gross?’ And you playfully tried to kick him again, only this time, he caught your foot and yanked you closer to him. He turned the camcorder back to your face and grinned.

“That’s my little pornstar,” he murmured with affection. Then, zooming in again, this time to find your panty line, “Riiiiight there.”

You knew giving Joel Miller recording privileges for an occasion as momentous as this was a bad idea. At the rate you were going now, you’d be seeing the sunrise through the window before you ever got a glimpse of his dick. You needed to take matters into your own hands.

Literally.

You crawled on all fours to get to Joel across the bed.

The man, kneeling with the camera pointed in your direction, looked up to cock a brow at you.

“Sweetheart, hey, can ya do that one more—”

“Hush,” you muttered, closing in on his crotch. 

Your head was lowered so you could undo the front of his jeans. Because of this, your back was arched, and your ass was pointed up just the slightest bit. For a second, Joel seemed torn between tilting the lens to your lower half or your face, which was inching ever closer to the bulge in his trousers. In time, he landed on the latter.

He swallowed. That sight never got old—and seeing it displayed on the camcorder’s semi-grainy screen only made it that much hotter. Joel shifted on his knees while you worked him out of his boxers, watching the nimble movements of your fingers as you wrestled the fabric.

“Wanna—” Glancing to the side of the bed, “—maybe—”

“Yup.”

Both of you liked it better on the floor: you on your knees in front of Joel, chin tilted up to see his reactions as you sucked him off. You loved to sink between his legs and then see and feel nothing but him, brain going blank the moment his cock filled your mouth. Joel slid a pillow under your knees before widening his stance some.

“Is it on?” Your hand was wrapped firmly around the base of his cock and your lips were hovering an inch from the tip. You resisted the urge to lick the precum off just yet.

“Darlin’, it’s been on ever since you stepped outta the bathroom in that— that—” Joel seemed to be searching for a word when the head of his cock was enveloped in a kiss. You dragged your tongue across the slit of him and collected the hot, salty beads with a muffled moan.

Then you pulled off.

“Teddy,” you said, reminding him of the name for that pretty little tulle and lace getup you currently had on.

“Teddy,” Joel echoed, his mind a million miles away from any lingerie jargon at the moment. He held the camera tighter as you took him back into your mouth and sank deeper on his cock. He struggled to keep it steady.

It was strange, watching Joel and the rounded glass of the lens as you did this dirty thing that was only meant to be shared between you and him. Knowing it would be recorded, saved for future viewing, displayed on some dimly lit screen in Joel’s bedroom maybe one, twice, or more likely than not, several dozen times over the next three months. You wondered how you might look from this new point of view; though, you weren’t so sure you needed to know what sight Joel was made privy to while you sucked and hollowed your cheeks around his cock.

As it turned out, that uncertainty wasn’t meant to last you very long, because Joel flipped the camera’s screen around two seconds later. Some sepia-tinted, pixelated rendition of your face, framed by the date and time and a bright red flashing dot beside the word ‘REC’ were the first to greet you. You flinched back just a little.

“Joel,” you said, almost bashful, “Flip it back.”

Joel just grinned. Then he laced his fingers through your hair and tugged you closer to him, thumb stroking over your scalp, “C’mon, darlin’, don’t ya wanna see how goddamn pretty ya look on your knees for me?”

You didn’t think you looked pretty at all. In fact, you reckoned your features looked something more like an alien utility funnel than a real, human face as you tilted your chin inward and seemed to be nothing but eyes and a hollowed-out expression, but you let Joel guide you back onto him all the same. You heard a low rumble of pleasure take shape in his chest as your lips slid over his shaft. Your gaze remained glued to the screen as you did.

Wet with saliva and a few faint traces of precum, you continued to bob your head up and down. Joel’s groans grew louder, and your drive to take him further and further surged as well. By the time his hand was tightening into a white-knuckled fist in your hair, you’d nearly taken him all the way to the back of your throat, and your nose was no more than an inch from the soft tufts of hair on his belly. Joel let out a shuttering breath.

“Fuck me,” he heaved. You might’ve smiled if your lips weren’t otherwise occupied. Then he clenched his hand even harder and murmured, “Can you— can I, please—”

Again, you didn’t need him to finish the rest of the question to know what he wanted. You moved your head back just slightly to nod, a low, ‘Mhmm’ reverberating down the length of his dick as you gave him permission. Joel swallowed and set the camera aside immediately.

He placed it on the nightstand, perfectly level with your head, to the side. Then he rotated the device just a bit, took one glance at the screen, and shortly returned to where you were watching him with wide, glossy eyes.

“Ready?” he asked. His right hand now joined the left at the back of your head, but not before thumbing a quick touch over your cheek to get a feel for your approval.

You hummed once more. You watched Joel’s hips move forward, hands secure around your scalp all the while, and you felt a gentle nudge at the back of your throat. Then another. You couldn’t help the impulse to gag, but thankfully, it was short-lived. Joel peered down at you, eyes searching yours for any plea to stop or slow down, but he found nothing. He sheathed himself deeper until your lips were brushing the base of his dick. He groaned.

“That’s a good…fuckin’ girl,” he managed, voice strained, “Takin’ my cock so deep.”

He shifted his hips to move an inch or two out, then slid his cock forward again, bumping that spot at the top of your throat. This time, you were better adjusted to take him and felt your muscles expand and contract around him without activating your gag reflex. Your eyes stayed trained on his face while he dragged his cock back again.

“My pretty girl and her—” Joel stabbed back into you, somehow tender in the way he did it, “—pretty fuckin’ mouth…Sweet thing likes gettin’ facefucked, does she?”

With the increased pace of his thrusts and the grip he had on the sides of your head, you couldn’t quite answer, but Joel could tell from the glint in your eye that you loved when he manhandled and fucked your throat like this. Watched the light sear gently behind those irises as you swallowed every inch of his cock, back and forth, and let your brain break down to little more than a happy, mindless mush. Joel was always keen to oblige you on that front—aroused to no end at the sight of all your thoughts being fucked straight out of your head—and within the next few thrusts, his gut was giving a familiar clench. He pulled halfway out of your mouth, paused, felt the pinch again, then withdrew from your lips fully.

“Get on the bed.”

You straightened back up and made it over to the mattress, quickly. Before you could assume the position you’d been hoping to take on all fours, you felt yourself flipped on your back. Joel yanked your hips to the edge of the bed and kneeled down between your legs. Hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and had them shuffled down your thighs and past your ankles in no time at all. Then, when he lowered his lips to your wet, aching core, you pressed a touch to the crown of his head.

“Joel, wait,” you said. All of a sudden your chest felt tight.

In spite of the fact that your airways were open and completely free from any obstruction—namely, Joel’s big ol’ pico—you still found it difficult to inhale. Some murky, amorphous sense of anxiety weighed over your chest.

When your hand didn’t move from his head and instead pushed him further, Joel furrowed his brows, perplexed.

“What’s’a matter, darlin’?”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him.

“I haven’t…just— haven’t washed down there today…o-or shaved,” you stammered, “Don’t want you to taste it.”

That was largely a lie. You’d bathed, shaved, and prepared for this just fine, but really were more concerned about the novel optics that loomed overhead. Being filmed in such a singularly vulnerable state without knowing how to act. You were fine when the attention was focused on Joel and his pleasure, but something about having your every whimper and moan laid bare before you on film felt daunting. Unnerving, in a way.

Joel frowned while rubbing your thigh. His brow pinched inward again, as if he were considering something.

Then he moved across your body, and your muscles eased with relief at the thought that he’d just let it go and get to fucking you exactly how you wanted. You reached for him, ready to wrap your legs around his waist, when a yelp clawed out of your throat. You found that you didn’t get to touch his chest, or his cheeks, or his big, broad, beefy shoulders, as you were promptly thrown over the latter of the three body parts and lifted when Joel stood up from the bed. He started carrying you across the room, heedless of the startled, ‘What the FUCK, Miller?’ you’d cried the second he took one step.

Hardwood floors transformed to tile before your eyes, and shortly, you realized you were being brought into your bathroom.

You heard the squeak of some metal knob being turned, then a brief sputter, then a spray of water raining down on your shower floor. You were still being held hostage over Joel’s shoulder, try as you might to bite at his lower back or smack his ass in an attempt to break loose.

He set you down a second later, seemingly unfazed.

“Get in.” He nodded toward the shower.

Before you had a chance to respond, he left. You stood back in disbelief—refusing to go into the shower and let Joel have his win—but just as you opened your mouth to call out and tell him as much, his form slipped back in through the door. Naked, now, and wielding that stupid, goddamned camcorder with a devious glint in his eye.

“Will you—” You held out a defensive hand in front of you, cheeks already heating, “—stop with that?!”

Secretly, the corners of your lips were fighting a smile as Joel drew closer with the camera held up to your face.

“There she is, folks,” he announced, as though speaking to a crowd, or else reading off of a script from the world’s most cheesy porno, “My dirty, dirty girl says she needs a shower—don’t ya, sweet pea?”

It sounded so ridiculous and dumb that neither one of you could keep from laughing. Even as you lifted your middle finger in response, Joel grinned and smacked your ass. Steadied the camera out in front, nudged you closer to the shower, and watched you somewhat begrudgingly obey his orders. Once you’d stripped what little remained on your body, you stepped into the tub.

Add to ‘ridiculous and dumb’ just wildly unsexy as well—who the hell needed a soapy interlude to a sex tape?

Joel Miller, apparently. He constricted his grip on the camera and followed you in, tongue already skimming the backs of his teeth in anticipation. You turned away to step under the shower’s stream, and he wasted no time getting a shot of your derrière. You leaned forward and sighed.

The water worked wonders to get your muscles to loosen some, but still, you were nervous. You could clean up now, stall a little longer, maybe even offer to give Joel head again—but what if he really wanted to eat you out on camera? You couldn’t put off the conversation forever.

Or another minute, it seemed.

You let out a shriek when you felt Joel’s fingers sneak up between your thighs. You hardly knew what he was doing, just folding limply when he spun you around to press your back against the shower wall. Your eyes widened to see him descending your body once more.

“I lied,” Joel said, smirk painted clear across his features, “You’re not dirty—I just wanted to eat your pussy in the shower ‘s’all.”

Chivalry was evidently alive and well in Austin, Texas.

No truer words could have been spoken, and yet, you felt wildly uncomfortable the second Joel’s head dipped between your legs and that big, dumb, handsome face started licking stripes up your sensitive core. You cast a glance to the side and saw the camcorder perched on the sink—just through the open slit in the shower curtain, you could see it pointed directly at you.

You shivered and started to push Joel away.

“Can we maybe just—”

“Sweetie?!”

Joel’s lips tore out of your cunt quicker than a sneeze through a screen door. His eyes were wide.

“Y-Yeah, dad?” you squeaked, tone almost fearful.

“Everything okay in here? I heard ya scream,” your dad returned shortly.

You could only imagine the expression of confusion and distress painting his every lineament in that moment. Probably just barely sticking his head through the crack in the door and blinking anxiously through the steam.

Your dad was caring like that.

He just never knew the right times to show up.

No, there were very few times where you would’ve liked to see him less—apart from that one time you’d sucked Joel’s dick under the table at your dad’s birthday dinner. Your heart was thudding a wild, erratic beat in your chest, and you could only imagine how Joel was feeling. Probably seeing visions of a Size 11 boot being shoved up his ass if his friend happened to slide the shower curtain to the side and see him nose-deep in his daughter’s box.

That would be bad. So very, very bad and probably ten times worse than when Tommy had caught you blowing his brother at the aforementioned birthday party. You just couldn’t seem to catch a break these days.

You sucked in a breath and answered anyway.

“I thought I saw a spider.”

“Really?” You could already sense the embittered tinge to your dad’s voice, harking back to the war he’d once declared on all wolf spiders in the home, “Want me to kill it?”

The next thing you heard was two boots thud on the bathroom floor outside the shower, and you could’ve sworn you saw Joel’s whole soul leap from his body. He shot a frantic look around him, spotted a window above, and seemed to wonder for half a second if he might be able to shimmy his 188-pound frame through a space that probably wasn’t big enough to fit a fat raccoon. He slumped his weight against the shower wall and winced.

“No! I— It wasn’t even a spider. Just a…roach.”

Shortly, Joel’s eyes widened even more and met yours, as if to ask, ‘Why the FUCK would you say that?’

“A roach?!” your dad cried simultaneously.

Apparently, you’d forgotten that any derivative of the word ‘cockroach’ was like a sleeper agent activation phrase for middle-aged fathers who wanted to keep their homes free of all household pests. The look on Joel’s haggard, world-weary face communicated as much to you, and for a second, you remembered that he, too, was built the same way as any other semi-old dude you knew.

Just bigger and beefier and…harder below the belt than you would’ve expected most men around his age to be.

You quickly chided yourself for ogling Joel’s dick at a time like this and replied to your father, shrill, “No!”

Then, slightly more composed, “No, no— I already took it out with some hairspray and told it to fuck off to hell.”

An attempt at humor was the last leg you had to stand on. Fortunately, it worked.

Outside the shower, your dad chuckled, and his footsteps started to shuffle off toward the door.

“Ah. Atta girl,” he beamed, ever the advocate for brutal cockroach killings, “If you see another, just holler, okay?”

“Okay.”

You heard the sound of the bathroom door closing, and you almost fell to the floor. Joel probably would’ve been facedown just as well—fear seeping out of his body along with every last ounce of willpower to stand—had he not made a dive for you as soon as your dad had left.

The force of his push sent you straight into the wall, legs forced to wrap around his waist as he buried his face in your neck.

“Thank fuck,” he breathed.

“You’re welcome,” you murmured, swiping the water out of your eyes with a grimace.

Then, just as you were about to request that Joel lower you back down to the floor and out of the shower’s spray, you felt a nudge between your legs. Luckily not a tongue this time—just Joel, or the tip of his leaking cock. The man below you grinned, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a wash of relief. Could it be?

“I’ll still eat you out if y’want,” he started, though speaking with a little less conviction this time around, “But after all that I, uh—kinda jus’ wanna fuck ya stupid.”

Well thank fuck for fake spiders and cockroaches, too; you’d just averted a dreaded tonguefuck, thanks to that detour.

You’d worry about your pornstar moans and on-camera charisma another time—now you could just sit back and let Joel do all the work while he took you against the wall.

Really, there was no need to concern yourself with anything at all from that point forward. Once you’d given Joel the green light, he was sinking you onto his cock with a grunt and making sure you felt nothing but him. His hands found your hips and held you firmly in place as he rutted into you from below, your own fingers latching onto his shoulders for some much-needed support. Both of you knew that you needed to be extra quiet now—seeing how sound seemed to carry in that tight, tiled space—so Joel snagged your lips in his for a kiss.

He was practically panting in your mouth by the time you started meeting his thrusts. His fingertips slid some and must’ve seared ten perfect crescents into the flesh of your ass as he fucked you into the wall.

“Look so pretty like this,” he whispered in between kisses and short, shallow breaths. His cock parted your insides with an excruciating welt of pleasure, and he hardly even seemed to realize it, “Look so damn pretty takin’ cock.”

Then, lips kicking up in a smile when it seemed he’d remembered something, he added, “Can’t wait to play this tape back home and watch us fuck all over again.”

Again. Again. And again. Shit, you could just see it now.

Your eyes traversed the compact shower space once more to find the video camera—still perched, still live, still perfectly implacable and silent atop the sink as it recorded your every grunt, groan, and shuddering moan. You were nearly as curious to know what Joel’s bare ass looked like rutting into you like this as you were to hear yourself getting railed against the shower wall. Maybe you’d beat this fear of secondhand embarrassment after all.

Maybe.

Joel’s teeth snagged your bottom lip and bit it, lightly.

“Every chance I get, you can bet I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout this…sweet pussy while you’re away,” he said, voice low and occasionally punctured by a groan, “Say one more thing f’me and I’ll…cum every time I watch this part.”

The kinks at the corners of his lips were endearing. You would’ve liked to supply them with just about anything they could’ve wanted, so when they leaned into your ear and murmured just what it was they needed to hear, you only hesitated a second.

Or maybe two or three, because, well…it was risky.

Moaning ‘daddy’ out loud at a time like this? It might get Joel off quick, but it might send your real dad running even faster. You weren’t crazy about the thought of anything that might draw the man’s attention again.

Joel seemed a little less risk-averse than you, notwithstanding the window-leaping fear he’d felt when your dad had rushed in before. Leave it to a criminally horny man to have the memory of a goldfish, though.

At present, Joel was blinking and gawking a bit like one, too, waiting for you to enunciate that one magic word.

You couldn’t deny he made a damn cute desperate sex fiend when he wanted to be. And you needed to cum.

You figured you could cut a deal with him just this once.

“Alright,” you mumbled against the top of his stubbled lip, “Make me cum and I’ll say anything you want, Miller.”

You weren’t sure if it was a chuckle or a strangled moan that jumped up in his throat when Joel squeezed your sides tighter. All you knew was that he was lowering you to the floor in the next instant, spinning you around, and walking you forward, swiftly and with purpose, toward the opposite end of the shower. Right where the crack in the curtain made you most visible to the camcorder.

Joel’s hand snaked around your front and gently eased between your legs. Then, pressing his chest to your back and nudging you to bend just slightly at the waist, he tipped your bodies closer to the camera’s line of vision and stilled. From the LED screen, you could see the ghost of a smile crossing his lips as he shifted his head beside your own. Next, they were kissing across your shoulder, your neck, that sensitive spot behind your ear, and finally the shell of it, brown eyes trained on the camera lens as he murmured to you, “Stay real still.”

You didn’t know if you could. But you tried. And you damn near cried when his fingers started working circles over your clit. Your body was raised on tip-toes, and your hand was bracing the wall as Joel fucked you from behind and made a mess of your wet, writhing body. In no more than three or four strokes, your fears of looking or sounding stupid on camera trickled away with all the rest of the silent, sizzling liquids circling the drain below. Your cheek pressed against Joel’s rougher one, and with the push of each new thrust, you came more unraveled.

When Joel’s hand closed over the front of your throat, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t move—couldn’t move, as the man was holding you still in such a taut, rigid grip.

“What do we say when we get fucked this nice, baby?” Joel whispered in your ear, words almost entirely masked by the sounds from the shower. You still heard it, though.

“T-Thank you,” you stuttered, cockdrunk and faint.

“Thank you, what?”

Your eyes were fluttering closed, but you could feel the smug expression just over your shoulder. You clenched around him and felt him snap his hips ahead even harder.

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimpered.

“Say it again.”

“Thank you, daddy!” you whined, still scared to be too loud.

Joel wasn’t scared. His hand ascended the column of your neck to pinch your chin between his fingers, jerking your head to the right.

To the crack in the curtain. To the camera.

You could’ve cried with how fast he was fucking you now. You opened your eyes and cast a pathetic look to the recorder. Joel made sure you maintained that gaze, too.

“Who’s makin’ ya feel this good?” he seethed, shaking your whole frame with the breakneck pace of his hips.

“You, daddy.”

“Who’s fuckin’ this sweet cunt like no one ever has?”

“You, daddy.”

Joel seemed sated and somehow not fully satisfied at all. Like he was pleased to see you falling apart for him like this, but needed to hear more. Feel more.

He withdrew from you, and you nearly collapsed with the absence of his arms holding you straight.

You pressed a shaky palm to the wall and almost moaned for him to get his ass back over here, you weren’t done, when Joel returned in a second. To your relief, his muscly arms found their way around your front once more, and his clock plunged back inside you, too—only this time, you sensed you were missing something else.

Water.

It wasn’t on your back anymore.

It was fanning between your legs.

Blasting the full force of its stream toward your most sensitive parts as Joel held the shower head up between your thighs. You would’ve jumped back and screamed were it not for his hand clamping tight over your mouth before you could, his lips grazing over your ear again.

“Try it one more time.”

You released a hoarse, muffled squeal into his palm when he lifted the stainless steel to your clit and started rolling his hips. The strokes themselves were relatively gentle, but paired with the ruthless spate of the water, your eyes were nearly rolling to the back of your head at the pulse.

You couldn’t breathe, much less speak. Joel hummed almost apologetically into your hair but didn’t seem sorry at all as he lowered his hand back down to your throat and squeezed. He continued rocking his hips into yours.

“You’ve said it dozens of times before—what’s’a matter?”

Joel Miller knew what the fuck was the matter. He just liked to see you desperate, fucked-out, and teetering on the brink of going feral before he let you reach your peak.

“D-D-D—”

Damn, you sounded stupid.

“D-D-Do you wanna cum? Is that it?” Joel said, mocking your struggle to articulate words as he fucked you.

In spite of your normal no-bullshit attitude toward him, you weren’t in quite the right frame of mind to be talking back to him. You just nodded and moaned, movements constricted by the grip of his fingers on your neck.

“Use those big girl words for me, honey. I know ya can.”

Again, you parted your lips and started to speak, but the oscillation of the water, the brush of his cock, the patently deprecating lilt in Joel’s string of praises, made it nearly impossible. You ended up sputtering again,

“D-D-ah-fuuuckfuckfuck.”

“That ain’t the word I’m looking for.”

But, just as you ventured to say it once more, he cut in,

“Here. Lemme help ya find it.”

Before you could blink, Joel was pistoning his hips against your ass like he had before, only this time, he held the shower head stationary between your legs as you seized and nearly fell to the floor with the force of all the pleasure coursing through you. Your body seemed to act of its own accord, head dropping to Joel’s shoulder and stomach giving an alarmingly fitful pinch as an orgasm tore through you. You couldn’t control how it came or where it went—or how your tongue jumped up and cried,

“Daddy!”

Joel nodded, fucking you through each violent spasm with all the composure and aplomb of a seasoned pro. While your eyes cycled back in the throes of delirium, he held firm and didn’t slow his hips—or the shower head.

You probably could’ve torn a hole through a cinder block if you’d happened to have one between your teeth just then. That was how fervid and merciless the aftershocks of your climax were pulsing through you, exacerbated to the nth degree by the continuity of Joel’s movements. You managed to grab the forearm that was holding the metal nozzle and plead a wild, slightly stifled, “JOEL!”

In truth, you didn’t really want him to stop. It felt too good. You could tell that Joel sensed this, too, because in the instant after that, his lips were sponging kisses to your shoulder, cock working steadily between your walls.

“One more, sweet pea.”

“Joel—”

“And say it louder this time.”

Were you in your right mind, you probably would’ve chided him for being so reckless and stupid about it all. How the fuck could he expect you to scream out loud when your dad was lounging right outside of your room? Did he really think the drone of Cillian Murphy’s smooth, American-ized tone would mask your unbridled moans? Honestly, you couldn’t be sure—and more importantly, you couldn’t be stopped to consider for much longer. With one last trembling vibration from the shower head and a thrust from Joel, you were cumming all over again.

Squeezing his arm, sinking into his sturdy frame, clenching over his cock in what felt like a hundred convulsions, and casting caution aside, you screamed:

“DADDY!”

You might’ve blacked out for a second or two.

Even a minute, as it was, because the next intelligible thing that reached your ears was the thunder of footfalls. And the thrum of Joel’s own hammering heart as he yanked you into his chest and stilled frozen inside you.

The door swung open on its hinges so hard it hit the wall.

“What is it, sweetie?!” your dad yelped.

“I—”

“Are you hurt?”

Just fucked raw by your best friend and shaking, Pops.

You sucked in a breath when Joel nudged your head with his nose and slowly pulled the shower curtain closed to move you out of view of the camera. But it was still there.

Your dad was still there.

The shower walls seemed to be closing in on you, but somehow, you managed, “No, dad, I’m fine! Just…coulda sworn I saw another spider in here, but it was nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

Your dad sounded unconvinced, pacing closer. You could’ve screamed, but Joel was likely holding you too tight to make any such sounds possible in that moment. The two of you recoiled, still stuck chest-to-back, away from the edge of the plastic shower liner when a boot thudded just outside the crack between curtain and wall.

You swallowed. Joel squeezed. Neither of you breathed.

“If it’s another roach, I gotta call the extermin—”

“No! No, it wasn’t a roach. I’m just seein’ things, I think.”

That didn’t seem to make your father feel any better, because he didn’t retreat like he had before. A tense moment fell over the compact, fog-infested room, like the man was chewing away at some thought in his head.

Then he sighed.

“Alright.”

Blissful footsteps away from the shower. You smiled.

Unfortunately, the grin was destined to be short-lived, because in the next instant, you heard boots screech to a halt on the tile. Pivoted, then paused where they stood.

Another gut-wrenching dozen seconds passed, and for one short, chilling moment, you could’ve sworn you felt your father’s gaze sear through the curtain and see you.

But he didn’t see you. Or Joel. Or anyone.

Instead, his gaze was fixed someplace else.

Suddenly, his voice rose above all the awful noises of clamor and panic in your brain, and broke out, loudly,

“What’s my camera doin’ in here?”

[evilgwrl]

Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (One)

CW: Mutual masturbation ;)

Inspired by Neighbour!Simon

Chapter Two

Your legs perched up across the woven strings of the porch chair, knees littered with blue and black kisses, knotted joints tucked into your chest as you watched the peak of gold settle into a deep blue. Bony fingers laced the pages between parched hands, eyes darting maliciously between words as you hummed to yourself softly.

You were used to being out here alone, an orchestra of bats occasionally sounding out to you as they scurried away into pine trees, nipping between each other.  Your flat, a smaller duplex, was tucked away into a quiet cul-de-sac, away from the hustle and bustle of London life. It was an organised routine, your body succumbing to the night air as you bathed in the comforting atmosphere of the twilight. There was an occasional hum from up the road, the chug of a car passing through, but your interest peaked when the gravel road lit up, headlights streaming towards you as you shielded your eyes.

The sound of the engine frightened you a bit before you adjusted your vision. A large shadow stepped into view, the staggering height of a man peaking your attention before you took in the balaclava flushed against his face, russet eyes covered by a delicate frame of blonde lashes, stained with black face paint staring at you before dropping his head in a curt nod.

You recognised him as your neighbour. Quiet bloke, away often on deployment you presumed, but nether-the-less was a comfort for you. Even at home, it was like he was never there, the occasional echo of hollow boots sounding against the floorboards before they disappeared. He was ghostly, slightly peculiar but you noted him down mainly as mysterious.

You had spoken a few times, sounding good morning as he was outside having a smoke when you were leaving for work. His response was gruff and shallow, a deep voice barking out a short reply before smashing the dart under the rubble of his shoe, calloused hands gripping the door handle.

He walked past you, duffle bag dropped against the porch as he huffed with his keys, bruised knuckles peaking your attention as you glanced at him, framed eyes peering in curiosity.

“Y’ alright?” His tone was curt, a hint of annoyance ringing through as his eyes stained trained on the metal knob, working the key through the hole.

You squeaked out a noise, taken back by him as you adjusted in the chair, feet flat against the floor now. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just not used to you being here, it’s uh, nice for you to be back, less lonely,” you rambled, shuffling your hands awkwardly before you shut yourself up.

He let out a grunt, the noise almost animalistic sounding as he shut the door, his vague appearance shuffling into the quiet of his own home as you sat outside, whispering an expletive under your breath as you prodded at the ecchymosis on your nobbled knees.

Rough hands rubbed at the face paint, gentle soap working into the scorn skin, thickened skin almost melting under the velocity of the scolding water. Simon’s throat was scratchy, the irritating feeling of sandpaper lining his oesophagus as he choked out a cough. Broken blood vessels littered across the scarring of his back and ribs, a splurge of hematoma drawn across the broken skin.

Ivory skin was now painted with falling droplets of water, a scratchy moose-coloured towel adorned his hips as he shook his hair, moist residue landing on the mirror as he rubbed his hands across his face, a soft moan leaving his lips as he prodded the tender knot in his back.  

His home felt foreign, no matter how long he had lived there for.

His bedroom had dusk lighting, a double bed pushed against the flaky walls, the metal rods holding the frame scraping at the paint. A singular pillow to each side perked up against his touch as he layered them, unused linen welcoming him with a slight dusty smell, aching body collapsing into the plushness of the duvet.

He was aware that your bedroom was adjacent to his, your beds pushed directly together on opposite ends. He could hear the subtle creaks of your feet against the floor as you shuffled around, a chair squeaking across the floor as it collided with something before the noise of you walking sounded again. Simon could hear the springs in your bed, an acknowledgement that you were now lying down.

There was a low hum of a fan whirring, the white noise drifting into his room as he stared up at his own, the stagnant noise felt unorthodox, the familiarity of the barracks being the usual for the Lieutenant. Simon’s hands felt weighed down as he moved them from his chest to rest at his side, his breathing shallow as his ears perked at every movement you made.

You were restless, sweaty body tangled between cotton as you adjusted yourself, flinging your blankets off you as you let out gentle pants. You cursed at the lack of air conditioning available in British homes, peeling off your silken pyjama shorts as you flung them somewhere across your bedroom. Your body was hot and achy, the heat settling in even during the night as you turned to the side, beady eyes watching as the wind flickered the branches occasionally. You were tempted to sleep outside at this point, your room feeling like a sauna as you let out a frustrated quip.

There was a subtle ache between your thighs, a dull throbbing ringing through your brain as you attempted to position yourself better, clicking your calves as you rustled around. Tired arms stretched your top over your head as it too met the wraith of your floor, bare breasts perked against your sheets as you closed your eyes, cuddling up against a pillow.

Slumber never succumbed to your heated frame, the drill of your fan almost teasing you as it provided minimum cooling. You spread your legs, sweat prickling over your stretch marks as you moaned in annoyance. Your fingers trailed your slit through the thin fabric, turquoise-coloured panties fading into an aqua as you let out a shaky breath. You felt dirty, the dull throb of your cunt mocking you as needy fingers hooked into the lace, dragging them down the plushness of your thighs before settling at the end of your bed.

You fumbled around in your draw, clumsy fingers feeling around for your bullet vibrator before they rubbed against the silicone. You were sure to be quiet, your hands covering the majority of the vibrations as you nestled it between your folds, collecting the sweetness of your slick before resting it on your achy clit, an instant moan rising at your throat as you tweaked at your nipples.

The hum against your sex wasn’t enough as you sat up, resting the vibrator on your swollen nub as you straddled a pillow, sloppy pussy grinding against it rapidly as you rutted like a dog in heat, chasing your high.

You were a sight for sore eyes, breasts bouncing at your movements as you humped against the cushion, the cheap sex toy sounding against the bundle of nerves as you let out soft whimpers, mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape as you tugged at your hardened nubs that were practically aching against your chest.

It was like you were going through puberty again, squishy sounds squelching from your cunt at the licentious actions, hips getting sloppy as you felt your coil forming, antagonising moans dripping from your lips as you stilled, the silicone pressed sweetly into your clit as you whined into your hand, orgasm ripping through you as you jutted away from the stimulation, collapsing into a heap.

Simon frowned at how quickly your noises were over as a spit-covered cock throbbed in agony, veiny hands jutting around the angry member as he milked himself to the memory of your orgasm, hot splashes of cum spurting against his belly, a thick trail of hair leading down to his softening cock as he cleaned himself up before nestling into the comfort of his sheets and the barely audible hum of your breathing.

[targaryen-dynasty]

STRESS RELIEF.

Daemon Targaryen x female!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; implied canon typical incest/ targcest (no named relationship other than husband & wife but reader speaks high valyrian), oral (m receiving), balls sucking, balls worship, cock slapping, breeding kink, fem reader (no mentions of appearance)

WORDS: 2.9 K

NOTES: I KNOW I said you won't get anything from me for the next two weeks, but this is an old story I love and edited, and I'm always in the mood to suck his balls. Ty Lana @zaldritzosrose 🤍

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The door to your chambers bursting open with a thud, the thick wood slamming against the old masonry of Maegor’s Holdfast, is what forcefully pulls you out of your slumber.

As your eyes shoot open, you need a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of your chambers, the flame of the fireplace long extinguished and indicating it’s been a while since you found sleep.

Every sense of tiredness that has lingered in your bones vanishes suddenly at the noisy intrusion, more so as you spot the armor-clad silhouette of your husband standing at the threshold of your marital quarters.

He appears to be even more bulky and bull-like with the natural broadness of his shoulders accentuated by the heavy armor and the golden cloak, and just that sight alone has an aching desire filling your veins.

It’s the closer look you take that makes you aware of his labored breathing, chest rising and falling with heaving breaths, almost seeming as though he’s in great stress.

Whenever Daemon barges into your chambers at this hour, still wearing his armor, you know he needs to be consoled and pampered.

“Husband?” Your soft voice finally pierces through the silence, still thick with sleep from being awoken so abruptly.

A few, determined strides is all it takes him to enter the room, closing the door behind him as loudly as he’s opened it before. Although you know something is plaquing his mind, and that he’s not usually as harsh towards you as this, you still flinch at the thud.

Sitting up straight with the bedcovers bunched in front of your breasts, you have a puzzled look on your face. One of the few things Daemon has established fairly early into your marriage was the strict prohibition of you wearing any kind of smallclothes or nightgowns to bed, as he wants you to lie just as bare next to him as he always does.

He always states that there are quite a few practical reasons for it, with easier and quicker access to your cunt being the main one of them. Albeit you know for certain that he just loves to feel your skin on his when he falls asleep, solely embraced by the warmth and softness of your body snuggled up against his.

Clashing of metal accompanies his heavy footsteps as he approaches you, stern gaze fixed on your small frame.

The closer he gets, the more you are able to make out his chiseled features with long strands of his silver-blonde hair framing them perfectly. Even in the almost non-existent light of your chambers you notice the dark blown eyes, the adored lilac almost fully eclipsed by pitch black.

“Va aōha ybon,” he rasps, voice deep and commanding, and leaving no space for any kind of objection. On your knees.

You comply swiftly, the bedcovers thrown aside to reveal your naked form. A somewhat feral growl ripples through your husband’s chest at the sight, the curves and dips of your body enhanced by the light the moon casts through the windows.

The stone floor feels cold and hard as you sink to your knees, causing you to shift your weight from one knee to the other and back, trying to mend the discomfort at least slightly.

It usually requires your help to strip him off his heavy armor, but much to your surprise, Daemon manages to shred himself out of the majority of it all by himself, driven by sheer lust and hunger for you.

Where his silver hair is usually well combed and neat, the loose tresses now cascade down his shoulders and back visibly tousled and dirty.

Your hands lie folded in your lap, thumbs brushing over each other in a way to keep yourself calm. You have been married to Daemon for two summers, but know his silence never means anything good. It is threatening, and more often than not getting you into trouble, because he always has something to say.

As he stands in front of you in his full glory, only clad in a pair of dark breeches and a loose tunic, you hesitantly reach to place a hand on his sturdy thigh while his hand cups your cheek in return. Finding yourself leaning into the touch, you’re quickly repulsed as you catch a whiff of what smells like sweat, dirt and… iron.

“What have you done today?“ you ask innocently, though you aren’t sure if you want to hear his reply – that means if you even get one.

While the pad of his thumb brushes over the curve of your lips, his other hand slowly unlaces the front of his breeches, easing the confines of his half-hard member, and causing a wave of arousal to seep out of your cunt, anticipation making it clench around nothing.

“Oh, we have restored law and order,“ he purrs, the cocky smirk on his lips indicating that he’s more than satisfied with the outcome of it all. “The Kingsguard cleaned the streets from the city‘s scum.“

Listening intently, you just nod in acknowledgement, not at all surprised by your husband‘s actions. “And does the king know you did that?“

“I do not care if the king knows or not,“ he spits, impatiently tugging the front of his breeches down just enough to free his cock and stones. “He is blind, guided by the incompetent leech that claims to be his hand.“

A musky scent hits your nose when you catch sight of his thick cock. His musky scent, mixed with the salty smell of sweat. It has you licking your lips like a greedy whore, and if anything, you love it. It’s a sharp reminder that you have married a hardworking and ambitious man, and not a boy.

Your hand instinctively curls around his member, your index finger and thumb barely touching. His girth has always been something that impresses you. He’s considerable, leaving you wondering at times how it even fits into your mouth and cunt.

You slowly tug him to full hardness, stroking him the way you know he likes, even though your pace is a bit slower than usual. You listen to him rant about his brother, and the insolence of his hand, Otto Hightower, merely humming whenever your husband expects you to.

Once his cock stands to full attention, throbbing in your hand, you release it and instead fondle his stones, heavy and hot in your hand. The fleshy pouch they sit in is a bit darker than the rest of his pale skin and visibly sagged, but doesn’t hang too low.

Your actions earn a disapproving tsk from Daemon, despite the visible twitching of his cock at the new stimulation, and he wastes no time in fisting a good bit of your hair to shove your face towards his crotch. The scent is more prominent the closer you get, but not at all repulsing. Instead, it arouses you even more.

You’re not sure if it’s Daemon‘s usual lack of patience or his abnormal obsession with the king and his entourage that makes him greedy and needy for your touch, but you decide to not give in to him so easily.

Gently squeezing and fondling the sack of his stones, your tongue licks a flat stripe from the base of his member up to the bulbous tip of it. A salty taste lingers on your tongue, the few beads of his arousal quickly gathered and swallowed by you. You hum appreciatively at the taste, seemingly pleased to witness the affect your touch and presence has on your husband‘s body.

A sharp tug on your hair catches your attention and makes you yelp, your wide eyes finding your husband‘s demanding ones. “Quit playing games,“ he growls. A warning. But he should know by now that you are not one of his hounds, and what works with them doesn’t necessarily intimidate you.

Your tongue swirls around the tip of his cock, kitten-licking it until his heavy pants are replaced by annoyed huffs and grunts. Daemon doesn’t like you teasing him – not when he craves relief.

You keep your eyes neatly trained on him, studying his changing expressions to know whenever you’re playing with fire, and when it is best to follow his commands. Switching the positions of your mouth and hand, warmth brushes your face before the familiar musk seeps into your head.

Closing your eyes as all your senses are clouded by him, you latch on Daemon’s sac of stones, nuzzling your nose into the dark, coarse hair to take one of them in your mouth. Low purrs ripple from your throat, sending vibrations through his body.

You haven’t noticed, but your thighs clench and unclench repeatedly with each suck of your mouth, trying to soothe the aching settling at the apex of your legs. However, it doesn’t grant you the friction you crave.

“My, my, now look at that,“ Daemon coos. “Sucking my stones like a common whore. So desperate to have your mouth filled by me, hm?“

The condescending tone of his voice sends shivers up your spine, and you keen at the degrading nature of his words, moaning around his slightly slacked flesh.

Daemon is unable to tear his dark blown eyes from your full mouth struggling to take both of his stones. You’re trying so hard, but your mouth isn’t slack enough, causing you to nearly choke yourself trying to please him.

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your mouth down your chin, gathering in your jugular notch, and really making you look like you belong to the Street of Silk; a common whore desperate for her mouth to be stuffed by something, and not caring if it was filled by his stones or cock.

While you are messily suckling the sack of his stones, you tease a few licks up his length, tracing the prominent vein on the underside of it with the tip of your tongue.

You relish in the way he twitches and squirms under your touch, the deep grunts only spurring you on even more. But you also are soaked for him, core clenching and aching, begging to be used.

Daemon has started to tug himself off at the sight of your lips around his flesh, big hand the perfect size for his considerable length, while his other tightly fists into your hair to keep you where he wants you.

You hollow your cheeks around him, sucking with the tip of your tongue dragging over the sensitive skin. The familiar taste of manhood lingers on your tongue, and your jaw goes slack, finally managing to engulf his whole sac with your mouth. But when you try to pull away for a breath, Daemon only snorts and pulls you right back to his stones.

He harshly tugs on your hair, tilting your head back so you are forced to look at him when he slaps his hard cock against your face. Your saliva adds a sheen to his flushed skin, making him glisten in the dim light, and catches your attention, your eyes trailing over the length of his cock – you want nothing more than to feel those veins on your tongue.

As his cock repeatedly makes contact with your swollen lips and cheeks, the indecency of it all sends heat straight through your body, for it’s the first time he has ever done something like that.

Daemon bows forward, looming over your frame but coming close enough for you to feel his breath fanning over your face. Goosebumps prickle on your skin, and his intense lilac eyes send desire straight to your jumbled mind.

“What a wanton harlot you are,” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Whores of the Silk Street do such things.”

While his degrading words go straight to your head, making you eager for more, you still cower beneath his dominating presence. “Yn ao hae ziry,” you reply, cocking your head sideways in an innocent way. But you like it.

It seems that your feigned innocence doesn’t convince him, because you suddenly feel something warm and wet dripping down your cheeks; his saliva. He has spat on your cheek, spreading it over your heated skin with a satisfied smirk ghosting over his features. Daemon rarely enjoys having you talk back at him, to tease him, and right now clearly isn’t one of those moments.

At the realization of what he’s just done, you feel your voice tighten in your throat, your lips pressing into a thin line as embarrassment floods your veins.

“Gaoman, yn…,” he muses, bending back and tracing the tip of his length along the slit of your pouty lips. “...nyke hae ziry tolī skori gaomā daor ȳdragon rȳ mirre.” With these words leaving his lips, his cock hits your cheek once again, almost as if he’s making fun of you. I do, but I like it more when you do not speak at all.

The grip on your hair loosens only for him to cup your cheek, fingertips digging sharply into the flushed skin of your cheeks. His other hand repeatedly taps the tip of his cock against your swollen lips in a demanding manner, begging for entrance.

“Open your mouth, or else I am opening it for you.”

You wet your lips, just the mere thought of having him down your throat causes a sense of soreness to linger in the back of it, and Daemon seems to notice your apprehension.

“I see your mouth begging for my cock, you filthy slut. Don’t act like an insufficient brat for you have done this plenty of times before.” He is right, but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever get used to his sheer size. Your thoughts, however, are cut short because Daemon isn’t Daemon, if he doesn’t take matters into his own hands.

The tip of his cock prods against your lips, and with the grip on your face tightening, you are all but forced to part them for him. There’s only little to no time to adjust to his size granted to you, because he sheaths himself inside of you in one, swift thrust.

A few seconds pass in which neither of you moves. Your nose is nuzzled against his pubic bone, the tip of it brushing the wispy trail of his hair, and you try to stifle the urge to gag and choke around him, your hands getting ahead with clutching his muscular thighs to keep yourself grounded.

Every muscle of his body twitches with pleasure as he grows accustomed to the warmth and tightness of you, his head tipping back to release a bawdy groan.

And then his hips start to buck into your mouth, allowing a wave of fresh air to fill your lungs when he almost completely pulls out; only the tip remaining embraced between your lips. A firm hand locks behind your head to stop you from pulling back.

Daemon’s hips thrust into your mouth with reckless abandon like he belonged into it, the bulbous tip hitting the back of your throat but never giving you anything you can’t handle. He knows you can take it, and that you like it.

The lewd noises of his soaked cock easing in and out of your warm mouth fill the room, spurring him on even more. At this point, you are soaking wet for him, droplets of your arousal leaking onto the stone floor beneath your legs.

Your cheeks hollow around him as you choke and sputter around his length, spit dribbling down your chin and bosom. His stones tighten with his cock throbbing on your tongue, ready to spend himself down your throat at any given moment, your previous teasing clearly coming in handy.

There are tears brimming in your eyes, unhelpful when all you want is to look up at him, watch how he scrunches his brow and puckers his lips as he gazes at you in rapture.

“That’s it,” Daemon groans, the pace of his hips faltering as he chases his release. “Take it all.” And that is when you felt it.

His hot seed spills down your throat, coating your tongue. You gag slightly when his hips start to stutter, cock twitching and pulsing with the force of his peak. Droplets of his seed spill from the corners of your mouth, mixing with your saliva and dribbling down your chin while you struggle to swallow the rest.

Nonsense spews out of his mouth as his groans grow more wanton, no doubt losing awareness of his volume. You are destined to be the main topic of the court's whispers in the morrow, just like your mother and father have been before you.

His fingers comb through your hair slowly, stroking your head as if he’s thanking you for a job well done, while he rides out his peak with languid thrusts of his hips.

When he finally stops to regain his composure, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he takes, he allows you to pull back from him, a string of your saliva connecting your swollen lips with the bulbous head of his cock, only breaking as you lick your lips to gather the remnants of his spent.

“Ñuha sȳz riña,” he rasps, pulling you up on your feet to capture your lips in a heated kiss. The taste of him on your tongue spreads over his tongue and causes him to groan. My good girl.

Like a man possessed, he flips you around and easily throws you onto your marital bed. When you land on your stomach with him following closely behind, mounting you and straddling your arse, you squeal and chuckle, ecstatic that it’s finally your turn.

“Tonight is the night I shall put a child into you. I want to see your body swell with my seed.”

Daemon Taglist: @barbiedragon @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

[aliyahwritings]

RAFE CAMERON and his DESI!GIRLFRIEND

masterlist.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who complains when you first show him Bollywood movies about how long they are, but ends up more interested than you (he cried during K3G because of his daddy issues).

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who gets laughed at when he first met your family because his eyes were getting teary when eating your mum's food. With time though, he became used to it and can handle it better... until he tastes your grandma's food and it's over for him.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who didn't get to see you with your hair oiled up in the beginning of your relationship because you were scared the scent would be too much for him, but it has now become a routine. He literally drives you to your mom's for your usual head/hair oil massage, and watches intently how your mama does it, so he can do it for you later (that's so husband coded of him omggg).

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who watches you with unwavering attention every time you get ready, mesmerized by the way your bangles slide down your wrists and the soft clinking sound they make. His gaze lingers as you adjust your dupatta, taking his time to memorize every delicate movement.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's obsessed with the feel of your bangles against his skin—when your hands trail over his chest or cup his face, the cold metal pressing into his warm skin. Sometimes, he holds your wrist just to play with them absentmindedly, rolling each bangle between his fingers like it’s his favorite toy.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who secretly practices pronouncing your full name in the mirror until he gets it right, savoring the way it rolls off his tongue. He knows how much it means to you, and when he says it perfectly in front of your family, the proud smile you give him makes every attempt worth it.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who always makes an effort to wear traditional fits when it matters, showing up in kurtas that hug his frame perfectly. He stands out, but in the best way—earning approving nods from the uncles and heart-eyed stares from the aunties who pull you aside just to say how lucky you are.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who thrives during family gatherings, blending in like he was meant to be there all along. The aunties dote on him endlessly, praising him for helping with the decorations or carrying heavy boxes during wedding prep. The uncles offer him drinks, impressed by how quickly he’s learned to fit into the chaos. He doesn’t even blink when the music starts and you’re pulled into the center of the room to dance. Instead, he watches, leaning against the wall with a soft smile, arms crossed over his chest as he admires the way you glow in your element.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who never complains when you drag him to fabric shops or markets, even if you spend hours picking out the right color or embroidery. He stands patiently by your side, occasionally giving his opinion but mostly just watching how excited you get. He'll sneak up behind you, whispering how stunning you’d look in everything. More than once, he’s slipped away to quietly pay for the set you were eyeing, only for you to find it in a little box on your bed later that night.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's become so used to you calling him pagal (crazy/idiot) that he's started using it with his friends.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who learned how to drape your sari. Did it take him a while? Yes, but that doesn't count. He knows where to make the folds and where to tuck in the fabric, and that's enough for you. He even starts buying you new ones because of how beautiful you look in them.

MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's very committed to his bit (dance) and practices for days and days. He would act as if he's just doing it for your family and that's it's nothing, but you know he loves it.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who turns into Nick Jonas for real!!! He's not complaining once about the amount of ceremonies there is. He's in awe of your culture and that's all.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who, after the wedding, is constantly making sure you’re okay. He holds your hand tightly in the car, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb, always asking if you’re comfortable, if you need anything. Even on your honeymoon, when it’s just the two of you, he still can’t stop marveling at how lucky he is to have you.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who spoils you relentlessly. He doesn’t care if you insist he doesn’t have to—flowers arrive at your doorstep every week, jewelry boxes sit on your dresser, and he’s constantly booking spontaneous weekend getaways just because. When you scold him for spending too much, he kisses your forehead and brushes it off.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who keeps your wedding photo framed on his desk. He’ll sit and stare at it during late nights at work, running his thumb over the glass while thinking about how much he misses you. He counts down the minutes until he can come home, and when he finally does, he’s pulling you into his lap the second you greet him.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who brings home little things that remind him of you. If he spots bangles, dupattas, or anything embroidered with colors you love, he’s buying it without hesitation. Sometimes he gets the sizes wrong, but the effort makes you melt every time.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who’s absolutely soft when it’s just the two of you. His tough, cocky exterior melts the second you’re alone. He’ll wrap himself around you, burying his face in your neck as you stroke his hair. He’s happiest when he’s in bed with you, legs tangled together under the covers, whispering about how he’s never letting you go.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who always keeps his promises. No matter how chaotic life gets, he’s there—by your side, unwavering in his love and loyalty.

INFO ABOUT UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @aliyahwritings-notifs and turn on notifications!!!

[yawnderu]

Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part IV

1 2 3 4 5 6

Simon doesn't cry. The last time he cried was out of shock, coming home to see his entire family executed by who he thought were his allies, his friends, his comrades. Simon doesn't cry, but you can see how broken his soul is in the way his hands delicately hold you close to him. You can feel it in the way his heart is beating fast in your ear, his lips pressing gentle kisses on the top of your head while you're barely conscious, too tired from the late-night conversation you had with him.

The man who broke you a year ago is the same man whose touch pieces your soul together, his warm hands doing nothing but serve as a reassurance that he's here. He's here, alive, and he's not going anywhere. Not anymore.

He waits until you're snoring softly to gently settle you back down in bed, taking one last look at your peaceful sleeping expression before getting up from bed slowly, leaving the room and walking in the dark towards his baby's room. He closes the door behind him, approaching the crib with footsteps so quiet one would think he's still the ghost, but he's not, not when he's here. He's just Simon.

"Hey, sweet girl." He greets in a whisper, leaning down in front of the crib to look at his daughter. What a fucking sight, he thinks; brown eyes focused on the way his tiny girl is holding a bunny plushie close to her, wearing the skull pattern pajamas he bought her a few weeks ago. Simon has strong genes— the baby looks like a girly replica of him, her dark brown hair framing her pretty face, nose slightly rosy from the cold. He adjusts her beanie, lifting the blanket enough so more of her body can be covered even while she's asleep. His hand hesitates when he feels the baby stirring awake, taking a step back before her brown eyes open, peering at him.

"Good morning, sweetheart." He whispers, afraid to wake you up even while you're an entire room away. His big hands reach out for the baby, cradling her in his arms as he walks around the house until he reaches the living room, not bothering to turn on the light to not bother his baby. She's calm— not crying, simply babbling as she looks up at him, her hands balled into fists, too used to holding something. Simon can feel her tiny nails digging into his bare chest, yet he doesn't mind, gently rocking his girl under the comfort of the dark living room, the moonlight illuminating enough so they can both look at each other.

"Papa." His heart almost stops when he hears the little girl say her first word, looking down at her with wide eyes and a proud smile. He almost thinks he imagined it until she repeats it louder, tiny hands pulling on his dog tags. His hand dwarfs the baby's head as he presses her closer to his bare chest, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of her tiny body against his. He never thought he'd be a father— hell, the idea itself never went through his head even when his family was alive, yet ever since he first saw his baby girl? Simon fell in love.

"Papa's here, Astrid." He plants a gentle kiss on her forehead, her tiny balled up hands now holding his cheeks and pulling slightly on the stubble, making him groan in pain, something she finds amusing, a cheeky giggle coming out of her.

"Gentle." He reminds her, pulling her away so she's not able to keep torturing his scarred cheeks. He smiles down at her, one of his hands coming up to gently pinch her chubby cheeks, another giggle coming out of the tiny girl. She’s an angel— rarely cries and is always giggling, her gummy smile full on display for anyone lucky enough to see her.

His pretty angel. A split image of everything Simon could have been if he had a normal family and rather than feeling bitter about it, he feels happy. Happy to be able to see her grow, to give her and you the life you both deserve, even if you're not together.

He lays down on the couch with the baby resting on his chest, the chain and metal of his dog tags enough to keep her distracted as he admires her under the moonlight seeping through the window, wanting to memorize every single detail on her tiny face. The pain of losing a second brother to him is still there, yet this tiny girl heals his soul and gives him hope.

Johnny would have loved you. He thinks as he looks at her, imagining Johnny playing with his baby. A quiet chuckle escapes his lips as he thinks of the tiny girl pulling on his mowkhawk, her bad habit of pulling on people's hair something he became too familiar with, his buzzcut not saving him from his baby's surprisingly strong grip. His mind inevitably goes back to his family, thinking of Joseph playing with his baby, of Tommy experiencing being an uncle, or Beth and his mum gossiping with you while looking at Simon, proud smiles in their faces. He can't help the way his eyes sting, slightly rimming with tears in the company of his baby.

His eyes close as he takes a deep breath, allowing a stray tear to roll down his cheek while the rest dots his long eyelashes. His hand plays with his little girl's hair, the other one firmly holding her close to his bare chest while she babbles on, her innocence a complete contrast to who he is.

"Mum?" He begins, eyes still closed and voice shaky.

"This is my baby, Astrid. She's four months old... lovely girl, ain't she?" He speaks quietly to nothing, imagining his mum is there, watching over him, a bright smile on her lips.

"I still haven't won her mum over, but I'm trying. I'm gonna marry this girl, mummy, I know I will." Simon doesn't cry, but his stomach muscles tense as he holds back a sob, not wanting to startle the baby resting on him. Her silence finally makes his eyes open, tear-rimmed circles of darkness softening when he sees the peaceful sleeping expression on his baby.

"I love you so much." He confesses in a whisper, his short nails gently massaging her scalp, his warm chest working as a personal heater for the sleeping baby. His back is starting to hurt but he's not going to risk waking the girl up, simply closing his eyes again and focusing on getting some sleep. With how badly he has been sleeping since he came back, he doesn't even realize when he drifted off to sleep, only being awoken hours later by the smell of pancakes and tea.

He looks down at his chest, finding a blanket covering him, but no sight of his baby. That's enough to send him in a panic, immediately getting up and looking around the living room, his fast-beating heart only slowing down once he sees the baby sitting on a highchair in the kitchen, your back turned to him as you hum and prepare breakfast.

"Bloody hell— you scared the shit out of me." He lets out a deep breath, trying his best to calm down as he starts walking towards you, one of his hands resting on your waist as you look over your shoulder and shoot him a cheeky grin.

"You scared the shit out of me when I saw the empty crib." He gives you an apologetic smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head and laughing as he narrowly misses the kick thrown to his arse.

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[beachyma]

orange soda.

a. donaldson , you | nsfw |

The quiet sprinkle of evening dew quiets your racing nerves with each pitter-patter splashing against the pavement. You lay rested comfortably on the mattress of your boy-best friend's dormitory. You can hear the quickening hum of his heartbeat as you lay against the headboard. You estimated a near 120 beats each minute. A soft smile tugs on your lips at this realization, gently adjusting your position so that your forearm rests recklessly close to the curve in his aqua tennis shorts. He faintly chokes back a cough, a pink hue tinting his cheeks and nose. You glance up at him warmly, "You need water?" a sarcastic laughs leaves your lips. His flushed-red lips widen into a teethy smile, "It's on my nightstand, if you want to hand it me." You snootily roll your eyes in 'way to brush me off' way, twisting your body to grab the aluminum water that rest on his wooden night stand. "Why don't you get a smaller water bottle- this thing weighs a shit ton Art." You complain, surveying the vividly scattered stickers casually placed on the bottle. He places the water bottle to his lips, taking a sip before leaving it to lay in between his thighs, "I need to stay hydrated." he promptly says. You notice the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows, his jaw flexing to a cast a gentle shadow, lining his chin and neck. You scrunch your eyebrows together in disagreement, "and there aren't smaller water bottle that can do the same thing?" you quiz. His coy gaze softens your facial expression, "No." he denotes. "Doesn't it get heavy carrying around every day?" You urge, grabbing the water bottle, swiftly grazing his inner thigh. The sudden movement causes him to flinch, wincing as the cool metal is subsisted by your thumb and pointer finger. You cock an eyebrow at him, a curious look coats your face, "You good?" His body shifts as he sits up from leaning on the headboard, the wooden bed frame creaking in retaliation. "Yeah, I'm fine." he opposes. His pink-hue is punctuality replaced by a cherry-red tinge. A vivid red tints his face, followed by his neck and hands. He almost looks like he'd be hot to the touch. "Never had a girl touch your leg before?" you sarcastically joked, positioning the water bottle back onto the nightstand. "Shut up." He palms his face in mortification, brining his knees to his chest. "Stop acting like a virgin Donaldson." you tease, gently shoving his shoulder to the side. "Fuck off." he groans in desperation. "Oh I bet you'd love me to do that to you." your index finger playfully tracing the length of his thigh. He can only whine in an effort to retaliate, his skin glowing a deep red. "You can do better than that." you mockingly place your hand on his upper thigh, tenderly messaging the muscle, your fingers working carefully near the leg-holes of his tiny shorts. He whimpers at the contact, jerking his leg to the left. A grin dances across your lips, the grip you have on his thigh loosens. Your fingers begin to sketch the lining of his waistband, gently tugging on the stretchy fabric. You pause, gazing attentively at him for a brief moment, his eyes struggling to meet yours. " Art?" you ask, his stare coming to acknowledge yours, a look of desperation masks his face. "Please." he mutters, voice low and soft. "Please what-" you are interrupted by the warmth of his lips against your nape, his hands trailing down the length of your waist, to your hips. A soft moan escapes your lips, fingers rushing to pull at his blonde locks. You can feel the sensation of a cocky grin tug at his lips while he bruises your neck with his mouth, his hands desperately gripping your hips. "Art-" your voice breaks, husky, and rough. "Shit-", you breathe. Art places gentle kisses from your neck to your jaw, finally meeting your lips with his own. They are soft, and have that generic chapstick flavor. He kisses you with a gentleness you're not used to, like as if he made one wrong move, he would hurt you. That thought brings a warmth to your stomach, its tickling and teasing you.

Art beckons you closer, pulling you to his chest with his bicep. You lean into his muscular body, palming his jaw with your hand. His hands restlessly travels your body, cupping your ass with one hand, and gripping the fat of for waist with the other. You shift your body so that your leg rests between his thighs, and you both are kneeling on the mattress. You groan in the kiss, your free hand trails his clothed abs. He whines at your touch, the veins in his hands pop as he shifts his attention to massage the fat of your ass with both hands. Your body jolts at the sudden gesture, causing friction between Art's thigh and your sensitive bud. You moan instinctively, lips parting from his. A quiet whine of absence leaves his lips, his eyes glare lewdly at you."Do that again." he presses, guiding your hips to move forward. You groan at his words, bucking your hips up to achieve that friction once again. Art remains silent, his grip on your hips tightening each time you move back and forth, the lining of your athletic shorts is the only barrier between skin. "Art-," you breathe, "Fuck." your head falls into his shoulder, your hands resting neatly on either side. He winces when your knee promptly grazes his cock. "Please Art-" you slur, the warm feeling in your stomach is replaced by a tightness, Art needily rocking your hips on his thigh, quiet whimpers of approval every time you moan at the slightest change in pace.

(not proofread + im cooked) 👩🏽‍🍳🥰

[mxnhoo]

hopeless daydreams (l. hs)

synopsis : and they were roommates~ genre : romance, fluff, angst maybe, roommates to lovers !!!!, talkative x listener kinda, childish x mature LOWWWKEYYY, concert romance TEEEHEEE, word vomit cos i just wanna write pairing : heeseung x reader (mentions of yichan & chungah from twinkling watermelon, mentions of newt from the maze runner, chan from skz) w/c : 6.8k warnings! : SOME twinkling watermelon spoilers, name calling (attention whore etc), LMK IF I MISSED ANYTHING OUT a/n : plot is LOWKEY inspired by watermelon sugar by wonryllis, check it out it's genuinely amazing! main character is inspired by me cos i'm insanely delusional😚 can u tell i love confession tropes. ALSO i think this is fr the last thing ill post in a while cos of school, so hope this feeds yall well

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Lying on your bed, you were kicking your legs as you were watching the new episode of Twinkling Watermelon. The room was dark as the light wasn't turned on, the only source of light being your phone and the only sounds that could be heard were your giggles, and the audio from the drama.

It was the scene where Yichan brought the cat to Chungah.

"I'm afraid you'll be alone. I specifically chose a cat that looks like me" Yichan said as he pointed to his mole, Chungah looking at the cat who has a similar mole placement.

You paused your phone and squealed, covering your mouth as you giggle, kicking your legs even more.

"I'm afriad you'll be alone, specifically chose this cat that looks like me!" you imitated, lowering your voice to match the actor's one, laughing at yourself afterwards as you hit the mattress repeatedly.

Before you could continue watching your drama, knocks were heard on your door causing you to shoot your head up towards your door.

"Come in." you voiced, slightly annoyed that your drama-watching session was interrupted.

Your door opened, and without warning your light was turned on, flashing your eyes and you groan as you shut your eyes, looking away.

"God.. how can you see like this?" a daily voice spoke out.

You slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the new lighting as you turned to the person.

"C'mon Hee, you could've warned me before you turned on the light..." you sighed. You looked at your roommate, which was Lee Heeseung, and he could be seen folding his arms, leaning against the bed frame with his eyes slightly frowned.

He completely disregarded what you said, "Time for dinner."

You groan once more, but quickly responded as you got off of your bed, dragging your feet towards him. Your hair was slightly messed up from laying down all day, and you scratched your stomach. After turning off the light, you and Heeseung walked towards the shared dining table, seeing all the food being placed and prepared.

"Sweet! You cooked fried rice?!" You squealed, the pitch of your voice increasing and you ran to the dining table, quickly sitting yourself down as you smelled the scrumptious aroma of the food.

"Mhm, your favourite." Heeseung said, setting himself on the opposite side of you on the table.

You looked at him, giving him a big smile as you quickly grabbed the metal cutlery on the table, preparing to indulge in the food. He returned a small smile as he looked back down on the food, doing the same as you.

"Let's eat!" you announced, digging your spoon and fork into the dish, bringing a big portion to your own plate and consuming it.

You could hear Heeseung giggle at you as you quickly devoured the food, him slowly taking his own portion and eating at his own pace.

"So how's Twinkle.. Sparkle whatever Watermelon going?" Heeseung asked, raising his eyebrow at you and your eyebrows raised, excited to talk about the details of the new Twinkling Watermelon episode.

You were about to speak until he stopped you, "Chew first, your mouth is full". He chuckled at you, tilting his neck as he watched you struggle to chew your food faster. Once you gulped your food down, you drank the cup of water that was nicely prepared already, you heaved a sigh of relief.

"Okay! So—" You rambled on about the new Twinkling Watermelon, using a lot of hand gestures and hitting the table in excitement once you brought up cute moments, like the cat scene you saw just now.

"Let me imitate the dude!" you said before clearing your throat. "I'm afraid you'll be alone, that's why I specifically picked a cat that looked like me" you imitated once again with your lowered voice, laughing afterwards at how stupid you felt.

Heeseung only looked at you and smiled, head tilting as he rested his head on his hand. He wasn't even eating, just watching as you talked about something you loved so much.

"And do you know how they confessed their feelings?! They were alone in a band room, and the dude was looking at her sketchbook, and he suddenly found a sketch of him!!" you said enthusiastically, pointing at him as he continued to listen to you. "And then he asked her in sign language — not really sign language, but like he asked her if she liked him! And I was expecting her to deny her feelings BUT SHE NODDED?!?!" you raised your voice, giggling violently afterwards.

"Really? What do you mean by 'not really sign language' though?" Hee asked, still staring at you, smirking.

"Oh! Like he asked like this!" you replied, afterwards doing handsigns.

The first handsign was you pointing towards Heeseung. The second handsign was you holding up a heart with both hands. The third handsign was you pointing towards yourself.

"Ahhh, and then she nodded after he did that?" he asked, understanding the context better.

You nodded aggressively at him, happy that he made an effort to understand the significant scene you could talk about for days.

"Let me try." Heeseung said, his facial expression becoming serious as he sat up straight, gaze locked onto you.

Using his hands, point to you heart point to himself

You furiously nodded your head and flashed him a smile, "Yes, exactly like that! That's one way to be romatic—" giggle "oh man, it seriously makes me so delusional." You giggled to yourself, and Heeseung raised an eyebrow at you, grinning.

"Enough talking, eat your food." Heeseung nagged before he spooned up some of the food and held his spoon up to you, raising his eyebrows to indicate you to eat it. You casually let him feed you, and you chewed the food.

"Hank yu!" you muttered in an attempt to say 'thank you' while your mouth was filled.

After both of you finished eating, you initiated to wash the dishes — after all, Heeseung was the one who cooked. Heeseung sat on the couch to scroll his phone as you washed the dishes. Since it was late at night, you announced that you wanted to take a shower.

"Oh dang, I haven't taken a shower too.." Heeseung mumbled, his eyes looking at you, signalling you to let him shower first. You gave him an irritated look, pointing at him "You literally could've showered while I was washing the dishes????".

"Oopsies. I forgot." Heeseung shrugged his shoulder, holding his hands up as you looked at him with an annoyed expression. You both instantly knew how to settle this — who would win the ability to shower first. Settle it right here, right now.

"Scissors, papers, stone!" you both chanted at the same time, throwing out a hand sign at each other.

Heeseung held up rock. You held up scissors. Rock beats scissors.

"Fuck yeah!" Heeseung cheered before he quickly snatched his towel from one of the corners of the living room and dashing for the bathroom, slamming the door loudly and locking it. You rolled your eyes and sat on one of the chairs near you, holding up your phone to scroll through social media.

This was your life. Wake up, school, go out, watch drama, eat dinner and occassionally play fight and eat dinner with Heeseung. Of course you did chores around the house too, but if anything, you were a full-time fangirl. You were a fangirl to all sorts of things.

You loved reading manga, comics, Webtoon, fanfiction; watching shows, J-Drama, C- drama, K-drama, anime; loved boybands whether they were English, Korean, Japanese; and practically just everything.

Heeseung on the other hand didn't really like anything specifically. One thing in particular though is that he enjoys music, like a lot. He listens to his own artists, but would listen to the music from your favourite boybands with you.

However, one thing that Heeseung absolutely disliked were your boyfriends. He once commented, "are you dating or doing charity work?" when you brought one of your boyfriends back home, and you always brushed it away, defending your boyfriends with all your might.

Spoiler alert! Your boyfriends always end up being trash.

Once, a boy broke up with you because his parents found out and his parents didn't allow him to be in a relationship, like seriously? Are you a toddler? Another time, a boy broke up with you and the reason was actually valid, but a weeks after he ended up dating a boy. Like it had you questioning. Were you that bad that they moved on quickly AND they switched up? You always ended up crying to Heeseung about it, and no matter what, he was always there for you, even if it was your fault for ignoring all the red flags.

This time, you have another boyfriend and you actually feel like he could be the one. But remember "Wake up, school, go out, watch drama, occasionally play fight and eat dinner with Heeseung" from a few paragraphs ago? The fact that you always eat dinner with Heeseung is kinda weird, 'cause you could be having a dinner date with your boyfriend or something, but it never could happen because apparently your boyfriend had 'night duties' to do. You didn't want to be pushy, so you never questioned it and lived with it, even if it kinda made you feel lonely. But at least Heeseung was there with you, so it's okay in a way?

After a while, you heard the bathroom door unlocking and you tilted your head up, watching the door open as you saw Heeseung walk out, shirtless with a towel covering his lower body. His hair was still wet and dripping, his torso still slightly glossy from it still being slightly wet. His body was well-defined since he had been going to the gym recently, and for some reason, you just couldn't take your eyes off of him. He quickly noticed you staring, and giggled.

"Ain't gotta stare like that.. I know I look good." he giggled, resting his hands on his hips as he smirked, looking back at you.

You quickly realise that you were staring at him and that you were caught, making you look away. "You're so full of yourself.." you rolled your eyes, trying to cover up the fact that you were just looking at him. It was normal for Heeseung to be walking around shirtless sometimes, but you don't know why this time he seemed a bit more attractive than usual. Mentally you were cursing yourself for checking Heeseung out, but there was just this thing with him that made you feel so flustered.

Trying to brush your thoughts away, you quickly snatch the towel that was on the table near you, walking past Heeseung into the bathroom, trying to avoid looking at him at all costs. You were about to close the door until Heeseung spoke out.

"Movie night?" he asked. You peeked your head out of the door before you nodded your head. "Okay." he responded, and you closed the door, locking it afterwards. You stared at at the bathroom mirror before you ruffle your hair in frustration, screaming silently.

"Why did I have to look at him? Why did I have to stare at him? He's always shirtless, why did I just have to stare this time? Am I cheating? Wait fuck no, I don't even see Heeseung that way. Oh my god" you sceam-whispered to yourself, taking deep breaths as you stared into the mirror after aggressively messing your hair up. You sighed in defeat, and started stripping to shower.

After you had finished your shower, you wrapped a towel around your body and quietly unlocked the bathroom door, peeking your head out to see where Heeseung was. After looking around, you notice the back of head appearing on the couch. You tried to tip-toe back to your room when he called out to you. "Done? Took you long enough." he teased, you stop moving and turned to him. He wasn't facing you, so you took the opportunity to hold up your middle finger and curse him off, whispering a very aggressive 'fuck you!' only for you to hear.

You entered your room, quickly dressing up and ruffling your hair with a towel. After a while, you stepped out of your room and joined him on the couch.

"Hey." he greeted you, putting his phone down to look at you up and down. This time, he had a shirt on so you felt more at ease.

"Yo." you smiled at him, trying to feel less awkward. You made your voice lower in an attempt to sound 'cool'.

".. What are you doing with your voice" he judged you, breaking out into laughter, and you joined him, the atmosphere being less tense and awkward. Thank god it's not awkward like just a while ago.

"Shush, stop judging." you playfully smacked him on the shoulder and he smiled, looking at you.

"Okay okay, so what movie we watchin' tonight?" he asked, picking up the remote as he turned on the TV and entered Netflix.

"Can we watch The Maze Runner?" you asked, looking at the TV screen.

"Let me guess, it's so you can see Newt again?" he asked since a few days ago you both already watched The Maze Runner. "............ maybe...."

He sighed before pressing a few buttons on the remote. You got comfortable beside Heeseung on the couch, slightly leaning your body on him. Some may say that it was weird at how you two were close, but this was a norm for the both of you. You knew Heeseung before all of your other boyfriends, so you and him inevitably had a strong bond. He turned on the movie that you had requested, and he quickly turned to you to flash a small smile.

"Thanks Hee, you're the best~" you giggled, locking your gaze onto the TV screen.

There was a silence as the movie started, and you were thrilled to rewatch your favourite movie and also see your favourite character. (newt girlies rise!)

"I just realised we don't have any snacks for the movie." he said, breaking the silence as he shot his head to you. Dang, you were so excited that you forgot one of the most very important things while watching a movie — snacks.

"Ah shit, do we even still have any snacks left?" you took the remote to pause the movie, setting your feet to the floor and standing up. You walked towards the pantry, and opening the cabinet, you are met with nothing. "Dang, we're really out." you groaned.

"I'll go downstairs" he said, getting up and walking to his room, probably to get his wallet.

As he entered his room, you sighed and you walked back to the couch, sitting down on it again. You waited for Heeseung to come out and he was now wearing a cap, jacket and holding his phone and wallet. He was making his way to the front door until you called out to him, "Let's go together." You don't know why but you just wanted to go. For the snacks, am I right? No it was for Heeseung.

Heeseung slowly turned around to face you, amusement showing on his face. "I'm not complaining, let's go," he said while holding his hand up and curling his wrist, telling you to get up. Still staring at him, you quickly got up and walked towards him. Once you both were side-by-side, you both started walking to the front door and he took his key that was hanging, opening the door.

It was dark and chilly. The walk to the nearby convenience store was silent, and once you both reached it, you looked at him and he looked at you.

"I'll get the drinks" "I'll get the snacks" you both said of the same time. You said drinks, he said snacks.

"It's settled, I'll pay this time." he smiled and you returned it. "Okay," you replied softly before turning your back and walking towards the drinks section.

Once you were at the drinks section, you opened the glass door of the refrigerator and took a bottle of Milo, a blast of cold air slapping you. You shivered a bit, and you instantly closed the door. Before you could walk over to the soda's section for Heeseung's drink, you saw someone familiar, and to your surprise, it was your boyfriend.

"Chan!" you called out without hesitation, running up to the boy. However, he wasn't alone..? The boy immediately turned around to where your voice sounded, and his eyes widened when he saw you, and he blinked rapidly. He quickly whispered something to the person he was with before you stood right in front of him, and now you both were face to face.

"Who's this?" you looked at the person beside him, and it was a girl. You raised an eyebrow and you started to feel uneasy.

"S-someone from my school. We were just doing a project I swear." the nervousness in his tone was obvious, making you feel uneasy. You didn't accuse him of anything, so why was he being so defensive? And why does he not look happy to see you?

"Uhm.. okay." you responded, your heart starting to feel slightly heavy as you started to overthink.

"Well! What are you doing here, then?" he asked, and you could see him start to sweat. You raised an eyebrow at him, occasionally looking at the girl beside him who was desperately trying to avoid eye contact with you.

"Um.. I was getting snacks with Heeseung." you replied, trying to cover up the fact you felt slightly jealous and hurt.

"Oh. Heeseung." his face suddenly darkened.

"Got a problem?" someone voiced behind you, and you instantly turned around to see who it was, and it was your roommate. Your roommate did not look happy at all, his eyes glaring at Chan as he held bag of chips in his hand.

"Hey, you're done?" you ask Heeseung, trying to clear up the tension. Once he looked at you, his gaze softened and he smiled at you, "Yup, got the snacks you liked, you done with the drinks?". You shook your head, "Nope, I was about to get your drink until I saw Chan". Immediately at the mention of your boyfriend's name, his smile dropped, and he looked back at Chan.

"Doing your 'night duties' in a convenience store with a girl I see?" Heeseung taunted, clearly angry at Chan. You looked back at Chan and he was returning Heeseung the sour look, and now the only thing you had to worry about is if a fight was gunna break out.

You whispered to Heeseung, "Hee.. stop..", but he ignored you. "Are you sure that it's right to be hanging out with a girl who isn't even your girlfriend this late at night?" he striked once again at Chan, and you could visibly see Chan get angrier, his jaw clenching.

"It's none of your business, besides, aren't you doing the same thing?" Chan retorted back. Heeseung scoffed and his tongue poked his cheek. "It's different. Me and Y/N are roommates. What's your excuse?" he fought back.

You whispered again, the anxious feeling inside you growing even more, "Hee.. stop.. please..". Chan smirked, "Oh yeah? Are you sure you only see Y/N as a roommate? I see the way you look at her, you want to snatch my girl away from me, right?". You looked at Chan, features of worry on your face.

"So what?" Heeseung voiced. You widened your eyes and looked back at Heeseung, not able to process the information you were hearing. "I'm her roommate, yet I treat her better than you. You're her boyfriend for fuck's sake." You couldn't just stand there and do nothing. With your free hand, you grabbed Heeseung's arm and pulled him to the other end of the store where the paying counter was. You aggressively snatched the snacks that Heeseung was holding and placed them down along with the single Milo bottle that you got. The cashier gave her colleague a side-eye, sensing the tension between you and Heeseung, scanning your items afterwards. You paid despite Heeseung initiating to do so earlier, and after your items were packaged in a plastic bag, you quickly snatched it and grabbed Heeseung's wrist, pulling him out of the store.

Once the two of you were out, you glared at him but he looked back at you with a soft expression. The sun has completely set, the only source of light being the street light.

"Are you feeling cold?" he asked genuinely, zipping down his jacket and removing it. Before he could wrap it around you, you smacked his hand away and stepped back.

"Hee, what was that about?" you asked coldly, features of anger on your face.

"What do you think?" he raised an eyebrow before continuing, "I was basically letting your boyfriend know how shitty he is." You wanted to slap Heeseung, but in the corner of your eye you saw Chan and the girl exiting the store. You quickly called out to Chan and waved, and Chan approached you.

Chan spoke up, completely ignoring Heeseung who was giving him the death stare, "We're still on this weekend, right babe?". He purposely spoke louder so Heeseung could hear him loud and clear. You nodded, smiling at him. Chan leaned in to peck your lips before leaving, and you were in a daze as you watched him leave. Chan was still beside that girl, but you could care less.

From your way of thinking, if Chan pecked you, he definitely loves you because he was giving you attention.

You look back at Heeseung and his facial expression showed he was displeased. Your smile drops and you walk ahead, not wanting to face Heeseung.

"Why him? You definitely know that the girl he's with right now is not just some 'project partner'." He voiced out loudly, causing you to stop walking. He continued, "We've been through this before Y/N, don't hurt yourself again."

You immediately turned around, "Hee, you can't control who I get together with. I'm happy, okay? I'm happy with Chan." You turned back, walking to your apartment without looking back at Heeseung.

As you were walking back, you couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened. You admit, you were happy that Chan kissed you, but you had so many questions.

Why was he with that girl late at night? What happened to his 'night duties'? Why did he say that Heeseung wanted to steal you from him?

You reached back your apartment, and you were about to unlock the door until you realised you didn't bring a key. You groaned in frustration because now you had to wait until Heeseung was back, and you also had to face him. You sat on the floor beside your door, throwing your head back to recall the conversations that happened just a while ago.

You were about to get lost in thought, until you heard footsteps approaching you. It was Heeseung, and he was holding the key. He seemed pretty shocked to see you, and he definitely wanted to talk to you, but he couldn't find the right words to say. He unlocked the door, and you immediately went in, trying to avoid him. "Y/N" he called out to you, but all you did was ignore and slam your room door. Heeseung felt guilty and he wanted to talk to you, but considering how you couldn't even face him, he just thought that he should give you a day or two.

The next day, you still ignored him, and he was getting bothered by it but he didn't want to rush you. Everytime he tried to touch or talk to you, you would instantly walk away and go into your room. Instead of eating dinner together, you would eat instant noodles in your room, leaving him alone on the dining table. Showers were never a problem because you always showered when he was still out in school.

Basically, you and Heeseung never talked, and the tension was suffocating. Finally, the weekend came and it was a day that you had been looking forward to for the longest time.

It was the day that you and your boyfriend were supposed to meet. You wanted to surprise your boyfriend with concert tickets of his favourite artist, and you were excited to see his reaction. Heeseung knew you were going out with Chan from the time at the convenience store, but didn't know any details. You didn't want to tell him because you both were not on good terms, and even if you two were on good terms, he would still nag at you.

Your plan was to bring Chan to a cafe nearby the concert venue, and then you'll show him the tickets and bring him to the concert. You had kept it a secret from him for 4 months, and you were imagining his reaction. Maybe he'll hug you, kiss you, pick you up and carry you, who knows?

You sat in the cafe, all dressed up. You did your hair, make-up, and chose an outfit following the concert's theme. You were waiting in the cafe, frequently picking up your phone to check the time. 3pm was the meeting time, and it was currently 2:56pm. You tapped your feet, fidgeted with your fingers and hair, and kept looking at the door everytime it was opened. You waited for 4 minutes and no one came.

"Maybe he's just late?" you mumbled, an uneasy feeling growing inside of you. You quickly texted him,

y/n : channie y/n : are you reachingg?? y/n : i cant wait for you to be here hehe

You waited for a response, but it never came. You waited a few minutes, and those minutes quickly turned into 10 minutes, 30 minutes, to an hour. Did you just get stood up by your boyfriend? You called him multiple times, but your calls were all unanswered. You were about to start crying until you got a phone call back. You immediately looked at the screen, and read the caller ID.

" HeeHee(seung)! "

Feeling completely detached from reality, you just picked up, ignoring the fact that you and him were on bad terms.

"Y/N, where are you?" he sounded breathless, and you felt confused. "W-why..?" your voice cracking, tears still building up in your eyes. "Please, let me go to you." If anything, you would've ended the call, but you were so hurt at the fact that you got stood up by your boyfriend that you didn't care anymore. "I'll send you my location." you said before hanging up and sending him your location.

After 10 minutes, the cafe door opened and a figure ran inside, panting loudly. The figure caught the attention of everyone in the cafe, and it was your roommate. Heeseung frantically looked around until his eyes met yours. His eyes were full of concern, and seeing you, he immediately ran up to you and grabbed your shoulders.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

You wanted to say yes, say you were fine, but you were not. Tears broke free from your eyes and you sniffled, hyperventilating as you start to cry. You cried out loud and Heeseung wiped your tears, looking at you with such worry. Everyone in the cafe was glancing at you but neither you or Heeseung could give a fuck. Heeseung brought you into an embrace and patted your back, whispering sweet-nothing's into your ears. The warmth he gave you was so comfortable, and you felt guilty about being so cold to him.

Your cries continued, but after 15 minutes, you slowly started to calm down. Heeseung's shirt was drenched with your tears, and realising that your breathing started to slow down, he gently moved backwards from you. He then sat on the chair opposite of you, where Chan was supposed to be.

"Y/N." he called out, causing you to look at him. Your nose was red, and your eyes were glossy and puffy.

"You're safe with me, okay? I'm sorry for what I did earlier this week." his voice was gentle and comforting.

You slowly nodded, unable to speak after crying for a long time.

"But, could you tell me what happened exactly?" he asked, and you were pained at remembering that your boyfriend had stood you up.

"Chan." you managed to say after a while, "He stood me up."

Heeseung was about to speak, until you continued, "I was supposed to surprise him to a concert today. I've been waiting for so long to surprise him, and he doesn't turn up?".

"I've waited so much money, so much time." you said, voice cracking towards the end.

"You and me, let's go to that concert, okay? When is it?" Heeseung said, causing you to raise your eyebrows.

"It starts in.." you checked the time on your phone "12 minutes."

Heeseung's eyes widened before he stood up, pushing the chair he was on backwards, and he took your hand that was resting on the table. "Then we have to go, now!". You blinked rapidly, clearly confused, but you slowly stood up. You took your bag that was on the chair and looked at him. You both left the cafe, and both started sprinting for the concert venue. Laughs filled the air, and you interlocked your hands with him. You had to get past a lot of people, and after 10 minutes of running, you reached the venue with him. You both were laughing while panting at the same time, your hands resting on your knees. It was almost as if you didn't ignore him for the past few days.

"C'mon, let's go in! You have the tickets right?" he asked, equally as breathless as you. You nodded and rummaged through your bag, pulling out a pair of tickets and handing it over to him. He held your hand again and pulled you to the entrance gate of the concert, showing the security guard the tickets and bringing you in. As soon as you and Heeseung stepped into the standing pen, the bright light in the venue that was flashing instantly disappeared, darkness filling the whole room. Loud cheers could be heard, and you joined in as well. The concert was starting, and even though it wasn't with the person who failed to be there, it was the person who never failed to be there.

5 songs have been played, and it was currently a ment where the artist was talking to the audience. Heeseung looked at you, and happiness was taking over you as if you weren't just crying your eyes out a while ago. Suddenly, music started playing again, and the artist yelled, "Everybody here with their partners, hold onto them tight for this song!". Without warning, Heeseung wrapped his hand around your waist, pulling you closer, and your eyes widened. You remained completely still, processing what just happened. With the song starting, Heeseung slowly swayed side-to-side, and you followed him. Your heart fluttered at his cuteness, and you put your arm around his waist too.

You couldn't focus on the concert, you were just thinking about the boy beside you. Was he your roommate, or was he someone you liked? Right now, the warmth you felt in your heart was like no other. The feeling in your heart was something new, and it made you feel so confused, flustered, excited, and all sorts of things. You were just crying about Chan and ignoring Heeseung just a while ago, but now you were holding onto him, so what happens now?

You glanced at Heeseung and to your your surprise, he was already staring at you. His stare was intense, and you also noticed that he was looking down on your lips.

"Y/N." he called your name, and it made your heart skip a beat. "I know you're still dating Chan and that you're still angry at me, but I really want to kiss you right now. Can I do it, please?". Without saying another word, you turned your body to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him for a kiss.

His soft lips met yours and it was almost as if it was only the two of you there, becoming completely unaware about your surroundings. Both of your eyes closed, tilting your heads to get more access. His hands went up to cup your face, bringing you closer, your heart now racing as you melted into the kiss.

After a while, you pulled back and rested your forehead against his, looking directly into his eyes and smiling. "I wanna stay like this for a while" you mumbled, and he looks back at you, giving you such a loving gaze.

"Me too."

It was the end of the concert, and you were now hand-in-hand with Heeseung. You checked your phone to see 19 notifications, and it was from your boyfriend — well, soon to be ex boyfriend..

8 Missed Calls

channie! : u fucking bitch channie! : u got heeseung to beat me up didn't u?? channie! : you're such an attention whore channie! : u only asked him to do so because u were jealous of that girl right channie! : that mother fucker left me in an alley way channie! : i admit channie! : i've been cheating on you with her

And before you could read the last few messages, you showed your screen to Heeseung. At first, Heeseung was afraid that you'd be hurt by Chan's words, but all you asked was, "You beat him up?" with your face completely unphased.

"....Yeah.... Don't get me wrong! Today, I saw him.... kissing that girl from before, and I just had to do something, y'know?" he pouted, not wanting you to get angry at him again and becoming all defensive.

You laugh at him before squishing his cheek. You looked back at your phone screen and clicked on Chan's notification, reading the last few messages you missed out on.

channie! : you're so overbearing channie! : she's way better than you channie! : i'm breaking up with u btw lol channie! : you'll never find anyone like me

You smirked, rolling your eyes before quickly letting go of Heeseung's hand to type a reply.

y/n : that's a relief y/n : bye

You snorted and showed Heeseung your reply, him giggling afterwards. You turned off your phone and inserted it in your pocket, holding Heeseung's hand again. The atmosphere was so loud, considering that the concert just ended and there were hoards of people trying to leave, but with Heeseung with you, you felt protected.

"I really looked like an idiot, didn't I?" you referred to when you were crying your eyes out for Chan before the concert. "Yeah, but a pretty idiot." "Oh? Mr Flirty.." you chuckled, blushing at his words. All your anger for him had vanished. "No but really, you look so pretty with that hairstyle.. that makeup and outfit." he said, looking the other way to avoid eye contact. It was dark, but the streetlight was making his redenned ears obvious.

You both continued to walk hand-in-hand, finally walking to an area that had lesser people, making the atmosphere calmer.

"How do you feel about me?" you asked.

There were seconds of silence, and you were about to apologise for such an abrupt question, until he spoke up.

"I feel crazy over you. I was going insane over the fact that you were having all these other boyfriends that treated you like absolute shit when I was right there. I could've been giving you wanted, Y/N. I enjoy every single moment with you, and that means a lot considering we literally live with each other. From those moments we go grocery shopping, to when we have movie nights, to when we fight over the smallest shit, I really enjoy all of them."

You nodded at his response, a smile creeping up your face. You interlocked your hand with him and squeezed his hand.

"How about you, Y/N?" he squeezed your hand back.

"I feel safe with you. I've had many partners, but they never made me feel as comfortable as you make me feel. I just assumed that it was because we're roommates, and that we feel close to each other since we see each other everyday, but I don't know.. I've always secretly craved for something more." you confessed, feeling embarrassed that you were completely vulnerable right now, but you wanted to be honest.

"That makes me feel so happy." he smiled at you, and you returned the smile.

"I'm sorry for being so cold to you this week." "It's okay. I understand."

After a while, the two of you finally returned home. Earlier expecting to be brought home by Chan, you were instead brought home by Heeseung, and it made you feel more content.

"I'm gunna go shower.." you told Heeseung, walking towards the bathroom.

"Can we shower together?" he asked, and you turned around, you looked at him weirdly with an eyebrow raised. "Weirdo.." you reply. "Whaat??? It's not weird at all!" he fought back. You rolled your eyes and snickered, walking into the bathroom.

A week has passed since you had broken up with Chan, and well, since you and Heeseung confessed to each other. In the dorm, you and Heeseung got even closer, sleeping together on the same bed every few days and having movie nights more frequently, but you and him never made it official. Both of you were honest about how you felt, so does that mean you two were dating? But nobody asked the big question, so does that mean the two of you were friends.. with benefits?

You were in class and it was the only thing you could think of, making you irritated. You couldn't focus, and if you went home to relax, the person making you lose focus would be there. As soon as the lecturer announced that class was over, you quickly closed your laptop and packed your bag, dashing for the door. You dashed home, praying that Heeseung wasn't home yet and wanting to just sleep your worries away. Since you and Heeseung were living in dorms, the time taken to walk back home wouldn't be long, so after 10 minute of walking, you reached the front of your door. You pull out your keys and unlocked the door, opening it and stepping foot into the house.

The first thing you noticed was the aroma. It smelled sweet, like.. chocolate cake? You loved chocolate cake. You quickly locked the front door behind you and put your shoes on the rack, stepping into the kitchen when you are met with a cake set on the table, "Will you let me be your boyfriend?" written with icing and flower petals around it forming a heart shape. Your heart instantly melted.

Suddenly, you heard a scream behind you and you instantly turned around, a confused look plastered onto your face. The scream came from Heeseung, who was just leaving his room and his eyes widened.

"HUHHH?? YOU'RE BACK HOME ALREADYY???" he whined, dropping a letter on the floor.

"What's all of this?" you giggled.

"I WANTED TO SURPRISE YOUU.." he whined again, fake-crying.

You giggled at the sight in front of you. Usually Heeseung put up a mature front around you, but you couldn't help but find this side of him extremely adorable.

"Well, that's unfortunate" you giggled, amused at how his face became fully red in an instant. You walked up to him and held both of his hands.

"So, what were you going to ask me?" you raised your eyebrows, anticipating to a specific phrase you've been wanting to hear so badly throughout the entire week.

He sighed, looking away since he felt embarrassed that his surprise failed. He mustered up the courage to look at you and finally ask the big question, "Y/N, will you let me be your boyfriend?"

You hummed, looking up to the ceiling, portraying that you were 'thinking', but you only wanted to tease him. You felt ecstatic that it was all going to be official.

"Don't tease me!" he whined, feeling impatient.

"Maybe.... yes?" you finally replied, and he looked at you with such a jubilant expression. He pulled you into a kiss, his hands wrapping around your waist, and you kiss him back.

"I'll treat you so well Y/N, better than all those bastards and those characters you fangirl so much over, okay?" he pulled back, cupping your cheeks.

You nodded and leaned in once more for another kiss.

[myster-roca]

Through Another's Eyes

The neon sign flickered in the distance, casting an eerie red glow that danced off the cracked asphalt of the motel’s desolate parking lot. The word "Vacancy" blinked in and out, barely clinging to life, much like the dilapidated building it was attached to. The wind carried the faint scent of dust and decay, whispering through the night, as if the very air was haunted.

Tim squinted through his cracked windshield, pulling his car into the far corner of the lot, enveloped in shadows. He sat there, his fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel, the ticking of the cooling engine echoing like a countdown.

His plan was simple: sneak in, steal anything worth a dime—cash, electronics, jewelry—and disappear before anyone noticed. It was the same routine he’d pulled dozens of times, but tonight, something felt different—off in a way he couldn't quite shake.

Still, he pushed the thought aside. He was dead broke, but that wasn’t anything new. He was used to surviving on scraps, drifting from town to town, picking pockets and breaking into places like this to scrape by. And now, he found himself here, in front of this run-down motel, a last-ditch effort to score enough cash to get him to the next nowhere town.

He wasn’t going through the front door. That was a rookie mistake. Tim needed to be smarter, stealthier.

He circled to the back of the building, crouching low as he spotted an old metal hatch. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in years, maybe an old laundry chute or some kind of service entrance, long forgotten.

The bolts were rusted, the metal cracked—an afterthought in this crumbling relic. Tim pulled a utility knife from his jacket, a tool that had gotten him out of many tight spots. He wedged it between the hatch and the wall, gritting his teeth as he applied steady pressure. One hinge snapped, then the other, until the hatch swung open just enough for him to slip through.

The space beyond was tight, suffocating, like the walls were closing in. Tim’s pulse hammered in his ears as he crawled through the hatch, the cold metal scraping his skin.

Every movement felt deliberate, the darkness pressing against him, thick and oppressive. His breath caught, the damp, stale air seeping into his lungs, choking him for a brief moment before he forced it down. This was it—just another job. Nothing he hadn’t handled before.

But something about this felt different.

Pushing deeper into the narrow passage, his fingers grazed the cold, grimy walls, his mind racing. Then he noticed them—small, foggy windows lining the walls, barely catching the faintest glints of light.

At first, they seemed like nothing, but as Tim’s eyes adjusted, a cold realization gripped him. One-way mirrors. They weren’t just glass—they were portals, hidden views into the motel rooms beyond.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. Each mirror offered a voyeuristic glimpse into the lives of the unsuspecting guests on the other side.

Tim paused at one of the windows, his breath stilling in his chest as he leaned closer, peering through the foggy glass. The room beyond looked unremarkable at first—a bed, a couple of chairs, an unused TV in the corner. But it wasn’t the room that caught his attention.

It was the two naked men inside.

They sat across from each other, a heavy silence hanging between them. The younger man, his sharp features framed by a dark undercut, exuded a kind of elegance that only comes with age and experience.

The other, a bit older, with lines etched into his weathered face, radiated a quiet, unshakable confidence. But beneath the calm exterior, Tim could sense it—something dark and unsettled lurking just beneath the surface.

Tim watched them intently, feeling a strange sensation stirring within him. There was something intimate about this, more than just a conversation between two men. He pressed closer to the glass, his pulse quickening as he eavesdropped on their words.

The older man broke the silence first, his voice quiet but laced with regret. “I’ve been thinking… about everything. All the years, all the things I didn’t do. The things I wanted to do but never did. And now… now it feels like it’s too late.”

The younger man listened, his expression softening as the older one continued.

“I spent my life chasing what was expected of me. The job, the family, the routine… but what I wanted, deep down, I kept pushing aside. I always told myself I’d get to it eventually. But time… it slips away. And now, here I am, wondering why I didn’t act sooner.”

Tim felt a tug in his chest as he listened, the rawness of the man’s words striking something deep inside him. Regret. The bitter weight of not following one’s true desires. He had felt that before, hadn’t he? The tension of living a life that didn’t quite match what he wanted. As he stood there, hidden behind the walls, something stirred—something dark and sensual, an unspoken yearning he’d kept buried.

The younger man leaned forward, his tone gentle. “It’s not too late, Dan,” he said softly. “We’re here now. And we can still do what we’ve always wanted. We can still be who we want to be.”

Dan’s eyes met Ron’s, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. “I’ve wasted so much time, Ron,” he said, his voice low, almost pained. “But now, here with you, I feel like I can finally be who I am. No more pretending.”

Tim felt his breath catch as the atmosphere shifted, the air heavy with something unspoken yet undeniable. The words exchanged between the two men weren’t just about regret anymore; they carried a charge, a raw sensuality that made Tim’s skin prickle. He knew he shouldn’t be watching, but he couldn’t look away. The intimacy in their conversation, the quiet longing in their voices, stirred something primal in him.

The younger man, Ron, stood and walked toward a black duffel bag on the floor. He unzipped it with practiced ease, pulling out two folded skinsuits.

Tim’s eyes widened. These weren’t costumes—they were realistic, eerily lifelike male body skinsuits. Each was crafted to mimic a sculpted male form, from the rich ebony tone of one to the leaner, more defined build of the other. The craftsmanship was impeccable, every muscle and contour disturbingly real.

“You really brought them,” the older man, Dan, said, his voice filled with awe.

Ron nodded. “We both want this. You deserve to feel it—to be who you’ve always imagined.”

Tim’s eyes locked onto the older man, whose trembling fingers skimmed over the muscular form of the suit. He traced the lines of biceps and abs that didn’t belong to him, his breath quickening as his touch grew bolder. Anticipation flickered in his eyes. "It… it feels real," he whispered, almost in disbelief.

"Of course it does," the younger man said, already preparing to step into his suit. "This isn't just about pretending; it's about becoming someone else entirely.

Tim's mouth felt dry as he watched the transformation unfold. Dan slipped into his suit, his expression a mix of fascination and excitement. With a deliberate step, he slid one leg inside, the material clinging to him as if alive.

As the synthetic suit stretched over his body, muscles rippled beneath, his frame thickening. His chest broadened, pecs standing proud, and abs carved into firm ridges. His arms swelled, veins pulsing, while his waist tapered.

His legs thickened with powerful thighs, and his calves bulged as they flexed. His face shifted, seamlessly molding into a square-jawed, rugged mask framed by a dense, dark beard. The older man had become a handsome hunk, exuding raw, masculine strength.

Ron followed, his lean physique transforming into a hulking form. His hair vanished beneath the suit, leaving him bald except for the dark beard framing his square jawline. His frame seemed to melt into the suit, which stretched and reshaped him completely. His chest broadened, and as the suit closed over his shoulders, his lean muscles swelled into a statuesque form.

His skin darkened to a smooth, flawless, rich tone. His once-slender arms were now sculpted with taut muscles, his legs strong and perfectly proportioned, a vision of masculine beauty. His hands touched his face, feeling his features change.

His jawline sharpened into chiseled perfection, framed by a neatly trimmed beard. His lips curved into a confident smirk, and his eyes gleamed with new confidence. The false black guy stared at his reflection, seeing a handsome, muscular model looking back.

The transformation was breathtaking. Both men stood chiseled, their bodies sculpted into ideal forms of masculinity.

They stood there for a moment, letting their new forms settle over them. The air was charged with something else now—desire, lust, an unspoken need. Ron's muscular figure reached out, fingertips tracing Dan's new broad chest, exploring the unfamiliar landscape.

"I’ve always wanted this," the new handsome hunk admitted, his eyes locked on the new black man as his hand drifted lower. "To feel like this. To be like this."

The black guy’s face softened as he cupped Dan's new crotch. "I know. And I want it, too."

Dan groaned as Ron squeezed him through the skin, the material clinging so tightly it left no mystery to the shape beneath. Tim felt himself stirring at the sight, his own arousal building in tandem with what was happening in front of him. He reached into his pants, fingers wrapping around his cock as he stroked himself. This was wrong—so wrong—but he couldn’t help it. The raw need that permeated the room, the forbidden nature of their attraction, the primal sense of watching something he shouldn’t—it was all too much.

Dan stepped forward, hands trailing down the black guy's arms, his fingers skimming the muscles bulging beneath the skin. Their lips met, a soft, hungry kiss that deepened as they wrapped their bodies around each other. They moved onto the bed, their hands exploring each other’s new forms, the friction of skin on skin sending a thrill through Tim’s own flesh.

“You feel so good, Ron.” Dan groaned into the other guy’s mouth as their hands continued to explore. “Everything about you…”

Ron pulled back, his beard scratching Dan’s chin. “You’re amazing too. I don’t know how much more of this foreplay I can take.”

Dan chuckled as he flipped Ron onto his back. The black muscled figure moaned as Dan’s hand gripped his dick, stroking him through the suit. He reached down, sliding a finger beneath the material to tease the tip of Ron’s dick. They kissed again, their bodies rolling on the bed as they rubbed against each other.

“I want to feel you inside me.” Ron gasped as Dan squeezed him harder. “Fuck me in this new body of mine.”

Dan grinned as he fumbled for something in the duffel bag. He returned with a bottle of lube, squirting a generous amount between his fingers. Ron hissed as Dan worked his hole, his skin tightening as he stretched him open.

When he felt ready, Ron rolled onto his stomach, looking back over his shoulder as he spread his legs. “I want you to take me, Dan,” he begged, his voice hoarse with need. “Show me what you’re working with.”

Dan slicked his cock and positioned himself behind Ron. He held the black muscled figure's hips, looking down at the inviting ass waiting for him. Tim’s fist tightened around his own dick as he watched, his breath hitching as Dan started to push inside. The false handsome hunk groaned as Ron took him in, his cock disappearing into that perfect ass, his balls slapping against Ron’s skin.

“Fuck, Dan. You feel so big.” Ron writhed beneath him, his body trembling. “Give it to me. Show me who I am.”

Dan began to thrust, his powerful hips driving into Ron’s ass. The younger man arched his back, crying out as Dan slammed into him, the skin of his suit tight and taut against the force of Dan’s cock.

“More,” Ron demanded, his hands clutching at the bedcovers. “Harder.”

Dan gave him more, his hips moving back-and-forth as he fucked the synthetic black man. Ron whimpered, his backside clenching around Dan’s cock with each thrust. Their skin slapped together, echoing through the room as they took each other hard and rough. Tim could feel himself building toward something, his cock aching as he watched their bodies strain together.

Ron pushed back into each thrust, meeting Dan stroke for stroke. Their grunts mingled in the air, thick with need and lust. It was like nothing Tim had ever seen before—two men lost in each other, completely consumed by desire. He’d always known he wanted things he shouldn’t, but this was something different. There was a primal sense of power in watching their bodies writhe together, their suits mimicking something real but not quite human. Something darker, wilder.

The air in the room seemed to grow hotter as their tempo quickened. Dan was close, his thrusts becoming rougher as he chased his orgasm. Ron moaned, his hand reaching down to jerk himself as Dan’s cock hit his prostate.

“Oh, fuck,” Dan growled through gritted teeth. “I’m going to come.”

“Do it,” Ron gasped, his fist moving faster. “Fill me up with your cum.”

Tim’s fingers tightened around his cock as Dan slammed into Ron, his body shuddering as he came deep inside the synthetic man’s ass. Ron cried out, feeling Dan’s cum flood him, his own cock shooting ropes of cum across the bed. Their bodies trembled together as they rode out the intensity of their orgasms, their cries filling the room, lost in the heat of the moment.

When they were spent, Dan pulled out of Ron’s ass and gently turned him onto his back. He leaned down, kissing the false black man passionately, their lips lingering as they savored the afterglow.

“You feel so good,” Dan moaned into the kiss. “So hot and tight. I can’t get enough.” His hand slid down to grip Ron’s cock, stroking him while their lips remained locked.

Ron moaned, arching into the touch. “I love feeling your cum inside me. It’s so hot.” His hands trailed up Dan’s back, tracing the muscles rippling beneath his skin. “Fuck, you feel amazing in this skin. All that muscle on you is incredible. I’ve always loved a big man.”

Dan laughed softly against his lips. “You’re not so bad yourself. I like this bald look on you.”

Ron groaned, rubbing his cock against the older man's muscular form. “I could do this all night, but we need to get ready for the club. It starts in thirty minutes.” He pulled back, his eyes gleaming as he looked at Dan. “And we’ll need to use new skinsuits.”

He reached for another duffel bag, unzipping it to reveal two new sets of skinsuits. Tim squinted at them, taking in every detail—the muscle definition, the skin tone, even the patterns of hair. These suits were just as realistic as the last ones, and he couldn’t wait to see how they would look on.

“Only these identities are allowed in the club. We have to wear them if we’re going to get in,” the young man in the black man's skin explained.

Dan hesitated, his hands running down his chest. “I don’t want to take this off,” he admitted. “I… like this one. I like who I am.”

Ron chuckled. “And you can still be him after tonight. But for now…” He pulled out the new suits, shaking them until they unfolded into life-sized replicas of human bodies. “Trust me, Dan, you’re gonna love it.”

“You always know how to convince me,” Dan said, taking one of the suits from Ron. “These will be fun,” he added, running his hands over the synthetic flesh.

The two men began to peel off their suits, tossing them aside like discarded skins, shedding the skins until they stood naked once more. Their real bodies were now exposed—nothing like the godlike figures they had transformed into earlier. With practiced ease, they slipped into the new suits, their faces lighting up as their new forms settled into place.

The older man’s new skin was smooth, hairless from the neck down, with muscles defined but not overly bulky. His cock was long and thick, his balls hanging heavy between his thighs. The younger man became a hulk, his frame broad and powerful, muscles sculpted to perfection. His cock was thicker this time, with his balls a heavy weight between his thighs.

They dressed quickly, pulling on leather pants and jackets, the fabric stretching tight over their new muscles. Dan flexed to test the fit, admiring his reflection, his eyes bright, lips curling into a smile.

“You ready?” Ron asked.

Dan nodded, adjusting his jacket. “Fuck yeah. Let’s do this.”

They kissed one last time before leaving the room, shutting the door behind them. Tim remained hidden,his heart pounding, adrenaline surging from what he had just witnessed. The idea of transformation, of becoming someone new, was intoxicating. It gnawed at him, primal and irresistible.

He waited, listening until their footsteps faded. Then, as he shifted, his foot knocked against the wall. He froze. The soft impact caused a tremor, and he noticed something—a brick in the wall wobbled slightly, as if it had come loose.

Curiosity overruled caution. Tim nudged the brick, and to his shock, the wall slid open, revealing a passage leading directly to the room he had just been watching.

It felt surreal, like a dream. But it was real. Without hesitation, he crawled through the gap, his heart racing as he emerged on the other side. The room was dim, the air heavy with an electric tension. His eyes were drawn immediately to the skinsuits lying discarded on the floor.

He stared down at them, a chill running through his body as he picked one up off the floor. As he brought it closer, his breath hitched at the uncanny sensation of touching something so real, yet so fake.

The texture was disturbingly lifelike, so much so that he could have sworn it was real flesh beneath his fingers. It felt almost criminal to hold it. He cradled the skinsuit in his arms, and the realization hit him like a wave. He could take one of these suits, wear it, and become someone else. A new face, a new identity—a new life.

He shoved the skinsuits into the duffel bag and slipped back into the hidden corridor, carefully closing the secret opening behind him, sealing the passage from view once again. He sprinted down the narrow hallway, not stopping until he reached his car and sped off into the darkness.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw the neon lights of the motel flicker out of sight, leaving him with the same thought as the two men earlier:

“We can still do what we’ve always wanted. We can still be who we want to be."

--- ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ---

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[forlovvers]

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ that feeling when

pair: bsf!riki x f!reader | genre: fluff !!! like so bad | warning(s): none | wc: 600 | synopsis: in which a simple moment in time makes you realize your forever feelings towards your best friend.

lynne’s notez🗒️: had this thought and i rlly wanted to put it into words anyways need me a riki lowk😓

riki is sprawled out across your bed, his long limbs meeting every corner of your twin-sized bed. he remembers when the two of you were small enough to have sleepovers and build forts on this bed. now, the two of you can barely sit on it without someone falling off, most of the time it is riki.

he’s laying upside down, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone as he waits for you to finish getting ready. riki knew that girls took forever to get ready, but he never knew just how long that meant because he arrived at your house at 5 and now its nearing 6:45. he feels restless so he yells, “are you done yet!”

“stop yelling!” you yell back, your voice muffled because of the bathroom door separating you from him. riki groans internally, realizing the gel in his hair won’t stay put long if he keeps laying upside down and if you keep getting ready at the pace of a snail. but he’s too comfortable to move, so he resorts to opening up his camera app and gently smoothening out the sides just like jay had taught him. he feels like spiderman for couple seconds.

after what feels like forever, the bathroom door slides open, and you step out timidly. your hair is done up all fancy, some strands of curled hair falling from its place and framing your face instead. the dress you chose hugs your figure just right; the dress is made of green silk and flows down past your legs and hangs just above your ankles.

riki flings himself up and stands, attempting to stabilize himself to get a better look at you. his breath gets caught in his throat and his heart beats quicker and louder than it ever has. he adjusts his tie awkwardly and steps towards you. compliments and praise want to spill from his lips, but all riki can sputter out is, “your neckline is bare.”

your face contorts into confusion and you stand in front of the mirror, inspecting the neckline that your best friend critics. you suppose it does look a bit bare. frowning, you pull down your dress and start to sift through the jewelry you have hanging on your mirror.

without noticing, riki comes up from behind you and starts to unclasps his own necklace. you stop and watch him reach around you to gently bring the necklace to your neck. he carefully clasps the necklace and alters it to look nicely on, all while you hold your breath and follow his feather-like movements.

you recognize the necklace as riki’s simple, yet most favorite piece he owns. you remember the day he received it for his birthday from his parents, never letting anyone touch it or so much as leave the house without it. for him to let you wear it, felt like winning the lottery.

your eyes finally meet and you’re suddenly so aware of how close you and riki are, pink flooding your cheeks. riki’s eyes travel to your lips briefly before he steps back and clears his throat, “it looks good now.”

“thanks,” you say shyly, cursing yourself for becoming all flustered.

“we should get going to jay’s party.” riki offers his arm to you and you hesitantly reach for it, reminding yourself that you’ve done this before and have no reason to be so worked up.

“thanks again for coming with me,” you turn to him, studying his expression thoroughly. your free hand comes up to twirl riki’s necklace, feeling the cool metal of the chain.

“i’d only do this for you, yn.” he says, grinning that stupid smile you’ve come to love so much. and in that moment you realize you’ve fallen hard and fast for nishimura riki.

[fanaticsnail]

Overstimulation: Nico Robin

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word Count: 1,200

Themes: Robin x afab!reader, mentions of pain, crew dynamics, mdni, 18+, NSFW, smut, friends to friends that help each other out, migraine, frustration, overstimulation, inappropriate use of devil fruit, fingering, praising.

Notes: Another chapter of my birthday celebration series. Getting closer to the day now!

The dull ache pulsed through your mind in a rhythmic thrum. Stress finally accumulated in a high tone in your ears and ringing through your temples to the central lobe of your mind, causing your eyes to unintentionally clench shut to coax it away.

You had been traveling at sea for far too long. The tension rising amongst the crew all seemed to come to a peak, prompting your body to react by bringing a migraine to the forefront of your being. Although you had taken ibuprofen prescribed by Chopper earlier a few minutes prior, it had yet to work its way through your system to snuff out the ache.

Walking towards your room, you stumbled on the last step and began to topple over. As you expected the impact of the wooden floor to meet your body, two hands swarmed your frame and engulfed you in their embrace. You didn't need to open your eyes to understand the crystal gaze you were to meet should you do so.

“You've gotta keep your eyes open, honey,” she chuckled, slowly tugging you back to an upright position with the large hands before dispelling them. “You look like you've got far too much on your mind.”

Stepping forward, she hooked the arm attached to her persons in yours, weaving them together and skillfully spurring you on towards your quarters on the Sunny.

“Zoro and Sanji are at each other’s throats day in and day out,” you nod, opening your eyes and turning to face her. “Then you've got Brook trying his best to sneak a peek at Nami’s panties, Franky attempting to make everything ‘super’ by clanging metal together in heavy-handed rapidity.”

Robin leads you on, both of you crossing the threshold to your room with Robin closing the door behind you. You unlaced your arm from hers, stepping towards your desk while your fingers snuck up to massage your temples.

“Then there's Luffy who's decided to raid the pantry of all of the ‘good food’, leaving us in staples,” you continue on your tirade with Robin listening intently to your rambling. “Usopp had been working on explosives for his slingshot, flicking them at the walls, while Chopper has been asking non-stop when the next time we make port is and I just-... I just-...”

“Sit,” a warm voice ordered you from the corner of the room, gesturing to your bed. “And take off your pants.”

“What?” You exclaim, snapping your entire attention back to Robin and frowning at her with a deep furrow of your brows.

“When I used to get frustrated to the point of migraines forming back with Baroque Works,” she informs you, shrugging off and stretching her neck while stretching her arms, “I used to do this thing where I'd get my arms and surround myself with them.”

“Okay,” you offer in a lengthy extension, “What does that have to do with taking my pants off, Robin?”

Robin chuckles, leaning towards the plush armchair in the corner of your room and slowly taking a seat in the soft center. Adjusting herself in her seat, she hooks one knee over the other and reclines while her hands find the rests either side of the chair.

“Do you sleep in those pants?” she asked you with a soft shrug, eyes only depicting her kindness as she spoke.

“No,” you offer her monotonously.

“Then take them off, lay back, and let me help you relax.”

There was something about the way she spoke that had you almost hypnotized. Whether it was the migraine slowly dissipating, your perplexion at her suggestion, or the way her smile seemed to only grow as you complied: you did as she said.

Laying back in your shirt, only your briefs shielding you from exposing yourself completely to the woman in your chair, you felt your body immediately relax into what felt like the grip of a thousand gentle touches.

Fingers, thumbs, palms, forearms, each soft touch and gentle caress siphoned your pain and alleviated your tension. There was no more pain, only all of Robin while she sat back with a soft smile spreading up to glow in her cheeks. She was everywhere, and you couldn't help but sigh and groan as she took your pain into her hands and morphed it into something beautiful.

“Relaxed, darling?” Robin asked, her fingers slowly rising to tickle at your chest and dance along the hem of your shirt. Your eyes could barely open as she overwhelmed you by her touch.

“Ah-....” you choked out, feeling as some of her fingers began to travel lower to your abdomen. Your back arched into a perfect crescent as her many hands grasped your thighs and pinned you to the bed. “...uh huh.”

Robin smiled, her forearms moving to circle at your stomach and tug you against the bed. You couldn't cry out in protest due to how truly relaxed you were. Your body reacted to her every move, breath hitching as her digits slipped beneath your underpants and toyed with your slit without placing her fingers inside your entrance.

“Good job, darling,” she praised you, her voice hitching at the corners as she watched you slowly attempt to seek out more contact from her hands. She toyed with you by carding her digits through your slit and halting just before touching that small pearled bud.

“Y-You did this to yourself?” you stuttered out. Your voice whined out for her while she toyed with that small pearl. As she began to draw lazy circles against it, more of her hands drew themselves up to pin, hold, grind, tease, touch, and rub your body.

“It is quite relaxing,” she confessed, her voice purring out to you from her place on the arm chair, “Isn't it?”

“Yes-!” You whined out as her hands began caressing your chest and teasing your pebbled buds over your shirt. Fingers slowly entered your slit, hooking up and brushing with your sensitive ring of muscle.

“So wet for me, darling,” she praised you, “Just let me take all that stress and tension from you.” She began picking up her intensity, meeting each part of you while holding you firmly against the mattress. “All you need to do is lie back and let me work.”

Your stomach banded together in thick knots, coiling tightly as your thighs tingled. Toes curling, she drew your hands above your head, pinning your wrists up and binding each part of you with fingers, hands, and forearms.

“You're so close, aren't you?” Her voice gasped out, slowly moaning at your display of lust pouring out by each coax of her motions, “Good job. Just relax for me, and I'll take care of the rest.”

“Robin-!” you mewled as the coil snapped. White split your vision as you felt her fingers sucking up into your core. Her hands held you back, expertly driving you over that edge and continuing to hook up into you.

“There you go,” she hummed thoughtfully, “Ride it out with me. You can do that for me, can't you?”

You whined as she continued to pin you down, basking in the release of your tension while being expertly championed through your high by her hands.

Huffing and panting, her hands stilled and withdrew from beneath the barrier of your briefs. Rising up from her position on the chair, she continued to hold you in her firm grip while she walked over to you.

“How's the migraine now?” she smiled down at you, using the hands attached to her body to gently caress your cheek.

“Forgotten,” you utter softly, a warm flush swelling in your cheeks as your pulse quickened. She leaned down, pressing her lips to your forehead and humming against your flesh.

“I'm happy to have helped."

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel @ane5e

🎶 Happy Birthday to Me 🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

TASM PETER PARKER day 16 (31/10) — web bondage

18+ fem!reader, 380 words. mdni!!

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST ⋆ ˚｡𖦹.

Peter’s synthetic webbing lay around your wrists, the faux spider silk wrapping behind the bars of his metal bed frame — keeping you in place. He’s sat on his knees between your thighs as he removes the cartridges from his lower arms, reaching across to place them on the nightstand beside you.

And as he does so, you’re entrapping your legs around him, keeping him place like he did you. The inners of your knees graze the waistband of his pyjama bottoms as you adjust under him, hips lifting like you were shimmying in your position. You look up at him keenly, eyes intrigued of what he may do now that you got him to agree to tying you up.

He peers down to meet your gaze, his somewhat tentative.

“Is it too tight?” he asks, glancing across your face, trying to read your expressions.

Your lips slowly turn up into a smile as you nod, the motion of your head faint but the action all too telling. 

“Want me to redo it?” he questions, looking up at your bound wrists — unsure of himself.

You circle your hips, briefly winding yourself against his chub-on as you shake your head. Extending your neck ever so slightly, you reach up to him, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“No,” you murmur against him. “I like it,” you reassure, kissing him again — trying to ease him.

He quietly chuckles against your lips, the sound amused as he moves a hand from beside your head to your cheek, thumbing over your skin. He flicks over your eyes again, reading you one last time before reconnecting to your mouth. The kiss grows deeper upon understanding your comfort, lips hungrily working over each other. 

His hand on your cheek drops to the side of your throat, his touch and pressure remain light, the hold simply a way to keep you there — to keep you in control which you very clearly seemed to want. He parts from your mouth, moving slightly south of yours and working faint, flutter-like kisses along your jaw to where his hand was moments before. He feels you squirm under him, an anticipatory, excited roll of your hips against him telling him all he needed to know. You have never been more turned on.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

5: EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Emotions between you and Bucky are running high and it leads to some unexpected strife between the two of you.

Word count 3.3k

Warnings: derogatory language, mentions of vomit, Bucky Barnes being a real asshole

There was a deep itch under your skin and a tingling between your thighs that didn’t dissipate as quickly as you would like. Neither could you look Bucky in the eye, especially since you wondered if he said those things to Priya when they were in bed together. As much as you’d love to pretend that they didn’t have a sexual relationship, he had clearly refuted your hypothesis earlier in the day. It didn’t help that Bucky hadn’t turned around at all from his position at the end of the bed. Just as you opened your mouth to ask Bucky what your next step should be, there was a knock at the door.

You finally got eye contact from Bucky as he whipped his head around in surprise. You flicked on the app on your phone which was linked to the camera outside your room, which showed Nadal rapping at your door. Bucky jumped up. "Who’s there?" he called, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Your neighbor!" came Nadal’s voice.

"Just a second!" Bucky looked at you, suddenly wide-eyed as you stripped your dress in one quick motion. ‘What’re you doing?’ he mouthed at you.

"Strip!" you hissed as you flung yourself under one of the sheets and shed your bra.

Bucky slipped out of his slacks and shirt, tossing them across the room before going over to the door. He looked back at you, asking you if his arm hologram was not out of place. You nodded and he opened the door and greeted Nadal. You were meant to be listening to their conversation but your eyes were inexplicably drawn to the muscles on Bucky’s back, the way they flexed with every movement he made.

"I knew she was a screamer…" you caught the end of the conversation as Bucky leaned back and they both looked at you. You waved back coquettishly, holding the sheets over your exposed breasts.

"We’re heading down to dinner, I was going to ask if you wanted to join us, but it seems that you’re still … indisposed."

"Yes, I think room service will be a bit more suitable for us tonight," Bucky smirked. "You think they would bring us whipped cream and strawberries?"

Nadal chortled, "well you are in the honeymoon suite, I don’t think they would deny you the pleasure."

Bucky kept laughing until the door was shut, where he proceeded to roll his eyes in private. You proceeded to pull your phone out from beneath the sheets, checking that Nadal and his husband didn't double back to their room.

"Looks like the coast is clear," you whispered, holding up the phone. Bucky’s gaze lingered on you, mouth slightly agape. His embarrassment flared, ears turning crimson. You glanced down, realizing the sheet had slipped, revealing more than intended. "Think you could stop staring long enough to complete this mission?"

"Sorry," Bucky mumbled, turning away to give you privacy, heading to the window to assess your access to Nadal’s room. You swapped the sundress for leggings and a fitted tee, practical for maneuvering. Creeping to Bucky, you peered out the window at the gap between balconies.

"Can we make it?" you whispered in his ear, not quite able to judge the distance beyond his beefy frame.

"Yeah, no problems." Bucky swung his legs over the railing, effortlessly hopping to the adjacent balcony. His left hand extended to you - it was a strange sensation, reaching out expecting the feel of flesh, only for your palm to meet cool metal. You grasped it, suspended between worlds, and leaped into the unknown.

Nadal’s room was bathed in darkness, which had fallen soon after the mention of dinner. The well lit palm trees in the resort offered a glow which allowed you to see without stumbling over the larger furniture items. Bucky’s eyesight adjusted faster than yours and he was beckoning you over to a safe.

"So what the hell was that back there?" Bucky asked, tersely, crouching down in front of the safe.

"What was what?" you whispered back, handing him the device necessary to open it.

"The… moaning," Bucky could hardly vocalize the show you had put on in the bedroom.

"What? You telling me that you and Priya don't talk to each other while you're screwing each other?" You asked with mock surprise while encouraging him to open the safe.

It was dark, but you could practically see Bucky's scowl at you before activating the decoder device. "She doesn't make a lot of noise."

"Well this mission is sorta depending on being convincing."

Bucky opened the door to the safe but all you found was a gun case and a few items of jewelry. No, your treasure wouldn't be so easy to find. Both of you rose from your crouched positions to resume your search.

"What if she doesn't like it?" Bucky mumbled.

"Like what?" you asked, trying to keep your tone low.

"You know… sex."

You stopped looking around to stare incredulously at Bucky through the darkness. "Are you shitting me right now? We're supposed to be looking for the intel, not discussing your sex life."

You continued your search, grumbling quietly under your breath, trying not to let his words get under your skin.

"Do you like that kind of thing?"

"Jesus Bucky! I think that’s between me and the people who actually want to be with me!"

Oh how Bucky wished he could tell you he was one of those people! He didn't ask any more questions, both of you searching in silence until Bucky discovered a sealed case with a fingerprint locking mechanism. "Got it!"

"Here Fitz-Simmons’ print scanner should sort this in a jiffy." You handed him one of your friends' inventions.

It did, Bucky flicked open the case, as you glanced anxiously at the camera app on your phone as someone walked past the front door. "Hurry!" you whispered urgently.

Bucky ignored you, connecting a memory drive to the computer in the case.

"Fuck, there's a password."

"Move," you pushed him away, shoving your phone into his hands. "You keep watch, I'll do this."

One of the things you’d taken from your past experiences, working with Agent Daisy Johnson, watching her hack into anything and everything. There wasn’t a firewall she couldn’t crack, and you’d picked up a thing or two about breaking encryptions. As you bashed away at the keyboard, Bucky watched the camera for signs of Nadal, every now and then glancing at you. His mind was reeling ever since he had heard you moaning, the hairs on the back of his neck had stood on end. Oh how he longed to hear you make those sounds again, preferably for him. He wanted to be the one who made you scream. He had often wondered how you would look, under him, coming undone for him, but he had never once considered how turned on he would feel hearing you.

Bucky had thought that ‘moving on’, getting a girlfriend, being in a relationship would help him get over his thoughts of you. And there were times recently where he thought he had made the right decision. You had been more closed off to him than ever and he couldn’t lie to himself, it hurt. But on reflection, the closeness of your friendship had been far more rewarding than anything he had ever experienced before. He couldn’t help but glance over at you, admiring how you worked, the concentration and determination to complete your objectives. The way your tongue stuck out on the side, between your teeth when you were so focused made him smile.

"Cricket," Bucky murmured, putting a hand on your shoulder. "They’re back."

"I’m not done! Go stall!"

Bucky dropped the phone and was out of the window in a flash. If you had the time, you would have taken a moment to marvel at the swiftness and elegance of his movement, but you had a task to complete and limited time to do so. It hadn’t even been a minute when you heard Bucky’s voice outside the room, engaging with Nadal. You shook your head as they discussed the food choices and what kind of delicious options he could choose from to feed his brand new wife. Your heart clenched as your ring glistened in the light of the laptop screen.

"Five… four… three… two… one. Done!"

You slammed the laptop shut, locking the case and putting it back in the exact position you had found it. With your memory drive in hand, you braved the leap back to the honeymoon suite. You could still hear Bucky outside with Nadal, so stripping off your t-shirt and leggings, you bound over to the door, opening it a fraction.

"James." You stuck your head out of the door, making sure to reveal enough skin to make your ruse believable. "I'm hungry."

Bucky turned around to you and smirked. "And I've never been more thirsty, baby. Now get back in bed and I'll be right in."

Mission accomplished!

Now, the only thing left to do was to make a getaway without arousing suspicion. You started stuffing your belongings into a bag in case you needed to run. Bucky came back inside a few moments later.

"Time for the moment of truth." He went over to his bag and grabbed the gun he had stashed inside. "Ready?"

You slung the bag across your back, handing Bucky the drive to pocket. When you first started working together, you had decided that he would be the one to carry the intel. Bucky was the one more likely to survive if anything went wrong. He had been reluctant to agree, swearing that he would never leave you behind. And until you met Priya, you had believed him.

Both of you stood, frozen, waiting for a disturbance, signs of discovery of your trespass, but nothing came. 

"So, thoughts on the exit strategy?" you asked.

"Ideally unseen."

"Kinda hard In a place with so many people."

Bucky looked at you for a suggestion. 

"I have a thought," you ventured.

Bucky cocked his eyebrow in question. 

"Want to go down to the beach for a midnight skinny dipping session with your wife?" You offered your hand to him.

He took your hand with a smile. "Sounds like an excellent idea, Mrs. Road. Good thinking, Doll." 

His hand in yours made you smile for a moment, that is until the last word slipped from his mouth. Bucky hadn’t called you Doll since he started dating Priya. Your mind was sent reeling, had he meant to call you that? It made you angry and upset but you had a job to do, so you turned your face to hide your feelings and opened the door.

Expect the unexpected: it had been drummed into you in the academy induction. The second you had stepped out of the door, you dressed in a skimpy bikini and Bucky in floral swim trunks, you ran head first into the enemy.

"Oh! Mr. Nadal! I didn’t see you there!" you gasped dramatically. "Why are you awake at such a late hour?"

"I could ask you the same thing, my dear."

"Well, my Jamie isn’t really a risk taker. Sometimes I have to convince him to take a few risks," you whispered loudly. "He promised to take me skinny dipping on the beach, but he was a little embarrassed."

"I can’t imagine that Jamie has anything to be embarrassed about," Nadal responded.

Bucky blushed, rubbing his neck. He chuckled bashfully, "I’m not sure I know how to say no to her."

"No one should say no to such a beautiful woman." Nadal’s eyes roamed over your body.

"If you will excuse us, sir. I have to show my husband how to live on the edge." You smiled, dragging Bucky away.

As you rounded the corner, Bucky dropped your hand. You glanced up at his face as he strode purposefully to the car. 

"Hey Buck, wait up!" you hissed.

Except he didn’t slow down, ignoring you completely. You hustled to keep up with your fake husband until you reached the elevator to the parking garage.  

"What the hell, Bucky?" you cried as you got in the car after him. "That didn’t look like a very romantic getaway!"

Bucky started the car, pulling out and headed in the direction of the quinjet. You sat in a sullen silence as Bucky drove wordlessly staring only at the road ahead, jaw clenching, one set of white against the steering wheel while the other hand had created a dent in the leather upholstery.

"What is your problem?" you demanded after sitting in silence for fifteen minutes.

Bucky didn’t respond.

"God, you’re such a child!"

Bucky scoffed. "And you’re a fucking brat," he spat.

You looked at him, shocked.

"I knew you had a problem with Priya. But you couldn’t just come out and say it. You said you were happy for me, but then you come out with this shit. You said you were still my friend, but I can see how you judge my relationship. Not to mention all that crap back there, acting like a fucking pornstar. Not all of us need to act like dirty little sluts to get off."

Bucky slammed on the brakes, stopping on an unlit lane. You clawed at the door handle, stumbling out of the car, your breathing shallow and labored. You felt the sensation of bile rising in your throat, but you had nothing in your stomach to throw up. No one had ever spoken to you this way before and you never imagined that the man you loved so dearly had the capacity to hurt you so deeply.

Bucky jumped out of the car straight after you. He regretted every single thing he had said as soon as he finished. He thought about reaching out to touch you but wisely decided against it. "Oh God, Cricket, I’m so sorry. I… I only said those things because I was angry and I knew they would hurt you. Please, I didn’t mean any of them." He knew he had been wrong as the vitriol left his mouth, but once he had started, he couldn’t stop. Every negative emotion, every insecurity, every doubt that he held close to his heart had slipped out in the most malicious way. His parents had brought him up to be polite to everyone, the army had taught him to exhibit control, and HYDRA had forced him into submission. Bucky was an expert in suppressing his feelings, but you had tested his patience and pushed every single one of his buttons until he had exploded. 

There was no denying the sincerity of his apology, not that you registered any of the words he had said. Your mind was lost in a world of pain. You pulled the sheer cardigan that covered your shoulders tightly around your torso, shaking almost uncontrollably, both from emotion and the drop in temperature. It was killing Bucky to see your reaction, he wanted nothing more than to hold you close, to comfort you.

"Cricket," he whispered your name sorrowfully. Just as he was about to call you again, his ears pricked up slightly. There was a sound in the distance, a vehicle that was closer than it should be. Bucky glanced over his shoulder, catching a flash of a headlight beam. His heart rate picked up, anxiety increasing. Would Nadal have had you followed? Bucky peered into the darkness. There was no reason that anyone should be using that country lane at such a late hour.

"Cricket!" He grabbed your shoulders. "Get in the car, we have to go!"

Bucky’s voice felt far away but his hands on your arms were solid and forceful. He guided you back into the car and even though you wanted to shake him off, you knew he was doing the right thing.

"Cricket! They’re coming! Can you hear me?" Bucky spoke quietly but the urgency in his voice was evident.

You dragged yourself out of the well you’d fallen into, instead of drowning in the dark pit of misery, you decided to act. You sniffed back the congestion building in your sinuses and wiped the tears from your eyes, you grabbed the bag with the drive filled with intel. You needed to transmit the information back to headquarters so that they could make use of the passwords before everything could be changed. You picked up your cell, dialing Tony’s number.

"Tony! We need your help, now!" you put as much urgency into your voice as you could, before he had the chance to engage in his quips.

"What’s up? What did you and the Manchurian Candidate do?"

"We got the data, but we need to transmit it to you. They might be on to us and we don’t want them to have the chance to change their codes before we have time."

You could hear Tony typing even as you’re talking, wasting no time in setting up a secure connection for the data transfer. The pounding in your chest and ears now didn't have anything to do with Bucky’s outbursts. He was driving at an almost break neck speed, taking turns faster than normal and braking hard into unexpected turns. He had flipped off the headlights to make the car harder to spot, but the darkness, and the bumpy ride, as well trying to read the tiny writing on the screen was making you feel extremely queasy.

Bucky’s eyes flicked between the road, the rear view mirror and you. He was naturally concerned about you but he believed that you wouldn’t let your emotions get in the way of the mission. But that didn’t stop him from worrying.

"Cricket? We’re almost there."

"Almost done." You closed your eyes as the world started spinning and waves of nausea washed over you. Travel sickness wasn’t a problem you suffered often.

Bucky pulled into the small concealed opening which led to the field where you’d parked the currently cloaked quinjet. As soon as the car had stopped, Bucky shot back to the gate to close it, looking for signs of the enemy. You were left in sudden silence, no longer did the hum of the car engine soothe your thoughts, there was no other task at hand to distract you from the inner turmoil your body was suffering. The dizziness you’d been feeling earlier only intensified and you scrambled out of the car to escape the feeling of suffocation.

Unfortunately, the fresh night air did nothing to quell the throbbing in your temples or the saliva that was pooling in your mouth no matter how many times you swallowed. You knew your body well and you were loath to what was about to happen next. Supporting yourself against the hood of the car, you planted your palms on the metal to ground yourself for the inevitable. The acrid taste of bile stained your mouth as you heaved. A small sob escaped as acid in your empty stomach was expelled. Your whole body trembled in an effort to stay upright.

Bucky was at your side all of a sudden, his strong hands holding you up. And for a moment you melted into him. Letting him take care of you, letting him lead you into the quinjet, letting him wrap you in a warm blanket. You wanted your best friend back, you wanted your Bucky, the one who you could laugh with, the one who always took care of you, the one who made you feel special. He was the one person you could be yourself with. You missed the emotional intimacy you shared with him. The distance you’d put between him and yourself was making you physically ill.

You could barely focus on his face or the words he was saying to you or the way his thumbs caressed your cheeks. Bucky held up a bottle of water to your lips and you took a sip but it was all you could handle. Exhausted from the emotional stress, physical exertion and throwing up, your eyes drifted shut sitting in the co-pilot’s chair and you answered the call of Morpheus.

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