#or have edged a little closer away from where he is

[fawnfemmes]

Sevika x chubby reader where the reader is a councilor. They make eyes during meetings where Sevika looks the reader up and down. Sevika flirts with reader right after until they have to leave. This keeps happening for a few meetings until reader shows up in a more showy outfit just to show off for Sevika. She resists ending the meeting early just to get to reader sooner. After, a different (male?) councilor gets to reader first, he attempts flirting with the reader and Sevika ofc pushes aside the guy and probably insults him for speaking to reader lmao and I was picturing this ending with Sevika and reader waiting until everyone leaves (or sevika telling everyone to get out) and having ✨intimacy✨ in the councilor room. But you can end it differently ofc. This is just a dabble tbh, just an idea that came to mind once I saw your post about it. Hope this sparks some inspiration!

୨so… what now?୧

councillor!sevika X f!councillor!reader

🏷️: lesbian sex, porn with a side of plot, fingering (r!receiving), oral (r!receiving), semi-public sex, reader is chubby, pet names used, stone top sevika, no beta we die like men

🦌:tysm for this angel.. I was half asleep when i wrote this so it might not be very good. Idk. i hope it’s okay & I’m sorry it took so long to answer!! it’s short but that’s cause i scrapped it a few times. i left it how it was for posting cause i didn’t wanna force myself to write and then have it be awful 😔

when sevika became a councillor, she’d expected to spend all her time with selfish rich people who aren’t concerned for anything but their own causes. what she hadn’t expected was you.

sure, you were a filthy rich piltie, but you used that money for things other than yourself. you lived luxuriously but you spent the money you didn’t use to help people. and you were the only councillor, apart from her, to argue that zaun deserves equal attention to piltover.

immediately she was enamoured with you. it also helped that you were utterly breathtaking— soft and feminine, yet tantalisingly sexy. and after your first conversation, in which she almost went insane after you fawned over her prosthetic arm, she noticed you tended to float towards her a whole lot more.

you made eyes at her constantly, which she more than gladly returned, and most of your post-meeting conversations were simply the two of you flirting back and forth until somebody called you away for whatever the reason.

another thing she noticed was that your clothing changed. you’d always been feminine. but she noticed that since your first conversation you gradually wore.. less clothing? of course, you weren’t crossing the boundary of indecent exposure, but the slits in your dresses gradually crawled up your thighs day by day, and the necklines creeped lower. on occasion, sevika would notice you leaning forward in your seat diagonally from hers, just enough to give her a glimpse of your décolletage.

and naturally, it wasn’t only sevika that noticed this. there was another councillor who’d taken a liking to you. and being the lovely person you were, you’d laughed politely at his attempts to flirt with you and had returned the same energy— only your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes like it did with sevika, your voice never had the same airy tone. it did stroke her ego a little, but that didn’t mean the situation didn’t piss her off.

after a particularly stressful meeting, sevika was already on edge. when she saw you and aforementioned councillor talking. except he had you much closer this time, and you didn’t seem particularly thrilled. so, she intervened.

after a swift argument and sevika having to resist the urge to punch things, the two of you had been left alone.

it hadn’t been difficult, getting her this riled up. the second that councillor had left she’d burst into this spiel about how you make her feel, how unbearable she finds it having to look at you in those damn clothes and not be able to fuck the living daylights out of you all the time. and all you could do was laugh at her, pulling her in to kiss her gently, pulling her hand to your waist.

which is how you found yourself in this situation. sevika on her knees in front of you, her beautifully carved nose bumping against your clit while she murmurs sweet words into your cunt. her hands gripping at the fat of your thighs, steel eyes meeting yours as your eyelids flutter.

“sevika- at least give me a break- fuck!,” you grip at her hair gently, hips moving against her face as she looks up at you, steel eyes glittering as she looks at your plum red face. she grins cockily at you before continuing, somehow even faster.

it’s impressive to you, how long she’s been doing this. you think it might be crossing the half hour mark, and you’ve already cum twice. you had offered to return the favour but she declined plainly, and you weren’t about to complain.

she stays buried between the fat of your thighs for long enough that you think the bones in your legs are melting, and when she finally comes up for air she seems immensely proud of herself.

after promptly cleaning you up and escorting you back to your place, sevika pauses outside your door and rests a hand on the small of your back. she looks so reluctant to leave that you just laugh, pulling her into your house and immediately wrapping your arms around her neck. she laughs, voice shaky when she speaks.

“so, uhm… what now?”

long story short, you end the night sweaty and bare in your bed, talking about your lives and pasts after the realisation that you don’t really know each other— well, didn’t. you do now, and you think you might love sevika now you do.

[littlelamy]

𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔀𝓫𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶

❥ inspired by my baby @rafesheaven's fic -> ❤ the eight little letters ❤

the kitchen smelled like vanilla and fresh-cut strawberries, a sharp sweetness hanging in the air as you lay sprawled across the cool marble countertop, your skin pebbled from the contrast. the silk robe you’d worn earlier lay discarded on the floor, leaving you bare, save for the dollops of whipped cream and the sliced strawberries decorating your body.

the plan had been simple—every valentine’s day, you and rafe had a tradition: trying something new. last year, it had been a blindfold and silk restraints. the year before, a weekend away where you’d barely left the hotel room. this year, you had taken a different approach.

you traced a fingertip through the line of whipped cream trailing from your belly button down between your thighs, sucking the sweetness off your finger as you imagined his reaction. rafe had a sweet tooth, sure—but his hunger for you eclipsed any craving for sugar.

you heard the front door open, then close with a soft click. his footsteps echoed down the hall, unhurried at first—until he must have caught the scent, something shifting in his pace, turning sharp.

“baby?” his voice, warm and slightly hoarse, carried through the house.

you said nothing, just waited, legs parted, lips curling as you heard him approach. the second he stepped into the kitchen, he stilled.

“holy fuck.”

his eyes dragged over you, slow and greedy, taking in every careful placement of cream, the strawberries perched on your hardened nipples, the way your thighs glistened with sugar.

you cocked your head. “happy valentine’s day, baby.”

he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he stepped closer, eyes darkening with something dangerously close to reverence. “you are…” he ran a hand through his hair, eyes flicking from your chest to the whipped cream between your legs. “fucking insane.”

“thought you liked surprises.” you dipped a finger into the cream near your hip, bringing it to your lips, licking it off slowly.

rafe’s jaw tensed. “i love surprises.”

he stepped between your legs, hands bracing on either side of you, his body heat washing over you. he dipped his head, tongue flicking over a strawberry perched on your nipple, before dragging it into his mouth with his teeth, his tongue following to lap up the cream.

you gasped, back arching slightly at the contact, the cool contrast of the cream against the heat of his mouth sending a shiver through you. he hummed, sucking lightly before pulling back, licking his lips, eyes locked on yours.

“sweet,” he murmured. “but you taste better.”

his mouth trailed lower, licking away each dollop of cream, biting into the strawberries with slow, deliberate movements. by the time he reached the cream pooling at your core, you were trembling, hands fisting the edge of the counter.

he glanced up at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “you’ve been waiting for me like this?”

you swallowed hard, nodding.

his voice dropped. “good girl.”

then his tongue dragged through the cream, slow and thorough, curling against you in a way that had your breath catching. you gasped, hips jerking, but his hands pressed you down, holding you still as he devoured you, licking up every last drop before diving in properly, tongue slipping into you, nose brushing against your clit.

you moaned, thighs squeezing around his head, but he didn’t stop, didn’t ease up—just ate you, like you were the only meal he’d ever craved.

when you came, it was with his name spilling from your lips, your body quaking as he groaned into you, sucking at your clit until you were tugging at his hair, pushing him back, too sensitive.

he rose to his full height, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, pupils blown, lips slick. “fucking delicious.”

you barely had time to catch your breath before you grabbed the can of whipped cream, shaking it with a wicked grin. rafe arched a brow, amused.

“your turn.”

he didn’t protest when you dropped to your knees, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease, pulling his cock free. he was already hard, thick and leaking, and you didn’t waste time, spraying a line of cream along his length before licking it off, slow and teasing.

his head tipped back, a groan rumbling from his chest. “jesus christ.”

you took him into your mouth, tongue swirling, savoring the contrast of sweetness and salt, the way his hands clenched in your hair, hips twitching as he fought not to thrust deep.

“fuck, baby,” he rasped, voice strained. “you’re so fucking good at this.”

you hummed around him, taking him deeper, hands bracing against his thighs as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard.

rafe snapped, his control slipping, his hands gripping your hair as he fucked your mouth, slow but deep, groaning as he hit the back of your throat. you swallowed around him, moaning softly, and that was it—his breath hitched, and with a strangled curse, he spilled down your throat, panting, eyes blown wide as he watched you swallow every drop.

when you pulled back, lips swollen and slick, he grabbed you by the waist, lifting you onto the counter again, crashing his mouth to yours, tasting himself mixed with the lingering sugar on your tongue.

“not fucking done with you yet,” he growled, aligning himself, pushing inside you in one slow, deep stroke.

you gasped into his mouth, nails raking down his back as he started moving, dragging out the moment, savoring the way you clenched around him.

he fucked you slow, deep, hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer with every thrust, eyes locked onto yours. it wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic—just a slow, relentless claiming, his forehead pressing against yours, breath mingling.

“you feel so fucking good,” he murmured, voice wrecked.

you whimpered, legs tightening around him, hands digging into his shoulders as he built you up again, rolling his hips in just the right way.

when you came this time, it was with a sharp cry, his name tangled with a plea, your body locking up around him.

rafe groaned, burying himself deep as he followed, spilling into you with a shuddering breath, arms tightening around you as he held you close, both of you panting, sweat-slicked and spent.

for a long moment, neither of you spoke, just basking in the afterglow, the warmth, the smell of sugar lingering between you.

then rafe chuckled, voice hoarse and utterly wrecked.

“happy valentine’s day to me.”

you were still catching your breath, your body thrumming from the aftershocks, when rafe let out that deep, satisfied chuckle, his forehead pressing lightly against yours.

"happy valentine’s day to me," he murmured again, voice thick with amusement, fingers tracing lazy circles along your hip.

you let out a breathy laugh, legs still wrapped loosely around his waist. "you say that like i didn’t enjoy myself too."

he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, his lips quirking into that cocky, devastating grin. "oh, you definitely did. loud as hell about it, too."

your cheeks warmed, but you refused to let him get the upper hand. instead, you smirked, dragging your nails lightly down his back. "can you blame me? you were eating me like a five-star meal."

rafe hummed, pressing a lingering kiss to your jaw, his hands kneading at your waist. "because you are a five-star meal, baby. sweetest thing i’ve ever tasted."

you rolled your eyes, but the way your body shivered at his words betrayed you. "you’re just saying that because of the whipped cream."

he grinned, shaking his head as he leaned in, lips brushing against yours. "nah. the whipped cream was nice, but you? you’re the real treat."

your breath hitched slightly, his tone making warmth coil low in your stomach again. "smooth, cameron."

he nipped at your bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. "not being smooth, baby. just telling the truth."

you swallowed, your fingers threading through the damp strands of his hair. "so what do you think? was this year’s valentine’s tradition a success?"

rafe let out a soft groan, rolling his hips slightly, reminding you that he was still buried deep inside you. "baby, this might be my favorite one yet."

you grinned, tilting your head. "better than last year?"

"mhm." he ran his nose along your jawline, his breath warm against your skin. "blindfold was fun, but this? this was a fucking masterpiece."

you giggled, trailing your fingers down his chest. "guess i set the bar high for next year, huh?"

he pulled back, eyes dark with something unreadable, something that sent a shiver straight through you. "oh, don’t worry about next year yet, sweetheart."

you blinked, confused. "why not?"

his lips curved into a wicked smirk. "because i’m not done with you tonight."

before you could react, he was lifting you off the counter, making you yelp, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck. "rafe!"

he just chuckled, effortlessly carrying you toward the stairs. "what? you really thought i was gonna let all that whipped cream go to waste?"

you laughed breathlessly, gripping his shoulders. "i literally licked it all off you."

he shot you a look, playful but dark with intent. "not all of it."

your stomach flipped. "oh?"

"mhm," he murmured, voice dipping lower. "think there's still some left for me to taste."

your breath hitched as he nudged open the bedroom door with his foot, stepping inside.

“rafe—”

he tossed you onto the bed, climbing over you, his grin downright sinful.

"round two, baby."

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[darksturnz]

── ⋮ ⌗ “BERRY MUCH. . .” ⟢ DAD.ᐟMATT ᵎᵎ

happy valentine’s day my sweet loves <3 i hope your day is full of kindness, love n gentle smiles. feeling a bit sappy today so here’s some corny corny fluff. all creds for dad!matt au to @mattscoquette

The first thing you register is the light—a little too bright for how early it should be.

Frowning, you stir beneath the covers, slowly stretching as sleep clings to you like a second skin. Something isn’t right. Normally, you’d wake to the sound of Matt shuffling out of bed, or the soft babbling of Leylani as he brought her in for morning cuddles.

But now? Silence.

Your stomach twists slightly as you rub the sleep from your eyes and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. The nursery. Maybe they’re both still in there.

Padding barefoot down the hall, you push the door open, only to find an empty crib.

Okay…so now the panic sets in.

You don’t even think—you just move, your feet quick against the wooden stairs as your heart pounds. The moment you reach the main floor, you exhale sharply, relief washing over you at the sight before you.

Leylani is fast asleep in her swing, chubby little fingers curled into loose fists, her small lips rising and falling with each little breath. The swing hums a soft lullaby, its gentle sway keeping her in deep sleep.

And then there’s Matt.

Sweet, sleep-deprived Matt, hunched over the stove like an overly stressed single mother, a burp rag draped over his shoulder, his free hand perched on his hip as he sways lightly from side to side.

The sight nearly makes you burst out laughing.

Then you notice the AirPods, grinning to yourself, you creep closer and poke his waist.

Matt jumps, spinning around so fast that he nearly knocks over the pan. His expression is wide-eyed, panicked, and—to your utter delight—he wields a spatula like a weapon, as if preparing to defend his scrambled eggs from an intruder.

It’s too much. You lose it.

A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it, and Matt, realizing what just happened, exhales dramatically, yanking out his AirPods. “Jesus Christ, woman! What is wrong with you?”

You giggle harder. “I—nothing—oh my god—”

“You’re sick,” he mutters, though his lips twitch upward as he sets the spatula down.

You step closer, winding your arms around his waist, still grinning. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

At that, he softens instantly. His arms come around you, pulling you against him as he presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your lips—slow, warm, and sleepily sweet.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

You hum against his mouth before pulling back, glancing at the stove. “What exactly are you doing?”

At that, Matt sighs dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I was trying to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”

You blink. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He gestures vaguely toward the counter, where a tray is set up—coffee, eggs, toast, and a little bowl of cut-up fruit. “I had this whole plan, but uh… Ley had other ideas.”

You raise a brow, prompting him to continue.

“She didn’t fall back asleep until, like, six,” he groans. “And then the freakin’ DoorDasher showed up way too early and woke her up again, and she got all fussy. By the time I finally got her back down, I clearly didn’t have enough time.”

Your heart melts at the sheer defeat in his voice.

“Matt,” you murmur, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I wanted to.” His hands settle on your waist, fingers tracing absentminded patterns through your shirt. “I mean, it’s our first Valentine’s as parents. Figured I should do something special.”

Your chest tightens, warmth blooming beneath your ribs. “You already do so much for us,” you say softly. “You being here—being you—that’s already special.”

He exhales, leaning into your touch. “Yeah, well…” His eyes flick toward the counter again. “There’s something else, too, it’s kinda silly.”

Before you can ask, he steps away and grabs something off the side. When he turns back around, he’s holding a small canvas.

Your breath catches the moment you see it.

It’s a tiny, painted strawberry. But as you look closer, you realize—it’s made from Leylani’s footprints.

Beneath it, in Matt’s careful, slightly messy handwriting, are the words:

“I love you berry much, Mommy!”

Your throat tightens.

“Matt…” Your voice wobbles, your fingers ghosting over the dried paint.

“I saw something like that online,” he murmurs, suddenly shy. “And I dunno, I thought it was cute. So, uh… I got the stuff and did it last night while you were sleeping.”

Tears prick at your eyes.

Matt immediately panics. “Oh, shit—wait, don’t cry—”

A watery laugh bubbles out of you as you clutch the little canvas to your chest. “I love it,” you whisper.

His shoulders slump with relief. “Yeah?”

You nod, stepping forward to kiss him, slow and deep.

“Yeah.”

Matt melts into the kiss instantly, his hands settling on your waist as if he never wants to let go. It’s slow, lazy, and filled with so much warmth that you almost forget about the breakfast he painstakingly tried to prepare.

When you finally pull back, his forehead presses against yours, his eyes still fluttered shut like he’s savoring the moment. “So you really like it?” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.

You smile, running your fingers through the mess of his hair. “I love it, Matt.” You pull back just enough to glance down at the canvas again, a soft laugh escaping you as you trace the tiny footprints. “I mean, look at this. Her little feet—oh my god.”

He chuckles, watching the way you admire it like it’s the greatest masterpiece ever created. “Yeah, she wasn’t too thrilled about the paint. Kinda made a mess. There’s still some on the back of her neck—I couldn’t get it all off.”

Your laughter deepens. “Matt, how does one even get paint on the back of their neck from a footprint project?”

Matt shrugs. “I dunno, man. She’s creative like that.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is so full it might burst.

Still clutching the painting to your chest, you glance over at Leylani, her tiny chest rising and falling in deep sleep. “She looks so peaceful,” you whisper.

Matt follows your gaze, something unbelievably soft settling into his expression. “She had a rough morning,” he says, but there’s no complaint in his voice—just adoration, just love.

Your throat tightens again, because how did you get so lucky?

You look back at Matt, taking in every sleepy, disheveled detail—his wrinkled T-shirt, the dirty burp rag still draped over his shoulder, the stubble darkening his jaw that he clearly didn’t have time to shave. He looks so tired, but he also looks so unbelievably beautiful, standing there in the early morning light, having sacrificed his entire night just so you could rest.

And he’s still here, still showing up, still loving you in ways that leave you breathless.

You reach up, cupping his face again, your thumbs brushing over the faint shadows beneath his eyes. “You’re such a good dad,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

Matt’s breath catches.

His eyes soften in a way that makes your chest ache. “Yeah?” he asks, like he needs to hear it again, like he needs it tattooed into his skin.

You nod. “The absolute best.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something—maybe something too big for words—but instead, he just leans in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips. It’s not rushed, not hurried, just pure love wrapped up in the soft press of his mouth against yours.

When he pulls back, his hands slide down to your waist, tugging you just a little closer. “So…” he starts, a lopsided smile creeping in, “does this mean you’re officially accepting my botched Valentine’s Day surprise?”

You laugh, leaning into him. “I think this might be my favorite Valentine’s Day ever.”

His grin stretches, but then his stomach rumbles loudly between you, and you both freeze before bursting into quiet laughter.

Matt groans dramatically, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “God, I’m starving,” he mumbles into your shirt.

You giggle, running your fingers through his hair. “Well, I was about to be served breakfast in bed, so…”

He scoffs, pulling back with an amused look. “You still can be. I’ll just, y’know, reheat everything and pretend it was fresh.”

You snort. “How romantic.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “I do try.”

You shake your head, biting back a grin before standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “How about we eat in here?” You glance toward the couch. “So we don’t have to wake up ley up.”

Matt’s eyes practically twinkle. “Sounds perfect.”

And it is.

Because as you sit together, plates balanced on your laps, feet tangled beneath the couch, stealing soft kisses between bites of slightly cold eggs and toast, you realize—this is love. Not the grand, extravagant gestures. Not the fancy dinner reservations or diamond jewelry.

This.

A quiet morning. The smell of scrambled eggs. The weight of Matt’s arm draped lazily around your shoulders. The soft sounds of your baby’s swing, lulling her into dreams.

And a tiny, precious footprint strawberry. 

The best Valentine’s Day ever.

authors note: i’m a sucker for corny valentines idc

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[sailorsoons]

Still Watching? (l. c)

Pairing: Lee Chan x f. Reader 

Summary: Blood and Popcorn with your newly minted boyfriend is your favorite. Except now you watch a lot less Buffy and a lot more of Chan. 

Word Count: 2,153

Genre: Established Relationship, PWP

Type: Smut

Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

Warnings: Shameless pwp, explicit language, explicit sexual content including nipple play, vaginal fingering, a little bit of teasing/edging, cheesy banter. 

A/N: Happy Valentine's day pt II the remix! As always, thank you to @daechwitatamic for beta reading this :)

A/N 2: This is the same couple from Blood & Popcorn but you do not need to read the first story to read this one :) This was originally posted on my old blog.

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“Honestly, it is so obvious this show was written by a man,” You mutter, watching as Buffy yells at Xander. “He wants to be a hero for her soooo bad.”

“Xander is the worst,” Chan sighs. You rise and fall with his chest, your back pressed against his front where you lay against him. His knees cage you in on either side of your hips, your ass planted firmly between his legs with his arms around your middle, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “He really thinks he should win the girl just because he’s a nice guy.” 

“Truly, he has like… very few other qualities than being a nice guy.” 

He hums. “At least Spike knows he’s an asshole. It’s guys like Xander who think just because they’re not blatantly awful that it makes them dateable.” 

“A lot of guys think that.” 

“Mhmm. I’m a rare breed.” 

You crane your neck to look up at him. You can hear and feel the steady thud of his heart, smell the hint of aftershave and menthol from his shower earlier, feel the heat of his skin. It makes you a little dizzy and you unfocus on the screen, studying the gentle curve of Chan’s mouth. 

“You’re surely something,” you mutter in response, grinning a little as you look away toward the screen. His fingers slip under your shirt, skimming your waist. You suppress a shiver, suddenly hyper aware of the way his fingers scrape against you. 

“I’m a nice guy and I know that it takes more than being a decent human being to get the girl.”

“Oh yeah? Remember the time it took four years to confess your feelings to me? What do you know, Lee Chan?”

“Hmm. Data is insufficient. Need more evidence regarding that specific example.” 

For a moment, you’re unable to respond, lids fluttering as Chan continues to caress your lower stomach and hips. His touch is completely innocent, no suggestion that he intends anything. That he means anything. It’s a motion that is instinctual for him, so naturally to have his hands on you that it almost makes it worse. 

Just knowing how easy it is for him to love you never fails to surprise you. You don’t know how you never saw it before. 

Now it seems silly to have ever thought that Chan was anything less than in love with you. It’s in the way he naturally gravitates toward you in every room. It’s in the way he can be totally focused on something else, but his hand reaches out for you, not even really noticing that he’s seeking you out. It’s  in the way that you mold so perfectly into his chest, made to be there. 

“You don’t know your own data?” you shoot back eventually, snuggling a little closer to him. If you could crawl into his hoodie, you would. For now, this is fine. “Seems like you don’t know much.” 

“Hmm?” His fingers stop moving. You feel the question hum against you. “I don’t know much?” 

“Nope.”

Your heart starts to pick up. Chan’s fingers start stroking your skin again but you feel the difference. His blunt nails scrape across your skin, raising goosebumps on your arms. He skims his hands higher and back down, touch light over your ribs. Every time his fingers dance up your side, his reach goes a little higher. 

A tightness forms in your throat. You try to keep your breathing even and will yourself not to squeeze your thighs. You are pressed too close to him for him not to tell if you squirm. Chewing your lip, you stare at the screen totally unseeing. 

“Hm.” Chan’s deep hum hints at trouble. You feel your hands get clammy. “I think I know some things. Like for example…” He trails off for a moment, hand brushing under your left breast. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, fighting a twitch. “I know that your favorite color on me is green.” 

“Green is a good color on anyone.”

“I know that you like the feeling…” His hand skates low this time, fingers dancing dangerously against the waistband of your shorts. “Of high thread count sheets.”

You snort. “Everyone likes good sheets, Chan.” 

“Good sheets are important,” he agrees. You feel him trace his pointer finger back up with deadly accuracy, following the swell of your breast upward, skating so close to your nipple that you stop breathing. “Everything alright? You stopped breathing.”

“What?” you squeak. “Oh, yep. I am great.” 

“I don’t know, baby. Are you feeling well? You seem… warm.”

Chan presses his palm flat to your chest, fingers splayed wide. His palm is warm and rough, his touch igniting a fire inside of you. The heat spreads outward, licking at every one of your nerves and setting them ablaze. 

In an effort to ignore him, you lick your lips and say, “Never felt better. I like her boots.” 

His chuckle is low. Throaty. You’re barely holding it together, feeling the ache between your thighs at the firmness of his touch. “See, I don’t know a lot about women’s fashion. But I do know those are not boots. Just like I know you’re not paying attention to the show, Bambi.”

You blink and stare at the TV. Chan’s right. Buffy is in sneakers, though in your unfocused haze they had been blurry and looked like boots from a distance. You swallow down the dryness in your throat, Chan’s hand still pressed flat and warm against your chest. 

“I know that your heart is pounding,” Chan murmurs, voice barely audible as he presses his mouth by your ear. Your eyes flutter shut. “I know that you’re trying really hard not to squeeze those thighs.” 

“You can’t possibly know that.” 

To prove his statement true, Chan’s thumb brushes upward, skating gently over a nipple. On command, your thighs squeeze and you feel the shake of his laughter behind you. 

“I know everything about you, Bambi.” His voice brushes against you like his soft touch. You melt, feeling your weight sink into him further. “I know that you don’t share your food with anyone but me. I know that your favorite episode of Buffy is Hush. I know that you think Buffy should end up with Spike. I know that you are probably soaked right now because being caressed drives you crazy.” 

“Insufficient data,” you breathe. “I recommend research.” 

“You know what? Agreed.” 

Chan moves fast. His hand moves from your chest to between your legs, hands slipping under the waistband of your shorts and panties before you can blink. Your lips part, a breathy noise escaping you as Chan drags a slow finger up your sticky folds. 

“What do you know,” he observes. His fingers idly trail up and down your slit, making you twitch against him. “I was right. Do I win anything?” 

“I thought you said nice guys shouldn’t just win the girl.” 

Chan presses his fingers firmly to your clit, a ripple of pleasure ebbing through you. Your hips lift off the couch slightly but he pushes you back down into his lap, other hand looping around your waist to lock you to him. “Maybe I’m not that nice.”

Slowly, he starts to retract his hand. You whimper, both of your hands shooting to grab the wrist belonging to the hand between your legs. He pauses, fingers pressed between your folds. “You are nice!” 

“Oh?”

“Very nice. You’re my very nice, very sweet boyfriend.” 

“I see.” 

He doesn’t move his hand at all. The space is filled with the low hum of Buffy fighting vampires, the blue flash of the screen falling against your silhouettes, body to body as he holds you tight. You try to get control of your racing heart, but that’s never been easy around Chan.

He knows it.  

“Maybe you know some things,” you admit slowly. “Maybe I was wrong.”

Chan’s resounding chuckle is dangerous, but he slides his hand back down. You loosen your grip on his wrist but keep your hands resting on his forearm, feeling the muscle flex under your fingertips as his fingers resume their debauched exploration. 

“See, that’s another thing I know. I know you hate being wrong, so if you’re wrong… it was because you were doing so intentionally.”

His words fall on unlistening ears. You’re too worked up by the simple way he plays you, too focused on the way his fingers gently circle your clit, the perfect stimulation. Too distracted by the way he dips his head down to sweep his mouth across your throat in open-mouthed kisses. 

“I know you’re… not listening.” He stops and you let out a strangled sound, nails digging into his arms. He presses a wet kiss to your pulse point. “Didn’t think so.”

“Chan.” 

“Hmm?”

“Please don’t tease me.”

“Why not? You were teasing me.” 

You pout. He can’t see it, but you know he knows it’s there. “I like to tease you. I have to keep you humble.” 

A long moan slips from your lips and you tilt your head back to Chan’s shoulder when he presses a finger into your aching cunt. You feel yourself twitch around him, hips swiveling for more friction. 

“Humble? How are you ever going to keep me humble when this pussy gets this wet after I’ve barely touched you?”

Well that’s true. You don’t care, though, turning boneless as Chan strokes you with his fingers properly. It feels so good. Only he knows how to touch you like this, familiar with every button to press and every contour to mold to. 

Heat flushes your neck. Chan presses his lips against your cheek, working your cunt with his fingers as he holds you steadfast. It feels like you might suffocate, totally trapped against him. His skin and breath are hot against you, the air thick. He breathes out a groan when your hips buck upward, Chan dropping all pretext of teasing you.

“Like that,” he breathes, heavy. “Do it exactly how you like it.”

Another finger drives you wild. You fumble over his name, squeezing your eyes shut and meeting the quick strokes of his hand. His palm presses firmly against your clit, letting you grind yourself against him for the extra stimulation. 

You burn up. Briefly you wonder if this flash of euphoric heat is what Icarus felt before the fall. The thought is chased away from the intense pressure in your stomach as Chan presses up against that spot inside you, making stars burst behind your eyes.

“Wait - I’m gonna come in my shorts,” you whine, realizing you still have them on. “Chaaaan.”

“So come in them,” he says simply. “Research has revealed that you have a washer and dryer down the hall, baby. Go ahead.” 

“Fuuuuck.” 

“Come for me. I know you want to.” 

You do want to. A moment of static builds up, your thighs squeezing around his hand so hard he can’t move and then you’re coming around his fingers, your nails biting into the skin of his wrist. His grip across your waist is like iron, holding you to him as you come undone. 

Chan’s mouth presses gentle kisses on your jaw, muttering soft I love yous and fuck yeahs against your burning skin. The burning doesn’t stop, your body flushed with heat as you sink away from your orgasm, turning to molten metal and melting into his hold. 

He leaves you like that for a few minutes, thighs shaking around the hand still shoved between your legs, fingers pressed deep inside of you. It feels intimate, and you crane your neck, driven by the desire to kiss him. Chan’s lips are already there because he knew you would want his lips against yours. 

Just like he knows everything about you. 

Chan’s lips are soft and gentle. His tongue brushes against yours in a slow dance and you lean up into him more, desperate for him. He laughs into the kiss, letting you have your way until you’re panting, sweaty and out of breath again. 

You sag, head on his shoulder as you pant. “Your fingers are still in me.”

“Mhm.” He presses them in harshly, making you jolt. It earns a deep laugh from him. “Maybe we should call this Popcorn & Pussy instead. We’ve barely gotten through a full night of episodes since we started dating.”

“Are you aware you make the worst jokes?” You open your eyes and glance at the screen, only to find that the show has paused between episodes, asking if you’re still watching and if you want to continue. “Are you still watching? No, Buffy. I’m not.”

“No problem.” Chan pulls his hand from between your legs, the wet squelch making you whimper. “I have something else you can watch.” 

“Oh?” 

Chan kisses your temple sweetly before getting up, letting you fall back against the couch while he kneels on the couch and pulls your legs toward his face. You inhale deeply, watching as he looks up through long lashes, a smirk on his face. “Still watching, Bambi?” 

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn @cookiearmy21-blog @thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst @thepoopdokyeomtouched@eoieopda @onlywon4u @hopeless-foolery @iamawkwardandshy@gyuguys @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @bultaereume @yoongznme @kaitieskidmore97 @coffee-addict-kitten @gyubakeries@archivistworld @asyre @kaepjjangiya @fancypeacepersona@beckyloveshannie @imujings @do-you-remember-summer-127 @jbluen@mingumi @kimsaerom @imlonelydontsendhelp @ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn @cookiearmy21-blog @thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst @thepoopdokyeomtouched@eoieopda @onlywon4u @hopeless-foolery @iamawkwardandshy@gyuguys @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @bultaereume @yoongznme @kaitieskidmore97 @coffee-addict-kitten @gyubakeries @archivistworld @asyre @kaepjjangiya @fancypeacepersona @beckyloveshannie @imujings @do-you-remember-summer-127 @jbluen @mingumi @kimsaerom @imlonelydontsendhelp

[vandme12]

the opposite of the ronin x cold!reader one? a reader who runs warm enough they either overheat themselves if ronin also runs warm, or really like cuddling with ronin because it cools them down if he’s a heat sink

"Too Hot to Handle"

The heat clung to you, thick and stifling, as if the world itself had decided to smother you alive. Summer nights were unbearable—sheets tangled around your legs, sweat gathering at your collar, the mere thought of another human body pressing against you enough to make you recoil. But Ronin?

Ronin was cold.

Not just in demeanor—though that was an undeniable part of his charm—but in the literal, physical sense. His touch was always just a little cooler than expected, his presence an unnatural relief against your overheated skin.

It started as an accident, really. A brush of his hand against yours, and you shivered despite the oppressive heat. He noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“Oh? What’s this?” His voice coiled around you like silk-draped steel, amusement laced with something sharper. “Didn’t take ya for the clingy type, sweetheart.”

You scowled, shifting further from him on the couch. The oscillating fan did nothing to combat the way the summer air wrapped around you like a too-tight vice. “I’m not,” you muttered. “You’re just… cold.”

That damn smirk spread across his face like oil in water. “Cold? Sweetheart, I’m positively burning with passion.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, making a deliberate show of his presence. “So what you’re saying,” he mused, “is that you wanna cozy up to the Devil himself just ‘cause he runs a little cool?”

You refused to answer. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

But you couldn’t help it.

The nights got hotter. The air got heavier. And Ronin was right there.

At first, you resisted. Pride was a cruel master, keeping you just far enough away to suffer. But he was patient. Oh, he knew. He saw the way your fingers twitched, how your body wavered like a moth circling too close to an open flame—except, in this case, he was the ice, and you were the one burning alive.

And then, one particularly wretched night, you cracked.

“Not. A. Word,” you growled as you slid closer, pressing against his side, sighing in immediate relief as the coolness of his body seeped into yours.

Ronin, to his credit, didn’t gloat. Not immediately, anyway. He let out a slow, almost lazy exhale, shifting just enough to accommodate you, before murmuring, “See? Ain’t this nice?”

You scowled against his shoulder. “Die.”

“Already did, sweetheart. Didn’t take.” His arm draped over your shoulders, fingers feather-light against your overheated skin. He was careful, at first—watching, waiting. Testing your tolerance. But when you didn’t immediately shove him away, his grip tightened just a fraction, pulling you in closer.

And, god help you, you let him.

His body was a stark contrast to yours. Where you burned, he cooled. Where your skin was too warm, his was a welcome relief. It should have been unsettling, how much of a difference there was between you two, but instead, it was… intoxicating.

“You’re really soakinn’ this up, huh?” His voice was lower now, amusement tempered by something else. Something quieter. “Didn’t think you’d be so needy.”

You pinched his side—earning a low chuckle—but didn’t pull away. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You wanted to. Oh, you wanted to. But moving meant peeling yourself away from the one thing keeping you from spontaneously combusting. So instead, you muttered a half-hearted, “Later,” against his chest, feeling the way his breath hitched just slightly at the contact.

Interesting.

His fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your shoulder. “Gonna hold you to that,” he murmured, voice like a promise edged in something darker.

The minutes stretched, the heat of the night forgotten in favor of the cool, steady rhythm of his breathing. You should have been embarrassed at how easily you melted into him, how natural it felt to fold yourself into the space he made for you.

But Ronin didn’t tease. Not really.

He just held you there, the Devil himself playing the part of your personal ice pack, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something dangerously close to comfort.

It was stupid. It was reckless.

But god, it felt good.

And Ronin? Well.

He’d never admit it, but he liked it, too.

Even if he did take every opportunity to remind you about it the next morning.

"You sure you wanna get up?" His voice was a lazy purr against your ear. "Not that I mind, but after how much you clung to me last night, I figured you'd wanna stay close."

Your pillow hit him square in the face.

His laughter was worth the heat.

For now.

[dollyhyuckii]

+1 new post from dollyhyuckii ၇୧ㅤㅤ

ANYTHING FOR YOU ۟ ׅ ͡ ୨ৎ

ᰔᩚ ── in which, caught between love and uncertainty, jisung struggles with his feelings for you, afraid of the unknown future. he tries to push you away, but when he sees your tears, his resolve begins to crumble

지성 ᰔ jisung! x femreader! ── complicated relationship to lovers.. fluff/a bit of angest WA ₊ ˖ ་. .. just a tiny bit of arguing (just jisung uncertain of his feelings) ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀWC:435..

• 秋のメモ… ︵ ︵ ིྀ i haven’t did a nct fic in so long☹️, im definitely going to start writing more for them more.. REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!!! DOLLYHYUCKII DIARY

the cold air nipped at your skin as you stood by you and jisung favorite place to go, the river that you two always went too, watching the reflection of the city lights shimmering on the water. the soft hum of the city surrounded you, yet the silence between you and jisung felt painful

“i want you but i can’t” jisung voice barely above a whisper, his gaze locked onto the ground, his hands were buried deep in his coat pockets, his posture tense as if he was fighting a battle within himself “b-but .. maybe i’d do anything..”

you clenched your fist , trying to steady your breathing, but the sting in your chest was impossible to ignore. “why can’t you?” you asked , your voice barely holding itself together. “jisung if you feel the same , then why…”

“i don’t want to hurt you…” he interrupted, finally looking up at you. his usual warm eyes were full of hesitation, his lips slightly parted as if he was searching for the right words. “I don’t want you to wait for me when i don’t even know what the future holds”

you let out a shaky laugh, blinking back the tears that we’re getting ready to spill at any moment “jisung … is this about your career?”

jisung stayed silent, his breath visible in the cold night air. his silence was enough of an answer.

your heart squeezed painfully “jisung…” you took a step closer, your hands trembling as you reached for his “I never asked you to have everything figured out, I don’t care about the future. i care about you”

his fingers twitched beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away. “but i can’t be selfish” he muttered, his eyes dropping to where your hands intertwined. “what if one day i can’t give you the time you deserve..?, what if i become someone you can’t recognize anymore?”

you inhaled shapely, the cold biting at your lungs. “that’s not fair” you muttered. “you don’t get decided what’s best for me ..”

his jaw clenched, his struggle showing right through him. he was scared, scared of hurting you, of holding you back, of making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

and yet, his hands gripped yours a little tighter..

a single tear escaped down your cheek, and jisung reacted instantly. his hands cupped your face, his touch warm and delicate, as if you were something fragile that he wasn’t ready to lose. “don’t cry, my sweet girl” he whispered, his thumb brushing the tears away. “please… i’d do anything to see you smile again”

you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. “then stay” you breathed.

jisung exhaled deeply, his forehead pressing gently against yours. his hands, once hesitant, now held you firmly. “i’m scared” he admitted. “scared of messing up, scared of not being enough, scared of losing you”

you opened your eyes, searching his expression. “you won’t lose me jisung” you whispered. “unless you let me go”

silence hung between you, thick with unspoken words and trembling emotions.

then, for the first time that night, jisung’s lips curled into that smile you always craved, small, hesitant, but real. “maybe… maybe i’d do anything for you”

and in that moment, nothing else mattered. no fears, no uncertainty, just the two of you, standing at the edge of something fragile yet real.

©dollyhyuckii ꒰ do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without permission ۟ ׅ ͡ ୨ৎ

[rafeyssugar]

undone by desire

NSFW!! MDNI!! where doe!reader seduces rafe with subtle moves and teasing words, craving his attention and using her power to make him lose focus, proving he’s just as affected by her as she is by him.

the mansion was eerily quiet, save for the occasional sound of rafe’s pen scratching across paper as he worked on yet another one of his projects. he was seated in his study, a dim lamp casting a soft glow over the stacks of files and blueprints on his desk. his focus was intense, the kind of concentration only someone with his drive could maintain.

but even in his zone, he couldn’t escape her.

y/n stood at the doorway, arms crossed, watching him. she could’ve easily walked in, interrupted him, and demanded his attention. but no. she was smarter than that.

she was going to make him want to give it to her.

it started with a simple move—one step closer to him. she leaned casually against the doorframe, a soft, innocent sigh escaping her lips.

“rafe…” her voice was quiet, just enough to get his attention, but not demanding.

he didn’t look up. “yeah?” his tone was absent, distracted, like he didn’t even register the way she said his name, the way her voice lingered in the air.

y/n smirked, pushing herself off the doorframe and taking another step. “you’re so busy these days,” she said, her voice now a little more playful, but still light. she took another step, closer to him. “it’s almost like you don’t have time for me anymore.”

he sighed, lifting his eyes to her for a brief moment, his gaze flicking over her like she was a distraction he didn’t need but couldn’t ignore. “you know i’m working, right?”

“mm.” she pouted, sitting down on the edge of his desk, letting her legs swing slightly. she glanced at the papers in front of him. “it’s all just work with you, isn’t it?”

rafe leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his face. “i’m almost done. you know how it is.”

y/n let her fingers graze the edge of his desk, trailing them slowly across the polished wood. “yeah, i know. but i miss you.” her voice was soft now, almost a whisper.

rafe froze. he couldn’t ignore that—couldn’t pretend like she wasn’t tugging at the edges of his concentration, pulling him in with her words, with her presence.

“you miss me?” his eyes darkened, the playful edge in his voice slipping away.

y/n leaned forward just slightly, her face inches from his. “i do.” her breath was warm against his ear. “i miss the way you make me feel, rafe.”

rafe’s breath hitched, his pulse quickening as she pressed her body closer, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off her. “y/n…” he warned, voice thick with a mix of amusement and desire.

but she wasn’t done. she was just getting started.

her hands slid across his shoulders, fingers grazing the muscles there as she moved in, just a little more. her lips brushed against his ear, her voice low and teasing. “you’re always so focused. it’s cute.” she paused, letting her lips graze his neck before whispering, “but i need you.”

his breath caught. she knew exactly what she was doing to him. the way she spoke—soft but firm, seductive but innocent—all of it made it impossible for him to ignore.

rafe’s grip tightened on the armrest of his chair, his eyes flickering with something darker as y/n’s lips moved lower, tracing a line down his neck. each breath of hers against his skin was enough to drive him mad.

he inhaled sharply, his hands finally moving, grabbing her wrists with deliberate slowness before pulling her back, just enough to meet her gaze. “you really want me to lose focus, don’t you?”

y/n tilted her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “you’re already lost, rafe.”

without warning, she moved faster than he anticipated, her lips crashing against his, hungry and urgent. rafe groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding to her waist as she melted against him, her body pressing up against his with an irresistible heat.

he broke the kiss for a second, pulling back just enough to catch his breath. “don’t play with me like this, princess.”

y/n smiled, her fingers trailing over the stubble on his jaw. “i like it when you lose control.” she leaned in again, her lips brushing his neck again, sending a jolt through him. “and i think you like it too.”

her words were a challenge. rafe felt the edge of his patience crack, the self-control he’d worked so hard to maintain slipping through his fingers.

he yanked her into his lap, her legs straddling him as he pulled her flush against his chest. “you think i like being teased?” he growled, hands sliding up her sides, under her shirt, his fingers brushing against the smooth skin of her back.

“i think you like everything i do to you,” she whispered, her hands trailing to his chest, then down to the waistband of his pants, teasing the edge of them. she could feel him tense under her touch, the strain of holding back only adding to the heat of the moment.

“don’t stop,” she murmured, her voice a whisper of temptation.

rafe’s eyes darkened, every muscle in his body going taut as he lifted her off his lap, standing up in one swift motion and carrying her to the desk. he placed her there with careful precision, towering over her as he leaned in, lips grazing her ear.

“you think you can control me, doe?” he whispered, his voice dark and heavy with lust.

y/n bit her lip, eyes flicking to the files and papers strewn across the desk, then back to him. “i don’t want to control you, rafe. i just want you to give me everything.”

he let out a low chuckle, his fingers trailing down her body, igniting every inch of her skin they touched. “you already have everything, princess. just don’t make me lose myself entirely.”

he removed her shirt with a slow, deliberate motion, his gaze flickering to the leopard print bra that clung to her chest. a grin spread across his face, his fingers brushing against the fabric, almost reverently. "fuck, baby," he murmured, his voice low and charged with desire. as the shirt fell away, he took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers, the air between them thick with anticipation.

he lifted her onto the desk, his body pressing against hers as he kissed her with a fierceness that matched the intensity of the moment. his hands were everywhere, eager and possessive, as he explored the soft skin beneath her. her breath quickened, the sensation of his touch sending waves of heat through her, and she responded, matching his urgency.

“rafe… please,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

he tilted his head, eyes dark with amusement. “please what, princess?”

she let out a shaky breath, her fingers gripping his shirt. “please, i need you,” she whimpered, her desperation breaking through.

his smirk widened as he brushed his lips against her ear. “not in control now, are you?” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

ً

a shaky breath left y/n's lips as he pressed closer, his touch firm yet teasing. she felt a finger go in causing her head to tip back, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned in, his lips grazing your ear. “look at you, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with heat. “always so responsive for me.” his hands roamed your clit with deliberate slowness, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. the way you melted under his touch only fueled him to go faster, your grip tightening as he pressed a lingering kiss to your neck, whispering, “you know i love watching you like this.”

the air in the office was thick with heat, your soft moans echoing off the walls, each one unraveling his restraint bit by bit. his jaw clenched, muscles tense as he felt the pressure building, his body reacting to every little movement, every sound you made. his grip tightened, his breath uneven as he fought to keep control, but you weren’t making it easy for him.

his eyes flicked between your boobs and your face, observing every reaction as you surrendered to his touch. rafe muttered a curse under his breath, his fingers expertly adjusting, finding that sweet spot that made you gasp. "i haven’t been fair to you, have i, darling?" he murmured, his voice low and regretful. "ignoring you, too caught up in everything else..." he whispered as he continued, his finger movements growing more deliberate. all you could manage was a shaky nod, a soft moan slipping from your lips.

your body burned with every touch, the rhythm of his movements making you yearn for more. rafe’s hands were firm, controlling, but the way he moved made you feel as if you were drifting. this was everything you craved—his presence, his attention.

your fingers curled around the edge of the desk, eyes locked on his as his actions consumed you. the way he manipulated the moment left you breathless, each second bringing you closer to the edge.

rafe’s breath hitched, his gaze flickering between your face and your body, struggling to keep his focus on anything but you. “you’re incredible, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low, almost strained with the effort it took to maintain control.

your core tightened, every muscle in you reacting to him. “rafe... please... don’t stop,” you whispered, each motion sending waves of heat crashing through you, the anticipation thickening the air.

“you’re almost there,” rafe whispered in response, his tone thick with desire. “just a bit more... you’ve been so good for me.”

with those words, the tension finally snapped, and the world around you blurred, both of you lost in the moment.

a pornographic moan escaped your lips, your body trembling as the pressure inside you finally broke. waves of sensation flooded through you, and you felt your heart race with the release. rafe’s eyes were fixed on you, his focus unwavering as he watched you surrender to the moment.

he didn’t need to speak—his gaze, full of longing and intensity, said everything. every movement he made, every slight touch, seemed to heighten the connection between you, drawing you even closer.

"you did so good baby," rafe muttered, his voice low, tinged with admiration. his fingers lingered as he watched you, his attention solely on you as you unraveled in his arms.

you caught a glimpse of rafe’s expression, his jaw clenched, and his eyes dark with desire. his gaze lingered on you, as if he couldn’t look away. a smirk tugged at your lips, and you leaned in slightly, your fingers brushing lightly against his wrist.

you guided his hand toward your lips, maintaining eye contact as you slowly and deliberately kissed the tips of his fingers. the moment was charged with energy, the subtle movements between you both growing more intense.

ً

afterward, rafe carefully helped you to your feet, his hands gentle as he led you to the grand bed in the mansion. the sheets were cool against your heated skin, and the room was quiet except for the sound of your steadying breaths.

rafe stood, his tall frame moving with deliberate care. he returned from the bathroom with a damp towel, the cool fabric in his hands. he gently pressed it against y/n's thighs, wiping away the discomfort. his touch was slow, tentative, almost as if he were unsure of how much contact was too much.

y/n flinched, her skin sensitive from the attention, and in response, rafe murmured softly, "sorry." his voice was low, almost apologetic, as if trying to convey understanding without overwhelming her.

he pulled the covers over you, his touch lingering as he tucked you in. “you did so well, princess,” he murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

you pouted, the desire still burning inside you, your body craving more. “but rafe… I want more… can’t we keep going?” you whined, your voice small, full of longing.

rafe's gaze softened, but his tone was firm as he placed a hand gently on your cheek. “we will, baby. tomorrow morning,” he promised, his voice low. “but I need to get some work done. if you still want me to spoil you, I need to make sure everything’s taken care of.”

you sighed, settling back into the pillows with a small pout, but the warmth of his affection made it easier to relax. “fine,” you murmured, but there was no mistaking the playful spark in your eyes. “just make sure you spoil me properly, rafe.”

he smiled, brushing a final kiss against your forehead. “I always do,” he whispered.

ً

damn. this is probably the most i have ever written, and my first time writing a smut; if you enjoyed it, please reblog and submit requests!

xx- ⋆˚࿔ 𝐑𝐇𝐎𝐃𝐀𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[cayleeuhithinknott]

valentine’s day with bodyguard!matt.

heart divider: @bernardsbendystraws

pairing: bodyguard!matt & popstar!reader

valentine’s day isn’t exactly in his job description.

matt’s job is to protect you. to make sure no crazed fan gets too close, no paparazzi backs you into a corner, no threat ever reaches you. he’s supposed to blend into the background, standing firm between you and the rest of the world. he’s not supposed to indulge in things like this—soft, sentimental, dangerously affectionate things.

and yet.

he’s standing in front of you in the doorway of your hotel suite, arms crossed, watching as you unwrap a single red rose from the cream-colored silk ribbon he tied around it.

you run your fingers along the delicate petals, smiling as you bring it to your nose. “you got me flowers?” you tease, glancing up at him with an amused glint in your eyes. “that’s cute, matt. are you blushing?”

his expression doesn’t falter, but the sharp exhale he lets out tells you everything. “don’t push it, rosebud,” he murmurs, stepping further into the room.

you bite your lip to keep from grinning, but the warmth in your chest is impossible to ignore. for a man as closed off as matt, gestures like this aren’t just sweet—they’re monumental.

“you didn’t have to do all this,” you say softly, setting the rose down on the table. beside it sits a tray of your favorite chocolates, a bottle of wine, and—your heart clenches—a handwritten note in matt’s unmistakable scrawl.

he shrugs, hands slipping into the pockets of his suit. “figured you deserved something nice.”

god, he’s impossible.

your chest tightens with affection as you pick up the note, your fingertips brushing over the edges before unfolding it. matt shifts behind you, clearing his throat like he suddenly regrets writing it, but you ignore him, scanning the words he so carefully penned.

happy valentine’s, rosebud. don’t go making a big deal out of this. but you should know—i’d do a hell of a lot more than this for you. always. — matt ㅤᵕ̈ ‪‪❤︎‬

your stomach flutters.

you turn to face him, heart racing. “matt…”

he shakes his head, already anticipating whatever sentimental thing you’re about to say. “don’t.”

you take a step closer. “i have to.”

he sighs, running a hand down his face before muttering, “you’re really gonna make me regret this, aren’t you?”

you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “absolutely.”

his hands find your waist, firm and sure, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you expect him to pull away—to remind you that this isn’t part of the job—but he doesn’t. he just holds you there, staring down at you with that unreadable expression that makes your knees weak.

“you’re sweet,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

he hums, thumb brushing lightly against your hip. “only for you.”

your breath catches.

there’s a shift. a slow, lingering moment where the air thickens, where the space between you crackles with something heavy, something unspoken.

his fingers tighten their grip just a little. his body inches closer to yours.

“you have no idea,” he murmurs, voice dropping, “how hard it is to keep my hands off you sometimes. how hard it is to keep my thoughts to myself.”

your pulse stutters.

“then don’t,” you whisper.

his eyes darken. matt’s fingers flex against your waist, grip tightening like he’s barely restraining himself. his jaw tics, eyes dragging slowly down your body, taking his time, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he mutters, voice thick and low. “the only reason i keep my hands somewhat to myself is because if i start…”

his lips graze your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. his hands slip lower, fingers skating over your hips before sliding down, gripping your ass with a slow, deliberate squeeze.

“i won’t stop until you can’t even fucking stand.”

your breath hitches, heat curling deep in your stomach as his fingers flex, his body pressing closer, the tension between you crackling like a live wire.

he leans in, mouth brushing against your skin, voice dropping even lower.

“strictly off the record, of course.”

at that point, you knew that by the end of tonight, all you’d remember was how he made you forget everything but him.

a/n: okay i loved this like okay tensionnnn okay sexyy

tags: @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @snuffbut @strnilolover @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @slctsblogana @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams

[wildestheart4ever]

@stealingyourbones

Was reading a “Danny is Damian’s biological older brother” fic where he was with the Fentons due to mission reasons that Jack and Maddie are aware of

And seeing Danny treat Maddie with this “I’m your superior and you should remember that” attitude just woke something in me

There are a lot of Danyal Al Ghul fics where Danny winds up with the Fentons because of

a) He was a spare heir Ras didn’t want and killed or had killed leading to Talia having him moved to a humble little family in America

b) Danny ran away either for his own good or for Damian’s [i.e. Damian is the spare in this scenario]

or c) He was displaced via Lazarus Pit or failed mission

But there’s very few where Danny is with the Fentons for mission reasons [whether that is overseeing the Fentons’ progress or what have you], where he is a loyal member of the Al Ghul family

Now the fic I read? Danny is continuing to oversee this mission but is trying - and failing - not to get attached and implies he’s doing this for Damian’s sake [letting him live his life with their father while he keeps Ras’ focus on himself as the heir]

But of course like always, I got to thinking how things would be different in the DP world if he were loyal to the Al Ghul family

And how terrible he would be to someone like Vlad

‘Cause Vlad? That man would be small fry to someone like this Danny, a Danny who has lethal training, resources, protection and a superiority complex to outmatch Vlad’s - he’s not going to be threatened by Vlad’s experience with ghost powers

This Danny isn’t going to be blackmailed with their shared secret, because what does he care what the Fentons think? [If] The Fentons try shit there would severe consequences [Cut resources, cut throats, the works]

Vlad thinks he knows everything about Danny? He couldn’t be more wrong but Danny certainly knows everything about him once Vlad made himself a pesk

Because a pesk is all he’ll ever be

I’m just imagining a scene where Vlad is welcoming himself to the Fenton household as he does, trying to push his weight around and all that shit

He thinks he has all the cards

And Danny? Danyal Al Ghul? Well, they’re not in public right now so he has no reason to save face so he just pulls the rug from under Vlad’s feet

And now Vlad finds himself with a blade against his throat

“The only reason you are not a smear on the couch is because I see no reason to cut you down where you stand.

You think yourself such a superior dreadful opponent, when the truth is that you are nothing more than a small insect in my eyes. You hold no power over me, Masters, because you are nothing in the grand scheme of things - you don’t even hold title to most obnoxious rich man, that title belongs to Luther

but myself? Well, I already exchanged words with my grandfather of what could be done with you.”

The boy draws closer with a thoughtful hum, blade kept completely steady where it is against his skin

“You see, he finds you a…..curiosity he wishes to study once the time comes. The Fentons and yourself have certainly developed a myriad of weapons, so controlling you shouldn’t be an issue.”

Maddie walks into the room with a tea tray and for a moment Vlad hopes Daniel will retreat and put up what was apparently the mask he’s been wearing since they’ve met

She just pauses with a startled expression and looks at the two before quietly asking if she should come back later

Daniel just gives her a wane smile “Just for a moment, Dr. Fenton, I’m just clarifying some things for your guest”

And with that, Vlad watches as she quietly leaves the room and leaves him with this threat he suddenly found himself against

He looks down and finds Daniel watching him, smiling a benign, innocent smile and with eyes of a hawk, gleaming a toxic green. He can feel the blade against his throat turning gently, it’s sharp edge slowly digging into his skin and knows it’s been altered to use against ghosts

“You thought her presence would save you, didn’t you? Unfortunately for you, she and her husband are perfectly aware of who I am.

I only tell you this, Masters, because I tire of this ploy you think you have. This is me telling you your place - any advantage you think you have is nonexistent: Your experience, your power - what little of it you have, down to your money is irrelevant to me”

“I imagine your little friends will be very contrite with this revelation, Daniel” Vlad utters, looking for something to hold over this boy’s head and knows it’s futile

For a moment, Daniel pauses and Vlad feels the vicious glee that maybe he finally got the advantage and some semblance of control back

But then that smile turns sharp and mean, like the boy is perfectly aware of his attempt for control and finds it amusing.

“I assure you that they are perfectly aware as well. You see, despite their age and lack of experience - Sam already displays the traits Grandfather values and Tucker’s knowledge with hacking and technology - while limited, especially compared to others of greater experience - will be proven valuable assets given time and proper training.

And you? Well! Like I said, grandfather finds your duel nature a curiosity he has wished to study.”

Vlad wonders if Daniel’s equally duel nature could be held against him, if this grandfather could have his focus turned on a different much closer target

Something tells him Daniel’s place in his grandfather’s life isn’t as uncertain

So he thinks of any contingencies he has that might save him from this situation, what he has to do to keep himself in the public eye to ensure his absence will be noticed, what he has to look into to understand the threat he faces

“Of course, there is your position as town mayor, we can use that to our benefit - make you of use, I’m sure your sudden absence will be noticed after all…..

But you just had to annoy me.”

With a click of the tongue, Daniel finally pulls the blade away, wiping any blood away with a cloth before handing it over to a dark garbed woman Vlad hadn’t noticed before now

With a sharp inhale, he looks over his shoulder to find two others in the room with them, eyeing him like he were nothing more than a mouse. He feels further unease at the fact that he hadn’t heard or seen these people coming in, doesn’t know how long they’ve been laying in wait

For what, that is what he wished to know

With a shaken breath, he looks back to the boy with awe and fear, “Who are you?”

The boy looks back at him with sharp eyes, a derisive sneer curling at his nose, “I don’t see how that is any of your concern.

I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let you off with a little warning, Masters: Next time you fancy yourself superior to me, you’ll be gutted and strung up like a pig, left on the steps of town hall for all these town plebeians to see, with evidence of your extensive crimes up on display.”

With that, he picks up his bag from the floor and dismisses his silent companions, heading towards the front door with a quiet hum.

Vlad can barely keep himself from tensing up when the boy pauses, looking back at him with a perfectly innocent expression, any cold, lethal intent that was there beforehand completely gone

“Tell mom and dad I’ll be out with Sam and Tucker, will you? That won’t be a problem for you, will it, fruitloop? I’ll leave you to your nice and friendly visit with your friends.

Behave.”

[mintyys-blog]

BLACK SHEEP— loki laufeyson

WARNINGS: reader is Thors NON BIOLOGICAL daughter and she is over 20. Implied sex, forced marriage,

The golden halls of Asgard were always filled with light, with laughter, with the echoes of a realm that thrived in its own glory. Yet, despite its splendor, you had always felt like a shadow drifting through it—a presence that did not quite belong.

You were Thor’s daughter. Not by blood, not by birthright, but by choice. He had raised you with all the devotion of a father, his love fierce and unwavering, his protection absolute. He trained you himself, his booming laughter filling the training grounds as he praised your strength, his pride shining brighter than the golden armor he donned in battle.

And yet, the whispers never ceased.

She is not one of us.

She is an outsider.

She does not belong.

You had learned to ignore them, or at least pretend to. But tonight, as you stood beside Thor on the grand balcony overlooking the kingdom, the weight of it all felt unbearable.

Thor, ever perceptive when it came to you, turned toward you with a knowing look. “You are quiet tonight, little one,” he said, his voice a deep rumble softened just for you.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the goblet in your hands. The wine tasted bitter on your tongue, much like the thoughts you had been forcing down for years.

“Do you ever wonder if I was a mistake?” The words slipped out before you could stop them. You could feel Thor stiffen beside you, the golden light of the torches flickering across his face as he turned to face you fully.

“A mistake?” he repeated, as if the very idea offended him.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the cool railing of the balcony as your gaze drifted across the kingdom. “I don’t belong here, Thor,” you admitted. “I never have. The court tolerates me because of you, but I see the way they look at me. Like I’m… out of place. A black sheep among golden lions.”

Thor’s expression darkened, but not in anger. No, this was something else—something wounded, something aching. He placed a firm, calloused hand on your shoulder, grounding you with his warmth.

“You are no black sheep,” he said firmly. “You are my daughter. My family. No one in Asgard can ever take that from you.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. “Even if I never truly fit?”

Thor sighed, running a hand through his golden hair before leaning against the railing beside you. “There was a time I thought I did not fit either,” he admitted. “I was reckless, arrogant. I did not always understand my place.” He turned to you, his blue eyes filled with something deeper than mere reassurance. “But in time, I found it. And you will too.”

You wanted to believe him. You truly did. But there was a nagging feeling deep inside you, a restless ache that told you that no matter how much Thor loved you, no matter how fiercely he fought to keep you by his side, Asgard would never truly feel like home.

Thor’s words should have been enough. They should have soothed the ache inside you, but they didn’t.

That night, long after the halls of Asgard had quieted, you wandered. The golden corridors stretched endlessly, their polished floors reflecting the dim torchlight. You weren’t sure where you were going—perhaps nowhere, perhaps searching for something that didn’t exist.

You weren’t surprised when you found him. Or rather, when he found you.

“You look troubled, little one.”

Loki’s voice was like silk, smooth and effortless, wrapping around you before you even turned to face him. He stood in the shadows at the edge of the corridor, half-hidden, half-watching.

“You always seem to be lurking,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

His lips curled into an infuriating smirk. “And you always seem to be running.” He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “Tell me, do you ever find what you’re looking for?”

You exhaled sharply, looking away. “Not all of us have the luxury of knowing exactly where we belong.”

Loki hummed, tilting his head. “Ah. So that is what troubles you tonight.”

You tensed at his words, hating how easily he could read you. He had a way of peeling back your defenses, of seeing the things you wished to keep hidden.

“I don’t belong here,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended.

Loki’s gaze flickered with something unreadable. “No,” he murmured, “you don’t.”

You looked up sharply, expecting mockery, expecting him to revel in your insecurity. But there was no satisfaction in his expression. Only understanding.

Of course, he would understand. Loki, the second son. The shadow of a golden brother. The one who was always too much or never enough.

Maybe that was why you had always gravitated toward Loki.

“You could try, of course,” Loki continued, leaning against a marble pillar. “You could spend your entire life pretending, bending yourself into something more palatable for them.” His eyes darkened slightly. “But you will always be other.”

You swallowed hard, his words striking something deep inside you.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to belong,” you said, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Loki stepped closer, his presence unnervingly steady as his fingers ghosted just near your wrist—not touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat of him.

“Perhaps you’re searching in the wrong place,” he murmured.

The air between you was heavy, thick with something unspoken.

For the briefest moment, you wondered if he was right.

You should have pulled away.

Loki was dangerous, a master of weaving words into traps, of making you second-guess even your own thoughts. And yet, you stayed. You let the silence stretch between you, let his words linger in your mind.

“You speak as if you know where I should be,” you said, watching him carefully.

Loki’s smirk was slow, deliberate. “Perhaps I do.”

There was something unnerving in the way he looked at you—something far too knowing. It made your skin prickle, not with fear, but with something else entirely.

“And where is that?” you challenged.

Loki didn’t answer right away. He let the question hang in the air, his gaze flickering over you in quiet assessment. “You’re more like me than you are like them,” he said finally, his voice softer now, less playful. “You feel it, don’t you?”

You hated that he was right.

Thor’s reassurances had been warm, comforting, but they had not erased the doubt inside you. Loki’s words, however, fed it. Stoked it. And worse, he knew it.

“You don’t belong to them,” he continued, stepping closer until he was just a breath away. “But that does not mean you do not belong.”

You wanted to deny him. Wanted to tell him he was wrong, that you were Asgardian, that you did belong here. But the words never came.

Loki exhaled a quiet chuckle, as if hearing the answer in your silence. “I wonder,” he mused, tilting his head. “If you ever stopped chasing Thor’s approval for just a moment… would you finally see the truth?”

Your breath caught, but before you could respond, he was gone. A swirl of shadows and green magic, disappearing into the darkness as if he had never been there at all. The kingdom was in chaos.

“You will not touch her.”

Thor’s voice was thunderous, shaking the very walls of the palace. His fury crackled in the air, barely restrained, barely contained. He stood in the center of the throne room, his broad form rigid with rage, Mjolnir clutched tightly in his hand.

Across from him, Loki stood at ease, as if unconcerned by the storm brewing before him. A smirk ghosted across his lips, his hands folded behind his back in feigned patience.

“You speak as if it is your choice, brother,” Loki said smoothly.

Thor took a threatening step forward. “She is my daughter.”

Loki’s expression flickered—just for a moment—before amusement replaced it. “No, she is not,” he said, tilting his head. “She was never truly yours. No more than I was ever truly Odin’s.”

A sharp breath caught in your throat.

You had not meant to eavesdrop. You had been walking toward the throne room when Thor’s voice, filled with unrestrained fury, stopped you cold. Now, you stood frozen just outside the grand doors, listening—unable to turn away.

“Is that what this is?” Thor spat. “Some desperate attempt to spite me? To take what is mine simply because you cannot stand to see me with something you lack?”

Loki’s smirk widened, but there was something dangerous in his eyes now. “Oh, Thor,” he drawled, “you mistake me.” He took a single step forward, his voice dropping to something lower, something dark. “I will take her as my wife—whether you approve or not.”

A cold shiver ran through you.

Thor’s breath hitched, his knuckles whitening around the handle of Mjolnir. “You will not,” he growled. “I swear it, Loki, if you so much as—”

“Do not challenge me on this,” Loki cut him off, his voice sharp, edged with something lethal. “You think I need your blessing? You think I care for your permission?” He let out a quiet laugh, void of humor. “She was never yours to keep, Thor. She will be mine.”

Silence fell between them, thick with unspoken threats.

You barely dared to breathe.

Then, Loki turned, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor as he strode toward the door. You had no time to move, no time to hide before he emerged from the throne room—his gaze locking onto yours instantly.

You should have looked away. Should have run. Should have done something.

But you didn’t.

Loki’s smirk was slow, curling at the corners of his lips as his piercing green eyes flickered over you, reading every unspoken thought, every unsteady breath.

And then, without a word, he walked past you.

Leaving only the weight of his promise hanging in the air.

Odin had fallen into the Odinsleep, his once-mighty presence now reduced to nothing more than a fragile body lying motionless in the healing chambers. The golden halls of Asgard, once filled with light and laughter, now echoed with uncertainty and fear.

Then, Thor was gone.

Banished to Midgard, stripped of his power, his name whispered in confusion and sorrow among the court. Asgard had lost its prince, its protector.

And Loki had stepped into the void.

He took the throne with a grace that was almost effortless. Where others saw disorder, he saw opportunity. The golden crown suited him in a way that unsettled you, as if it had always been meant for him.

“You should not be here,” you had told him on the day of his coronation, standing in the shadows of the throne room as the courtiers knelt before him.

Loki had only smiled. “And yet, here I am.”

You watched as he ruled—not with Thor’s brute strength or Odin’s measured wisdom, but with cunning. He played the court like a game of chess, manipulating their fears, bending them to his will.

You wanted to hate him for it. You wanted to stand against him.

But something held you back.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at you now—not as an outsider, not as Thor’s shadow, but as something else. Something he had been waiting for.

And that terrified you more than anything.

The wedding was not a celebration.

It was a declaration. A conquest.

The golden halls of Asgard were draped in emerald banners, the mark of the new king. Courtiers whispered behind jeweled hands, some in fear, others in quiet approval. None dared to challenge him. None dared to challenge this.

You stood at the center of it all, dressed in flowing silks of deep green and gold, a mockery of the Asgardian regalia you had once worn so proudly. The delicate crown atop your head felt heavier than the weight of the moment itself.

Your hands trembled at your sides, and Loki noticed.

He always noticed.

His fingers curled over yours, a seemingly gentle touch—but beneath it lay possession, an unspoken warning. You felt his breath at your ear as he leaned in, his voice a whisper only you could hear.

“Do not mistake this for anything less than destiny.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your silence was the only defiance left to you, the only thing you could still call your own.

Odin was silent in the chambers of his Odinsleep. Thor was gone, banished, powerless to stop this. There was no one left to fight for you.

No one but yourself.

And yet, as the sacred vows were spoken, as Loki slid the cold metal of a ring onto your finger—a symbol of his victory—you felt something far more terrifying than hatred.

Because buried beneath your resistance, beneath the loathing, beneath the desperate wish to undo everything that had led you here…

There was something else.

Something dark. Something deep. And it terrified you more than anything else. The vows echoed in your mind, repeating like a chant that didn’t belong to you. But they had been said, spoken into existence, binding you to him in ways you could neither understand nor escape.

The ceremony had ended with no fanfare, no joy, just the cold finality of Loki’s victory. The courtiers had left one by one, all retreating to their own corners of Asgard, leaving you and Loki alone in the grand hall.

For the first time in hours, you were allowed to breathe without the weight of eyes upon you. But even in this space, there was no comfort.

Loki’s gaze never left you. He studied you with a kind of hunger, a silent anticipation that made your skin prickle.

“Do you feel it?” he asked softly, his voice almost a purr.

You didn’t answer. How could you? How could you explain what churned inside you, the clash of resentment and something darker, something more invasive?

Loki reached out, cupping your chin in his fingers. His touch was gentle, but it felt like a brand. “I can see it in your eyes,” he murmured. “That fear. That resistance. It will pass.”

His thumb stroked over your skin, the sensation far too intimate, too possessive to be comforting.

“Will it?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Loki’s smile was slow, deliberate. “Yes. Because you will want me, just as I have wanted you.”

You shivered, unable to stop it, your heart racing despite yourself. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in with the weight of his words.

“I don’t want this,” you said sharply, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Loki’s eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “No,” he agreed, “you don’t. Not yet. But you will.”

He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking with each heartbeat. “You will want me until you cannot stand it. Until you crave me the way I crave you.”

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “And then, my dear, you will surrender. Not because I make you, but because you will choose it.”

Every word he spoke was a tightening coil around your chest, each one more suffocating than the last. And still, you couldn’t pull away. You couldn’t fight the pull.

Your mind screamed, telling you to break free, to tear away from him before it was too late. But your body… your body betrayed you, responding to the subtle power he held over you in ways you couldn’t control.

Loki’s lips brushed against your neck, his presence consuming you, wrapping around you like a dark cloud.

“You are mine now,” he whispered, and you could feel the truth of it deep in your bones.

Even as you hated him, even as every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, there was a part of you that trembled at his words, that responded to his touch in ways you could not ignore. And that realization—that was the most terrifying thing of all.

Loki’s grip on your chin tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with just enough force to keep you still, to hold you in place as though you were nothing more than a prized possession. The space between you was charged, every second stretching longer than the last. His eyes, dark with intent, studied your every reaction—waiting, calculating.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmured, his voice smooth, soothing in its wickedness. “You may not want this now, but soon, you’ll crave it. You’ll crave me. Just as I’ve craved you.”

You trembled again, your breath shallow, your pulse quickening in spite of yourself. A foreign heat flooded your chest, an unsettling warmth that bled through your veins. You wanted to push him away, wanted to escape this maddening feeling—but somehow, you couldn’t. Every movement he made, every word he spoke, pulled you deeper into his world, into his control.

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “You are mine. And you will accept it.”

The finality in his tone struck like a hammer, and for the first time, you didn’t know whether to hate him more for his arrogance or to fear the dark temptation in his voice. Loki wasn’t just taking you. No, he was reclaiming you, as if you had always been destined to fall into his grasp.

The crown atop your head suddenly felt unbearable, a cruel reminder that you no longer had the freedom to choose, that you no longer had a say in your own fate. It was as if Asgard itself had turned its back on you, leaving you here to deal with the consequences of this dark, twisted bond.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Loki’s voice was colder now, the amusement gone, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. He tilted your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze—his eyes shining with a promise you couldn’t yet comprehend. “This isn’t about what you want. This is about what is meant to be.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck in a slow, deliberate caress, each press against your skin like a brand. A low growl rumbled in his chest, as if savoring the way your body tensed, your muscles reacting to his proximity.

“You can fight it,” Loki continued, his voice thick with hunger. “But it will not change what you feel.”

Every part of you wanted to scream, to tear away, to escape from him and from the twisted path you were now on. But the words died on your tongue. The pull, the intensity, the ache in your chest—it was like a magnet drawing you closer, despite every instinct telling you to flee.

“You will fall in love with me,” Loki whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “And when you do, you’ll understand that it was never about your choice.”

And as he said those words, you felt the terrifying truth begin to sink in. He was right.

You could already feel the seeds of something stirring inside you. Something dark. Something you didn’t want.

Loki smiled against your skin, as if sensing your surrender, and for the first time in your life, you wondered if you had ever truly been free.

The air in the room was thick with tension, heavy and suffocating. The golden light from the candles flickered, casting shadows that seemed to move with a mind of their own, mirroring the unease that churned within you.

Loki stood in front of you, his eyes never leaving your face. His smirk, that ever-present mask of confidence, had faded to something more predatory, more dangerous. The room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, shallow and uneven, as your pulse raced in anticipation of what was to come.

“You know what this is,” he said softly, his voice low, almost too calm, as he stepped closer.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t find the words. How could you? What was there to say? Every part of you screamed to run, to escape, but your body remained frozen, as if paralyzed by the weight of the moment.

Loki’s fingers brushed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, before he reached for the clasp of your wedding dress. The cool metal of his fingers against your skin made you wince, but you couldn’t pull away.

He took his time, slowly unfastening the intricate buttons, each click of the fabric loosening you from the tight cocoon you had once worn so proudly. You felt the weight of the dress lift, a small but undeniable part of you wanting to keep the only thing that marked you as someone untouched, someone who still held some semblance of control.

But it was too late.

As the dress fell to the floor in a silken heap, you stood before him in nothing but your undergarments. Vulnerable. Exposed.

Loki’s gaze darkened as he took you in, his eyes roaming over your form, assessing, measuring, as if you were something to be consumed. He stepped closer, his breath hot against your skin as he traced his fingers along the curve of your shoulder.

“You look… perfect,” he murmured, and you could hear the darkness in his voice, the possessiveness that made your stomach churn. But there was something else, something that ignited a flicker of heat deep inside you, something you despised.

Without warning, Loki’s lips were on your neck, hot and demanding, as he pulled you into him. His hand gripped your waist, pulling you tighter against his chest, and you could feel his heartbeat—strong, steady, as if he already knew how this was going to end.

You tried to resist. You wanted to push him away, to break free, but his touch was unrelenting, like fire against your skin, and you couldn’t help but respond, just a little, to the way his body pressed against yours.

He pulled away just enough to look you in the eye, his breath heavy. “You’ll learn, eventually,” he said softly, a promise in his tone. “That you want this. That you need this.”

You wanted to scream, to tell him that he was wrong, but the words caught in your throat. Loki wasn’t asking for your consent anymore; he wasn’t giving you a choice. This was his claim, his victory, and you were too far gone to escape.

“Let me make you mine,” he whispered, and you couldn’t deny the shiver that ran down your spine, the way your heart beat faster in your chest, against your will.

As he kissed you again, deeper this time, you closed your eyes, trying to block out the part of you that wanted this—desperately wanted it—and focused only on the hatred that burned in your chest. But it was hard. Harder than it should have been.

His hands were everywhere now, exploring your body with a mastery that made you feel like prey. You were trapped, caught in a web of his making, and there was no escape, not even from yourself.

And when he finally pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes darkened further with that same twisted satisfaction. “Soon,” he whispered against your lips. “Soon, you will beg for me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of what was to come. You were no longer just his wife by title. You were his to command, his to claim—and he had only just begun.

You lay there, motionless under the weight of his words. His presence enveloped you like a storm, violent and overwhelming. The room seemed smaller, suffocating, and each breath you took felt thick, as though the very air was pushing against you. The flickering candlelight danced in the shadows, but it couldn’t hide the truth of your situation, the truth of what had just begun.

Loki’s eyes never left you, studying you with a predatory gaze, as if savoring every moment. He ran a hand over your waist, his touch both gentle and possessive, as though marking you, claiming you in ways that words could never fully express.

“Do you feel it?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, as his fingers traced the edge of your undergarment. His touch was deliberate, each movement calculated, as if he were measuring your resistance, gauging your response. “The way your body betrays you?”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to push him away, scream at him to stop. But there was something inside you, something dark and unknown, that pulsed in time with his touch. The more he touched you, the more it became impossible to ignore. It was like a wildfire, spreading through you, igniting something that you hadn’t known existed.

His lips found your neck again, pressing against the soft skin there with an intensity that made your breath catch. His kisses were rough, hungry, each one leaving a trail of heat in its wake, and you could feel the way his body pressed against yours, hard and unyielding.

“You belong to me now,” Loki said softly, his voice barely a whisper against your skin. The words sent a tremor through you, but not the kind you wanted. It was a tremor of helplessness, of defeat, as if his words were carving something into your very soul.

Your heart pounded, but it wasn’t fear that quickened your pulse anymore. It was something darker, something that made you feel as though you were losing yourself, bit by bit.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face hovering inches from yours. His eyes were dark, filled with desire, with control, with something else. Something dangerous. “You’re going to learn,” he said, his voice dripping with certainty. “Learn to crave me. Learn to need me in ways you can’t even imagine.”

You swallowed, trying to push away the feeling that was growing inside you. The fear. The disgust. The longing. You wanted to scream, to fight back, but the part of you that resisted felt weaker with each passing moment.

Loki’s hand slid up your thigh, his touch light but unmistakably possessive. “Soon, you won’t be able to stand being apart from me,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure of that.”

He wasn’t asking for permission. He wasn’t waiting for you to come to him. This was no longer about choice. It was about his power over you, about his dominance, about claiming you completely, body and soul.

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to summon the strength to push him away, to tell him no, to make him stop. But the words died in your throat. Your body betrayed you, responding to him even when your mind screamed in defiance.

Loki’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile as he saw the struggle on your face. He knew. He always knew.

“You’ll come to understand,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “That this is what you were meant for. What we were meant for.”

His hand moved again, this time pulling at the remaining fabric that separated you from him, and you closed your eyes, trying to block out the pull, the ache, the undeniable truth that this was happening whether you wanted it or not. Whether you accepted it or not.

When his lips met yours again, it was no longer a question. It was a command. And you, despite everything, despite the hatred and fear and resistance, found yourself giving in.

Loki’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he studied you, his gaze lingering on every detail.

“Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. “I’ve waited for this moment for what feels like an eternity. You’re so captivating, so full of untapped potential. I’m going to enjoy uncovering every part of you.”

He moved closer, his fingers brushing the curve of your neck, sending a chill through your body. “Don’t worry,” he added softly, his breath warm against your ear. “I’ll be patient with you… at least, at first.”

His lips brushed against yours, light at first, but deepening with a growing intensity. His touch became more certain as he drew you closer, and you felt the heat of his presence enveloping you.

As he kissed you, his hands roamed slowly, tracing the outline of your body, sending sparks of energy through your skin. You felt a surge of heat rise inside you as he moved, the intensity of his touch pulling something out of you that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Let me see you,” Loki whispered against your lips. His eyes burned with unspoken hunger. “Show me who you really are.”

For a moment, you hesitated, but something in the way he watched you, the power in his gaze, made it impossible to deny. You complied, and Loki’s eyes darkened with admiration as he took in the sight of you, studying every inch with unrelenting focus.

Loki reached out and pulled you close, his gaze intense as he hovered near you. His lips brushed against yours again, a soft kiss that left a warmth lingering between you. Slowly, he moved lower, his touch gentle but purposeful.

“You’re so intriguing,” Loki murmured, his voice a mix of admiration and something deeper. “You’re like a rare treasure, and I can’t wait to discover every part of you.”

As his lips brushed against your skin, you felt a shiver run through you, the sensation soft but undeniable. He took his time, savoring the closeness, his hands exploring carefully, as though learning every curve, every detail.

His movements were slow, deliberate, each gesture building a tension between you. With every touch, you could feel something stir within you, a sense of something more powerful, more complex than you had anticipated.

Loki pulled back slightly to look at you, his expression unreadable. “You’re so much more than you know,” he said softly, almost to himself. His fingers gently brushed along your arm, the simple touch sending a wave of warmth through you.

He laid you on the bed, and you looked up at him with uncertainty. He removed the last of your undergarments, taking in a breath. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.”

After everything had settled, the room was quiet except for the soft sounds of your breathing, both of you taking in the stillness that followed the intensity of the moment. Loki sat beside you, his eyes softening as he looked at you, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced with something more gentle. He reached over, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch unexpectedly tender.

“Are you alright?” Loki asked, his voice quieter now, a hint of concern behind his words.

You nodded slowly, still processing the emotions that lingered, unsure of what to say or how to feel. You weren’t sure if the storm inside you had settled or if it was just the calm before something else.

Loki shifted closer, wrapping his arm around you in a gesture that felt more protective than possessive. “You’re safe,” he assured, his voice low and comforting. “No harm will come to you here. I’m not the monster you think I am.”

His words were simple, but there was sincerity behind them, a side of him you hadn’t always seen—the side that cared, in his own way. He gently guided you to lean against him, offering warmth and a rare moment of peace between the two of you.

He ran his fingers over your arm, slowly, as if trying to ease the tension from your body. The warmth of his touch was grounding, and despite everything that had passed, you couldn’t deny that it had a calming effect. It wasn’t what you had expected from him, but somehow it made sense. Loki, for all his complexity, wasn’t without his moments of vulnerability.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he said after a while, his voice soft. “But I’m here. Just rest.”

As you lay there, the softness of the moment settling around you, you couldn’t help but wonder about the strange connection between you—how it had shifted from something intense and overwhelming to something almost… comforting. Loki wasn’t perfect, and neither were you, but in that moment, there was a quiet understanding between you, something deeper than either of you had expected.

The days that followed were a blur of quiet tension and inescapable reality. Loki ruled Asgard with an iron fist, his once-cunning mischief hardened into something far more dangerous. The golden city was now cloaked in an air of fear and submission, its people bending to their new king’s will. You watched it all from the confines of the palace, no longer just Thor’s ward but Loki’s wife—his queen, in name, if nothing else.

Servants moved through the halls with careful, measured steps, their gazes lowered as they passed. The throne room, once a place of justice under Odin and Thor, had become something else entirely—a place where Loki’s word was law, where defiance was met with swift and merciless retribution.

And yet, to you, Loki was different.

When he came to your chambers, he was not the tyrant who ruled over Asgard. With you, there was something else—something possessive, yes, but also strangely tender. He would sit beside you, trailing his fingers over your wrist, your jaw, as if memorizing you all over again. He would hold you at night, his grip tight, as if afraid you would vanish if he let go.

But even as he treated you with a twisted sort of care, you could never forget the chains that bound you to him. The golden wedding band on your finger felt heavier than any shackle. No matter how gently he touched you, how softly he murmured your name, you knew the truth: he had taken you, just as he had taken Asgard.

One evening, you stood by the grand window of the palace, looking down at the city below. The people moved with caution, their fear palpable even from a distance. Loki’s rule had changed everything. The streets were patrolled by his guards, and those who dared to resist had long since been silenced.

“You look troubled, my love.”

Loki’s voice was smooth as he approached, draping an arm around your waist. His presence was intoxicating, as always—a blend of danger and allure that made it impossible to think clearly.

“You’ve turned Asgard into something unrecognizable,” you said quietly, keeping your gaze on the city. “The people live in fear.”

Loki chuckled, the sound rich and unapologetic. “Fear is necessary. They never respected me before. Now, they will.”

“You think fear is the same as loyalty?” you countered, finally turning to face him.

Loki’s expression darkened, though there was no true anger in his gaze—only amusement, as if he enjoyed the fight in you. “Loyalty is fickle. Fear is constant. Would you rather I be weak, as Thor was?”

You swallowed hard, knowing there was no winning against his logic—not when he had already made up his mind. Loki had always been brilliant, always three steps ahead of everyone else. But now, that brilliance was sharpened into something cruel.

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ll come to see it my way in time,” he murmured. “Asgard belongs to me. And so do you.”

His lips brushed against yours, slow and deliberate. A reminder. A promise. A threat.

And despite yourself, despite the war inside your heart, you didn’t pull away.

[hypnoshatesme]

I've been meaning to write something based on this lovely comm I've been continuously staring at since getting it so I finally did <3 happy valentines~

All was silent in the House of Hope as Delirium stepped through the entrance. As quiet as it ever got, at least. They were used to the debtors and had no problem blocking them out by this point; paid them no mind as they walked down the hallway, wondering where the master of the house might be hiding. 

If he was in at all. He hadn't been in the Caress at least, so there was a chance.

The boudoir was empty, and so was the balcony. Haarlep must be out, and Delirium was unsure if that made it more or less likely for Raphael to be here. Surely he'd take the opportunity of uninterrupted quiet to get some work done.

They found him eventually, bent over the candle-lit desk on the interior balcony, quill in hand and books spread out around him. For a moment, they stood in the entrance and watched the idle dance of the candlelight against his figure. He had probably heard them — Delirium had yet to figure out how to approach him unnoticed — but he gave no sign of it, unhurriedly wet the tip of his quill to bring it to paper again. 

With a grin, they pulled out their knife before closing the last of the distance to the desk. In one smooth movement, they pushed some of the books and papers aside before taking a seat on the edge of the desk. That did get his attention, made him look up, brow arched.

Before he could speak, the tip of the blade was at his throat, “It's time for a break, don't you agree?”

Neck arched and eyes lidded, he held their gaze for long enough to make them fight a shudder. A slight grin spread on his lips. “How much of a choice do I have in my response?”

Delighted, they ran their thumb over the hilt of the knife. “You can answer as you please.” They lowered their voice, conspiratory, “I might hold you there until you say what I want to hear, though.”

A chuckle from him, and his hand holding the quill moved up to tickle their chin with the tip of the feather. Delirium twitched at it, tightened their grip on the knife to keep it still.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” they hummed, a little breathless.

“Oh, but maybe I can tickle you into submission,” he pondered out loud, mischief in his eyes and a grin on his lips.

They laughed, leaned in closer and let the knife wander up his neck until its tip was right under his chin, forcing him to move his head back further to avoid getting cut. Candlelight played in his eyes, turning them orange, caressing long, dense lashes.

“You wouldn't want that.” 

It was his turn to laugh, the feather in his hand wandering down the opening at the front of their shirt. Delirium exhaled, slowly, through their nose, very aware that their faces were much too close now for him not to notice.

“I would not,” he conceded after what felt like an eternity of silence.

Impatient as always, they couldn't take it anymore and bridged the gap between their lips. Clearly expecting it, Raphael returned readily, his hand coming to rest on their knee, his other presumably still on whatever page he had been writing on. 

It made them itch to touch him back, but the thrill of him letting them hold something sharp to his skin was too great to give up the privilege just yet. They pressed the flat of the blade to his jaw, a cold caress, as loving as the daggers edges were sharp. Delirium had made sure it cut easily before coming here. Nothing shy of the best for the devil. 

He tensed, and they revelled in it and deepened the kiss. Raphael’s lips parted easily for their tongue, his fingers digging slightly into their knee.

They did really want to touch him. And once their free hand wasn't necessary in them holding their bent over position on the desk, they would be able to. So, slowly and not entirely willingly, they pulled away from the kiss, enough to look into eyes grown darker. 

He licked his lips, and they forgot what they had wanted to say. His teasing grin and expectantly raised brow did not help their memory.

Eventually, it came back to them. “Then I suggest you let the ink dry and come with me.”

“Very well,” he hummed, and to their dismay, his hand left their leg to set down the quill still held between his fingers. It did not return. His eyes met theirs again, a challenge in them, “I’m afraid there is a dagger preventing me from getting up, little mouse.”

Delirium grinned at the unsubtle dare. They could ask him to beg, or at least to ask nicely, and Raphael would refuse, and this game would go on until one of them — Delirium, most likely — yielded. Only willing to indulge him so far in their state, they angled the dagger just so the edge of the blade nearly grazed his skin, forcing him to hold very, very still, thrill undeniable in his expression. There they held him a moment, appreciating.

“I can assist with that,” they mumbled, removing the blade slowly, with the same casualness they had put it there in the first place. 

Disappointment flashed in Raphael’s eyes, turning to intrigue when they jumped off the table and held out their free hand to him. He took it and they pulled him to his feet, pressed a kiss to the back of his hand before leading him out into the hallway and towards the boudoir. 

Raphael’s fingers idly freed themselves from their loose grasp, wandered up their arm and down their back at leisure. “A new shirt?”

Delirium shuddered at the warmth of his touch. “At last,” they chuckled, met his eyes. “Do you like it?”

He pressed his hand flat into their lower back, pulling them closer and putting an end to their walking. They had reached the bed anyway. “It’s a lovely fabric,” he hummed, digging his fingers into it and kissing them.

All too happy to oblige him, they kissed him back and kissed him hard, delighted to finally have one hand free to run up his chest, work on undoing the buttons of his doublet. The dagger was still in the other, and they wrapped that arm around his neck loosely, breath hitching when Raphael chose that moment to slide his hands below their shirt, fingers near-scalding against the perpetual chill of their skin.

Still, they arched into his hands as they ran up their back, bit at his lip and undid the strings keeping his shirt closed at his neck. The bite earned them a pleased hum, turning into something more breathless when they ran their fingers down his bare chest, dragging their nails through the hairs on it.

“You're still holding the dagger,” Raphael hummed when they moved to kiss his jaw, breath catching when their teeth grazed his skin. “Are you planning on bringing it to bed?”

Delirium wondered how he had noticed as they had made sure not to touch him with it. The mystery did not hold half the intrigue Raphael’s question held, however, his tone still teasing in his breathlessness, his eyes bright with thrill and challenge when they pulled away enough to see them. 

They took him up on it eagerly, put their hand in his hair, grabbing a handful without quite pulling. Partly to steady themself, partly because they loved how it always made Raphael’s eyelashes tremble a little. 

“And what if I did?” they mumbled, replacing the now-gone hand on his chest with the tip of the blade, cool metal instead of dull nails as they led it idly along the same path. 

It still did not cut, but they let it catch in the hair on his chest, which seemed to give Raphael some trouble in keeping his breathing steady and shallow enough not to cut himself on the knife. 

They grinned, satisfied in how long it took him to get his bearings before answering their question, how rough his voice sounded when he did, “That, dearest, depends entirely on how you intend to use it.” 

A hum was their response, for they were well aware they'd sound just as flustered as he if they tried to speak. They pushed against his chest and he went down onto the bed, Delirium following to straddle his hips and press a kiss to his throat and the dagger to his breast.

cmm ✨

[mettywiththenotes]

Future Tomura visiting UA one day (he has a pass with him dw, Izuku invited him for a lesson) and just hanging out in the staff room while Izuku is getting some work together before break ends. He's sat there curled up, shoes on the chair, playing on his nintendo ds

One of the kids from Izuku's class comes in like "Hi sensei I was just wondering wha- IS THAT SHIGARAKI TOMURA, THE NUMBER ONE VILLAIN FROM 8 YEARS AGO???"

Tomura just throws up a peace sign and goes "Hey" while Izuku's like "Well, he's not a villain anymore, but yeah that's him. What were you gonna ask me?"

[miryum]

Simon Riley who, when you moved in with him, also had to adjust to your little dog. He loved dogs, as evident by Riley, but your dog was not like Riley. Riley was a war-hardened German Shepard that could sniff out bombs and had survived a bullet wound. Your dog looked like it would pee on the helicopter that was sent to rescue it and bark at the medic before rolling over for belly rubs.

Your dog was all bark and no bite. They were a small, fluffy little thing who you spoiled more than Simon. It took them a while to adjust to Simon, but when they realised that Simon laid heavily on the couch after deployment and was willing to be their personal pillow, your little dog reluctantly accepted him.

As for the dynamic between Riley and your dog, your little pupper was insistent that they were the boss of the house. They barked at Riley when first introduced as Riley just sat there, waiting for it to be over. Soon enough, though, your dog was curled up with Riley, cuddling. That always made you coo and take pictures of the pair, though Simon grumped that he’d rather have you pay attention to him.

Speaking of attention not on Simon, when the hell did your shared bed also become the dogs’ bed? When it was just Simon and Riley, Riley had his own bed and kennel in the living room. And Simon loved you so much. He was so fucking happy when you moved in. Hell, he was happy just to have you in his bed. Waking up with you tucked into his side, protected by him, was something he adored. It was better than heaven. But that heaven was usually interrupted by your scrappy little dog wiggling its way in between you two. He would turn around when you started petting and baby-talking the dog, only to see Riley at the foot of the bed, staring up at him. That’s how both dogs began sleeping in your shared bed.

You adored Riley just as much as you adored your own dog. You loved going on walks with Simon, the dogs on their leashes. Riley was a perfect walker, next to Simon the entire time with such military precision that you doubted the canine even needed a leash. Your dog on the other hand… they weaved all over the path, pausing to sniff and pee every half block. Simon wanted to train your dog like he had trained Riley, but you refused. “Oh, shush. Look at that little face! Perfect already, Si.” Of course, he could never say no to you.

Speaking of Riley’s training, however, Simon could tell that his dog was slowly slipping farther and farther from his strict regimen. With the excessive treats that you slipped Riley, the dog was gaining some chonkiness, just as his owner. As his deployments got further and further apart and his retirement got more and more likely (perhaps because of the ring in his dresser drawer), he allowed himself to stay in bed longer with you rather than getting up to exercise in the wee hours of the morning. You didn’t mind, obviously. You liked the softness that Simon was acquiring and he was always a big man to begin with. Just because his tummy was becoming more squishy didn’t mean that he still couldn’t throw his weight around if someone was bothering you.

Simon, combined with Riley, allowed for ‘scary dog privileges.’ There was a time when a creepy man began following you when Simon was on deployment and you were walking Riley. Your own little dog was getting their hair cut, so it was just you and Riley. You noticed something was wrong when Riley’s ears perked up and his movements got a bit more robotic. You glanced around, knowing Riley’s instincts were never wrong. After seeing the man, you decided to head back towards the edge of the park, where more people were. When the man didn’t give up, though, and got even closer, Riley went full guarddog. He stepped closer to you and turned around to face the man. After a few loud, thundering barks that drew the attention of everyone around, the man scuttled away. Later that month when Simon was back home, both dogs cuddled up to you on the bed, he didn’t know whether to be mad that you didn’t tell him immediately (though he could never get mad at you) or to be proud that Riley protected you so fiercely. Anxiety and fear rushed through Simon, but you calmed him with a small kiss and Riley set his head on Simon’s stomach. Riley definitely earned the scratches behind the ears that he got.

Most dog owners took their dogs out for one last pee before bedtime and Simon was no exception. You always made Simon take the dogs out because you were usually cuddled up in bed or in the blankets all cosy. He never once complained, either tugging on his jacket if it was windy out, or pulling on a hat if it was raining. He would do anything for you, even if it meant braving thick snow that crept into his boots. Riley always went quickly, even though both owner and dog knew that he could withstand the freezing temperatures. Your little idiot, on the other hand, would take their merry time, sniffing and trailing around the yard (which you had asked for when you and Simon moved out of his apartment and into a real house on the outskirts of the city). There were even times when another dog would be walking by and your canine would bark and run after them. Simon was always quick to jog after and scoop the dog up. Once in a while, Riley would give a deep bark as well, as if telling off your dog. Simon would then trudge back into the house, muttering curses under his breath, your dog under his arm.

But, as much as he pretended to hate your dog, there was always a soft spot there. Soon enough, “my girlfriend’s” dog became “my wife’s” dog and then “our” dog.

[meownotgood]

arcane season 2 spoilers

════════════════════

"Can you feel anything?" 

Viktor's foreign body shudders against his will; your fingertips trace down his chest, tingling, sparking, akin to little specks of light burning into his second-skin. The sound of your muddled voice barely registers. His head tosses back with a slight thud, hair fanned out as a halo. He allows your knees to bracket his waist, and keeps his arms sprawled above him — despite the aching in his dead heart to just touch you. The pulsing of the arcane beneath his system is hardly under control yet. 

It would be a risk he's willing to take, a necessary step to learn, if it were anyone else besides you. 

And Viktor does feel — so much, in fact, but it isn't anything explainable. The festering in his core, threatening to come up through his throat. The whirring, the throbbing of every muscle, rich with glowing rivers of purple. Shining with a mixture of magic and energy and his own blood. 

He's only distantly aware of your hand when it reaches his stomach, examining the juncture between cool metal and unholy flesh. Gears and bolts mimic the outline of ribs. Your touches are curious, distinctly gentle. Picking up on old habits, and trying not to break him, still. Then, your palm reaches up; it boldly cradles his cheek, brushes his pallid skin. And this, he can sense. 

It's familiar, human. Excruciatingly soft when your thumb brushes the space on his cheek, just above his beauty mark. It puts an easy feeling back in his chest, something he almost began to believe he'd forgotten. As warm as a shimmering sun, as molten as liquid gold. 

Nothing else matters but this moment, but you, and him. There is no outcome, across each expansive universe and every edge of the arcane, where the two of you would not meet again like this. You were meant to. Born and reborn to. 

Your gaze finds his, soft eyes glancing down at him, your expression crossed between pain and relief. You eclipse all of his vision: light fuzzy at your edges, your face a hazy memory that he'd still see with his eyes closed. You're a reminder of what it means to be alive. 

Viktor doesn't envy you. You've told him of nightmares, before. Dreams you had before this, of your mind putting yourself through the tragedy of watching him die ages before you truly had to. It must be difficult to see him like this, despite your best attempts to hide any uncertainty. 

Your hand shakes. He can feel it trembling, unsteady on his cheek. And every molecule in Viktor's system explodes, laced with the yearning to remember — to let hazy lovesickness swell within his palms and his new figments. To pull you closer, in an effort to convince himself you won't be taken away. 

Every echo of you is innate. Your voice, your name, your fingerprints. Your presence has the Hexcore — or what's become of him, what has embodied the Hexcore — blissfully, endlessly silent. The way you look at him, soft and brutally innocent, puts a chasmic, vivid hole in his center. Gods, you still look at him the same, just as you did when the two of you were young and innocent. The rot in him tells him he isn't worthy of it. 

Viktor's eyes swirl like kaleidoscopes. Drops of crimson swirling in pure water. Your brows pinch, a sight he finds frustrating and pretty, as you silently examine him. Emotions curl in your lungs, tearing and hungry and knife-like; stricken with attachment, or perhaps blaming yourself, Viktor figures. 

Exhaustion runs heavy in your expression, reminding him of looking into a mirror. He knows this look. You haven't slept. Haven't given yourself any form of a break, it seems.

So, he takes a chance. 

Your hand brushes some stray, messy strands of hair from his forehead, just as Viktor guides his weak arm to reach for you. You don't tense, don't move. He can hear your breathing, thinks he can still feel his. There isn't an ounce of fear in the way you look at him. You have always looked at him like he holds the world in his hands. And now, perhaps he does. 

His hand finds your cheek, same as yours. Copying, following. Thin, delicate, purple-hued fingers trace the edge of your face clumsily, still learning how to touch. Still afraid the line between hurt and healing might be blurred, and you are the one person left that he can't let get caught in the crossfire. You lean into his palm, trusting, and let go of a breath that makes your shoulders shake with the weight of it. 

Viktor thinks of crying, despite the press and pull in his chest that convinces him he shouldn't be able to. He can feel you. It isn't like the few touches he's experienced so far, or the aching, anomalous strength he's been forced to get used to. It contradicts the very constructs of everything he thought made sense. 

Your skin is so soft, sickly familiar. Viktor holds your face shakily, afraid to move. He can feel your individual atoms. Innumerable sparks just beneath his touch, galaxies upon universes of stars in your name, that beg to be grasped, possessed, cured. He cradles you with all of the devotion of a prophet, with all of the tenderness of a past friend: an almost-destiny, a saved seat at the edge of something more. 

Would clumsily pulling you in, and pressing his lips to yours feel wrong, or tangible — like nothing, or like everything? 

"Vik?" 

Your tone, sweeter than honeysuckle, sweeter than anything he might deserve, brings his vision back into focus. He blinks. Gaze never tearing away from his, your fingertips drop to thread the hard edge of his collarbone. A silent plea, can you feel this? You find each curve of his bones and his body easily, the details already memorized. Viktor senses the ghost of you, your touch gentle, something like home. 

"I'm not sure," Viktor finally answers; and the scientist, Hexgate creator, still-ambitious part of himself is hardly satisfied with that answer. His voice is quiet, distant. As though he isn't there, despite the lingering, familiar tenderness to his tone. 

The fried synapses in his brain can't yet separate a caress from a threat, he just perceives the lingering energy. He believes you could be the one to teach him the difference. 

This time, you let your palm press flat to his chest. There's a hum that attempts to mimic a heartbeat, a lack of coolness or heat. The action presses your form closer to his, guides you to lean part of your weight on him to bring your faces far too close. Sharing in the same reflection. Allowing each breath to be measured, along with every hesitation. 

What should he start with? Should he embrace you, holding you tight and close like you're sacrificial? Should he grab your hand in his, press his palm to your skin to measure your heartbeat? Lace his smallest finger with yours, to make you a promise like he used to? 

He can't promise you peace, nor the life you deserve, but if you came for him now, was it not a swear to follow him anywhere? 

There are still so many things left to feel, and every red thread has always begun and ended with you. 

Can you feel anything? 

Viktor guides a hand over yours, keeps it to his chest selfishly; he meets your gaze, he hums, "Are you eager to find out?" 

[zepskies]

I know you're telling me not to worry in your AN, but I can't help but worry. 😬😬😬 That supe virus was nasty AF in season 4.

In those breaks, he scoured the Internet for answers and tried to keep his frustrations over it quiet with little grunts and a deeply creased brow.

As ominous as this situation is, there's something really cute about picturing Ben doing this lol. He loves her fr fr. 💗

“I told you not to worry. I’m alright,” she says, her throat dry and her voice coarse. Her words are meant to soothe her husband. She can see the worry shimmering in his juniper eyes. She’s lucky he’s not a supe anymore, or he would’ve gone nuclear a while ago.

Small favors? 😅 Your worldbuiding with the cure vs. the virus is so interesting here. I'm wondering how they're going to get her better at this point if they can't make her a non-supe...

And admittedly, she knows she might be in denial. If true, it seems like a cruel trick the universe is playing on her. Giving her all she’s ever wanted and take it away immediately after? It definitely feels like a cosmic joke all the Gods are laughing about. But deep down, she knows it’s true. She knows she’s screwed, but she doesn’t know how to tell Ben. He’ll lose his shit. She knows he’s not built for this.

But that moment where she literally coughs blood is so visceral. 😭 Really well done, even though my heart is in my throat now. 🫠

Ben pulls the knitted wool blanket up to her shoulders and gently kisses her temple. It’s been two hours since she’s fainted in the supermarket, and she’s still burning up.

So sweet. 😭 I was expecting his call to Victoria lmaooo, aaaand it went about as well as I expected loll. You've soothed my worries that she was the one who might've had something to do with the reader getting sick, but I'm still on the edge of my seat on how you're going to fix this...

“I know where the fuck it is,” Ben grits, his brow densely creasing with a mix of confusion and angry suspicion. “What exactly do you think I’m gonna fucking do with it?” “Shoot me.” Her eyes are steady and firm, his voice is sterner. “No.” The word booms through the living room, threatening to quake the earth and shake books off their shelves.

I felt that No in my chest, jeezus. 😭😭

“Well, if you’re behaving like a fucking baby…” he retorts and patiently follows her frantic steps. “You also won’t find fucking scissors and pills, either.” “Ironic coming from you,” she scoffs, opening and shutting cabinet doors in the desperate search for something strong enough to put her out of her goddamn misery. “Yeah, how do you think I knew which shit to hide, huh?” he asks rhetorically and takes a careful step closer, cornering her between counters and appliances. “Would you stop that now and fucking talk to me?”

Oh my Goddd their rehab days coming to bite her in the butt loll. But good on Ben for learning something! 😂

“Is that you or the fucking V talking, huh?” Ben has never said it out loud before, but he hated how that blue shit changed her. Sure, it only amplified certain parts of her that he supposes have always been there, but it made her less caring, more arrogant, too.

Honestly I could see this. 💔 The V changes people, typically for the worst. And with her, I feel like she was kinda quick to suggest divorce after everything she and Ben had been through.

He feels a flood of relief rush through his body. Thank fucking God, because he’s totally been bluffing.

lmfaoo. I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh. 😂

She had barely gotten that. She stupidly sacrificed it all for him, and he still wishes she would’ve never done that. He was supposed to die that day with Homelander. It had been his time. Not hers.

Aww not the survivor's guilt!!

“You selfish fucking prick! You can’t even let me die in peace?!” she grits through her teeth, fighting another surge. She feels the nausea too, like a parasite trying to flee its host through her throat. “Look, I’m fucking sorry, but I had to take the shot, alright?!”

OhGodohGodohGod!! Her anger is so valid, but also, I can't help but root for Ben's side on this one. 😅

She sends him a weak smile and mouths, ‘I love you, too.’ And all there’s left then for him to do is staring at a closed bedroom door. And waiting. Fucking waiting…

oooooh the waiting. But at least it's not a long wait!! loll So excited for the grand finale tomorrow!! I have a feeling Ben's gamble is gonna pay off, thanks to the one time he paid attention to science. 🤓

Lover – Part 2

Series Summary: Free from his past, Ben’s trying to move on and find a little drop of happiness in this new world. But when he finally holds everything he ever wanted in his hands, it threatens to slip through the cracks, and he has to fight one final time with everything he’s got to keep it.

🫡 Catch up here! Sequel to Rehab & Video Games.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ due to language & mature themes, established relationship, Soldier Boy x wife!reader, human!Soldier Boy, angst with a side of hurt/comfort, sickness & generally gross descriptions thereof (the Gen V virus says hello 👋 – with minor adjustments), tw: mentions of euthanasia & suicide, sprinkles of fluff between

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Don't read too much into the whole virus situation, guys. I promise this is a full fix-it, and that annoying little bug is just how we're gonna do that 😜 Come tomorrow, all's well because we all know the V stands for... I do this joke every year, don't I? Never mind! Happy reading! 💕

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 2: Lovesick

Ben’s worried. Y/N keeps saying she’s fine.

They stroll through the supermarket. Benny pushes the cart in front of them, racing down the aisles.

She woke up this morning around eleven o’clock after a thirteen-hour sleep. He’d held a small mirror under her nose several times at night to assure himself she was still breathing. She never woke up. She’d looked so peaceful it had almost been creepy.

She also sweat through her sheets and jittered like a leaf in the wind. He tried to hold her when she was freezing and gave her distance when she was ablaze. In those breaks, he scoured the Internet for answers and tried to keep his frustrations over it quiet with little grunts and a deeply creased brow.

The hard lines on his face are still there, though. They never left.

Ben isn’t entirely clueless, however. Sure, he’s spent some four decades locked away, then came back for a short period of time to a world he can barely understand, only to be put to sleep and experimented on some more for a couple of years. People don’t really expect him to follow the news at this point, and they’re not wrong in their assumption – he rarely ever gives a shit.

But he remembers how she’d given him an update of the world’s dire state when he’d first gotten to the clinic. She’d mentioned a virus – one designed to kill any supes. The plan was to wipe everyone out. Biological warfare, they’d called it. It hadn’t come as a surprise to Ben. He’d seen this all before. Hell, he’d even helped with some of those things back in his glory days.

The virus had been one more reason, one more need for the cure. It had been the perfect deal: If you can’t kill ‘em, cure ‘em. But once that infectious little vial was opened, well, it had been hard to put the genie back inside.

The cure acted as both a vaccine and a remedy against the virus. Soon, the pesky little thing was pushed back but was never quite eradicated. It had eventually slowed its progression but never became any less deadly.

Now, instead of quick and painless, there was agonizing and torturous.

But Y/N can’t take the cure. He might as well kill her this second out of mercy.

When she woke up from her beauty sleep this morning, she admittedly looked better. She said she felt better. Ben still didn’t believe her. She barely touched her food, picked at her breakfast, and ended up only eating the leftover crusts of their son’s toast. He watched her from his periphery as he nursed his coffee in the kitchen, stoically worrying more.

Y/N coughs once more next to him as they pass the frozen food aisle. Ben eyes her cautiously. She’s done it all morning. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help her or how to stop it. Not even the blue vial could help him fix it. He doesn’t even know if it’s real yet. Is it normal? Is he overreacting?

She coughs again. He shakes his head and bites his tongue.

“You okay?” he checks gruffly, his voice thick with tension and concern, but he already expects her answer.

“I told you not to worry. I’m alright,” she says, her throat dry and her voice coarse. Her words are meant to soothe her husband. She can see the worry shimmering in his juniper eyes. She’s lucky he’s not a supe anymore, or he would’ve gone nuclear a while ago.

And admittedly, she knows she might be in denial. If true, it seems like a cruel trick the universe is playing on her. Giving her all she’s ever wanted and take it away immediately after? It definitely feels like a cosmic joke all the Gods are laughing about.

But deep down, she knows it’s true. She knows she’s screwed, but she doesn’t know how to tell Ben. He’ll lose his shit. She knows he’s not built for this.

She coughs again into a used tissue, which she has stored in her pocket since last night. Her tongue tastes something metallic – copper and iron. And when her eyes land on the white cloth, they notice spots of a deep, scarlet red.

She stops walking then and swallows thickly, her hands trembling as her eyes transfix on the blood. Ben halts as well when he realizes she’s not moving. He sees the panic in her face, sees she’s a lot paler now than the night before. Her skin looks clammy, her eyes red, weary, and dazed as if she had just taken a hard hit from one of his blunts.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asks and steps closer. He cocks his head at her, the creases of his brow now harsh lines. She seems out of it, confused. She doesn’t even seem to understand his question, let alone be capable of answering.

Her mouth opens, but instead of words, she only inhales shakily like it’s the last breath she’ll ever take. Ben barely reaches her fast enough when her eyes roll back into her head till there’s only shining white and her knees begin to buckle.

Ben pulls the knitted wool blanket up to her shoulders and gently kisses her temple. It’s been two hours since she’s fainted in the supermarket, and she’s still burning up.

He caught her just in time before her head hit the linoleum. He shooed away a group of concerned strangers that had gathered around them, assuring them that his wife was fine and just experiencing a minor dizzy spell. He sold it with a humorous eye roll and chuckled the word “women” before grabbing the kid and carrying her quickly out of the store and into the car. If she hadn’t been out cold, he’s certain he would’ve heard several objections to that comment.

Ben knows he can’t take her to a hospital, however. No one knows she’s a supe, and these days, they don’t receive the best treatment – too many bridges burnt after Homelander’s reign of terror. People have become angry, fearful, and distrustful.

Again, he feels a little responsible. He’s sure Soldier Boy had laid some groundwork for that, too.

Softly, the door to their bedroom clicks shut, her phone in his hand as he searches her contacts. His shoulders tense as he reaches the one he needs. His jaw tightens as he holds it to his ear and waits for an answer.

“Hey, I figured you’d call. Already fed up with the wrinkly dick and coming back?” Victoria Neuman’s voice sounds through the speaker, causing Ben’s hair to stand up on its ends.

Chalk on fucking board, he thinks and bites the anger back. He hates talking to that bitch, hates being nice, and hates asking for favors. But he swallows the acrimony down for the sake of his wife.

“It’s me,” Ben grits and feels his jaw beginning to ache. Why the fuck does everything hurt all the time? It’s something he figures he’ll never get used to – every time his back cracks and creaks in the mornings.

“You have exactly five seconds to tell me she’s not locked up in your basement before I make a few calls and let hellfire rain down on you, you decrepit piece of antiquity,” she bites her threat, but Ben can hear the concern in her voice, although he doesn’t give it too much weight. She’s probably faking it like her orgasms.

“Look, I wouldn’t fucking call if it wasn’t serious, you cunt,” Ben snaps and squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing the surge of fury and impatience out of his temples.

His admission causes a beat of silence on the other end. “What’s going on?” Neuman then finally asks and swallows down her own snarky remarks.

Ben licks his chapped lips before pushing the words out. “She’s-… she’s sick.”

There’s another long pause. “She can’t be sick. She’s a supe.”

“I fucking know that.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah…”

They both sigh (and both hate that they have something in common).

“I-… I have the cure,” Ben says and bites down on his tongue immediately after. He doesn’t want to show her all his cards.

“You can’t give it to her. It’s going to kill her,” Victoria reminds him firmly.

“The fucking virus is gonna kill her too, right?” Ben’s eyes drop to the floorboards that hold the solution to all his problems underneath.

“Yeah, it is,” Victoria admits. “What are her symptoms? You sure she’s not just pregnant?”

“I fucking hope not.” There’s a sentence he never expected to say. But– “I haven’t fucking cum inside of her for months.”

“Charming,” Neuman retorts on the other end.

“Wait, do you fucking know something? Did she cheat on me?” The grip around the phone in his hand tightens. Was that why she forgave him so fast and said she believed him?

“Unfortunately, no,” Victoria replies with obvious disappointment. Ben refrains from releasing the sigh of relief he feels. “Believe me, I’ve tried to get her cockdrunk on someone else…”

If Ben still had super-strength, he would’ve crushed the goddamn phone in his hand. Instead of exploding, he closes his eyes and takes a deep fucking breath, though. Ten… nine… eight… Where’s your happy place?

“Why the fuck are you calling me? What do you want?” Victoria’s voice snaps him out of his fatal fantasies of tearing her limbs off one by one.

“What d’you got in your labs? You gotta have a new cure, a new sample, fucking something,” Ben says but doesn’t even know what he’s asking. He’s grasping at straws, hoping to stumble upon an answer.

“If they’d found something, I would’ve already given it to her,” Neuman says.

“You fucking sure about that?” Ben doesn’t believe a drop of what she’s tellimg him.

“Yes,” Victoria still insists. “Look, before you give it to her, I’ll ask around, make a few calls, okay? See if there’s any possibilities to stop this.”

Ben’s hands tremble, his jaw quivers as he desperately tries to steady himself. “Thank you, fucking hurry,” he forces out in a murmur and immediately hangs up.

Y/N stretches with a grumbling sigh as his hand gently caresses her head. He presses his lips to her burning temple, her weary eyes fluttering open.

“Hey, my love,” Ben says, his deep voice soft as if he’s singing her a lullaby. “How are you feeling?”

She yawns and fights back the sleep in her eyes. “Still tired.”

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours,” he tells her and watches as she curls into the couch cushions with a coughing fit. He lowers down to the carpeted floor, stroking her back till she strenuously takes a breath again. “I think we need to talk about it now.”

Slowly, she meets his gaze, and he sees the fear shimmering in her eyes behind a thin veil of tears. She knows what this is, what her body is fighting, and Ben wonders how long she’s known without saying anything. He guesses she knew right from the start. Sometimes, he forgets he likes to pretend she isn’t really smarter than him.

But then, the fear morphs to determination. She nods, swallowing. “The gun’s in the safe in the closet.”

“I know where the fuck it is,” Ben grits, his brow densely creasing with a mix of confusion and angry suspicion. “What exactly do you think I’m gonna fucking do with it?”

“Shoot me.”

Her eyes are steady and firm, his voice is sterner.

“No.”

The word booms through the living room, threatening to quake the earth and shake books off their shelves.

“Ben–“

“You fucking listen to me, I’m not fucking killing you. End of discussion,” he snaps furiously. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him this angry before – not even when she said they should consider a divorce. Although, this seems to be a different kind of anger – one that cuts deeper.

“Sid shot Nancy,” she says quietly, hoping it appeals to him in some dark, ironic twist.

“She was stabbed, and they could never fucking pin it on him,” Ben shuts her argument down. “Ain’t fucking happening. I’m sorry, but you’re not gonna be the last person on my kill list, love.”

She forces a wry but weak smile. “It’d be a mercy killing. Euthanasia.”

“I’m familiar with the fucking concept,” Ben huffs tiredly. His hand then dives into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out a small vial that holds yellow liquid.

Her lips part in shock as her eyes fix on the familiar cure in his grasp. “How long have you–“

“Stole it from that black site while you and that Neuman cunt were busy yapping about policies,” Ben explains. “I also took something blue. Figured I could use it at some point.”

“Still wanna be Soldier Boy, huh?” Her voice sounds almost bitter, mocking. A small part of her has always hoped she’d be enough for him someday. That he didn’t need the fame, the money, and the fake heroics. That he’d love himself enough to not rely on a façade.

“No,” he replies to her surprise and watches her straighten a bit on the couch. “I’d fucking do it for you.”

“I don’t want that,” she tells him firmly, hoping he still remembers her words even when she’s gone.

“I know that. Why the fuck do you think I haven’t done it yet?” Ben says with a raised brow and as much patience as he can find within himself. Chats like these aren’t his strong suit.

“So, this is your idea?” She cocks an eyebrow at the vial in his hand, her look pointed. “You don’t wanna kill me quickly, but you’d rather watch me die in fucking slow-motion?”

“It’s better than nothing,” Ben argues, the lines on his freckled face hardening again. Why does she have to be so fucking stubborn all the time?

Ironically, she thought the same thing about her husband.

“For who? You?! You can’t be that fucking selfish,” she spits and rises from the couch with a shaking head.

“Funny. I was just about to say the same fucking thing to you,” he returns with the same fire.

She thunders into the bedroom and slams the door shut before he hears her rummaging through the closet. Annoyed, he rolls his eyes once the first expletives bleed through.

“Where’s the fucking gun?” she snaps as soon as the door flies open again.

“Already hid it somewhere you won’t fucking find it,” he answers slyly and purses his lips as she storms past him into the kitchen.

She lets out a deep sigh of frustration when she finds both the knife block and drawers empty. “Seriously? Did you fucking baby-proof the house while I was asleep?!”

“Well, if you’re behaving like a fucking baby…” he retorts and patiently follows her frantic steps. “You also won’t find fucking scissors and pills, either.”

“Ironic coming from you,” she scoffs, opening and shutting cabinet doors in the desperate search for something strong enough to put her out of her goddamn misery.

“Yeah, how do you think I knew which shit to hide, huh?” he asks rhetorically and takes a careful step closer, cornering her between counters and appliances. “Would you stop that now and fucking talk to me?”

“You don’t wanna talk to me,” she retorts. “You just wanna fucking pump me full of poison, so you get to feel fucking good about yourself again.”

“You think that’s it? I’m fucking jealous?” He arches a brow and crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest, his offense hiding behind amusement.

“Aren’t you?” she bites back.

“Is that you or the fucking V talking, huh?” Ben has never said it out loud before, but he hated how that blue shit changed her. Sure, it only amplified certain parts of her that he supposes have always been there, but it made her less caring, more arrogant, too.

“It’s me, you asshole,” she snarls.

The look on her face breaks his heart into a million pieces. He almost doesn’t recognize her anymore, and he knows reaching any sense of clarity or humanity within her is impossible at this point.

“You sure about that?”

She doesn’t reply, just shakes her head at him and opens the fridge. Her shoulders still for a second, and Ben knows at that moment she’s found something and is thinking of a plan to outfox him.

His gaze swerves to the full beer bottle that has found its way into her hand. She’s quick when she breaks it forcefully against the countertop, the golden-brown liquid splashing onto the floor. But Ben’s faster and bruisingly clutches her wrist, spinning her to face him. Tears sting her eyes as she fights against his hold. Ben knows she’s not using her full strength on him, though, and is almost curious as to why.

He’s not sure Soldier Boy would’ve shown the same hesitant restraint, even if it had been her.

“What the fuck are you doing? Let me fucking go,” she grits through her teeth.

Ben only shakes his head, his gaze on her stern as he tightens his grip around her wrist.

“You want me to fucking melt you into a puddle?” she threatens.

“Fucking do it,” he challenges her defiantly without a blink of a single eye. “If you wanna do this, you’re gonna have to step over my fucking body first, ‘cause there’s no way I’m letting this hand go unless you drop that fucking bottle. What’s it gonna be?”

Her nostrils flare in sync with the heavy rising and falling of her chest, her glare deadly. Slowly and mutinously, she opens each finger till the bottle crashes to the floor and shatters into sharp daggers at their feet. As soon as his grasp on her loosens, she breaks down and falls into his arms, sobbing against his chest.

He feels a flood of relief rush through his body. Thank fucking God, because he’s totally been bluffing.

He wraps his arms tighter around her, holds her closer, and nuzzles his face into her hair. “I know. It’s okay, sweetheart…”

“I’m fucking scared, Ben,” she cries, and he swallows the thick lump in his throat and forces his own tears back into his skull.

“I know, I know…” He cradles her head, resting his chin on her crown. “You know, admittedly, I’m-… I’m a little scared, too.”

She peels from his chest and meets his forest green eyes, amusement dancing on her lips. “Well, I’m glad you’re not a cold-hearted psychopath.”

Ben curls his lips, cheeks reddening. This is what he gets for opening up. “It’s my job as your husband to take care of you. Be a strong front.”

She rolls her eyes back dramatically and groans into his shirt. “You know, it doesn’t make you less of a man for feeling things.” She teasingly grins up at him. “In fact, I think only guys with the biggest dicks can pull it off.”

His lips tug at a smile. “I know what you’re doing.”

She locks her arms around his neck and pulls herself to his height for a scorching kiss. And Ben can’t fight the feeling this is meant to be their last one.

“Don’t get weird when I’m gone, okay?” she tells him then, and it feels like the beginning of a list of last wishes. “No reverting back to full asshole. No blue shit.”

“Christ, you’re not fucking dying,” Ben replies, his deep voice calm but firm.

“Ben, denial will only make it worse,” she says, her heart cracking at the forlorn look on his face. “You can’t fix this. There’s nothing you can do. It’s okay.”

Ben shakes his head wordlessly, and she knows the conversation is about to be over. There really isn’t more she can do, either.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to bed. You need some rest,” Ben says and already scoops her into his arms before she can respond.

Y/N’s head rests on his broad and bare chest as he holds her tightly in his arms. The skin-to-skin contact seems to soothe her, which is good because he plans to never let her go. If he just keeps her here right next to him, she’ll be fine. She won’t leave him.

She’s talked some when she wasn’t out like a light, but Ben could tell her mind was getting hazy. She talked about her parents and her childhood, something she rarely ever does.

They had never really talked a lot about their respective pasts altogether. They’d covered the basics, but what actually happened didn’t matter as much. They knew they’d both done things they weren’t proud of. But the point of their relationship had always been a clean slate – a fresh start.

She had barely gotten that. She stupidly sacrificed it all for him, and he still wishes she would’ve never done that. He was supposed to die that day with Homelander. It had been his time.

Not hers.

She snores softly in his arms. Her heartbeat is faint, her breathing shallow. An hour ago, it used to be labored, each breath a struggle. She’s so hot he’s afraid she’ll melt in his embrace. He knows she doesn’t have long anymore. He’s running out of time.

Carefully, he stretches his arm to reach for the glistening yellow vial on the nightstand. He pops the lid open and stabs the syringe through the top, drawing it to the brim.

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his green eyes. What if he makes it worse? More painful? What if he kills her?

Victoria’s words ring in his ears. There’s a chance the virus accepts the cure. A loophole, if you will. The cure’s deadly for two-timers, but if they were also infected with the virus, the cure could piggyback on that. One in eighty rats had survived the ordeal before they stopped the trials. Ben didn’t understand the rest of the scientific mumbo-jumbo, but he knows those aren’t great odds.

Still, it’s something.

Ben doesn’t have the luxury to be picky about solutions, though. What he thought were minutes turn to seconds once her breathing stops entirely.

He rolls up the sleeves of the oversized shirt she’s wearing, one of his, and looks for a good angle on her forearm, just below the elbow. He’s not a doctor, he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing or where it should go best, but that one time he did heroin in the 80s, he’d put it exactly there, and it had been fine.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he mumbles into her hair and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

One rough prick through her steeled skin, and the needle is in. He empties the liquid in one swift motion before discarding the used syringe back on the nightstand. He cautiously slides out from underneath her then and ensures she’s lying comfortably on the mattress. He doesn’t want to leave her side, but he knows her powers might short-circuit soon.

Ben remembers the stories from other supes at the rehab clinic – the agonizing pain, the feeling of puking your organs out before the rest follows. Flickers of his own process trickle into his mind. He can’t remember most of it, but he remembers how they’d locked him up in a nuclear-proof prison at some point during the procedure.

For now, he prefers not die by a rain of acid if he gets to pick.

His hand gently caresses her head. He’s not even sure she’s still alive. She might not, and he may have been too late. All for nothing.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers and takes her hand in his. It feels cold and lifeless, but he still tries. He’s not ready to let go yet. He’s not sure he’ll ever be. “I know you can beat this shit like everything else. We’re this fucking close. Just a little more…”

And then, there’s a flicker of something – a weak tap of a finger against his palm. There’s movement behind her eyelids and a twitch of her brows.

“Sweetheart?”

There’s a groan, her hands gripping a fistful of bedsheets as she coils into the mattress, muscles contorting. He gently rubs her back, trying to help her as the pain tears through her.

“Hey, hey, you’re good. You’re alright,” he soothes and feels the guilt bubbling in his stomach. He hates that he did this to her, but he did it for love. The knowledge barely makes it better, however.

“Oh, fuck, Ben!”

She usually screams those exact words for different reasons, and Ben notes the soft tones of annoyance and anger that are lacing her voice.

“Did you give me the fucking cure?!”

Ben draws his lips into tight line and nods. Admittedly, she might not have fully consented to the procedure. But he prefers her furious with him for the rest of her life over dead. Besides, he’s her husband – shouldn’t the decision be his? Like pulling the plug? That’s a thing, right?

“Motherfucking–“

She bites down on her tongue and swallows her curses with some blood as another surge of pain takes control of her body. Her fingernails claw at her forearms as if she’s trying to scratch it out of her system. If Ben could compare it to anything, he’d probably go with a demon exorcism.

“You selfish fucking prick! You can’t even let me die in peace?!” she grits through her teeth, fighting another surge. She feels the nausea too, like a parasite trying to flee its host through her throat.

“Look, I’m fucking sorry, but I had to take the shot, alright?!”

Y/N groans in loud exhaustion, and Ben’s not entirely sure if it’s because of the pain or a little bit because of him, too.

“Ben, you need to fucking leave,” she presses through her lips, her stern gaze finding his.

He can tell by her look that she’s not saying it out of anger. She’s not saying it because she doesn’t want him to stay and never see him again. She says it because she’s trying to save his life.

Again. The fourth time.

Her name falls from his lips, but she shakes her head as she stumbles out of bed and pushes past him towards the bathroom.

“Leave,” she tells him with more urgency. “Close the door. Go now.”

Ben stills with a hand on the doorknob and looks at her. He can’t leave her like this, can he?

“I’ll be fine. I promise. Please go,” she says as if she can read his mind, steadying herself against the cool wall. She can feel it everywhere, trying to escape her body.

His breaths are ragged, his heart is hammering against his ribs. “I fucking love you,” he says through the sting of tears in his eyes. He says it like it’s the last time he gets to say it while she can still hear him.

She sends him a weak smile and mouths, ‘I love you, too.’

And all there’s left then for him to do is staring at a closed bedroom door. And waiting. Fucking waiting…

Part 3: Lovestruck – TOMORROW 💕

Ah yes the waiting game 😂🫶 Are you excited for the finale aka the happy end tomorrow? After this, they truly deserve it haha

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[lovelivision]

‎‎‎‎THE PRACTICE OF KISSING .𖥔 ݁ ˖

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎𐔌.pairing — geto suguru / reader

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎── word count: 10k

✿ summary... after getting asked on a date you feel insecure over your inexperience regarding kissing someone. telling your bestfriend geto about your concerns results in an offer from him you didn't expect

warnings.ᐟ ── 18+ only, smut, pwp, swearing, making out, dry humping, dirty talk, hickeys, biting, (light) nipple play, praise kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, orgasm denial (once), bsf!geto, virgin!reader, return of tease!geto, afab!reader, no use of pronouns !!

The state of your mind is currently a mess, feeling overwhelmed and staring off into space as you think about how a guy asked you on a date earlier today. You'd turned him down but only because you have a particular hang up you can't get over, hence the feeling overwhelmed. You’ve never gone out on a date before and you feel like you’re missing out, so you definitely would’ve said yes if you weren’t so unsure of yourself.

Geto's hand waves in front of your face, breaking you from your trance, "Are you even listening to me?"

Has he been talking? Damn, you really spaced out, "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Not even a little bit," his gaze unamused.

You look away from him and to the poster behind his head on the wall, feeling sheepish, "Then no... sorry."

His frown deepens, legs uncrossing and scooting closer to the edge of his bed, "What are you thinking about so hard?"

"Not telling," you answer, spinning around in his office chair so that you’re facing away from him.

His desk is neat, everything organised and probably put exactly where it should be. Beside his monitor sits a little black cat figurine, one you had bought him not too long ago because it reminded you of him. Seeing it displayed makes you smile; he must like it.

Geto’s voice cuts through your small reverie, "So, you're not only going to ignore me, you're also not going to tell me what's wrong?"

Not even glancing back, you hum at him, "That would be a correct assessment... yes."

"Have I told you that you're annoying yet today?" He exasperates.

Shrugging, "I don't think so?"

"Oh? In that case, you're annoying."

"You're so mean to me; this is why I don't want to tell you what's wrong," you’re being dramatic but so is he.

A sigh leaves him, "If I promise to be nice will you tell me what's wrong?"

Your head flops onto the chairs headrest, jabbing at him jokingly, "I don't know if you're capable of kindness, Suguru."

"Now who's being mean? I'm nice all the time."

"Maybe to strangers..." You mumble out.

There’s no reply from him and for a second you think he’s going to leave the issue alone… that is until you’re suddenly spinning. His footsteps are always so light, you didn’t even hear him come up behind you. You’re facing him now, his hands holding himself up by the arm rests of his office chair. He’d spun you around just to lean down into your space and pointedly look at you.

Geto squints, “I’m nice to you all the time.”

“I don’t think this constitutes as ‘nice’.”

He groans your name, “Come on, you always talk to me when something’s wrong.”

“Maybe this is awkward for me to talk to you about,” you pout back at him.

His tongue clicks in realisation, “So, it’s about your love life?”

The immediate correct guess stumps you, causing you to sputter out, “What!? You have no way of–”

“–You never talk to me about your dates and you also got defensive so I’m guessing I’m right,” his gaze is even, unconcerned.

You huff at him and echo his earlier question, “Have I told you that you’re annoying yet today?”

“Yes, earlier when you almost fell over and I smiled,” he reminds.

Your response is a grimace and a matter-of-fact tone when saying, “I don’t tell you about my dates because I don’t go on them.”

“Ever?” Geto’s eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised by your confession.

Cementing back, “Ever.”

“People have definitely asked you out though.”

“Yeah but not that often because they always think we’re together,” you glare back at him.

A hand reaches for your face and squishes your cheeks between his fingers, “Don’t look at me like that, that’s not my fault.”

Your voice comes out all mumbled and difficult to understand, “It so is.” He rolls his eyes at you and you slap his hand away, “Stop squishing my face!”

Letting go, he sighs and takes a step back, sitting on the edge of the bed again, “Something about your love life is bothering you.”

Crossing your arms over your chest and looking to the side, you complain, “You’re so nosy.”

“Am not.”

What a liar, he’s always in your business. Though, now that you’re thinking about it, you don’t think he’s usually in other people’s business this bad. He does like hearing about the gossip you collect though, always ready to hear it while acting as though he doesn’t care.

There’s no reply you can think to give, so you give him the silent treatment. Still looking away from him and silently pouting, you can feel his eyes watching you, waiting for you to break. It’s a frequent game you start that he finishes, silently ignoring him while he watches and waits until you can’t take it anymore and tell him what’s on your mind.

A few more moments pass by and you already feel ready to give in, you hate how much more effective his silence is. Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, your gazes meet and you feel yourself folding all at once.

Large and exasperated groan leaving you as your shoulders slump back into the chair, “Fine!”

He perks up at your concession, a self-satisfied look on his face that irks you.

Looking at him properly to say, “I was asked on a date earlier today.”

The expression on his face changes to one of annoyance, like he’s not happy to hear that, “Who?”

“Some guy, you don’t know him,” you wave off, not really understanding why it matters to him.

Geto prods for more information, “…And what did you say?”

“…I said no.”

“Oh?” His reaction is indecipherable to you, “Why?”

This question is exactly why you didn’t want to talk about this, “I don’t know…” You’re lying, trying to avoid talking about this in more depth.

“Did you like him?”

“I didn’t not like him,” you shrug, “I would’ve liked to go out with him at least once but…”

“But…” He pushes.

“I don’t know, Suguru,” you scowl at your own reasoning, “I’ve never been on a proper date before, I don’t know what to expect or what’s expected of me. What if he wanted to kiss me or something?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, making you antsy while you wait for him to talk, “…Would you want to kiss him back?”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t think I’m understanding the issue,” his brows are pinched with his confusion.

You’re exhausted with him, like you aren’t the one being purposefully cryptic, “Am I gonna have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh!” You kick your legs in a mini tantrum, “I’ve never properly kissed someone… it’s always been like… a peck, I don’t know? But what if he expected more of me?”

You can see the way he’s actively fighting against the smile threatening to break out on his face, “Is that–” he bites down an amused sound, “Is that why you always say no to dates?”

“I don’t like you very much right now,” you were already feeling silly and embarrassed and his clear joy from this is not helping that.

He pouts at you mockingly, “Don’t be like that, I can help.”

“How could you possibly help me with this?”

A smile comfortable on his face when he states, “I could teach you.”

“You want to teach me how to kiss?” You scrutinise him, “Have you gone insane?”

“You’re the one all hung up on this and I’m offering to help you,” he puts his hands up, “But if you’d rather be a dateless loser for the rest of your life–”

“–Hey!” You point at him, “Uncalled for… and rude!”

A very signature and very annoying, polite smile sits on his pretty features. Unbothered by your outburst at his very clear bait. He simply raises his arm and grabs the hand you had pointed at him, tugging you from the chair and into him on the bed. You’re taken aback by his bold move, so close to him so quickly. Falling into his lap less than gracefully, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady as you sit sideways between his legs.

You stutter out at him, “Wha– what are you doing?”

Letting go of your hand; he reaches for your face. His thumb stroking softly against your cheekbone, “Do you want my help or not?”

“What you’re basically asking me is if I want to kiss you,” you correct… because that is what he’s asking right now.

Geto’s head drops back slightly as he fights the urge to roll his eyes at you dramatically, hand resting on your outer thigh now, “Don’t be so pedantic. You have a problem and I’m offering to help fix it.”

A sound of disapproval slips from you at his wording, “I know the theory behind kissing someone, Suguru. What you’re offering is making out with me.”

“So?”

Your expression is dumbfounded, you know he’s not this dense, “You want to stick your tongue in my mouth and then go back to the usual?”

He leans in again, dodging your question with his own, “Do you want me to stick my tongue in your mouth?”

“Geto–”

“–Ouch–”

“–Shut up.” You cut him off, “If! We did this and I do mean if. Would you be able to look at me the same?”

“The same as I always have? Sure,” there’s no hesitation from him.

He seems so sure, like he’s not worried about what this might mean for your friendship at all. The easy-going look on his face is both pissing you off and relaxing you, emotions he’s always been able to pull from you.

His hand is large on your thigh and the way it makes you feel is not how you should feel for him. Mumbling out a small, “You’re annoying.”

An amused breath leaves him, “You’ve already told me that today.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you look up at him through your lashes.

“That’s kind of the point of this.”

“Right…” You can’t help but find yourself feeling nervous, embarrassed that you won’t be good enough. For some reason… you really want him to think you’re a good kisser.

He must take your silence as rejection because his tone is gentle when he says, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I know, I just…” You frown while looking at him, trying to figure out exactly what steps to take next, “I don’t know what to do now…” Geto’s face relaxes and a smile replaces his concern causing you to chastise him, “Don’t smile, it’s not funny!”

“No,” he agrees, “But it is a little cute.”

“Whatever, can we just kiss now?”

“Desperate?” He asks teasingly.

You deny it, “I just want you to stop talking.”

“Sure.” It’s all dragged out and has a teasing lilt to it. Damn him and his need to have the last word. You don’t reply to that and instead try to shuffle off him, thinking sitting like this would be awkward. His hold becomes firmer on you, “What are you doing?”

You’re confused, “Isn’t this position weird?”

“Makes it easier,” is all he says in reply.

Being sat between his spread legs, your own draping over one of them while he holds you doesn’t seem ideal. To you, this couldn’t be a more awkward position to be in for this. Instead of telling him that though, you settle back, “Alright…”

When you look back up at him properly, he’s already looking at you. There’s a funny feeling that runs through you at the look in his eyes. The hand on your thigh moves to your face again, cradling you as he leans in. Murmuring a soft, “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

Just as he’s about to move all the way in, your hand covers his mouth, “Wait.” You stop him, your nerves getting the better of you, “What if… what if you don’t like kissing me?” He looks a little frustrated so you pull your hand away, giving him a chance to speak.

“Do you want me to like kissing you?”

You feel flustered by his question, “Why do you always answer my questions with a question?”

“Because your questions are interesting…” he pauses, “…And also, I like teasing you.”

“If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

“Fine,” he indulges you, “I’m not gonna dislike kissing you so your question is dumb.”

“But you can’t know–”

He tuts you, interrupting what you were saying, “–You gotta answer my question now.”

You groan at him, “Well… yeah.”

“‘Yeah’ what?”

He’s such a smug bastard, “Yeah! Yeah I want you to like kissing me, Suguru.”

You’re huffy but he seems so pleased by your response. A serene and happy look on his face despite the tone you used. You find yourself waiting for him to say something more, something to tease you further but he doesn’t. He simply leans in again, taking you by surprise when his lips are softly pressing to yours. It’s short and sweet, more akin to a peck than anything else. Continuing to plant gentle kisses to your lips until you return them and then he lets them linger.

The feelings that run through you have you all tingly and hot, kissing your best friend for practice probably shouldn’t feel this good… right? You still don’t really know what you’re doing though, more just letting him kiss you than anything. When you part again, you murmur, “Suguru, I still don’t know what I’m meant to be doing.”

“Just follow my lead,” his eyes stay on your lips, now shiny from the shared kisses, “That’s all you gotta do.”

“But–”

His eyes roll when you go to argue more, “–Stop thinking so hard about it and let me kiss you.”

You can’t help but squirm slightly at that, “Okay.”

Satisfaction rolls off him in waves but thankfully for you he doesn’t comment any further, choosing to kiss you again. Instinctually, your hand reaches for his chest and grips onto his shirt, you need something to ground you.

Geto is taking this slow, he’s trying his best to be patient to savour this moment with you. He doesn’t want to push you too far too soon and have you stop whatever this is. If he were more sure of himself and where he stands with you, he’d have just asked you out like a sane person but he’s not sure and he didn’t want to pass on this opportunity.

He can feel this becoming something he covets, your soft lips on his, uncertain in your movements but so ready to be kissed by him. His heart pulls with a kind of possessiveness that’s not completely unfamiliar to him regarding you. The desire to not want anyone else to ever have this side of you overwhelming him.

It’s addictive, his kisses, his hold on you… him. You can feel yourself falling into him more, the longer you do this dance. You want more, you want him to kiss you more but you have no idea how to ask for that. Following his lead is good, it’s helpful but it’s starting to feel like he’s depriving you.

Pulling back, you force yourself to voice, “I want more…”

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” He sounds strained.

“You said you would teach me,” you remind. “So, teach me.”

His thumb presses into your jaw, “Open your mouth more then.”

Doing as he asks; he angles you just slightly before pressing his mouth to yours. The kiss fuller, his tongue licking into your mouth. It has a shiver running down your spine, the sensation new and mind numbing. It’s messier than before and so much more dizzying, you can’t even really keep up with his movements. Just letting him kiss you to his hearts content, feeling yourself getting drunk on his lips in the process.

You can’t even be sure if you’re doing this right but it doesn’t really feel like it matters, not when you’re this lost in it. Lips gliding against his, a small involuntary sound pulling from your chest at how he grips you tighter. Feeling like he gets impossibly closer, his kisses growing desperate the moment you whine into him.

Geto’s restraint is wearing thin, his desire for you growing tenfold at how you moan for him. He wants to touch you so much more, to put his hands on every part of you. The fear of ruining this moment keeps his hands planted firmly to your hip and cheek though and it’s killing him to not touch you more, more, more.

When you tentatively lick against his tongue he almost all but folds in that single moment, he feels so pathetically weak for you. So unsure of yourself and still trying to kiss him just as deeply as he is you. A guttural groan leaves him, a sound he’d be almost ashamed of if he didn’t notice the way you squirm at it.

You pull back from him and he can’t help but chase your lips, he doesn’t want to stop. An amused breath leaves you, “Hold on.”

He doesn’t understand what you need a moment for until you’re pulling his hands from you and moving to straddle him.  Your thighs resting beside him, he feels dizzy with need, the need to touch you, to undress you. To have you naked and straddling his lap just like this could make his whole year. His hands are on your hips, tugging you up his lap just slightly further, encouraging.

Going to sit on him, you notice his erection and gasp. Heat rising to your face, suddenly so conscious of how heated this exchange has gotten, “Maybe we should stop…”

It’s almost like it hurts him to hear those words, “Do you want to stop?”

You wish you weren’t so certain, so quick to immediately know that, “… No, I don’t.”

“That’s good…” he smiles, “Cause I’m not done teaching yet.”

And then you’re kissing again, wet and sloppy. He’s holding back less, depraved in how he sucks your tongue into his mouth, bolder now. Revelling in every twitch you make against him, every mumbled whine you let out.

Mindlessly, your hips lightly roll downwards and his resulting grip holds you so still against him. A debauched moan leaving him at your unexpected movements, parting his mouth from yours with it. Geto’s head tucks into your chest, controlling his breathing, like he might snap at any moment.

You feel a little frantic, like you might’ve hurt him, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“–Don’t– fuck– don’t apologise,” he can feel how warm you are through your pants and it’s making him feel feral.

Your fingers run through his hair, to comfort him, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” He huffs an unamused sound, “The only thing hurting me is how badly I wanna stuff you full.”

“Sugu–”

“–I know you can feel just how hard I am,” he pulls his head back to look at you, eyes blown wide and dark, “I’m practically aching for you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, “Suguru… are you some kind of closeted perv?”

The question makes him laugh, “Wanna find out?”

“You were only supposed to teach me how to kiss…”

“Mhm, and you’re doing great,” his nose traces along your neck, inhaling you, “I still have so much more knowledge to give though.”

“Don’t be so– hah!” He licks at your skin before latching his mouth to the side of your throat, the pressure making you fidget in his lap. You feel so sensitive, so much more than what you thought you would.

When Geto pulls back from the mark he’s made, he blows softly on it, enjoying the way you shudder on top of him. “‘Don’t be so’ what?”

That’s right you were going to say something, he looks really nice right now though… eyes lidded and cheeks just slightly pink, lips slick. What were you going to say to him? His grin only grows, taking satisfaction in your glazed eyes and struggle to think. Averting your gaze, you try to remember what you wanted to say. The break in eye contact short lived since he grabs your chin and pulls you back.

“Come on, pretty, what were you gonna say?”

The effect he’s having on you is becoming too much, “I was gonna tell you to not be so depraved!”

“Hmm…” His head quirks at you, “You seem to like it though?”

How presumptuous of him, “You can’t know that!”

“You know… the human body is really interesting, for example…” he looks down to where you’re sitting over his prominent erection, “You’re so incredibly hot against me that I feel like I’m going insane,” smiling back up at you evilly, “Just how wet are you?”

The possibility of fainting is very real all of a sudden, his question has you hot everywhere. “I jus– I just told you to not be so depraved.”

“Yeah and I ignored you,” he deadpans, ignoring your indignant sounds. “Do you want me to stop?”

Again, you hate how badly you don’t want to stop. Right now, you think you’d let him do just about whatever he wanted to you. “Promise not to tease me later?”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

You pout back at him, “Then I’m not gonna say what I was thinking.”

His curiosity is sufficiently piqued, “Fine, I promise to try not to tease you later.”

“That’s not good enough.”

He tries again, “I promise.” You both stay looking at one another for a moment before he adds, “That’s as good as you’re getting.” And you know it to be true.

How to say this without embarrassing yourself, “You can… you can touch me… however you want, Suguru…”

He feels like he’s gone into shock, “What?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“No… I heard you,” he can’t help the way his cock jumps in excitement, “I’m just double checking I heard you right.” He leans in to taunt, “You’re gonna let me touch you however I want?”

“You said you had more knowledge to share,” It’s a dangerous game that you’re both playing.

He breathes out, “And if I wanna touch you in a depraved manner?”

So certain in yourself when you reply, “I want to be touched in a depraved manner… by you.”

Ah, so you’re trying to kill him, is the conclusion that Geto has come to. A breathless laugh leaves him, “For practice?”

“Sure,” you give him the answer you think he wants, in reality you just want to desperately be touched by him. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life and it’s all his fault.

An amused sound leaves him, “Hah– Don’t know if I believe your answer there…” his hands are on your hips, slowly dragging you over his dick. Biting his lip at the feeling, cock jumping when your breath stutters.

“Wait– wait,” your hands hold onto his and he stops moving you. Realising now that he might’ve gotten carried away, that he should’ve double checked again.

When you get off his lap and onto shaky legs Geto feels his heart drop, only for it to suddenly pick up speed when you’re shuffling your pants down and off. Crawling back onto him in your panties, he – shamefully – has to put so much focus into keeping calm, so worked up he could cum from this alone.

“Yeah…” you murmur back at him, placing yourself right over his erection again, gasping at how hard he is, at how much more you can feel even through the layers left on, “I lied just now.”

He wants to ask more; he wants to know what you lied about but if he thought you were hot before then he’s melting now. You’re sitting on his dick in the cutest little panties, already so drenched from making out with him that the affection he feels for you fills up his chest. He’s way too distracted right now to ask what he wants.

“Be honest,” it feels like a chore to rip his gaze away from your pussy, “Are you trying to kill me?”

Geto’s eyes are all glassy and blown, cheeks flushed as he implores you, like he’s worried you’re actually trying to kill him. He’s making you feel shy, “It’s your fault I’m acting like this.”

That has him feeling a little prideful, “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm.

“In that case,” he’s slowly dragging your heated core over his erection again, “Should I fix it?”

You nod your head at him, “…Yeah”

The shivers that run through you make you gasp, the drag over Geto’s dick feeling so much better without your pants on. And yet you can’t help but feel so greedy, a kind of need in your bones that you’ve not experienced before.

He takes his hands away from your hips and you stop moving, whining pathetically at him, “Why–”

“–Keep doing it yourself,” he encourages.

“But–”

“Just do it how it feels good, use me for a bit,” he grins, “I wanna watch you pleasure yourself on me.”

“You really are a perv,” you mutter back at him.

His retort is quick, “Say that to me when your pussy’s not drooling all over my pants.”

Your cunt jumps at his words, “Are you gonna be this crude the whole time?”

“I can be worse if you want?”

“I can’t stand you.”

“We both know that’s not true,” he looks pointedly down to where your cunt is pulsing hot against him. “Now do us both a favour and move,” he hisses out through clenched teeth, apparently nearing his limit.

“You’re so bossy,” you frown, “I’ve never…” You’re at a loss for how to phrase it.

“Dry humped someone before?” He finishes for you, “Though with how wet you are–”

“Shh!” You cover his mouth with your palm, “Stop… talking about how wet I am.”

He pulls your hand away, “You know, I’m not surprised you’ve never–”

“–You don’t have to say it again,” you cut him off.

He rolls his eyes, “You hadn’t even made out with someone, I’m just saying that I didn’t ask you to use me without knowing.” He holds the side of your face gently, “Stop worrying about it so much, I know already… that you’re a huge virgin.”

His gentle touch greatly contrasts his teasing words. He’s so evil to you, “This is why I say you’re not nice.”

“Do you want me to be nice? To tell you how pretty you are and how good of a job you’re doing?” The reaction you have is almost visceral, skin heating and looking away from him. Even more embarrassed when he chuckles at you, “Got a bit of a praise kink, hmm?”

“You’re making this difficult for me.”

“You should’ve just done what I asked then,” he shrugs easily.

If you thought holding out would punish him more than you, then maybe you’d just get off him and go home to get yourself off but you want him to make you feel good. So instead, you’ll just give in and hope he shows you mercy, though by how this is going, he doesn’t seem to be the type.

Experimentally, you roll your hips down into Geto and he huffs out a breath like he wasn’t expecting it. Your hands move to his shoulders for purchase, using the leverage you have there to grind down into him harder.

He holds onto your waist. Not moving you, just resting his hands there, “Oh fuck– no– hah– no warning?”

You shake your head at him, brows pinched as you focus on seeking your own pleasure, “You– hnn– wanted me to– hah– to do as you asked.”

His head falls back slightly at the pleasure, a lazy smile on his face, “That’s true.”

The longer you do this, the slicker his pants get, you’re so unbelievably wet that it’s coating the material obscenely. Geto is in awe of it, eyes fixed on where you’re rutting down into him, marvelling at the damp spot on his pants, at how drenched your panties are. So soaked that they’re practically a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination with how it’s sticking to you.

He holds you still suddenly and the whine you let out is endearing, “Wait for a second,” he huffs.

Moving his hands to his belt to undo it, shuffling his pants down his legs. You lean up on your knees for a moment for him to drop them to his feet but before you can sit back down, his hand is holding you there. He runs the fingers of his other hand through your covered folds, a groan coming from the back of Geto’s throat.

“Seriously, you’re so fucking wet,” he reminds you.

“Sorry…”

He almost chokes, “‘Sorry?’” His fingers draw up to your clit, pressing into it, “Don’t be fucking sorry… I’m nearly salivating because of how drenched you are.”

That catches you off guard, “Sugu–”

He doesn’t let you speak, “–This wet because of me? It’s my fault you said?”

You bite your lip, his fingers circling your clit deliciously, “Mhm.”

His eyes brighten, “Perfect. Aren’t you just perfect for me?”

Your legs start shaking and he lets you drop back to his lap, one less layer between the two of you now. He’s so warm and hard and if you weren’t straddling him, you’d be clenching your thighs together for relief.  

“You are doing such a good job for me,” he whispers low against your ear, “Having the most perfect reactions.”

You whine at his praise, “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Yeah,” he licks against your ear, “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

His size is honestly daunting, large and thick as you sit on it, throbbing underneath you. “Suguru?”

He noses at your cheekbone, “Mmm?”

“I’m worried…”

“About?”

“What if you don’t fit…” you look down to his lap, “I just mean, you feel…big.”

“I don’t have to put it in you,” he comforts but he can’t help the way he twitches at your genuine concern over taking him.

“But you want to?”

“What sort of a question is that?” he holds you down while he grind up into you, “Does it feel like I want to?”

“I was jus– ah!– I was just checking,” you sulk back.

Your mind melts, getting away from you. He’s rutting up into you in a way that has you shaking and your breaths stuttering. On edge for so long while sat in his lap, you want to meet his grinds, you want to move your hips into him but his grip is firm and steady.

It’s honestly a little pitiful how quickly he’s building you up, your insides clenching with the pleasure. The drag back and forth on his clothed cock driving you slowly to insanity. His boxers almost as ruined as your panties, your slick coating his covered dick. The glide much smoother than what you’d expect. It’s like you can feel him throbbing for you and it makes you want to fully take him even more.

Your own thoughts riling you up, the idea of him sitting so heavily inside you makes you huff out a whine. A sound that Geto relishes in, in fact, he’s relishing in all of this. You’re so malleable to his will, he thinks in this state, you’d let him do whatever he pleases. The thought alone nearly has his eyes rolling.

He needs you to cum like this, he needs to see it. How you shake and writhe on top of him, the expression you make. He wants to make you cum in so many different ways just to see how your expressions might differ each time.

It’s relentless, how he humps up into you, how he pulls you down into him. Your clit catching on the tip of his dick making you jump each time, shocks of pleasure running through you. You never thought something like this would feel so damn good.

Fingers grappling at the material of his shirt, pleasure wracking your body as he draws you closer and closer, “Stop– ah!– if you keep going I’ll– hnn–”

“–So soon?” he hums, “I don’t know if– hah– I believe you… you’re gonna have to prove it,” he leers back at you.

His eyes on you feel so consuming, calm and watching but so hungry that it’s driving you to the edge. It feels like you’re melting, so warm and unbelievably close. Body twitching on top of him with your impending orgasm. You don’t even get to try and warn him again, sounds you’ve never heard yourself make falling from your mouth before you can think to stop them. Trembling with the force of your orgasm, feeling so weak as you slump into him, eyes wet and bleary.

Geto feels like he’s vibrating, watching you come undone on top of him making him feel too much at once. His arms wrap around you and hold you close, hands smoothing up and down your back. Lips close to your ear when he speaks, “You know… you make some really cute noises when you cum.”

Lazily, you look up at him through your lashes. Feeling a stupid kind of pleasure running through your body, still jolting slightly with the come down. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”

“I’m only being honest,” his hands slip under your shirt, groping your waist, “You getting embarrassed is just a bonus.”

“Have you always been this sadistic?”

He leans in and presses a kiss to the side of your mouth, “Who knows?” He smiles.

Turning, you catch his mouth with yours. Kissing him properly, hands tickling the back of his neck as you try to kiss him like he did you earlier. His hands on your waist grip you, lips imploring. So needy in how he returns your kiss, all but whining when you part. A string of saliva connects your mouths and he wipes your lower lip with his thumb, pressing it to your lips like he might push it inside.

Eyes lost as he dances his digit over your plush lips, “You’re beautiful,” is all he says, gazing at you with so much affection.

Opening your mouth, you gently take his thumb between your teeth. Biting so very lightly before flicking your tongue over the tip of it. Geto looks like he blushes at the action, pulling his hand back.

“Seems as though I’m not the only tease,” he accuses.

You mutter back at him, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His compliment had made you feel so soft and tingly that you didn’t know what to say or how to react. It’s not like he’s never complimented you before, you just weren’t expecting him to call you beautiful so earnestly. Being given compliments by someone has never made your insides flutter as much as they did just now.

He hums at you, redirecting his attention. Pulling at the hem of your shirt to show what he wants; you lift your arms up so he can remove it from you properly. Feeling so bare on top of him but not really minding, still too blissed on your orgasm to care.

Geto doesn’t waste any time, groping your tits in his large hands. Rolling your nipples experimentally and grinning wide at how you twitch and bite back moans at it. “My, you’re sensitive.”

Teeth digging into your lower lip to stop the pitiful noises he’s threatening to pull from you, “Try not to sound so pleased about that.” Your blood is still thumping through your ears, pleasure fresh in your bones.

“Would you rather I be upset?”

“I’d rather you not make– ah!–”

His wet mouth wrapping around your nipple has your words cutting off suddenly, back arching into him. Huffing out breaths at how he flicks his tongue over your sensitive skin, dizzy from the heat he’s making you feel. Pulling back with an obscene pop, licking at you a final time while keeping eye contact before swapping to your neglected tit.

He’s playing with you, or he’s waiting for you to say you’re ready for more… no he’s definitely just playing with you. Taking his time leaving marks all over your tits, even biting some places. Neglecting himself in favour of teasing you to insanity, though it can’t be that painful for him considering how he’s enjoying this immensely.

Whining at him, “You– hah!– You’re gonna leave too many marks,” he ignores you in favour of making a new mark to the top of your breast, “Suguru!”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you pull him back with a tug. You’re frowning at him but your eyes are so wet and dazed and you’re nearly completely naked on top of him. Covered in hickeys and his saliva, despite your pulled brows you look so euphoric.

Feigning ignorance, he simpers, “What’s wrong with that?” A finger trails over the marks he’s left, grazing a sensitive nipple in his journey, “You seemed to liked it.”

Swallowing your pride, you tell him directly, “I want more.”

“You want to cum again?” He muses, “Greedy.”

Taking offence at his accurate guess, you add, “I want… you to as well.”

Geto ignores the thumping of his heart, “Take off your panties then.”

“But…”

A brow raises at you, “‘But’ what?”

You don’t really want to tell him about how shaky your legs are, you’re a little concerned they’ll give out as soon as you try to stand. He really doesn’t need the ego boost right now, “Nothing.”

Moving off him so so carefully, you keep your hands on his shoulders as you stand between his spread legs. With the way your knees are wobbling and fingers gripping to him so harshly, it doesn’t take him long to figure out that you’ve not really got a great sense of balance right now. A smug smile gracing his lips when he sees you fight to figure out how you’re going to take off your panties with your hands on him.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” You quickly answer.

“Then take them off,” a finger pulls at the waistline of your underwear only to let it snap back to you. At your continued struggle he adds, “Or do you want me to take them off for you?”

You look to him, eyes hopeful for mercy, “Please?”

“Sure,” his tone polite but you’re not sure you’re that trusting of him.

Thankfully, his hands slide them delicately down your legs, brushing against your thighs. Though, he’s an opportunist and he uses this chance to grip at your thighs, pulling at your skin further and further up your legs. Humming low to himself at the slick coating your inner thighs, unable to help himself when he drags his fingers through your folds, touching your pussy directly.

“Fuck, alright–” He bites out, pulling you to his lap suddenly, “I’ve reached my limit.”

“Wait,” he stops his frantic movements and you pull at his shirt, “Take it off.”

He doesn’t even tease, just immediately does as you asked, hastily tugging his shirt off. It’s dropped less than gracefully onto the floor. Your fingers dance along his shoulders, down his chest. You want to take it all in a bit more but he’s flopping onto his back and shucking his boxers down enough to pull his cock free.

The size of him almost has your eyes bulging, you wonder how he’s been so patient when he’s this hard and achy looking. Tip flushed deep pink and already smothered in his own leaky precum, your cunt throbs while looking at him. Caught between concern over his size and a desperate need to be full of him.

“You don’t have to take it but please just–” He grabs and moves you until you’re hovering over it, “Sit on it at least.”

Lowering yourself cautiously, you sit on him lightly. He can feel your heat and it makes him shiver, “I don’t need you to be gentle with me,” he snickers, “Split your pussy open on my dick.”

Geto doesn’t even give you the chance to do it yourself, hands tugging you down onto him with more force. A gasp ripping from you when he immediately starts dragging you back and forth on his whole length. Stifled groans leave him from under you, his chest vibrating under your palm.

“Sugu–”

“–Sorry,” his brows are knitted together, “I got– nnh– impatient.”

It’s so wet, slipping over him repeatedly, the head of his cock nudging your clit over every pass. Your teeth dig into your lower lip to fight the whines bubbling inside you but eventually you give up and just let yourself moan. He seems to like it anyways, cock jerking at the soft breaths and whimpers leaving you.

He’s on the brink of stupidity, you’re so soft and unbelievably warm and his tip keeps catching on your hole and it makes him shudder each time. Looking down, he watches the way you’re coating his cock in more of your slick, cock shiny with how wet you are. Lewd sounds of your pussy grinding over him fill the room and now he’s thinking about you creaming around him. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life.

“Sugu,” you call out to him and he dopily pulls his eyes to yours, “Do you think I could just…” when his cockhead catches on your hole again, you press down, not even taking him in any real way and yet still stretching slightly for it.

His grip hardens on you, holding you completely still, “There’s no ‘just’ anything.” He struggles to breath out evenly, “Not with how tight you are.”

“I wanna feel full though,” you try wiggling down into him but he’s truly got you in a vice like hold.

His cock twitches as excitement rushes through him, “You asking me to take your virginity, pretty?”

Shy when you ask, “Would you?”

He’s not passing on the chance to pick on you a little bit, “How bad do you want it?”

He can feel the way your hole flutters when you think about his question, your answer seemingly downplaying how you feel, “Pretty bad.”

“Hmm,” He pretends to think about his answer.

You’re taking issue with his faux deep thought, “Sugu, stop acting like you’re not…”

“Go on,” he encourages, “‘Like I’m not’ what?”

“Like you’re not…” you look away from him, mumbling out, “Aching for it…”

“Oh? You aching for it?” The smile he’s wearing can be heard in his words.

He sounds way too gleeful over this and it’s ticking you off, “Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ as you lift yourself off him.

“Don’t be like that,” he sits up, “I’m not letting you go anywhere… not when I know you’re aching for my cock.”

“I did not say that.”

“That’s what I heard you say,” he shrugs.

Geto’s arms wrap around you only to throw you down onto the bed, gone from you for a second while he shoves his boxers off quickly. And then he’s crawling over you, hands tracing up your body, relishing in your reactions to him.

“You really are so sensitive,” he mutters, trailing a finger up your thigh and watching your skin break out in goosebumps.

He’s being so unbearable, the need you feel is so loud and he’s here taunting you, “You’re so frustrating.”

“You’re just a needy little thing,” he returns, “So desperate to be filled even though you’re not prepared in the slightest.”

“Then prepare me,” you whine back.

He finds this about you cute, your insatiable greed, your back and forth between shy and so horny that you’re getting pissy at him. “I should teach you some manners,” he grumbles.

You spread your legs for him obscenely, growing even more impatient. “Please, touch me,” you pull his hand towards your pussy, “please.”

If he ever gets the chance to touch you like this again he’s going to torture you because right now you’re playing so completely unfairly that he can’t even think to deny you. His brows pull up as he flushes, finding himself doing exactly what you wanted, fingers gliding through your folds.

The way you keen at his touch almost makes it worth it. “You don’t play fair,” he complains.

“Someone lead by– hah!– po– poor example, I guess,” you shudder when he slips a single finger inside you.

Geto groans at the snug heat of your cunt, closing his eyes to take a quick breath at just how you feel wrapped around his digit. The fear or cumming the minute he gets inside you is real; he’s going to have to develop an insane amount of self-restraint between then and now.

“You’re hilarious,” he leans down to whisper in your hear, “Now shhh…” He draws his finger back before fucking it back in, lewd wet sounds of your pussy filling the silence, “Hear that?” He keeps repeating his movements, taking immense joy in how you writhe under him, “I think… pretty things that are this wet and begging to get fucked… don’t get to mock me.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, eyes glassy when you look up at him, “Don’t– nnh– be sooo mean.”

“You haven’t seen me be mean,” he pulls his finger back just to stuff another inside you, grinning when you arch your back at it, “I’ve only been nice to you today.”

“Be nicer,” you pout.

“Don’t wanna be,” he smiles graciously back at you.

The fingers he has in you scissor to spread you open, pleased hums leaving him at your responses. Your mouth drops open and legs shake, fighting to close but unable to with how he’s in-between them. He’s hitting all the perfect spots inside you, crooking his digits to rub against your inner walls in a way you’re never able to reach.

He’s getting you so close to cumming that you want to hide from him, somehow feeling so much more vulnerable like this than when you were sitting in his lap earlier. Slowly, he works you to the point of taking another of his fingers, fucked open on three of them now. Your toes curl and your thighs hoist themselves on either side of his waist. Hips grinding into his hand, meeting his movements.

Geto finds the frenzied and desperate grinds into his hand adorable, satisfied with just how much more greedy you get when you’re this turned on. He already knows you must be close, your sudden drive to fuck down onto his fingers a dead giveaway to him.

He adds his thumb, rubbing circles into your clit. You jerk at it, tits bouncing in a way that has him drooling. To be honest, if you weren’t practically begging to get dicked down earlier he would’ve put his mouth on you. Maybe if he weren’t also desperate to put his cock in you he’d do it anyways but for now, he’ll settle for fingerfucking you to insanity and then shoving you full of his dick.

Your voice comes out smaller than you want, “Sugu, I think–”

“–I know,” his eyes are bright, fully aware of how close you are.

He can feel the way you twitch and clench down on him, back arching off the bed. Speeding up his movements just to get you there that much quicker and when you’re about to cum all over his fingers… he pulls them from you. Leaving you without your orgasm but so high that he could blow on your clit and you might cum.

You whine at him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Expression dopey and angry, sexually frustrated from the cruel and unexpected edging he just put you through. “What the hell, Suguru?!”

His grin is wolfish, merciless expression painted over with faux pity, “I’m so sorry, pretty. Were you close?” A hand cradles your face, soothing you for something that is completely his fault.

“Why would you do that?” All he’s succeeded in is making you needier than before, squirming under him with no way to find relief.

His answer is simple, “Just to see how you’d react.”

“I shouldn’t have hung out with you today.”

“Don’t be like that,” he guides his dick to your cunt, “I’m ‘bout to treat you so good.”

“If you don’t let me cum we’re not friends anymore,” you warn.

He snickers at how genuine you’re being, “Alright.”

“I mean it, Suguru.”

“I know you do,” he presses a kiss to your temple, “That’s why it’s a little tempting.”

You whine at him, “Can you stop being so cruel for a moment?”

He blinks at you, “What do I get if I do?”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be the first person you go on a date with.”

His request confuses you, “What? Why?”

He doesn’t answer you, “Those are my terms,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Okay! Fine, yes, whatever you want,” you nod at him.

He smiles and starts pushing into you, the stretch is a lot and it aches more than his fingers. You’re trying to breathe through it but it seems like he is too. His thumb is on your clit, trying to get you to relax for him. “St– stop– hah– fuck!– stop clenching so tight,” he hisses through his teeth.

“I can’t– nnh– help it,” your nails dig into his skin.

His lashes flutter when he gets his tip inside you, groan leaving him. “Wh– when I s–say date I mean– hnnn– a real date. A ‘I take you out and then try kissing you at the end of it’ date.”

For some reason, that makes your insides twist and you squirm. “Wh– whatever you– nnh– want, Sugu.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna– hah– dress up and let me take you out for your first ever date?” His fingers grip at his blanket below.

Your eyes roll as he slips further inside you, babbling out, “If you– hnn– let me cum? I’ll date only you.”

Geto sputters at that, hips driving forwards on their own making you both moan. His upper body drops down to you, lips ghosting over your neck and cheek before taking yours in a sweet kiss. He knows you’re out of your mind horny and probably not even sure of what you just said but he’s going to live in this moment while he fucks you.

He’s kissing your breath away while he slowly fills you to the hilt, trying so hard to be careful with you. His lips successfully distract you from the ache you were feeling, melting into him as he licks at your tongue.

Parting from you only when he’s balls deep inside you, head flopping to your shoulder as he moans. Struggling to keep it together, you’re wrapped so snug and hot around him, pulsing so tightly around his aching cock that he feels like he might cum at any second.

“Sugu?” When he hums, you continue, “Move please?”

You wiggle your hips into him but he’s quick to stop you with a firm hand, “If you don’t want this ending right now then you need to give me a moment.”

“Hmm, that’s awfully cute of you, Suguru,” you tease him.

“That’s bold,” he licks at the shell of your ear, “I’m going to ruin you.”

“More than you already have?”

He agrees, “So much more.”

It feels like an eternity before he’s finally dragging his hips back, that alone has your breath stuttering. He wants to set a punishing pace so bad; he wants to fuck you until you’re mad but he starts slow. Thrusting back into you at a languid pace, still carefully opening you up on his fat dick. It’s your first time and as much as he loves torturing you, he also loves pleasing you.

You’re scrabbling for purchase at his leisurely pace anyways, not expecting the heavy drag of his cock to feel this mind numbing. He chuckles lowly at the way you’re already weak for him, though it’s completely his fault considering all he’s put you through up until now.

“I think you may be the awfully cute one,” he smirks at you.

Your insides tug at his tone, “You can– hnn– be quiet.”

Leaning up, he rest on his knees, pushing your leg back and up. He has a great view of you taking him like this, able to see all your reactions. “I can but your pussy really likes when I talk.”

He’s so smug and he gets to be too because he’s right, his lightly mocking tone and that polite smile he wears is a deadly combo that has your cunt seizing around him. “I like it– hah– better when you’re nice to me.”

“You’re taking me all so well, pretty,” he praises, “Pussy sucking me right back in, so greedily.”

Your eyes roll back at how he thrusts into you, new angle hitting deeper than before, “That’s not– hnn– being nice!”

“Really?” He watches the way your hole clenches and feels how much wetter you get around him, “‘Cause you seemed to like it a lot.”

You bite your lip as you look up at him, silently asking for him to fuck you.

He looks down his nose at you, “What are you asking for?”

Sulking, “I want you to– hah– move more.”

“You should’ve just said that then,” he crooks his head to the side at you.

The slow drag out is the same as always until he’s fucking himself back into you sharply, a gasped moan stumbling from you as your hands seek stability in the mattress below. Your whine is dragged out when he repeats it over and over, brows knitted together in your pleasure.

“That’s a nice reaction,” he comments smugly.

You only hum at him, too consumed by the feeling of him shoving his dick in and out over and over in such a relentless pace that you’re seeing stars. Either you’ve closed your eyes or they’ve rolled to the back of your head because you’re not seeing much of anything right now.

Your eyes are welling with tears, chest heaving with your breaths. The stretch in your leg increasing when Geto pushes down into you further, pushing back on your leg with it. He’s basically folded it over his shoulder, you had no idea you were capable of bending this much. You’re so dazed and fucked stupid when you look to him lazily, he looks so pretty like this. Hunched over you and driving his cock in and out of your tight heat, his hair hanging messily over his shoulders and face as his expression twists in bliss.

Reaching a hand up, you tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, “You’re pretty.”

You say it so dopily that he wonders if you know what you’ve just said, “I’m fucking you to the point you’re cock drunk and you think I’m pretty?”

A shudder runs through you at his voice, “Mhm, and– ah!– you have– hnn– have a pretty voice.”

God help him, he’s about to cum from you calling him pretty. “St– stop– hnn– talking.”

“Sugu, you feel so–”

He cuts you off with a hand over your mouth, he has a feeling that whatever you were about to say would have him cumming inside you. “You’re so cute but I need you to shut up before I cum.”

From behind his hand, you look ruined. Tears slipping from your eyes, he can feel the way you’re drooling against his skin. The only sounds in the room his grunts, your muffled moans and the slick squelching of you swallowing his cock.

You want to keep telling him how pretty he is and how good he’s making you feel but even without him hindering you, you feel as though you may be beyond words now. Brain not able to form very cohesive thoughts as of this moment let alone speak them. He has you feeling so full, his cock throbbing against your walls in a way that has your skin thrumming.

Geto’s eyes lock down on where he’s stuffing himself into your little cunt, he feels himself short circuiting at the sight. Pussy bulging around him, struggling to take him all, dick so shiny with your slick. White creamy ring at the base of himself, it’s messy and lewd and it has him feeling so unbelievably obsessed with your cunt.

Thinking distantly that he’s going to do his best to impress you on your date so he can have you again, next time he’s definitely licking your pussy. Debauched groans vibrate in his chest at the thought, he’s going to make this so unforgettable for you, he needs you to be as obsessed with him as he is you. He’s going to be so much worse after this and he was already down pretty bad.

Your hand grabs at his wrist, trying to tug it away so you can speak. He pulls back out of curiosity, “I– hnn– I’m– ah!–” Giving up trying to warn him after a particular thrust has you crying out, there’s no real point in warning him anyways.

He grins at your inability to say anything meaningful, “I’ve gotcha, go ahead and cum for me.”

Of course he knew exactly what you were trying to say, how does he already know your body so perfectly. He leans down to you, impossibly close, just to kiss your cheek and say, “Come on, pretty, I wanna feel you squeeze me tight before I cum in you.”

Crude and obscene and effective because his words make you shudder as you suddenly cum around him. A little frantic in how you squirm under him, eyes rolling as your hips fight to fuck yourself onto his thrusts. Pitiful whimpers of his name leaving you repeatedly, the only really comprehensive thing you’re able to utter out.

Geto’s orgasm is immediately triggered by yours, he was hoping he’d get to play with you a little more but as soon as he felt the sinful way you gripped him while you came, he was done for. Your cunt pulsating around him milking him for all he’s worth, he’s cumming so much so deeply. His hips flush to yours as he only grinds into you to ride out both your highs.

He doesn’t think he’s ever cum that much in his life and he’s unsure if it’s because it’s you or because he held back for so long. His weight drops to you as he catches his breath, feeling spent and so drunk on your pussy that if he thought too hard about you he’d get hard again.

Your hand taps lightly at his shoulder, words all garbled when you speak, “Sugu, too heavy.”

Shoving his arms under you, he rolls until you’re on top of him. Cock slipping from you in the process and it has you letting out a cute whine.

“It’s leaking out of me,” you warn him.

He groans, “Don’t say that.”

You rest your check to his collarbone, “Why not?”

“I’ll get turned on again.”

Rolling your eyes at him, “You’re an insatiable pervert.”

“You’re not much better.”

His hands tickle up your sides, repeating the motion over, it’s making you feel sleepy. “You’re still worse.”

He just hums at you, apparently not caring to argue back. “You gonna be okay to shower?”

“In a bit… and only if you carry me the whole time.”

He laughs at that, “Sure.”

You draw mindless patterns on his chest with your finger, “So… where are you taking me on my first date?”

𝒂.𝒏. this was actually a request that i got carried away with,, my requests aren't even open i just fucked with the idea that hard hehe.... i hope you all enjoyed and thank you very much for reading !!!

(i recently made a discord for my followers so if you guys are interested in that please check out the pinned page on my blog :3)

[⚠︎] — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision