#reader likes coloring

[cinnamon-swirl-toast]

Drawings

Pairing-Bucky Barnes x gn!teen!reader

Summary-You’re drawing at the table and Bucky decides to join you:)

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You sat slumped over the counter on a bar stool, drawings finished and unfinished littering the table around you. You held a Crayon tightly in your hand as you tried to figure out where to place this current color. You found peace in doing something so childish, uncaring of how people would react to you so diligently deciding what to do next. Your feet fidgeted lightly underneath you as you bit your lip in consideration.

Bucky watched you silently from his seat in the living room, having lost interest in the TV long ago. He raised a curious eyebrow and rose gently from his seat. He made his way quietly over to you and pulled the barstool beside you back, placing himself on it. He looked at the pictures and the Crayons littering the table and a small, a very small smile tugged on his lips as he watched you with gentle eyes. His hair fell over his face, casting ominous shadows over his face. His eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what you were doing.

You tried not to pay attention and kept your focus mostly on the paper in front of you, but it was hard to concentrate when you felt Bucky’s piercing gaze pick you apart with every second. You glanced at him in your peripheral and noticed his hair had fallen in his face and how… tired he looked. You gave him a sweet smile, fully facing him before shortly returning to your work.

Bucky looked at you curiously and felt a twinkle in his chest as you smiled at him so gently. He kept watching you and studied your hands and drawings with a strange intent. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head and he slowly reached beside you, picking up a red Crayon, being careful as to not break it in his grasp. He then looked for a blank piece of paper to start drawing his own picture, slowly drawing little lines and shapes until he let his artistic abilities fully take the wheel. He grabbed any color he could find and used it to add more life to his drawings, trying desperately to mimic your actions.

You noticed him joining you and smiled warmly, putting down your Crayon slowly to look at him and how concentrated he looked. He grabbed color after color placing them with calculated precision on his paper. You were impressed to say the least and your heart warmed as his shoulders pulled back into a more relaxed position as he grabbed another page. You continued smiling and watching before something sparkly caught the corner of your eye. It was a sticker sheet full of fun and silly animals in outfits for scenarios where they probably shouldn’t be in. You grabbed it and looked over them before picking out a cute white cat dressed as an astronaut. You peeled it off of its sheet and placed it gently on the top left corner of his page, making him stop his flow of creativity to look at you.

You smiled and said, “Your drawing looks really nice. You're a natural!”

He smiled at you and looked back and forth between your eyes before he felt another spark in his chest. He liked this, the comfortable silence and the peace that you brought to him.

(A few days later)

Your day sucked, having gone to school and suffered endlessly by the hands of your classmates, all you wanted to do was melt into your bed and rot until you had to do it all again tomorrow.

You threw your bedroom door open and dropped your backpack at your desk, moving to your bed before suddenly stopping. There was a neatly wrapped box on your bed, a note attached to the top of it.

You took it off gently and read it:

Dear Y/N,

Thank you for letting me draw with you the other day. It was nice to just sit with you and enjoy your company while we colored. I hope we can do it again some time. Here is a little thank you from me to you.

Yours truly,

Bucky

You smiled to yourself as you read it again and again. You’d have to thank him in person for being so thoughtful and tell him you'd love to be in his company again. You placed the gift in your lap and gently tore the paper off, gasping softly as you saw what was underneath. It was an expensive looking set of paints and a coloring book you’ve been eyeing for months now. How’d he find this out?

You hugged it to your chest and smiled before standing up and searching for his door, knocking gently on it. He opened it and smiled brightly at you. Before either of you could speak you crashed into him and wrapped your arms around him tightly. He was shocked and surprised that this was happening but was very happy nonetheless. He gently rested his metal hand on your hair and played with it softly, smiling to himself as he did.

You pulled away after a few moments of silence and spoke, “Thank you, Bucky. I'd love to hang out with you again. You're really nice to be around.”

He nodded his head and smiled warmly, placing a gentle hand on your cheek, “Anytime, pumpkin.”

You felt this was just the beginning of a lifelong friendship, and you couldn’t be happier.

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A/N: if you made it this far thank you and i’m sorry if this isn’t good or anything special because these are mostly just self indulgent stories:)

[kiwiandmint]

Pro Gamer YJH!

[shouyuus]

hi. thinking about painting vi's nails in arcane canon, and how she's so expressive with her hands, and how it's her main love language, how much she'd have to trust you to trust you with her hands, but you're so delicate with it, holding them so gently between your fingers as you layer thin coats of the bright pink polish over them, blowing on each layer to help it dry faster.

how she'd be staring at you the whole time, instead of what you're doing to her nails, because you're so focused, so intent on getting it perfect (she wants to lean in and kiss you, but she doesn't want to distract you either; a part of her wishes that she could stay in this moment forever, just you holding her hands, your knees pressed against each other on the rumpled sheets of your shared bed, the air between you liquid with warmth).

"and... done -- now you have to let it dry." you lean back, grinning to yourself, looking way too pleased.

vi looks at her freshly painted nails, holding them up, fingers apart, a grin teasing at her lips.

"they look good, princess. thanks."

you crinkle your nose, and vi feels the familiar tug behind her navel as she resists the urge to lean forward and jerk you to her for a kiss (she'd ruin her nails though, and she thinks she wants to keep them perfect).

"you have such pretty hands," you say, capping the nail polish and plopping it onto the bedside table, "and now they're even prettier!"

"mm... kinda sad i can't use them for a while though," vi says, curling her fingers in to stare at them again. her smile goes lopsided as she hears your breath hitch.

"i-it's just till they dry," you say. but already, you're biting your lips, and it takes every modicum of self control in vi not to pin you to the bed beneath her.

"yeah? how long's that usually take?" she asks, inching forward on her knees and pressing her palms against the wall as you back up against it. you lick your lips.

"u-usually like... an hour but --!" you cut off as vi's mouth falls open --

"an hour?"

"i used a top-coat so it's only like... five to ten-ish minutes... supposedly," you amend hurriedly.

vi cocks her head, "that's... better." she glances at the slightly cracked alarm clock on the bedside table before her eyes slingshot back to you, still backed up against the wall, her palms on either side of your face.

"so, how long do you think it's been, hm?"

[blackynsupremacy]

LOOK MANNNN

it’s sad

but true

[jesuistrestriste]

*NSFW drabble/thirst*

cw (18+): sub!art donaldson, sub!patrick zweig, gn dom!reader, dry humping (basically frottage), begging, orgasm denial/orgasm control, praise, desperation*, patrick is yearning, bossing the boys around + talking them through it <3

i can’t stop thinking about gently easing art donaldson and patrick zweig into submissive headspaces and then, as soon as they’re anticipating (needing) your touch, you tell them that the only way that they’re gonna be allowed to get relief is if they grind against each other <3

and the last thing they want to do is disappoint you, so they do it. and they love it.

art is whining and letting out pathetic moans as he bucks his hips up against patrick on top of him, wanting so desperately to get him as close as he is.

and patrick is moaning and trembling with pinched-up brows as he rocks down against art’s body and tries to chase a high that’s so close but just out of reach (the fabric of both of their boxers between them is too much to be able to feel everything properly!)

so you just look down at them and smile sweetly.

“Art, you seem like you’re closer than Patrick is.. is this true?” you whisper lowly.

“P-Probably.. oh god.. i’m so—i’m really close,” he squirms, “please, i’m so close…!”

You move your gaze to Patrick.

“you think Art is closer than you are right now?” you say to the brunette.

“yeah,” he pants, “y-yeah, he’s closer.. but i’m nearly there too.. just a little more..”

You shift your gaze back to Art’s and run a hand through his mess of blonde curls.

“Art, why don’t you go ahead and get Patrick there first, ok?” you speak firmly but gently.

“okay, i will,” he moans, “ill get him there first—“

He aggressively starts to smush his pelvis rhythmically up against patrick’s, his body writhing on the bedsheets below as he secretly begs for patrick to be ready to cum soon so he can stop feeling the hot ache that’s spreading all over..

“good boy. don’t cum until Patrick is cumming too.”

art nods.

patrick keens.

you chuckle and move to slide your hand from art’s hair to gently caress the length of patrick's back. art's back arches up from the mattress, and you shift your gaze back and forth between the two young men as patrick furiously meets art’s movements with his own.

“feel how desperate Art is to get you as close as he is? how desperate he is to finish with you?” you whisper.

patrick swallows thickly and nods, his eyes squeezed shut as the pleasurable warmth of his oncoming release starts to prickle in..

“i can feel it.. god, i wanna cum so badly,” he whispers shakily.

“Are you there right now?”

patrick’s eyes open briefly so he can nod at you before they flutter shut again and his hips jolt down over art’s stuttering form.

“i’m so close.. i need more from Art..”

“tell him.”

“Push harder against me… Harder… I need more pressure… I need you more against me…” patrick babbles and breathes out desperately into the neck of his counterpart.

the obedient blonde nods frantically and instantly shifts to push even more of himself up against his best friend’s body.

“good boy for using your words, patrick.. and art, you’re doing so well too.. just a bit longer.. patrick is nearly there,” you say softly to the two in front of you

after a few short moments of this depraved, needy humping, patrick lets out a loud moan and bites down on his bottom lip.

“God, Art, please,” he whispers, so close to the edge now that he can barely keep himself held up on his forearms. his hands are absolutely shaking.

“did you hear Patrick?” you coo with a slight smirk.

art can do nothing but gasp for air as he nods for a moment or two.

“i’m pushing as hard as i can..” he gulps and whines, tears pricking at his eyes as he assumes that patrick is asking for more pressure and ferocity from him.

“i know, baby.. just ask Patrick if he’s ready to cum,” you guide him.

art murmurs out a whimpery “mhm” before he squeezes patrick’s biceps in his hands and looks up into his eyes.

“Hngh.. Are you ready to cum?” he asks quickly and eagerly, his voice tinged with lewd desperation.

“God, yes! Please! Ahh-!” patrick shouts.

the two tremble and sweat, their bare chests rubbing against one another's as they grind their bodies as hard and as fast as they possibly can. art is desperately pawing at patrick's back now, and patrick has both of his hands gripping the small of art's back as they both release a string of loud, needy moans. even though there are thin layers of fabric preventing the two men from feeling each other skin-to-skin, both of them are equally hyperaware of the sensation of their clothed erections sliding and slotting up against each other's. It's heaven. it’s better than heaven. and it's been a long time coming.

you lean back, just enough to make sure that you can get a good view, and then you give in and say the magic words that they’ve both been waiting to hear all night:

“go on, boys.. you can finish.”

art's eyes snap open, while patrick's squeeze shut, and you watch closely as art's baby blues roll all the way to the back of his head. his jaw slacks and his hips arch up and shudder harshly against his friend's.

"I'm cumm--! AH! ANGHH-!" the blonde cries out, cutting his own warning off with the sound of his pleasure as he spills a warm, heavy load into his boxer briefs, "cumming so hard--!"

patrick's abdomen involuntarily curls in over itself as he humps art's bucking body with the shaky anguish of a man in a desert who's just found his first source of water in two days. in other words, he needs this. he needs him.

"Fuck! Fu-uuck! I'm cumming -- AH-! Hah, haah--!" patrick sobs, his fingers digging into arts soft, toned flesh as the heat of his sticky release floods his boxer shorts, "Art!"

The involuntary calling-out of his best friend's name surprises not only both you and the best friend in question, but also patrick. he didn't mean to, but when he felt the warmth of art's release seep out and stick to his thighs, he couldn't hold it anymore.

you're completely entranced by the obedience and sheer obscenity of the two trembling bodies in front of you, so you're unsure if they've been cumming for two minutes or two hours, but it doesn't really matter. they're gorgeously good listeners, and even better submissives. you'd definitely play with them again, as long as they were up for it. and you knew they would be.

you watch as patrick collapses on top of art in a flushed, limp heap, holding him close as both of their bodies tremble and jerk softly every so often with the aftershocks of their orgasms.

they're both pleasantly surprised when they each feel one of your hands carding your fingers through their heads of hair. their eyes are closed, and they can hardly breathe as they pant, but they are aware of this act of kindness from you. they'll take anything you give them. both of them practically start to purr.

"Breathe, boys, breathe.." you whisper lowly, stroking a soft hand over each head of messy locks.

they do as they're told, trying their best to take deep, slow breaths in and out as the fuzziness in their brains starts to dissipate as the seconds go by.

"Felt good?"

art nods slowly but insistently, while patrick mumbles out a slurred confirmation.

"it felt amazing."

"God, it was really.. that was really good..." art sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, his arms still limply draped over patrick's shoulders.

you nod, removing your touch from them to press a kiss to the nape of patrick's neck and then a kiss to art's forehead.

"I'm gonna take care of you guys now, ok?"

they nod and grunt softly, but make no attempt to sit up or pry themselves off of each other. this was going to be a long night.

notes; heyyy hehe. just wanted to write up a quick little drabble while i'm working on the two longer fics, and i NEEDED to get sub!art + sub!patrick out of my head. they were rotting in there. ps. srry this probs isn’t my best work, i started writing it at like 4 am last night lmao.

also i love writing orgasm denial and then making the reader just be like

dividers from: @benkeibear

[k3n-dyll]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; 18+, wlw, subtop!sevika, dom!reader, bondage, strap referred to as a dick/cock, afab!reader, strap sucking, strap on usage (r!receiving), riding, spit, oral (S!receiving), squirting, porn w/o a plot, not proofread

𝐖𝐂 - 3.3k

𝐊𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ☆ Took a break and just yapped for a while but the fics are back! Sub!Sev truthers, come get y'all juice!

Subtop!Sevika that was...reluctant to let you do this at best. Initially, when you asked, she fully thought you were joking.

"You want to what?" Her head tilted slightly to one side as she questioned you, her brow quirked upward as an amused, almost teasing smile played at the corners of her lips.

"C'mon Sev, I'm serious." You say, playfully rolling your eyes at your girlfriend. "I wanna be in charge tonight...and...maybe, I dunno... tie you up?"

To her it was kind of funny, actually - the woman she so often reduces to nothing more than a whining, drooling puddle beneath her suddenly thinks she would even know what to do in the event that Sevika went along with this. It was bold of you to even suggest it. So bold that she decided to say 'fuck it' and entertain your little fantasy.

Subtop!Sevika who almost chuckles at how gently you lace the ropes around her wrists, teasing you about how you can pull them tighter.

"I'm not made of glass, baby"

You just shake your head a little, but you do go in to tighten them a little more before stepping back and admiring your work. She looks more vulnerable than you've ever seen her like this - wrists bound to the headboard, naked except for the silicone strapped to her hips. The sight sends heat pooling in your panties.

As much as she tries to hide the movement, Sevika finds herself squirming against the harness in an effort to soothe the growing ache between her legs. You chuckle but you can't say you blame her. You aren't exactly aiming to make this easy for her - tauntingly ridding yourself of one article of clothing at a time, moving painstakingly slow as you watch her try to keep it together.

The frustration that courses through her at the realization that she can't touch you isn't something she anticipated. She's always prided herself on her restraint, her ability to keep herself grounded. But as she watches you crawl up toward her, settling your body between her legs, that confidence is lost.

Subtop!Sevika who groans like she can feel it when your lips wrap around the tip of the toy, her brows pulled together as she watches your head begin to bob up and down, coating it down to the base with your saliva, lightly gagging as you work.

"Fuck you're driving me insane, baby..."

Her sharp silver eyes track your every movement, her own hips gently bucking upward to make sure it goes deep into your throat, the visual alone making her gush. You pull your mouth away with a soft 'pop' before leaning up to kiss her, a string of spit connecting your lips as you pull back to lower yourself down on her, letting out a soft groan as you feel yourself stretch around the girth.

"Don't move" You warn, the slight shifting of her legs behind you indicating that she intends on bucking into you the first chance she gets. "You do that, you don't cum tonight."

Sevika scoffs at your words, but she doesn't try to call your bluff. She's made that threat before. Hell, she's made good on that threat before and she has no doubt that you would jump at the first opportunity for payback if it came to that.

"Fine." She huffs out, forcing her hips still.

Subtop!Sevika who knows with one good tug - she could easily break these binds and go to town on you if she wanted. You know it too. Even if her flesh hand wasn't able to break through, her mech arm could saw, slice, or yank its way through the ropes without so much as a strain. And yet here she is, letting you torture her. Letting you use her.

"You look s'good up there...riding my fucking dick like that" Sevika stifles a whine, the base of the toy pushing up against her clit with every movement, her eyes drinking in the sight of your body moving on top of her. The way your chest heaves with heavy breath, your hair wild and sticking to you with sweat, the way your tits bounce as you ride her. "I- I wanna move... I - let me move, please"

She'd intended to sound much more commanding than she had, her flustered expression indicative of just how unintentional that desperate plea had been. Her brows are furrowed in frustration, fingernails of her flesh hand curling deep into the calloused skin of her palm. A soft, mocking chuckle escapes your throat at the sight.

"Are you begging, Sev?"

"No, I'm not fuckin'-"

You cut her off with a soft shake of your head, a hand resting loosely on her throat as you slow your movements to a stop.

"Wrong answer, Sev. Try again"

Her jaw clenches and she lets out a huff, opening her mouth as she readies herself to protest, but your hand tightens around her throat before she can get another word out, the action shocking her enough to shut herself up again. You have a lot more restraint and conviction to this than she'd initially thought.

"You're really serious, aren't you?"

You just tilt your head and stare down at her, squeezing a bit tighter at her throat. A shiver surges through her body, abs clenching as she tries and fails to ignore how much the sudden authority you have over her in this moment is turning her on.

"Fuck - fine, baby, just...just lemme fuck you... please? I wanna make you feel good..."

You can't help another dark chuckle that escapes past your lips at the sound of her normally strong, commanding voice becoming shaky and frustrated as she begs to fuck you, her sharp, scowling features softening into what could almost be described as a little pout. It's cute. And as tempted as you are to make her beg more, that vulnerability in her expression is something you rarely get to see. It warms you to think about how much trust she has for you to even let this happen in the first place, and god, you'd be a fool to say 'no' to those big pretty eyes.

"Well, since you asked so nicely pretty girl..."

You lean down to press your lips to her own, and before you can pull back or say anything else her hips are bucking up off of the mattress in a single hard thrust, Sevika grunting into your mouth at the limited freedom she's been allowed. You take her hands in yours, holding them to either side of the headboard. It's the only thing that stops her from pulling out of the binds on her wrists and grabbing your waist, and the only thing keeping you balanced with each, slow, aggressive upward snap of her hips.

Sevika's gaze is fixed in on your hips and thighs, watching them jiggle as she fucks up into you, her large hands wrapping around your own to keep you there. Her restraint visibly falters as her pace picks up, the muscles in her legs and core being forced to do most of the work with her arms no longer being an option, the added obstacle just making her grunt and moan and huff that much more, the usual filth that spills from her lips barely coherent through her haze.

"Love doin' this t'you baby, fuck...could fill you up like this every day.."

You, of course, aren't any better, your responses coming out as nothing but whimpers and unintelligible praise at how good she's doing for you. For a brief moment, you forget your role in this, begging to cum nearly just as much as she's begging you to let her take you, and, though uncharacteristically, she doesn't even try to take advantage of the slip, too focused on pleasing you to care who's in charge right now.

"Fuck, I'm- Sev-" You stumble over your own words, but she knows exactly what you mean to say, forcing herself to keep up her pace despite the burning in her muscles, her grip on your hands becoming more firm.

"Cum for me, please... wanna see you fall apart"

You're practically done for at the sound of her breathy pleas, the sight of her desperation and the tip of her cock hitting up against your sweet spot pushing you over your boiling point all too easily. The mess you make would be embarrassing if not for how good it feels, your core tensing up, breath caught in your throat as your juices squirt against Sevika's strap as well as her lower stomach. It takes every bit of energy you have to not collapse on top of her quite yet, knowing full well she needs to cum just as badly as you had, and you intend to give her that

"Such a good girl for me..." You murmur breathlessly. "See how easy it was to listen to me?" You ask, though you don't give her the chance to answer with much of anything but a lazy nod before your lips are on hers again, the kiss hard and messy. When you begin trailing said kisses down her neck though she takes pause, a look of slight concern taking over her features

"You're tired, take a break" she murmurs, pretending to be okay with not getting what she wants yet despite her obvious squirming.

You just roll your eyes and shake your head, not stopping your advances in the slightest, hands already running down her body and undoing the harness to the strap-on to pull it away from her soaked cunt.

"You don't get to say when I'm done this time, love, remember?"

There's an unmistakable tinge of shyness that consumes her when you pull the toy away from her body, the woman having to shift her eyes to the side to stifle a whine as you stare down at just how wet she's gotten, the patch of dark hair above her slit glistening with arousal, her clit swollen, walls clenching around nothing - all from just watching you use her.

"Eyes on me pretty girl" You tease, to which she just grunts in mock annoyance. It's a short-lived reaction though. Sevika can only feign indifference for so long, and the sight of you sinking down in between her legs isn't exactly helping her case. She spreads them apart without needing to be asked, unconsciously showing just how fucking eager she is to have you touch her directly, and you waste zero time in obliging her, licking and sucking at the skin of her lower stomach and thighs, tasting the mess you left behind on her body. You don't tease, or try to make her wait or beg this time - as obedient as she's been, she's only going to be able to take so much more, and overpowering you would be an easy feat.

Sevika watches with bated breath as you keep the mix of saliva and squirt in your mouth, your middle and ring fingers tracing gentle lines along her slit before you push the tips of them into her entrance.

"Oh fuck..." A shaky moan pulls from her mouth at the sight of your lips parting, the liquid flowing freely from your bottom lip and onto her already soaked pussy, leading a path from her pulsing clit and down to your fingers as you begin working them in and out of her hole, the combination of juices squelching inside of her with each pump. You can already tell this won't take long with the way her thigh muscles are flexed, a miserably failed attempt to keep them from shaking.

"So fucking pretty, Sev..." You press a kiss to her hardened bud, which makes her twitch against your lips, her soft, warm walls fluttering around your fingers. She's completely abandoned the idea of keeping her little whimpers at bay, making this all the more amusing to you.

"You've gotta let me do this more often if you're gonna sound like this every time..."

"Oh, shut up"

You hum in response, nodding slightly. "I guess there are more fun things I could be doing with my mouth right now, huh?"

The second your tongue makes contact with her sensitive core, Sevika's back arches up off of the bed a bit, her body tensing a little. She wants so desperately to grab the back of your head and shove you further between her thighs but she forces herself to stay calm and in place, balling her hands up into fists and screwing her eyes shut when she feels your tongue start to move in gentle circles against her clit.

"Eyes open, love" You remind her, your free hand coming down to leave a stinging slap against her leg. She whimpers a little but does as she's told, her lids low as she makes herself keep eye contact with you. The only sounds to rival her unrestrained moaning and hard, heavy breaths are the almost obnoxious wet sloshing of your tongue and fingers working her closer to orgasm, your own moans muffled as you press your face even closer to her cunt, her hair tickling against the tip of your nose.

"Please...more - fuck - more, I need more, please"

Begging comes much easier to her now, both because her brain is scrambled and because you're purposefully going so. Fucking. Slow. The gentle pump of your fingers and soft lapping of your tongue against her feels amazing but hell if she doesn't need more than that right now.

"I know, baby, I know..."

When Sevika's in your position, she's much less susceptible to whining and pleading. She loves edging you - getting you right up to that peak before forcing you back down again and repeating it over and over until you can't take it anymore, but you're also much more used to being made to wait. You like it, actually. Sevika on the other hand looks like she might cry or yell and given that this is an entirely new side of her, you're nothing if not a sucker for her right now.

Your lips wrap around the sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs, gently sucking and pulling her further into your mouth, your fingers plunging in and out of her, curling up inside of her dripping hole nearly fast enough to hurt your wrist. You ignore the slight burning in place of allowing her increasing volume and the trembling of her body to distract you, watching her core clench and unclench as her breathing becomes more labored and uneven. She's a sight to behold in this state - brown skin glistening in the dim light with sweat, bottom lip wet and swollen from incessant tugging with her teeth as she uselessly tries to keep herself from being too loud, her short dark hair tousled messily atop her head. Her hips are grinding hard against your face, wetting your nose and chin with her arousal as she tries to pull you impossibly closer to her cunt than you already are, her thick thighs trapping you against her body with no way out - not that you were ever intending to move away from her in the first place.

"Fuckfuckfuck - I'm g'na cum, please let - lemme cum on your fucking face, baby"

Sevika's speech is that of a drunk woman - slurred and vulgar despite the lack of alcohol in her system - and when she's finally pushed to orgasm whatever words she was going to say are reduced into little more than random, breathy syllables that don't so much as start a full sentence. By complete accident, her body tenses up so much that she winds up breaking the rope her flesh hand had been tied up in completely, her fingers quickly finding their place tangled into your messed hair to keep you flush against her as she uses your face to ride out her orgasm, her hips stuttering with the aftershocks of finishing so hard. As difficult as it is for you to breathe like this you allow her to get what she needs out of you, even going a bit further until she starts palming at the top of your head, trying to push you off.

"Stop - too much" She manages through quivering breaths, a small and utterly fucked out smile crossing her lips.

You plant one more kiss against her clit before you come up for air, letting out a breathy chuckle as the cool air hits the bottom half of your face in stark contrast to the warmth you'd just been snuggled up against. Sevika finds herself giggling breathlessly at the sight of you - you're wet up to the tip of your nose, her scent filling your nostrils with each inhale. Not that you mind, clearly. Slowly, you slip your fingers out of her, causing one more full-body tremor to go through the half-tied-up woman beneath you, your hand immediately going up to your mouth so you can clean up her mess, moaning at the taste of her.

"Guess I should tie you up a little tighter next time, huh?" You say, a playful look in your eye as you gesture to her now free hand and the broken rope hanging limply around the headboard.

Sevika only nods. You half expected her to question your statement about there being a 'next time', but by the look on her face, she wants this to happen more often between you two. She loves being in charge, but being able to just let go for a bit - to not think and just allow you to do as you please - it felt good. Your lips trace sloppy kisses up her body until you reach her lips, catching them in a soft kiss that lingers for a few moments before you pull back. The sheets are drenched, and so are both of your bodies and your face - clean up would be the next logical step here, but Sevika has no intention of letting you up yet. She twists her mech arm out of its binds and wraps both arms around your waist before your foot gets the chance to hit the floor.

"Stay." She grumbles, pulling you beside her again despite your confusion.

"We can cuddle after we get you cleaned up, baby"

Sevika just shakes her head again, almost petulantly, her brows knitting together in annoyance at you for daring to care about being clean right now.

"Just for a bit. Then we can clean up" She mumbles again, standing on her point.

Sevika isn't usually this adamant about cuddling. She enjoys doing it, of course, but when the roles are reversed, getting you clean and comfortable on a new set of sheets is her first priority. Realistically, she knows she's going to wobble too much if she tries to get up now, but she's still bullheaded, even after everything. She doesn't want to give you the satisfaction of saying it aloud so she just holds you down instead.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head a bit at her stubbornness, but you do as she asks and stop resisting her, nuzzling against her chest as you lay down with her, the woman rolling the both of you over a bit to avoid to cold spot on the sheets. Mindlessly, you pull her leg up onto your hip, tracing patterns into her thigh and massaging the muscles there, her real hand doing the same against your back.

"You okay?" You ask after a beat of silence.

She nods.

"You sure?"

"I'm fine...don't...make me get sappy" She mutters and you laugh. You know Sevika like the back of your hand at this point, and it's always been a bit hard for her to verbally express when she's feeling vulnerable. You know that entire display was the most open she's let herself be with anyone in a while, and she's likely more than a little embarrassed at the moment even though she won't say it. You chuckle a little bit.

"Okay, love. Get some rest for me...you big baby."

Reblogs are appreciated || Donations 4 Palestine - Arcane Masterlist

Taglist ; @archangeldyke-all, @delinthecut @sevsbaby, @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery,  @strawberry-shortcakey , @dinakisser, @urbayolet

[sk3tch404]

I've been reading a lot of Chrollo fics yall... Do not send help.

Character too dynamic, must initiate brainrot immediately 🤖

[qin-qin16]

Are they protective of you?

cw: Are they like a guard dog that won't leave your side? Or are they more carefree about the dangers around you?

Of course they are like a big guard dog! You have no idea how dangerous the world is out there; obviously, they have to protect you from everything and everyone! When it’s not their arm around your shoulders, pulling your body closer to theirs, then it’s definitely their jacket or hoodie over you, making it clear to anyone that you’re together. And how can you say they don’t need to fight the jerk who touched you? Of course they do! If it’s to protect you, they would do anything (within or outside the law).

Fell, DELTA, CROSS, Killer, Dust, FellSwap Gold

They’re a bit of both. Of course, they’ll defend you if someone tries to pick a fight with you, but they also give you space to handle your own problems. You’re both pretty comfortable with that, and usually, you prefer to stay in your corner peacefully—much better than having someone barking at everyone who tries to get close to you.

COLOR, Fresh, Ink, SWAP, Dream, Geno, Classic

They prefer that you defend them. Every time they get into a fight, they look at you like a wet cat, completely helpless and pleading for your help. You, on the other hand, don’t mind at all standing in front of them, protecting them from whatever is intimidating them (whether it’s an ignorant guy or a giant bug). It’s them who wear your jacket as a form of protection, while your arm is around their hips. Could they be pretending just to see you all brave defending them? You’ll never know~

LUST, Science, Farm, SwapFell

You'll never know how many people they've gotten rid of just because they look at you weird.

NIGHTMARE, Error

[ghostinghome]

uriel,,, in these trying times

[solcarow]

How funny. I can't believe this is happening… did you forget that you promised to die?

i finally remembered to post my piece for the @orv-lovezine !!! i wasnt satisfied with the colors i submitted it with so you can find the original below + the lineart

im starting pride month off strong by strujoshin out 🔥💥🔥💥💥

[marzipaint]

something something companions in life and death

[regents-of-fear]

Listen

Listen listen listen

Imagine being Phosphorus' second in command and before he was arrested, he always helped reader with the skeleton makeup <3

They got to choose the color combo of their skeleton paint cuz, y'know, favoritism

[callsign-coolsquirrel]

The General's Daughter

@g-backto505

[sluttywonwoo]

color me like you || l.jh

pairing: lee jihoon x f reader

summary: you put your heart into every piece of jewelry you make, so why does it only hurt when they're for him?

warnings: swearing, some jealousy, smidgen of religious imagery, smut (18+ ; mdni)

smut warnings: oral (f receiving), protected sex

word count: 5.3k

author’s note(s): for @sluttywoozi's birthday <33 ilyyy

this was the hardest fic i've ever written ;-; idk why but it just kept fighting me the whole time // also did not mean to be so heavy-handed with the rubies it just sort of happened

“What would you pick?” 

Every single fucking time. It was like he didn’t know what he was doing by asking you that. And maybe he didn’t. 

Lee Jihoon’s consultations were your least favorite part of (nearly) every month. And it wasn’t because he was a rude customer or a schmuck just looking to blow his money or anything like that- but because month after month he waltzed into your place of work and bought a custom piece for someone who wasn’t you even though he never failed to ask you that god damn question.

It wasn’t like it was uncommon for jewelers to get asked that. In fact, it was rather common. Men tended to view women as a monolith, accepting any opinion from whoever was nearest as a reflection of their partners’ solely based on the other party’s gender. 

But with Jihoon it’s different. It was like Jihoon actually cared what you had to say about it, like it mattered what you thought of his decisions even though you were the one designing the piece and not receiving it. 

It sends you into a mini spiral every time. Every time he walks through the door, eyes automatically searching for you. Every time he sits down in front of you and leans over your desk to get a closer look at your work and you catch a whiff of the expensive cologne dotted at his pulse points. Every time you have to gaze into his deep brown eyes and swallow the jealousy rising in your throat as you bare your soul to him laid out on a satin pillow for him to take and give to someone else. 

You already know who it is once you see that the VIP Room is booked on your schedule. You groan internally, cursing the man as you run through all of your preparations. There isn’t much to do because almost everything is already ready for you but you try to stay busy anyway, finding yourself checking the clock on the wall over and over again until the bell above the door finally chimes to signal his arrival. 

Your back is to the door and you don’t turn around right away even though you know he’s seen you. You can feel his gaze on you. It’s piercing yet magnetic in the way things like glass and icicles are-  deceptively alluring, sharp enough to draw blood. 

When you do finally turn to face him, you note that he’s flanked by a security guard, not unusual for him but unsettling to you nonetheless. You don’t know what he does for work. You’ve never asked. Better not to get attached is what you told yourself, not that you were having much luck with that. 

Jihoon smiles politely at you and you return the nicety, gesturing to the door behind the counter for him to follow you. 

The lights in the showroom are dim as always. The dark, velveted walls seem to be absorbing what little light the decorative lamps are effusing. The walls are lined with built-in display cases, illuminating their contents and nothing else. 

In the middle of the room sits a desk, with a chair on either side. You take your place behind the desk and wait for Jihoon to sit before doing the same. He’s ditched his shadow so the two of you are alone, something you try not to think about as you organize your tools in front of you. 

“How have you been?” Jihoon asks, his voice breaking the silence but doing little to ease the tension between you. 

“I’ve been well,” you answer. It’s an honest answer, for the most part. “And yourself?”

“Busy,” he sighs, “but good.”

You fold your hands on the desktop in front of you, letting its cold surface ground you. You can already feel yourself starting to sweat even though the showroom’s the coldest place in the store. “So, what are we doing today?”

“A bracelet,” Jihoon says. 

“For you or someone else?”

You never ask your clients who their orders are for. In your profession, you’ve learned that being too nosy, even in good conscience, can be dangerous. You’ll ask if the piece is for the client themselves,  if it’s to celebrate a specific occasion, and what the person’s tastes are but little else. If they offer the information voluntarily, so be it. 

“Someone else.”

You grit your teeth as you ask the next question. “Do you have their measurements?”

Jihoon doesn’t answer right away. 

“Not exactly. It doesn’t need to be a perfect fit. They, uh, have about the same size wrist as me.”

“Then I’ll ask you to hold out your wrist for me…”

He extends his arm across the space between you, pale skin almost translucent under your Circline light. 

“Which way,” he turns his hand for you, “palm up or down?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He leaves his palm skyward like he’s waiting for you to take his hand but you wrap the tapeline around his wrist instead, bringing the magnifier closer to get an exact measurement. You make a mental note of the number and definitely not of the way his fingers are long and calloused and-

“That’s really pretty.”

Jihoon’s voice startles you out of your unprofessional thoughts, making you jump a little in your seat. He grins apologetically. 

“Sorry, I just wanted to tell you how pretty I think your ring is.”

Your eyes flit down to the piece of jewelry on your finger, a thin gold band looped around a few times like a wiry piece of thread. In between the strands of gold are three gems, diamond, alexandrite, and tourmaline, set in what looks to be random spots. You’ve worn it every day since you finished it but no one had ever commented on it until now. 

“Was it a gift?” Jihoon asks. 

“No, I made it.”

“I should’ve known,” he sighs. 

You want to ask him what he means by that but you know his answer will only make you more delusional. 

You release the end of the measuring tape and roll it back up, replacing it in its spot in your drawer and pulling out a leather bound notebook instead. You flip to a blank page and jot down Jihoon’s measurements along with the few details he’s told you thus far about the piece he wants made. 

“Do you have an idea of what you want your bracelet to look like?” you ask, swiftly changing the subject. “Or should I show you some of my previous designs?”

“I think I have an idea but I don’t know how to describe it.”

“How about I show you some pieces and you tell me if they’re similar to what you had in mind?”

“That sounds perfect.”

You stand from the desk and turn around to face the display cases behind you. There’s an assortment of original jewelry pieces made by you and your colleagues to choose from but you only select ones you’ve made, knowing Jihoon would instantly be able to tell the difference. It’s happened enough times before. 

You walk him through each of your selections, making note of what he points out about each of them. From his musings, you gather that he wants an argentium silver chain— thick enough to be inlaid with stones but not too thick that it would become too heavy or gaudy. 

Listening to him talk about the piece made you smile despite the envy twisted around your heart. He had started to pick up on the terminology after coming here for so many months and seemed so much more confident about his knowledge of it all. It was apparent in the way he held himself now during consultations. 

You get all of the initial details about the body of the piece squared away before moving on to the finer ones. Categorizing the steps like this helps you stay organized.  

“And do you know which stones you want embedded in the bracelet?” you ask. 

Jihoon rubs his thumb across his lips in thought. “I thought I did, but after seeing that,” he pauses to point at a necklace you’d shown him, “I’m having second thoughts.” The necklace he’s referring to is set similarly to the style of the bracelet, only gold and lined with rubies. 

“What was your first choice?” 

“Amethyst. Since it’s a birthday gift, I thought I’d go with their birthstone, but now I’m torn. What would you pick?”

There it was, the dreaded question. It was like he’d been holding a knife to your throat this entire time and finally decided to draw blood. Still, you answer like you always do. 

“I’m partial to amethyst,”  you admit, “and there’s the added significance of it being their birthstone, but the rubies would make more of a statement. It really depends on what kind of person you’re buying for. Are they a sentimental person or a flashy person?”

“They’re both,” Jihoon groans, putting his head in his hands. Then, after a moment, he sits back up. “But I think they’d like the rubies more. I feel like those evoke a more dramatic aura, if that makes sense.”

“It does. Rubies are associated with power and passion.” They’re also associated with romance but you choose not to mention that part. “In some cultures, they were believed to protect the wearers as well.”

“That’s perfect then.”

You clasp your hands together and force a smile. “Great! Do you want them around the entire band of the bracelet? From clasp to clasp?”

“What would two-thirds look like?”

“Let me show you.”

You discuss the size, cut, and spacing of the stones before calculating a price and timeline for the piece. You give Jihoon the receipt that states how much he owes today and how much he’ll owe when he comes to pick it up, circling the pick up date with your pen. 

He pays with his black card, the one you’ve become accustomed to swiping every time you see him. You expect him to leave promptly after the payment, that’s what usually happens, but he doesn’t. He lingers a little awkwardly as you put the jewelry back in their display cases, hesitating by the door like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Jihoon?” you ask him eventually, “is everything okay?”

You refer to most of your clients by their surnames but Jihoon had asked you not to the very first time you met. “It makes me feel old,” he’d explained with a laugh. 

Now, he laughs again. This time, it’s a nervous laugh, one that draws confusion and sets your own nerves on edge. 

He swallows harshly. “I know this may be entirely inappropriate, but I promised myself I wouldn’t leave today without asking if you would go to dinner with me.”

“W-what?”

“Go to dinner with me?” he repeats, this time in the form of an actual question. 

You blink. “For real?”

“Um, yes? Unless your answer is no, then no, not for real.”

You put both hands on your desk to brace yourself, unsure what to make of his request. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused. Why would you want to go to dinner with me?”

“Because I want to take you on a date.”

“A date?!”

Jihoon clears his throat a little bashfully. “Yes, I thought that was implied when I invited you to dinner.”

“Dinner could mean a lot of things! Maybe it was a business proposal.”

He chuckles. “I’m a music producer, I don’t know what kind of business I’d have with a jeweler.”

It doesn’t even dawn on you that you’ve finally found out what he does for work because you’re so overwhelmed by the fact that he’s asking you out to comprehend anything else. You can hardly comprehend this. 

“You want to go on a date with me?”

“I- uh, I’ve been coming here for months just to see you. I mean, I was really getting gifts for people but they don’t give a fuck about what I buy them for their birthdays as long as it’s expensive... they don’t really care about the different gems and settings and shit.” You’re still processing his words when Jihoon lifts his head to peek at your reaction. “Are you... upset?”

“Upset? No, I’m relieved!”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?”

“This whole time I thought you were getting gifts for your partner, or partners, I thought you were taken.”

You watch the corners of Jihoon’s mouth quirk up into a smile as he realizes what you’re saying. “And that upset you?”

“Yes,” you mumble. 

“You like me back?” 

“Yes. It’s been terrible.”

“Pardon?” he chokes out. 

“Imagine the roles were reversed,” you explain, “I’m coming to you every month, getting to know you better and you’re learning more and more about me, I’m flirting with you, you’re starting to feel like we’re getting closer-”

“Only for you to buy the jewelry for someone else,” he concludes for you with a grimace, “presumably a romantic partner. Yeah, okay I can see how that would be miserable.”

“But then, who have these even been for this whole time?!” you blurt out, finally breaking your number one rule. 

“I’ll explain everything over dinner,” Jihoon promises. 

“But when is dinner?”

“What time does your shift end?”

-

Jihoon does explain everything over dinner, as promised. He gave you some time after work to get ready for the date and then picked you up from your place in a town car. He’d told you before that he’s never felt the need to get a drivers license, that public transport and ride services were plenty to get him to where he needed to go, and that he seldom left the house anyway. You offered to drive to dinner since you did have both a car and a license but Jihoon astutely refused, saying that while he wasn’t very old fashioned, he was the one who asked you out and he’s always liked the idea of a more traditional first date. 

Dinner is at a restaurant you’ve never even heard of but apparently has a Michelin star. The food and mocktails are delicious, but truthfully the last thing on your mind as you stare across the table at your date. He’s dressed in all black, like usual, but had chosen an outfit that was much more formal than what you were used to seeing him in: pressed slacks and a dress shirt that was buttoned just low enough to show off a hint of collarbone, cleavage, and a chain you recognize as one you’d crafted for him almost a year ago. 

He almost always wore a hat when visiting your store but tonight he’s forgone the baseball cap and swept his long hair back in a half up, half down sort of manner. There’s product in it but a few wisps of his bangs have escaped the hold of the gel and hang in front of his eyes. 

You briefly wonder if he’d let you style his hair, if he’d let you braid it back. He’d look so pretty with french braids-

At the end of the meal, after he’s paid, he asks the question. Not the question, the one you’re always dreading, but a new one that makes your heart beat just as fast. 

“Are you doing anything after this?” 

You take a sip of your drink, ignoring the watered down taste in order to keep the air of suspense. “That depends, what are you doing?”

-

Jihoon’s apartment is closer than yours. It’s in the middle of the city, nestled safely above the bustling crowds and chaos of the streets beneath it. You would call it a penthouse but it isn’t on the top floor of the building nor does it have a terrace- the point is, it’s bigger than the house you grew up in. You can tell just from standing in the doorway with all the lights off. The floor to ceiling windows lined all along the far wall give it away. They let in just enough light from the billboards and neon street signs below to cast shadows in the corners of the room that emphasize its depth. 

There’s music playing softly throughout the apartment when you enter.

“I wasn’t expecting this to happen,” Jihoon insists as he scrambles to turn on some lamps. “I swear, I just always have music playing.”

“Sure,” you tease him, bending down to slip out of your heels. 

You’re still a few inches taller than him without them on but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. You certainly don’t. “I can turn it off if you’d prefer,” he offers. 

“No, that’s okay. I like having it on when-” you stop yourself mid-sentence, cheeks blooming with heat. You had been about to say, ‘when I’m having sex,’ and Jihoon seems to fill in the blank himself from the way he smirks at you. 

“Really? That’s good to know.”

You’re too flustered to think of a witty response so you just pucker your lips like you do when you don’t know what to say and hope he can’t tell how insane with lust his answer just made you. 

The lapse in his gentlemanly manner is brief and before things can go too far he takes your coat and purse and leads you to the couch in the living room. You sit and watch as he crouches in front of the fireplace, rolling up his sleeves. It’s a gas fireplace so all he has to do is turn the dial to the desired strength, there’s no soot or ash or really anything that would make him dirty, but you appreciate the view of his arms nonetheless. 

You know Jihoon is a big fitness buff. It’s one of the first things he ever told you, apologizing for how sweaty he was as he shook your hand and introduced himself. It’s been hard not to let that knowledge distract you whenever you see him now. You’ve caught yourself ogling his biceps and quads (and ass) an unhealthy amount of times in your consultations. You can let yourself get distracted tonight, though. Now that he’s not your client and you’re the girl he’s brought home. Now that he’s got his forearms out on display specifically for you to ogle. 

He joins you on the couch a moment later, creating a respectful distance between you. 

“Would you like anything to drink?” he asks suddenly. “I don’t have any alcohol in the house because I don’t really drink but I could make you something like we had at dinner. I also have Coke Zero and water and-”

You put your hand out to stop him, relieved to know he’s just as nervous as you are. “Water would be great, thanks.” 

“Ice?”

“If you have it.”

“I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t,” he points out. 

“Right. That’s... right.”

He laughs affectionately and touches your knee as he goes to stand from the sofa. His hand is warmer than you expect, making you suck in a quick breath that makes you both freeze. Your eyes meet his before his gaze shifts to your lips. 

“Do you... still want that water?” 

Your mouth does feel dry but for an entirely different reason. 

“Maybe later.”

-

He’s on top of you as soon as your back hits the mattress, strong thighs straddling your hips. His hair falls into his eyes and subsequently yours as he leans down and gently cups your face. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, kiss me,” you gasp, pulling him into you before he does. 

Jihoon groans the instant your lips touch his, grinding into you almost involuntarily. It isn’t long until you’re moaning too, practically writhing underneath him as he kisses you like he’s found God.

Everything about him is soft, except his hands. His voice, his tongue, his touch. His hands leave your cheeks and start to explore the rest of your body, grazing your chest and hips over your dress. 

His fingers skim the hem of it and dip just below the seam, lifting the fabric from your thighs before letting it float back down.You don’t know if he’s teasing you on purpose but it’s driving you crazy. You’ve wanted him for so long now that his self control feels cruel, like he’s dangling himself just out of reach. 

“I’m sorry, I got carried away,” he says, running a hand through his hair. 

“I honestly wanted you to get more carried away,” you admit.

“Really?”

“I thought I was making it obvious.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” he mumbles through a smug grin, “and I didn’t know how far you wanted to go tonight.”

“I want to go as far as you want to go,” you assure him. 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

You’re not typically one to sleep with someone on a first date, not for any religious, moral (or internally misogynistic) reason, you just don’t like being that vulnerable with someone you’ve just met. You’ve also found sex to be a lot more enjoyable with someone you feel connected to. 

So even though it’s technically your first date with Jihoon, you’ve known him for what feels like half of an eternity and craved him for every single moment of it. You aren’t going to deny yourself what you’ve longed for for ages. 

“In that case, can I eat you out?” he asks.

“Fuck yeah you can.”

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs as he positions himself between your legs and pushes your dress up to your hips.

“Really?” you sigh.

Jihoon kisses the inside of your thigh and then hums against it. “Mhm, every single time we were alone in that dark room I’d just think about crawling under that table and spreading your legs apart...” 

“You should have.”

Jihoon scoffs. “You would have gotten fired.”

“Worth it.”

“But isn’t this much better?” he asks, pressing his tongue over your panties. “I can take my time with you and you can be as loud as you want...”

Jihoon repeats the motion with his tongue and you whimper as if to prove his point. He’s barely done anything and your panties are already soaked through. To be fair, you’ve been wet since dinner but that was his doing too. All he had to do was look pretty and you were melting for him. 

“Want me to take these off?” he asks.

“God, please.”

“Here, lift up for me then, perfect. Now put your legs over my shoulders... good, just like that.”

He drowns himself in you, worshiping your cunt with his lips and his tongue and his entire being. He takes his time tasting all of you before moving on to what he knows you’re actually waiting for. You try to be patient, you know he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have, and it feels good... you just need more. 

He does give you more, eventually. His tongue dips inside of you when you’re least expecting it and your thighs clamp around his head in surprise. He’s completely unfazed by this, and pries them apart with ease, holding your legs open as he continues to drink you in. 

He switches between tongue fucking you and sucking on your clit a few times to figure out which you like more, settling on a pattern that has his name echoing off the walls of his bedroom. 

You can barely hear the music playing over the obscene sounds he’s making as he eats you out but you find you actually prefer them anyway. 

His mumbling is incoherent, muffled by you in every sense of the word. Still, you can tell he’s praising you, encouraging you to surrender to the pleasure. 

It doesn’t take much convincing because he has you on the edge in record time. No man has ever gotten you so close so fast, you don’t even think you’ve made yourself cum this fast and you have that shit down to a science. It’s over for you as soon as he adds his fingers into the mix. You wanted to hold off a little longer just to prove a point but Jihoon has his own point to prove.

You don’t necessarily need penetration to get off but having something to cum around does make orgasms stronger for you. He must know this, or at least have an inkling, because he pushes two fingers inside of you right when your breath catches in your throat and your body locks up and your vision starts to blur…

-

“Baby- is it okay if I call you baby? Are you alright?”

It’s more than okay, you think to yourself and then you realize the disembodied voice that sounds a lot like Jihoon’s is actually expecting an answer.

You open your eyes the tiniest bit to see a very wet, very concerned-looking Jihoon hovering above you. 

“You can call me whatever you want,” you tell him. 

“That wasn’t really the important question out of the two,” he sighs. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great!”

He breathes a sigh of relief and collapses against your shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” you laugh. “Aren’t we going to keep going?” 

Jihoon lifts his head and gives you a look. “You just came so hard you blacked out, don’t you want to take a break?” 

You shake your head. “No? Why would I?” 

His lips part and he sputters, “because you just-”

“It’s sweet that you’re worried about me, but I promise I’m fine. I’ve never been better.” 

“Never?” 

“Never ever.”

“So… I can kiss you again?” 

“As many times as you want.” 

The power you’ve bestowed on him in that one sentence immediately goes to his head and he spends the next several minutes pressing kisses into your skin as he undresses both you and himself. 

He kisses you in between every piece of clothing that comes off, every button of his shirt that he undoes, dragging out every moment until you’re both completely naked save for your ring and his necklace (and a condom). 

He’s huge, unsurprisingly. What is surprising is how hard he is already. You knew he was turned on, you could feel him through his pants when you were making out and he was grinding into you, but you didn’t realize it was like this. You haven’t even touched him and his cock is rock hard and flushed at the tip. Did he get that worked up just from giving you head? Just when you thought he couldn’t get any hotter...

He pumps himself a few times before easing into you, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he struggles to keep his composure. You aren’t faring any better, hands flying to his biceps when he bottoms out. The stretch is more intense than you’re expecting. It knocks the breath out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your head. All you can do is lay there on the satin sheets and feel as Jihoon makes himself a part of you.     

“Are you okay?” you hear him ask distantly, voice trembling. 

“I’m perfect,” you manage to respond. 

“You are,” he agrees.

Your brows wrinkle in confusion as you try to blink him back into focus. Hm?”

He just smiles and pets your hair gently. “Don’t worry about it.”

“O-okay.”

“Am I good to start moving?” 

“Yes, yes please fuck me.”

You wrap your legs around his waist and pull his body even closer just in case he needs further convincing, gasping in relief when he finally does start to move. It’s slow at first, experimental. You’re still sensitive from cumming so every sensation is heightened. Every stroke feels better than the last and you can only hope it feels just as good for Jihoon. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groans, “how are you so fucking wet?”

“I really like you,” you laugh, “and you’re so good at, like, everything! It’s unfair and it’s, fuck, not my fault.”

“I really like you too,” he confesses, starting to fuck you harder. You expect him to elaborate but he doesn’t, not right away. Instead, he lets his body do the talking for him while he busies his mouth with yours. You can still taste yourself on his lips along with traces of your lipgloss and chapstick that he’d long since kissed off. It’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating.

When he raises his head and puts a hand on the headboard to steady himself, the necklace you’d made him dangles right in front of your face, the cross pendant just inches from your nose. He grabs it with his free hand and puts the charm between his teeth so that it won’t hit you, smirking at the way your eyes roll back.

“You like that?” 

 “Fuck you.”

He laughs, then mumbles, “God, you’re so hot. I’m so fucking close already.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back down to you, down into another kiss. The chain still in his mouth presses into your lips, the cold metal a striking difference from the heat of your bodies. 

“Please tell me you’re close too,” he whispers.  

“So fucking close.”

You just need a little more to get you over that edge again. You release one of your arms from around his neck and snake it in between yourselves to rub your clit but Jihoon pushes it away and replaces it with his own. He repeats the same motions with his fingers that he’d done with his tongue, begging you to cum with him. 

“Let go for me, baby,” he urges, “wanna cum together. Please let me feel you.”

You don’t black out this time but you do cry, fingernails digging into his back as you fall apart under him. Jihoon fucks you through it, helping you both ride it out. He’s shaking by the time the aftershocks pass and carefully lays himself on top of you like a blanket so that you can both catch your breath. 

“S-sorry, I thought I’d last a lot longer,” he apologizes sheepishly. “Next time I will. Maybe. Your pussy is crazy though so you can’t hold me to that.”

“You’ve got such a way with words,” you scoff. 

“What can I say, I’m a songwriter. It’s in my blood.” 

You snort and push him off you, searching your phone. Your best friend had probably alerted you missing to the authorities by now after not hearing from you for however many hours it’d been since you last updated her. You find your phone under one of the pillows and see a barrage of texts from her and the groupchat just like you predicted. Snitch. You would have to grovel later, though, because Jihoon had gotten up to start the shower and returned to get you now that the water was warm. 

He helps you step into the basin and shows you how to adjust the temperature in case it isn’t to your liking before asking if you want him to stay. You do, and you point out that he needs to shower too so it would be more efficient if you showered together anyway. 

He joins you without a second’s hesitation, kissing your shoulder from behind as he begins to gently lather your body with soap. You return the favor after he’s done with you and soon enough he’s wrapping you and himself up in plush white towels he’d grabbed from the warmer next to the shower.  

“Stay the night?” he asks as he dries you off.

You don’t have anything you need with you because you hadn’t planned on spending the night. It’s usually impossible to sleep without your overnight essentials but you’re honestly so exhausted you think you could fall asleep standing up. 

“Don’t feel like you have to,” he adds when he senses your hesitation. 

“No, I want to,” you assure him. “I just wasn’t expecting to have a sleepover so I don’t have any of my things.”

“I have an extra toothbrush,” he supplies helpfully, like that’s the only thing that could have been preventing you from making a decision. 

You smile, trying not to laugh. “Thank you, that’d be great.”

He smiles back. “Anything for you.”

this was something kind of different but i hope you liked it bestie <3 can't wait to hear your thoughts i love youuuu

[juniemunie]

was playing deltarune and thinking about sansnomaly,,,

rip kris having to deal with this delulu

[screamingintothestarss]

dark blue

summary: you’re hurting, and you don’t know if you can let hunter in

pairing: hunter x reader

rating: mature (17+)

warnings: mentions of drinking and alcohol, drunkenness, mentions of vomiting, angst, hurt with comfort, heavy feelings, kissing, non-explicit descriptions of sexual intimacy, mature themes in general, mutual pining, swearing, reader kinda sucks with emotions

word count: 3.9k

notes: bone apple teeth! dies

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Your arm hangs over the tub's porcelain edge, beads of water streaking down the skin like rain. Bubbles and foam have long dissolved, yet you remain uncomfortably unmoving, eyes waterlogged and heavy. You don’t know how long you’ve been submerged, your skin beginning to prune and wrinkle much like your demeanor tonight. The weight of your loathing pulls down on your eyes, and you let them slip closed. 

Pulsing lights, loud music, and a mass of writhing bodies replay under your eyelids. Your stomach sours, and the feeling claws up your throat like the drink you tossed back two hours ago. A drunken holo, strong hands, and the heady scent of him remind you of why you’re even here. You sink further down into the tub, hoping that somehow the water will wash away your guilt.

You hiss as a raw ankle brushes along the bottom; you’d figured those strappy heels weren’t a good idea, but it didn’t feel that way at the time. You had a good time, you think. You had a good time, but the tears streaming down your face held their own narrative. You let out a choked sob, but before you can consider pulling it together, a gentle knock at the door has you reeling.

“Are you okay?” Hunter’s voice comes through muffled from behind the door. His tone is dripping with worry, and the knot in your stomach tightens. 

Are you okay? The question hangs over your head like a forbidden fruit, daring you to bite. You want to sink your teeth in and spill your guts–to tell him that you're not okay and that you need him, that you want-

He calls your name, and you hear his hand settling on the door's console. His concern nearly breaks your heart.

A scratchy "fine" is all you can muster. You're trying to hold the pieces of yourself together, all jagged and misshapen, but your hands are beginning to bleed. 

You can still feel him hovering behind the door, the air heavy enough to cut through. You can’t trust yourself to say anything else. 

He knows he’s hovering; he knows that you know he’s hovering. He shouldn’t be, though. He should be giving you the space you need right now, not rolling a question in between his teeth. He swallows it, choosing to leave you be, and pads back over into the living room.

A holomovie plays on the television, but he pays it no mind. 

I'm losing it, he thinks, brown-grey eyes flitting towards the bathroom door every few seconds. His hands unconsciously twirl a pen in between deft fingers, senses on the cusp of overload. Normally the thought of you filled him with something warm and saccharine, like a blanket wrapped around his heart. But now, with you being in the state that you're in, he can't help but feel prickly and uncomfortable. 

He'd been asleep when he got the call, eyes glossed over, squinting over a blue comlink. Your slurred voice and drunken divulgences had him vertiginous, chest cracking open and hands all clammy. You hadn't spoken to each other since the misunderstanding, as you had put it, from two weeks ago. You said that you wanted your space, and he respected that. 

Now, he wanted nothing more than to just hold you. He's staring at the door, he realizes, unconsciously listening for any sign of you. 

He's your Jedi Knight; your protector. Without a doubt, he'd go to war for you, hands all filthy and bloodied and split if it meant yours could remain clean. 

It was also why he felt like utter shit when he pulled up to the bar to see you slumped over inside a comm booth. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Fuck," he breathes, clambering out of his speeder and making his way to you. He swears he's never moved faster in his life, the cuffs of his jeans dampening from each wet slap of his boots on the pavement. He approaches the glass doors, and his eyes focus on your watery form. The tendons in his heart snap. 

Your face is ruddy and sticky with sweat, strands of hair clinging to your forehead like a halo. A pretty dress is smattered with stains, no doubt from a drink, or drinks, that you'd likely spilled on yourself. Tears streak your face, taking what was left of your makeup with them.

You're a mess.

Without hesitation, he hooks his arm under your knees and uses the other to support your back. He shifts on his weight, and your cheek lazily slumps against his firm chest.

"I've got you," he breathes. "I've got you." 

His steps are careful, calculated. Like a painter unveiling his masterpiece, he cradles you with reverence. He lays you down gently in the backseat, sliding his jacket down strong arms and draping it over your pretty figure. Calloused fingers brush away the wisps of hair stuck to your face, and you begin to stir.

Your head lolls to the side, and a choked groan rolls out of your throat. You feel like a hammer is cracking down against your skull, a poisonous rhythm that has you almost spilling the contents of tonight on rubber floor liner. 

Hunter scrambles to the middle console, plucking a bottle from the cupholder. You feel a familiar hand on your arm, calm and inviting; the opposite of how you're feeling right now. His warmth is the eye of your storm, and you're craving more. 

"Hey," he rasps, his timbre clattering around in your ears, replacing the loud thump thump thumping of your heart. It's gentle and sweet, and your bleary eyes find his amidst a dark sky and flashing lights. 

"Hunt..." is all you can say, the word clawing its way through your teeth. 

A strong hand slides in between your shoulder blades, and slowly sits you up. The bottle of something is pressed to your lips, and you part them. The liquid runs down your throat; an oasis in a desert, it brings you back to life. 

"I'm gonna take us home, okay?"

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Home. Even inebriated, his words had nearly knocked you flat on your ass. This wasn't your home, it was his. You were sitting in his bathtub, in his bathroom: in his home. 

He opened himself up to you in ways you didn't think possible; you held the keys to his heart, locked the door, and ran. 

You wanted to. You wanted to tell him that you loved him too. He was so sure, so hopeful that the stars had aligned it for you both. He was so sure that your souls had woven themselves together, an intricate tapestry of adoration and understanding no saber could cut through. Maybe the seams weren't strong enough.

Your watery reflection stares back at you, and your lungs constrict.

You can't do this.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You open the door, a cloud of hot steam following you as you pad towards the living room. Hunter had given you one of his shirts and a pair of shorts to wear, and the fabric clings awkwardly to your frame.

Hunter sits on the sofa, pretending to watch the TV. 

"Didn't know you had a thing for fixer-uppers," you tease. Your heart's not in it, but you want to break through the tension somehow. You miss the way he takes a breath before facing you.

You're fully clothed, yet you feel so naked in front of him. You want to cover up, throwing a flustered “Get out!” over your shoulder whilst you find something to conceal your vulnerability with.

Like a moth to a flame, his eyes are drawn to your light. You're swallowed by his shirt and his shorts, and it all begins to feel so domestic. He can't help it, letting his mind wander into uncharted territory–a thick jungle of things said and unsaid. Maybe he could've woken up to the sight of you in it, your face squished into plush pillows, serene as ever. Maybe he could've wrapped his arms around you, bunching the fabric up to your waist, tracing the sultry curve of thigh. He'd take care of you, love you the way you needed, the way you deserved.

Maybe he could've been something more to you.

You're melting under his gaze, white-hot electricity coursing through your veins. Your mouth opens.

"I'm-"

"Hey, I-"

You both speak at the same time; your lips clamp shut, and he does the same. He stares at you, silently begging you to say something. You take the hint.

"I'm sorry." The words feel like sandpaper on your tongue, the grit of your guilt spilling over. Every nerve in your body is lit ablaze, and you're too wrecked to snuff them out. 

Like a child who's been caught with their hand in the cookie jar, you want to run. You're looking this way and that, arms self-soothingly folded over your torso. You rock on the balls of your feet, unsure what to do with yourself.  

He sighs, thick and heavy. "Do you know what could've happened to you?" 

The implications are all there. Maker knows what could've happened had you not dialed his number. And you knew it. 

You're quiet. You don't know what else to say; what else is there to say?

Wordlessly, he pads over to you, his familiar warmth spreading across your shoulders and leading you toward the sofa. He sits you down, and it's frustratingly gentle.

"Are you hungry?" 

"No." The word darts through your teeth quicker than you expect, and it makes you wince. 

He chuckles at that. "Liar."

You let out a small laugh through your nose, breezy and cool. He'd always been able to read you; his senses were always keen when it came to you, and you swore he knew you better than you knew yourself at times. Like some sort of omniscient deity, he could see right through you, cutting through all the weeds and all the bullshit. 

But you couldn't handle that right now.

He's in the kitchen, making a sandwich, you think. You laugh to yourself, it's tight, but the thoughts of him stumbling around in the kitchen make you a little warmer. 

He'd always been a terrible cook, fumbling around everywhere and making a mess of himself. He was like a rancor in a china shop, utter destruction following in his wake. He'd given up on trying to learn, and you'd given up on trying to teach him. 

You tentatively turn towards the open kitchen, and then you're staring. Your eyes trace over his features; like a painter studying his muse, you note every detail, every stroke of the brush you'd need to make. Deep brown eyes are hyper-focused, framed by long brown locks curling down to his shoulders, a red bandana holding it all together. A strong aquiline nose crests over a chiseled face and stubbled jaw; maker, he was beautiful. 

You assumed he was a bit of a player when you first met; a lethal combo of face and body that left a string of holo-frequencies scrawled onto sticky notes and a series of romantic escapades; and maybe you were right. He'd been in and out of bedrooms before, maybe in search of the same thing you were: but you didn't even know what that was yet. 

You got to know him, peeling back all the layers and fluff and stripping him down to the core. You realized just how wrong you had him. He was always a gentleman, a gemstone in the dirt. He never played games or messed around for the hell of it; he was real. You weren't used to that.

Maybe it's why the pool of regret in your stomach swallowed you whole tonight, leaving you with a bruised ankle and a stained dress. 

You slump against plush cushions, heart heavy and mind spasming. You're tired in every sense of the word, the gears in your head creaking to a halt; you've got no juice left. 

Hunter returns from the kitchen, handing you a homemade sandwich and a bag of chips. 

"Thank you," you tell him. You don't think you've ever been more thankful for someone. He smiles at you, and it's warm–something you'd wrap in foil and save for later.

"Of course." He says it like it's obvious. Obvious that he'd be there for you when you needed him; he always was. 

He sits beside you on the sofa stealing shy glances at your side profile, and it hurts him. It hurts knowing that you would never want him in the way that he wanted you. He'd remain on the backburner then, starting the gas and keeping you warm if that's what you wanted. 

You catch him staring at you, and you stare right back. He knew you, but you'd argue you knew him better. His eyes are trying to tell you something, and that knot in your stomach returns. 

He wants to talk about it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You stare into the dark blue of the sky, cool and vast like the deep end of a pool; you want to dive in and drown in it. Stars are all smattered against the surface as if someone had flicked a paint brush against it, and you try to reach up and grab one.

"Not getting lost up there are you?" a voice says to your right, and you nearly jump ten feet in the air.

"Shit-!"

"M'sorry," Hunter laughs, and it instantly dissolves your annoyance. "Was gonna ask if you were ready to go?" His eyes flash down on you, and you're beginning to get lost in hues of brown and gold.

You shake your head, trying to clear it of cobwebs and butterflies before you answer. "Yeah," you breathe. "You made reservations, right?" "

"Yeah, ten o'clock." 

Then you're staring at each other. Something in the air shifts, and you both know it. These little moments you've had with each other were happening more often; like the steady drip of water in a bucket, you'd walked away for a second, and now it's on the brink of overflow. 

The woody scent of his cologne fries your senses, and you try to keep your eyes from shamelessly ravaging his form. 

But Hunter's unabashed, unshameful without remorse. His eyes flit up and down your curves, taking in how your dress hugs you in all the right places.  You playfully slap his arm.

"Quit that!" But you don't mean it, a smile spreading across your face like butter. 

He meets your eyes again, and he doesn't hear you call his name over the thumping of his heart. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, your line cast.

"Hunter?" His name falls from your lips again, and he's just staring; your presence alone is a siren's call, and he's about to end up floating in the depths below. 

He has to do this, he thinks. He's been waiting for the perfect time, an opportunity to give himself over to you; to tell you how you've infiltrated his very core, molding it into your shape. To tell you how often he thinks of you, his head full of sugar and cotton and everything you.

 The tick tick tick of the clock is winding down, and he's falling behind. 

"Hunt-"

"I love you!”

You're frozen. The fire lit in your belly is put out cold, and now you're left shaking. 

Fuck.

The words don't sit in your stomach right, twisting and turning and gnawing at you as they settle to the bottom. They wrap themselves around your neck and squeeze. His confession shouldn't be coming as a surprise to you; the signs were always there, big bold letters and all: I love you.

You hold onto the balcony railing in an attempt to ground yourself. A hand cools the white-hot grip you have on the metal bars.

"Are you okay?" His voice is worried–terrified, even. He fucked up. The timing was all wrong; he should've told you sooner, or later. Maybe he was being selfish, unfairly assuming your heart did rounds in your ears when you were around him. Maybe he-

"I can't do this." Your voice comes out creaky and broken, and Hunter feels his chest cave in. 

He feels awful, the kind that leaves you with cracked ribs and a broken jaw. He took a risk, diving into those dark depths, and ended up being pulled straight under. 

But he was so sure.

He does what does best; he comforts you. Large palms caress your shoulders as they begin to shake, the weight of his words settling in the gaps. 

"I'm so sorry," he's telling you, and it's so soft and sincere it has you heaving. "I'm sorry…I never meant to hurt you." 

That seals it, and you're sobbing even harder: all hot tears and a snotty nose. 

You're no stranger to hurt. You'd tried your hand at relationships before, throwing darts at the board until something stuck. You'd accounted for the grit and grime: the song and dance of trying to love someone else, except you had two left feet. Once the music stopped, you'd turn over, your partner long gone. 

And so you buried the dartboard along with everything else, packing it away into the dirt like cement, and walked away. 

And then he came along.

All charm and smolder, sweeping you off of your feet with ease. You both were like magnets; there was no push and pull, no tugging on a rope or trying to keep him tethered, he was always drawn to you. He understood you, believed in you. He introduced you to his brothers and sister, giving you a family of your own; something to always keep close to your heart. 

And you didn’t want to lose that.

Love just erodes things, in your eyes. 

“Just go.” It comes out defeated, pathetic. A boulder in your throat, you’re barely able to say the words, much less to him. You do what you do best: run away. 

He can’t be hearing you correctly. He lets go of you, much to his chagrin, and steps away. A strong jaw locks–petrified. He’d planted the seeds of you in his heart, and you’d ripped them out by the root. Your words clatter around in his head, but he reigns them in and takes a good look:

This isn’t you. 

“What’s going on?” He says it as gently as he can, like soothing a wounded animal, he doesn’t want to scare you away any more than he already has. 

You can’t look him in the eye. Bile edges on your teeth and your next words come out venomous: “I don’t want to do this with you.”

Yes, I do.

“Just leave me alone-”

Please don’t go.

“I just can’t-”

I will, for you.

Like a child learning to speak, your words trip and tumble over themselves. There’s too much to say, that grime still under your fingernails. How do you articulate two years of pain? You feel him stepping closer to you, and that gnawing urge to flee at the base of your skull chews into your brain. Rough palms curl around your arms, and he turns you around so that you’re facing him. He stares into watery red eyes and feels his heart split. He doesn’t want to be selfish; he’s far from that, but he just needs to know–to understand what all of this meant to you. But he needs to check in on you first; like he always has. 

“Tell me what’s wrong…please?” He’s pleading with you, and you feel sick. You know you’re pushing him away, culling peonies and roses, and leaving nothing but dirt. You meet his eyes: brown, gold, and gray. 

He bristles as if caught off guard, but he recovers just as quickly. His lips part, the question practically hanging out of his mouth.

“Are you afraid?”

You shut down after that. He tries to reel you back in, but you sever the line. He begs you for an answer, an explanation, but you can’t give him one even if you want to. Push and pull, push and pull; you tell him that you want your space, and leave him alone on that balcony. He shatters, and you step on the jagged pieces as you walk away. 

He stares up into the sky, that vast dark blue, stars reflecting in teary hues of brown and grey. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“I know you said you wanted to be left alone, but I just-”

“I am.” You interject; like the waves on Kamino, your voice rolls out uneasy and turbulent. He’s giving you a quizzical look, and you purge your head of cotton. “Afraid, I mean.”

He’s staring at you, or rather into you, silently begging you to continue. You swallow.

“I don’t…I don’t know how…” 

You grow hot, anxiety settling uncomfortably in your stomach like a bad meal. You’re meeting his eyes, and it takes everything in you not to break down into tears. Every fiber of your being is telling you to run, to wave a white flag, and scream “I surrender!” But you don’t. Not this time.

“I know that I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be honest, or give you a reason why. I’m sorry that I left you alone, and I’m sorry that you had to save my ass tonight. And I’m so sorry that I made you feel like you didn’t matter to me because you do.” You’re sobbing at this point, and you feel him envelop you, all warmth and compassion, but you keep going, spilling your guts into his shoulder. 

“I’m scared, Hunter. Scared that if I tell you I love you too, you won’t be there when I roll over in the morning.” You break through the dirt and the grime and the weeds, telling him what sat heavy on your chest for the past two weeks. Cutting through the vines and underbrush, you find your flowers, and pick one just for him. 

“I love you, Hunter.” 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He’s got an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his orbit. You cradle his cheek, hard and defined, and it fits so perfectly in your palm. You start tracing his features with your thumb, saving every bump, dip, and hollow in your memory–locking it away in your heart. 

Clothes are strewn around the room from the heat of your passion; you told him loved him, and he decided to show you how much he loved you. There was a warmth building up inside of him, and he wanted to share it with you.

You’re naked, but in a way feels good, in the way that gives you hickies and butterflies. He’s streaked by hues of dark blue, and you can’t help but think of the night sky: bold, bright, and beautiful. He’s beautiful. You press soft lips to his forehead, and he unconsciously pulls you closer. 

Your heart swells with gratitude; after all of it, he stuck by you. Had the roles been reversed, you knew that he would’ve never left you alone on that balcony, reaching into the stars by yourself. He pried open your ribs, searching for your heart when you couldn’t do it yourself. He saw you bleeding and carved out pieces of himself to patch you up with. You close your eyes, and the only thing behind them are pictures of both of you.

He’s still there when you roll over in the morning.