#shakes my box. shakes it and rattles it

[zillyeh]

i miss my fantrolls :(

[arbiterlexultionis]

Alfred: goes rouge

Bruce and half the batfam: Whelp, Guess I’ll Die.

The other half of the batfam: “if your going evil, can I kill the joker?” “And can I kill Ra’s?” “And can I kill the joker?” “What about the frruitloop? Fair game?” “And can I kill the joker?”

Alfred, loading the ol’ trench-broom with Grand-Fatherly intent: “Why do you think I’m going evil?”

“Wait, but if they kill the joker, then I can’t kill the joker.”

“That’s why we’re going after Ra’s first. Lazarus pits do have their uses after all.”

Alfred's Boy: Part 2

Bruce felt his blood pressure rise as Damian shoved another pair of swimming trucks into his cart. His youngest insisted that he needed something flattering, as his previous outfit was "functional but not attractive to the youth of today."

Damian had never cared that he wasn't up to the trends, but that was before Danny moved into the manor. Now he had to wait hours for Damian to find a satisfying outfit, knowing darn well its only because Danny mentioned he was interested in taking a dip in the inner pool.

The boy, technically being staff, felt it was essential to ask permission before taking a swim. Bruce had spent years telling Alfred he had free range over the manor, only to always have the man ask before doing anything. He hopes Danny won't develop the same habit.

He wanted the young man to feel at home with them.

His younger children- who honest to God forgot they even had a pool- had all scrambled to go swimming with Danny. Tim had practically thrown himself over the table to change from his WE suit into his swimming wear, Duke use his grappling hook to zoom up the stairs and Steph begged Cass to lend her a bikini.

Damian remained seated, despairing that his old swimming shorts had been bought by Dick the year previous. Dick had gotten him green shorts with little cats and dogs. Damian- who refused to even go near public pools- wore them to the family pool with no desire to purchase new ones since he saw no point in it.

And now he was paying the price for keeping childish wear. Personally, Bruce thought they were adorable and perfect for his fourteen-year-old son, but being two years younger than Danny gave him a terrible disadvantage, and Damian could not afford falling futher behind.

He just sat there, staring longingly at the retreating back of Alfred's assistant after telling him he had nothing to wear. Danny had told them he could join the rest another time before scurrying away to finish his cleaning of the right wing.

What else could Bruce do besides offering to take him to the nearest outlet mall and get him something nicer?

"Damian are you almost-"

"I am ready, father. Make haste to purchase our wears. Daniel must be finishing his duties, and I wish to get back." His son announced, yanking the cart out of Bruce's hand and practically running to the cashiers.

Bruce sighed.

It's not that he minded his son's crush on a boy or that it was Danny. It just felt like he shouldn't be encouraging his children to try and romance someone going through a lot.

Alfred had forbidden anyone from looking into Danny's background, and he had respected the request. There was a lot Bruce and Batman were willing to do but defying a direct order from Alfred was not one of them.

(Honesty, if Alfred ever turned evil, Bruce's contingency plan for him was simple: Die.)

Danny took his assistant butler job very seriously. Often wearing a neat and pressed suit, finishing his work in record time, well mannered and very intelligent but kept a distance from the family. Alfred also had a small wall of professionalism but he would crack a joke and be in their presence like a grandfather.

Danny only spoke when spoken to, tried to refrain from being notice and basically kept the reminder that while he liked them all he was always going to be a employee first and foremost.

Maybe it was due to his parents? Danny probably couldn't relax until he felt safe once more. Not for the first time, Bruce wondered what type of monsters the Fentons had to be to make a boy capable of discovering the Batcave without so much of a blink, flatter.

"Father!" Damian called impatiently, tapping his foot before the nervous-looking teen who what been attempting to ring him up.

The Wayne's made everyone nervous.

"Yes. Yes. Here put It on my card-" Damian snatched it out of his hand before Bruce even took it out completely from his wallet.

Suddenly his phone rings. Seeing that Damian could handle punching in the Pin, he accepted the call, not bothering to check the screen.

All his children have personalized ringtones, so only one person would cause Gun and Ships from the Hamilton musical to blare from his phone.

"Jason-"

"Bruce!" Jason yells in a wheezing voice "Tim almost drowned!"

What.

"Is he alright!?"

"He's fine!" Jason assures, voice breaking to manic cackling. "He's just really embarrassed. He forgot about the bruise on his back, so when he tried to do cannonballs with Danny, he cramped up. Danny had to help him out of the pool and then lectured him about jumping in the deep end because of peer pressure. He thinks Tim can't swim, Bruce!"

Bruce felt a headache building behind his eyes. "Jason-"

"Wait, wait, there's more! Do you know how Steph never wears bikinis because she is uncomfortable? Danny clocked that as soon as she walked in and offered her the old t-shirt he was wearing. Took it off right then and there, and do you know what Steph did!? She walked into a wall! A wall Bruce!"

"Jason-"

"Duke hasn't stopped staring at Danny. I think his brain is in a permanent blue screen. I'm actually thinking he's-"

"Jason!" Bruce cut in which finally seemed to get his second oldest attention. Don't get him wrong, he was thrilled that Jason was spending so much time around the manor but the constant updates on his children tripping over themselves for Danny was not well for his heart. "I think you need to make sure your siblings give Danny some space. The poor chum might not be comfortable-"

"I'm not helping you stop Danny from finding true love, old man"

Bruce rolled his eyes as his son hung up. He can't wait for school to start up again. Danny will be homeschooled by his own request and Alfred's agreement but at least most of his kids will not be around him as often.

His phone started playing Sk8er Boy and he considered not answering. He really did but honestly his son probably needed him.

With a sigh he presses the accept call button "Tim-"

"He thinks I can't swim Bruce! He banned me from the pool!" Tim sobs and Bruce sees Damian perk up, happy Danny had put distance between one of his suitors ans himself.

Was it too late to ask Alfred if he was sure his contact Clockwork had no where else to foster Danny?

Being Batman on the night all his rouges broke out was easier then this.

( Part 1) (part 3)

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

another childhood friends to lovers believer???? YES YES YES!!!! can i please request bakugou and reader moving in together, and reader shows him a memory box she's kept since they were kids...like photos, random trinkets he got her, pressed flowers, birthday cards...and he's like one second away from bursting into tears, because this is 2 decades worth of love (and many more to come) 😭🥹💗 thank you, mwah x 💖

memory box !

you take a trip down memory lane..

a/n : OH. MY GOD. I literally Had to write this this is genuinely adorable anon you are SMACKING. i lub this

cw: literally all fluff, CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TORAGAHAHEHG, katsuki gets emotional quickly and i live by this, lmk if i missed sum !

“oi !” katsuki calls out from behind you “do i throw this out or not ?”

you look back, only to see a little red box in his hands. your little red box.

you shoot up, dropping the clothes you were stacking in your shared dresser. “no, don’t!” you reach out and hold your arms up, katsuki looks even more confused, eyebrows furrowing harder.

he shakes your box around, bringing his ear to it to hear the rattling and clinking of the objects inside. “what the hell is in this thing ?”

“don’t shake it around like that !” you shriek, ripping the box out of your boyfriend hands and leaving him shocked. you smile to yourself, slowly sitting down on the wooden floors of your new apartment. your new apartment with katsuki.

“i never actually showed you this, huh.. ?” you watch as he follows you after a moment of looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, crouching down next to you with eyes fixed on your little shoe box. you remove the lid and immediately a sense of nostalgia shoots through you, you hadn’t looked at this for a while now.

“this is my memory box, i’ve had it for years.. i think since i was..what, seven ?” you wonder out loud, you’d definitely had it for a long, long time. katsuki sits next to you silently while you excitedly look through it.

“oh yeah, definitely seven—look this is the friendship bracelet i made for us !” you exclaim excitedly. it’s definitely more than a bit worn, that was the main reason you put it in this box, it was the first item you’d put in there.

you’d made one for you and one for katsuki, using your precious loom band box set you’d gotten for christmas. you’d used up all of your orange and black for it and worn yours until it started fraying. you almost cried when one of the bands snapped and you’d gotten too big for it, or it had just gotten too little for you. you refused to throw it away and found a random empty shoe box to put it in, and the rest was history.

“oh, and these are left over tickets from when we went to the fair, my keychain you got me from the aquarium—i remember you begged your mom for it.” you laugh, begged was an understatement. you remember how mitsuki pulled him away because he was causing a scene, you didn’t understand why he was so insistent on getting a souvenir, you had a good day as you all walked around looking at fish and katsuki dragging you around by the hand like he built the place himself. you remember how excited he got when you got to the shark exhibit.

you didn’t get it, until he stopped you when you were ready to leave with your own parents, grabbing you by the back of your shirt and avoiding your gaze as he stretched his little arms out and wordlessly offered you a little penguin keychain, mumbling something about how you looked happy when you saw them, ears pink while his mom smirked behind him, his father smiled down at you both kindly.

that was the first present he’d ever bought for you. with his mom’s money of course, you giggle at your own thoughts. but he’d still gotten it for you because he thought it’d make you happy. it was your treasure and you wore it on your bag for years until it started getting dirty, and you’d hid it in your shoebox to keep it safe.

you suddenly realize your boyfriend’s been awfully unlike himself for the past few minutes, silently blinking at the contents of your box and now at your little keychain.

you suddenly feel a bit self conscious, maybe he thought it was weird..

you blink in surprise when he reaches for your penguin chain and you offer it to him. it’s a bit brownish now, having lost its shine over the years. he runs his thumb over the fuzzy faux fur.

“thought you forgot about this..” he mumbles to himself.

your eyes shoot wide. “wha—no way ?!”

“ya stopped wearing it on your bag so i thought you got rid of it.” he doesn’t look angry, simply observing the chain, letting it dangle in the air.

“i just didn’t want it to get any dirtier than it clearly already is” you joked. you’re in deep now, shuffling around for more items in your box. katsuki joins you this time, pulling out an old picture.

“holy shit.” he breathes. you catch a peek at what he’s looking at only to see the both of you.

“woah, we were so small !” you giggle. it was a picture of your grade school entrance ceremony. you remember katsuki stubbornly refusing to take it and it took his mom about ten minutes to get him to stay put and take the shot. you’re all smiles, waving at the camera like you’d been instructed to and gripping katsuki’s hand. said little boy had an angry, angry frown on his face, sticking his tongue out at the camera.

“you’re cheeks were huge.” you laugh, katsuki sits down properly to nudge your shoulder with a huff. “shaddup,” he says, though there was no real bite to his words. “you weren’t any better than me.” you laugh some more and continue to pull things out. “where’d you even get this ?” he asks.

“your mom gave me a copy.”

“fuckin—of course she did.”

there’s a blurry picture you’d managed to take of katsuki when you’d gotten your first polaroid camera, and some pictures from when you’d convinced him to get in a photo-booth from your first date at the fair. dozens of birthday cards he’d written for you, you’re tempted to read them all right now but you worry katsuki might get embarrassed and actually throw the box out, so you’ll do that later.

the flowers he’d plucked out of the ground one random afternoon at his house, a rock he'd given you because it looked cool, a couple of seashells you found at the beach together, a dried up four leaf clover he claimed would bring you good luck, the container of the lip balm you were wearing when he kissed you for the first time. years worth of memories all in your little shoebox.

“fuck, you really kept all this stuff..” you hear katsuki mutter. you turn to see him still with that elementary school picture in hand, staring at it thoughtfully.

“course i did.” you hum, leaning against his side. “i spent all of my childhood with you suki, that’s unforgettable to me. i wanted to make sure i wouldn’t ever forget how much you mean to me.” katsuki’s eyes fix yours as you continue talking. and you realize how they slowly turn glossier. he realizes when you do and quickly ducks his head, scoffing to himself but a sniffle slips out.

“hey..” he shakes his head, you don’t continue, only reaching to hold him in your palms. he shoves his cheek against one, chuckling to himself.

“shush.” he mutters, voice cracking, his eyes remain shut to not let anything slip. he presses a kiss to your skin, grabbing at your wrist. "you're gonna be the fuckin' end of me, y'know ?" you laugh, rubbing your thumb against his skin, you feel him sigh against your palm.

"love you."

you smile "i love you too" you whisper back. "so, you still wanna throw it out ?" you joke, katsuki's eyebrows furrow.

"fuck, no." he asserts "it's staying here, an' i'll give you more shit to fill it up with."

and you truly couldn't be more excited, starting a new chapter of your life with the boy that had shared it all with you. you want your shoe box to be filled to the brim with more and more memories of you both, all of them just as close to your heart as the last.

"hmm," you hum "can't wait."

taglist :

@napbatata @andysdrafts @queenpiranhadon @jastoo46 @cecelia77

@katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba

@moonshuul @erenstitanweave @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam

@aspiringwriter1111 @sugurusmoon @redvelvetstan1

@niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia

[suppose-i-was-worm]

Takeout Box

** this came to me in a fever dream and now y'all have to read it too**

Jason wasn’t entirely sure what to do. There was a large cardboard box on his doorstep, and not only was it faintly glowing green, it was also rattling and making muffled noises. He considered the possibility of Ivy, Harley, and Selina dropping off a box of feral cats, but surely they wouldn’t target Jason “Peters”, right?

With most strange doorstep boxes, he might have called for backup immediately. In fact, he ought to call for this box, especially with the sticky note on top. “Caution- May Bite”

It couldn’t be a bomb, what with the shaking and the noises.

Jason’s ears caught the sounds of his next door neighbor moving around their apartment, and he made up his mind. He could call the other bats after the suspicious box was out of the open.

With great care, he slipped on his oven mitts (better safe than sorry) and gingerly began pulling the box inside. It was heavier than he’d been expecting, but not more than he could handle by himself, which he thanked some unseen deity for. The movement stilled to a whisper almost as soon as the first edge of the box cleared the doorway, and the noises also calmed down some.

Once he’d gotten the box far enough into the apartment to close the door, he began circling it, looking for more identifying markings. He found himself sorely disappointed- the only visible symbols belonged to the note.

Three distinct knocks sounded from the box, nearly scaring Jason out of his skin.

“Hello?”

Three knocks again.

“Is someone- in there?”

Three knocks, more urgent this time.

Well. Fuck.

“Okay, okay, just, be still a moment?”

Carefully, one hand still protected by an oven mitt, Jason dug out a knife and slid it shallowly through the tape holding the box together. With the other hand he reached into his pocket for his phone to tap out an emergency code.

At least one bat would be coming through his window within fifteen minutes, and Jason could hold out until then if the person was hostile, but he wasn’t leaving someone trapped in a box.

He pulled the flaps open to reveal not one, but two dark haired children bound and gagged, curled up around each other. The one on the left growled a little around the gag, only for the other one to bump purposefully into them in reproach.

“Holy shit.”

Crap. No. Cursing around kids was bad. Bad Jason.

In a stroke of stupidity, he reached down and undid the gag on the growly one first, only to find sharp teeth digging into his hand after he pulled the piece of cloth away.

“Hey! No, stop that! Fuck, kid, I’m trying to help!”

The other kid made a small noise, and Bitey let go. Jason grimaced, but moved so that he could undo the other gag.

Calm took several deep breaths once the gag was off, and Jason wondered how, exactly, the kids had been breathing up until he opened the box. Their noses hadn’t been covered, but- Cardboard boxes were not conducive to breathing.

Instead of asking questions, Jason busied himself untying the kids, taking care not to let his hands go near Bitey’s mouth again. He figured he could ask questions while he found all the knots.

“So- what’s your story?”

Calm snickered.

“You’re bad at this.”

With a shrug, Jason tugged another knot loose. He didn’t want to use a knife this close to the kids. Kids were wiggly, right?

“Well, pardon me for not expecting a pair of kids at my front door.”

“I’m Danny and she’s Ellie. We were told that we’d find family here.”

“Who told you that?”

Now that the two were free, they looked at each other. Bitey- no, Ellie, was the first to speak up.

“CW did. Just so you know, no returns or refunds, the receipt was lost the moment you brought us inside.”

Danny smacked Ellie on the side of the head.

“He doesn’t have to keep us, Ellie. We can find some empty house to live in or something if he doesn’t want to. CW said we just had to live here for a few years, nothing about having a guardian.”

“Danny, we’re eight.”

Jason was about to ask who this ‘CW’ was, but Danny continued planning to live homeless in Gotham.

“We’ll just leave this haunt- you can feel it, he doesn’t want us here. Surely the Lady will shelter us until CW comes to pick us up.”

Ellie reached up to scratch at the back of her neck, and Jason could see a rash blooming on her arm. When he looked over at Danny, who was still muttering about asking for sanctuary in Gotham, the boy also had a flush of red rash spreading across his face.

There must be an allergen in the box.

“Let’s- get out of the box. And get you two wiped down for irritants.”

Danny shrugged and scratched at his own skin.

“It’s your haunt- we can’t be here if you don’t want us here. Well, we can, but it hurts.”

“My apartment hurts you?”

Ellie nodded, sitting on her hands to keep from scratching herself.

“It stopped when you brought the box inside, but- well.”

The two helped each other stand and clamber out of the box. Once they were no longer touching the glowing cardboard, it disappeared, leaving behind the sticky note. Ellie scooped it up, showed it to Danny, who shrugged, and then stuffed it in her mouth.

Jason startled.

“Hey! That’s evidence!”

“Goop now,” said Ellie, still chewing.

Danny took Ellie’s hand and started pulling her towards the door, and Jason could see even more of the bright red rash on the back of the boy’s legs.

“We’ll get out of your hair, Avenger. Sorry to drop in.”

“Danny!”

Ellie dug her heels in.

“It’s safer here! CW said it would be- even,” her voice dropped low, and her eyes darted around a little. “Even Dan said the Avenger would be safe. And if Dan said it-“

Jason decided to circle around and stop the kids before Danny pulled his sister out the door.

“Why would it be safer here with me?”

“Because you’re like us.” Danny and Ellie spoke at the same time.

To Jason’s extreme relief, Nightwing slid in through the window in the apartment kitchen just in time to have heard the kids.

“How is he like you?” Dick was smiling widely, but Jason could see the tension beneath the smile.

“He died and came back different.”

Dick’s smile instantly dropped, and the room went silent. Jason stared at the kids, and the kids stared resolutely back. They hadn’t turned to look at Dick at all, not even when he had spoken.

He could see the rashes start to recede, first from Ellie (sue him, he liked that she bit) and then Danny.

“I’m telling B.”

“Don’t you dare, Dickhead. I’ll tell him he’s got grandkids myself.”

The kids looked at each other and then back up to Jason.

“You’re keeping us?” Ellie’s voice was small, and her tone was different from anything Jason had heard from her so far.

With a firm nod, Jason patted their shoulders, turning them to face inside the apartment instead of the door.

“Sure. Us undead have to stick together, you know?”

[the-californicationist]

he gives great gifts

Price/Reader - TW: remote vibrator, minor female ejaculation

“Hey, love, I’m home,” Price’s voice called out to you, summoning you to the front door. 

He was carrying all of your packages and mail, along with his rucksack, home for the weekend. You took the mail, helping him leave the worries of the day at the door to join you in the kitchen. You were making his favorite, chicken spaghetti, and you just started the oven. 

Your captain sat at the island counter, opening up the mail and sorting out the bills. He kissed you as you walked past him, his mustache tickling your lip and cheek

“Mm,” he moaned, “How was your day?”

“Good,” you smiled, flirting with him, “Missed you, though. How was yours? Any news from Laswell?”

“No, not yet. Still waiting on the intel. Oh, hey, it came!” He lit up, tearing into a small package with his knife.

“What’s that?” You asked over your shoulder, bending to put the chicken in the oven. 

“Bought you an early birthday present. Come see,” he was holding a black box, lifting the lid to reveal the prize inside. 

“John, I thought we said no gifts? What did you… oh, my God. Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” he smiled like he had just won a medal, prideful and obviously chuffed, “...and it has a remote.”

You were staring at a lime green, silicone dildo. It was shaped like a curved smile, one large end for insertion and the other smaller end to be nestled on top of your clit. 

“A remote?” You asked, taking out the toy and feeling its smoothness in your hands. It was lightweight, but very solid. It seemed expensive, well-crafted, and like John had spent way too much money on you, as usual.

It buzzed in your hands, coming alive with a low rumble. It shocked you, and you almost dropped it.

“Oh, my God!” You laughed, “What was that?”

He held up a matching lime green remote. It was small, like a car fob, and it had a few different buttons to choose from. Price’s face was full of mischief,

“Put it in, love.”

“I’m making dinner,” you protested, but you didn’t put it down. 

“So?” He whispered darkly, dragging your hips toward him, kissing you deeply, licking your mouth and leaving little love bites down the side of your neck.

You giggled, smiling sweetly. He made it so easy to give in to him. You sighed,

“Okay, okay. Help me put it in, honey.”

Price put the remote down and slid your pants down to your thighs, pulling your panties down with them. He took the toy from you and opened the little packet of lube that came in the pouch, coating the thick end. He hesitated, slipping his own finger into you first, finding you a little too wet and already turned on. 

He made a face, full of delighted surprise, teasing you,

“Someone’s excited, hm?”

Impatient, he slid the toy into you gently, fitting it at your entrance and pressing it up into you. He pulled it back out again and used it to fuck you for a few strokes, making you moan quietly, leaning forward to steady yourself on his huge forearm. 

“Mm,” he groaned, “You like that, love?”

“Yeah,” you gasped.

He settled it all the way in and made sure the front was in the right place before replacing your panties and your leggings back up around your waist. You kissed him again, and went back into the kitchen to finish up with dinner. 

The excitement of knowing he could control your pleasure was building inside of you. You didn’t see the remote on the countertop, and he was busy recycling the boxes, so you thought you were safe. You leaned down again to check the chicken, and then you almost came out of your skin as the toy came alive inside of you. 

Price was unbothered, pouring a few fingers of whisky into his glass, innocently. He saw you looking at him and smiled knowingly, taking a long swig of the amber liquid into his mouth. You glared, but you needed to put the pasta on to boil. So, you turned back around to grab a pot. 

Inside of you, the toy buzzed, low and rumbling, shaking your clit and rattling against your g-spot in tandem, freezing you in place, riding out the waves of sensation. You struggled to bring yourself back to your task, but you wanted to play along, so you brought the pot over to the sink, panting, trying to work through the blinding pleasure, filling the pot with warm water. You had a few seconds to wait for it to reach the top, so you closed your eyes, reveling in the vibrations. 

You let out a moan, eyes still wrenched shut, hands on either side of the sink. 

“Um, love?” Price interrupted your lust, pointing to the pot which was now overflowing.

“Oh, shit,” you turned off the tap, and managed to pour out some of the water without too much trouble.

However, as you turned to walk it back over to the stove, he turned up the intensity. There was now some sort of… rotation… happening inside of you. It honestly felt like you were being fucked, like a cock was thrusting up into you, punishing your core. You stopped in your tracks, gripping the heavy pot for dear life, moaning in full volume. 

“John!”

Everything stopped. You gasped, your eyes flitting to him immediately. The captain was grinning from ear to ear, drinking his whisky and enjoying the show. He chuckled,

“What is it? You alright?” 

You laughed in short, panting breaths, rolled your eyes at him, and put the pot down to open the pantry for the spaghetti. When you reached for the door handle, the sensations were back, sending bolts of pleasure through your pussy, making your panties damp as you gushed out around the unrelenting dildo. You grabbed the handle tighter, steadying yourself against the frame of the door, resting your body against it, keening like a paid whore. Just as you were about to tumble over the edge, inches away from coming, it stopped again. 

“John Price,” you turned toward him, eyes wild, “You did not just - ”

“I’m starving,” he said casually, not even looking in your direction, pretending to scroll through his phone, “Think you’ll have dinner ready soon, love?”

You groaned, opening the door and reaching for the pasta boxes, waiting for him to click the button again. 

There was nothing. 

You waited in the pantry a little longer, baiting him.

Nothing. Not even a little jiggle. 

You barged out of the pantry, and as soon as he saw you, you were sent to your knees. He’d turned whatever setting it was all the way up. You dropped the pasta boxes, crawling on the floor of the kitchen like an animal, screaming out lurid cries and feeling your thighs tremble from the onslaught. 

“Did you think I would let you hide in there where I couldn’t see you?” His question was delivered with cold cruelty. He had left his seat and was now standing over you, remote in hand, watching you suffer at his feet. You begged for mercy,

“Baby, please, God… I need… oh, fuck!”

“Pick up the pasta. Now,” He commanded you, his voice loud and oppressive.

“John, please,” you clutched at the leg of his jeans, feeling like you were coming in waves and waves and waves. 

He reached down with his empty hand and grabbed you by the hair at the base of your skull, forcing you to look up at him, 

“I said: Pick. Up. The. Pasta.”

“Okay, okay…” You were trying to breathe. You let go of his pant leg and reached for the boxes, feeling your pussy clench around the toy as it fucked the life out of you. 

Your hands were shaking. The dry spaghetti made the sound of cheap maracas, clattering out of the box and splashing in the boiling water. You tried to open the second box, and you couldn’t. Your hands weren’t following your commands.

Price’s eyes bore into you as he stood next to you, watching you come apart under his control. Very casually, he took the box from you, opened it, and handed it back to you. He was breathing hard, as if he, too, was being subjected to the same sensations. 

Unable to stop yourself, you looked down at his cock. It was pressing against his pants, making a perfect outline of itself, hard as a stone. He caught you looking and palmed himself over the top of the fabric, squeezing the head to relieve some of the tension. 

You were practically drooling for him. But, you went back to the meal, putting the other box of pasta in as gently as you could. The way that this toy was fucking you almost reminded you of having John’s fingers in you while he sucked on your clit. The vibrations and steady rocking movements brought you to completion in a way where you couldn’t tell where one orgasm ended and the other began. 

As you turned your back to face Price, he moved toward you, pulling you away from the stove and shoving you up against the countertop. He snaked his hand between your legs and pushed up on the toy, forcing it to fuck you deeper than normally possible, shoving it in you mercilessly. 

“John, I’m going to come, please!”

You came, but it was unique. You felt like you were wetting yourself, coming so hard that fluid was squirting out of you, soaking your panties and leggings, along with John’s invasive hand. 

“Mm, fuck,” he growled in your ear, “Did you just squirt for me? Bloody fucking hell.”

“I don’t…” you couldn’t form coherent thoughts, “I dunno. John, help me, please…”

“Sweet girl, do you need this cock?” he pulled your bottoms down, trapping your knees with them, and held you up by your waist. He turned off the vibrator and tugged it out of you gently. You were so slick that it slid out of you without much resistance. Your pussy was throbbing, flooded with come, and desperate for a familiar sort of relief. 

“Yes, please, God,” you begged, tears in the corners of your eyes. 

“Alright, love,” he let you feel his hot head at your pulsating entrance, ready to sink into you, “It’s alright, I'm here now.”

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

AO3 Link

[triptuckers]

drunk in love - remy lebeau

Request: nope Pairing: remy lebeau x reader Summary: remy is comes home drunk, so you take care of him Warnings: mentions of alcohol, language, mentions of sexual themes/making out but not actually the real thing dont worry, remy being a whiny lovesick puppy, one mention of throwing up but no actual throwing up Word count: 1.7K A/N: currently binge watching x men 97 PLEASE give me more gambit content pls marvel I'm willing to beg you on my knees. based on a screenshot I saw of a comic page. enjoy!

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you're sitting on the couch, reading your book. it's dark outside, and the clock on the wall tells you it's way too late for you to be awake. you weren't a night owl, but this book was just too good. every time you want to put it away, a chapter ends in a cliffhanger. you couldn't bring yourself to close it without finding out what happened next.

the story is so good and you're so focused on it, you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear the door knob rattle.

it was late and remy wasn't home. he went out drinking with some of the other x-men. it wasn't often they were all free and in the same city, so you knew if it did happen, remy would usually stay out til late. not coming home til long after you'd gone to bed already.

you weren't expecting him to come home this early, so you're immediately on guard. slowly, you put your book down and creep closer to the front door. you grab the closest thing you can find to use as a weapon. you don't know how much damage a tissue box could do, but at the very least you could throw it at the intruder and run away.

remy had tried to teach you some self defence tricks in case something happened and he wasn't home, but he was nearly always right there with you, so you never really learned it.

you wish you had paid him more attention now.

as you get closer to the front door, you see a shadow silhouetted against the glass. and then you hear a voice, cursing while trying to open the door.

'merde... why won't this fucking key fit... fuck off...'

you unlock the door and open it. maybe a little too quickly, because remy all but stumbles into you. you barely manage to catch him.

when he looks up at you, he gives you a dazzling smile with his eyes half closed. 'hello, mon amour.' he says.

you laugh softly and roll your eyes as you shake your head. of course he'd stumble home drunk. you already know your evening is far from over when he's like this.

'come on.' you say. 'let's get you inside.'

remy does a spectacularly bad job at getting up. and he's heavy.

'remy.' you say, holding on to him. 'work with me here.'

you manage to get him inside and lock the door again. remy is looking at you with a smile on his face.

'I hadn't expected you back yet.' you say, walking into the kitchen.

remy follows you and grabs one of your hands with both of his.

'I missed you, chéri.' he says, pulling you close and nuzzling his face in your neck.

'we live together, remy. I saw you this afternoon.' you say.

you feel his lips press against the side of your neck. you briefly close your eyes and allow yourself to revel in the feeling. then you gently push him away.

you hear remy whine and turn to see him pout at you.

'you don't love me anymore?' he says.

'of course I do, my love.' you say. 'but you're drunk. you need to drink some water and go to bed.'

you grab a clean glass and walk over to the sink. as you're filling it up with water, you can sense remy's presence behind you. seconds later, you feel his hands on your hips and his chin on your shoulder.

you mange to turn around in his arms and hand him the glass of water.

'drink up.'

'can I get a kiss afterwards?'

you roll your eyes. you don't want to admit you think it's adorable when he's this handsy and affectionate. you would only encourage him and you really meant it: you wouldn't do anything when he's drunk. he'd do the same if the roles were reversed.

'sure, love, you can get a kiss afterwards.'

you have to hold back your laughter as remy's eyes light up and he downs the glass in one go. you smirk and blow him a kiss before he can lean in.

'hey, what the fuck! no fair!' he exclaims, frowning.

'come on.' you say, holding out your hand to him. 'let's go to bed.'

he all but stumbles over his feet in his haste to grab your hand and follow you.

'yeah, let's go to bed.' you hear remy say behind you. you can tell by the tone in his voice you two have different ideas about 'going to bed'.

'to sleep, remy.' you clarify.

he sighs so loudly you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. you smile to yourself, amused at how fast his moods change when he's drunk. and about the fact he's such a love sick puppy when he's had a few. that is, more of a love sick puppy than he normally is. god, he really loves you.

when you get to your bedroom, you motion for remy to sit down on the bed. you kneel down to untie his boots.

'loving this view, mon amour.' comes remy's voice from above you. 'you know I love it when you get on your knees for me.'

'I'm just taking off your boots.'

'sure you are.'

'I am, remy.'

'are you sure?'

'yes, I am sure.'

remy sighs dramatically and lets himself fall back onto the bed. you glance up at him and see how tight his pants are. of course he'd not only be overly affectionate, but also turned on.

you tug off his boots and socks, raising to your feet.

'stand up for me, please.' you say.

remy opens his eyes and smirks at you from his position on the bed.

'now this view, I like.'

'it's literally so late remy, come on, I want to go to bed.'

he takes a hold of the hand you offer him and lets you pull him to his feet. you reach out to undo his belt.

'wow, chéri, buy me dinner first.' remy mumbles above you. you can tell by his quiet voice he's ready to go to sleep but fighting to stay awake. you wonder how much of this he'll remember tomorrow.

after undoing his belt and helping him out of his pants, you tell him to put his arms up so you can pull his shirt over his head. he does what you ask and doesn't even make a flirty comment about it. that tells you his tiredness is really kicking in.

you briefly step away to get a pair of sweatpants and a shirt out of the closet. as you hand them to him, you allow remy to rest his hand on your shoulder as he puts on the pants you've given him. you let your eyes linger on his muscular chest as he puts on the shirt. you really did get lucky with him, even if he can't keep his hands off of you when he's drunk.

you gently guide him to the bed and help him lay down. you get into the bed next to him and feel how remy pulls you closer, burying his face in your neck.

'you will kiss me tomorrow, right?' he mumbles against your skin.

you run your hands lazily through his hair. 'if you aren't hungover as fuck, which I think you will be, then yes, I'll kiss you, my love.' you say.

'oh fuck yes.' he says, making you chuckle softly.

'goodnight, remy.' you say.

'sweet dreams, mon amour.' he says.

just as you expected, remy falls asleep within seconds. you lay there for a while, absently running your fingers through his hair and thinking about how much you love him, before you eventually fall asleep as well.

when you wake up in the morning, your chest feels heavy. you open your eyes to see remy has somehow put his entire body on yours during the night.

you stay like that for a while, until you can no longer deny you really want breakfast.

with some effort, you push remy off of you so you can get up. he's still asleep as you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek.

as you make breakfast, you're softly humming to yourself while you're in the kitchen.

your morning is quiet. you decide to let remy sleep for as long as he wants, maybe it would make his hangover less extreme.

just as you're making your lunch, you hear remy coming down the stairs. he stumbles into the kitchen, grumbling something in thick accented cajun you can't understand.

then he all but leans his entire body weight on you as he's standing behind you.

'why does the world hate me?' he says.

you laugh. 'good afternoon to you too, my love.'

'morning.' he mumbles. 'your voice is so loud, chéri.'

'this is the thanks I get for taking care of your drunk ass last night?'

'sorry. was I being an asshole?'

'no, just the usual. you couldn't keep your hands off of me.'

'you're used to that.'

'I am.'

you turn around. remy wraps his arms around you and drops his forehead to your shoulder.

'is this what dying feels like?' he mumbles.

'no, my love, this is what being extremely hungover feels like.' you say. 'you want coffee?'

'dear god no, the thought of it makes me want to throw up. I'll just lay on the couch.'

'you're so dramatic.' you say, gently taking a hold of his face and holding it in front of you.

remy closes his eyes and leans into your touch. 'this is making me feel better already.'

you lean in and press a kiss to the tip of his nose. when you pull back, he opens his eyes and smiles briefly at you. then he sways a bit on his feet and sucks in a sharp breath.

'still want to kiss me like you said yesterday?'

'oh, mon amour, I think if I stand really still and you don't move, the world stops spinning.'

you laugh at him as he groans, pressing one hand to his forehead. you decide to take it easy for the rest of the day. the two of you alternate between taking naps and you reading your book out loud to him. as the day passes, you can't help but to think that maybe a hungover remy isn't so bad. you secretly love how he refuses to leave your side when he's hungover.

A/N:If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost, steal or translate my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[shojizbae]

Too Sweet

Spencer Reid x reader

It was no secret to the team that you had a sweet tooth. Anytime you walked past an ice cream shop, your eyes lit up with unbridled joy. After a hard case, you always came into the bullpen with a box of sweets. Donuts if you solved a case under five days, Hush Puppies if there was a fallen family, or maybe some Snickerdoodles if there was arson. They were always the same pink bakery boxes with a cellophane window.

Today was no different.

"Good morning!" you signed songed as you skipped into the bullpen and too the right to the kitchen.

"What treats have you cooked up today mama?" Derek rubs his hands as he closes in on the kitchenette

"Oooh, sweets!" Emily smiles and skips over to the counter

"They're macarons."

"Ugh, those nasty almond cookies." JJ giggles as she snoops around the box

"No those are macaroons." I correct and hold a raspberry-pink macron at her. She bites it playfully out of my hand and laughs with me. She wipes the extra creme out of the corner of her lip and thanks me.

"Woah those are delicious." she goes back to her office.

"What diabetes are you giving us today." Hotch tosses a file on the counter as he walks by.

"Pistachio, raspberry, or lemon?" I smack Emily's greedy hand away as he goes back for a fourth and fifth.

"Pistachio." He leans back to look in the box "Those look professional."

"That's what happens when you have an existential crisis and take a baking course while completing your doctorate and feel like no man would ever want to marry a woman with more degrees than 'wifely skills'." You rattle mindlessly

"Well, that was our daily depressing moment of (Y/n)!" Derek chides like a sports announcer.

"Where's Reid?"

"An that's our daily 'first Spencer question' being the tally!" Emily holds a ghost microphone up.

"C'mon,"I put my hands on the counter and leans my hips forward, "I'm not as obsessed as you think I am."

"Oh, just only a little." Emily placates. The two return to their desks to grind through the many stacks of folders. I picked up the box and reorganized the disheveled cookies. I sauntered over to his hunched back. Dr. Reid, my work husband, was mangled over his desk scratching down details of a past case on a legal pad. I sit on the right side of his corner-shaped desk.

"Good Morning Spencer," I chide. He jumps slightly with the high timbre of my voice.

"Uh good morning Agent (L/n)," He clears his throat a few times.

"I made macrons," I held up the box "Would you like one? I made some with lemon, pistachio, and raspberry. Take your pick." I brandish the box once again.

"That's alright I haven't had any real breakfast yet."

"op how about some fake breakfast?" I pick up a light yellow circle and shake it twice in my hand.

"No that's really ok," but before he can protest I force half the cookie past his lips and all that he can mutter out is a disgruntled, mouth-filled groan.

"Did that taste real to you?" He sassily holds up a finger as he chews and swallows.

"That was rude." He states but takes the second half of the treat from my hand and finishes it off. A bit of the filling slings to his lips and I slide my thumb over it

"You've got a little something-" My speech is caught when his brown eyes meet mine. He looks nice below me. His eyelashes are thick but his eye bags drown out his cool amber eyes.

"Sorry," I clear my throat and lean back on the desk. "Would you like some more?"

"Yeah, can I have the pistachio one?" He rolls around on his chair. He takes a bite of the cream-filled delectable. "Woah you have a real knack for this. It's like all the ingredients want to be together. It just takes you to make things right." He gives me that dorky smile and I lose all sense of restraint. I dive in and hold his chin while I kiss him. I pull back with the fear that I stepped out of bounds.

"Come here." He tentatively holds my jaw and his kiss is much nicer than mine. He releases me and I scan between each of his eyes. "You had a little something."

[sleepynoons]

ONLY BY LEE HI – jing yuan (hsr) x gn!reader, modern!au, sfw

genre – fluff, angst word count – ~2,100 warnings – mentions of emotional cheating + divorce synopsis – although it's been years since your divorce, some part of you is still afraid to be in a relationship again. what does it actually mean to love someone, and are you capable of it?

The atmosphere and the situation you’re in are jarring, dissonant, mildly uncomfortable, as if two disjoint parts of your life are colliding. And you’re not that far off the mark – it’s definitely a rare occurrence for a sole employee to be having dinner with their boss. In fact, throughout all of your years working under the same man, you can’t remember a single time the two of you were alone, aside from check-in meetings and project discussions, but those interactions don’t really count because they were all in the office.

You can’t even bring yourself to sip from your beer mug, frosted from condensation, golden bubbles sizzling to the surface and reflecting the glaring lights hanging from the ceiling. You can only watch with a tamed face and bated breath as your boss, in all his suited and charismatic glory, rattles off a list of menu items to the waiter.

“Is that enough?” 

Your boss turns around, gleaming silver ponytail swishing behind him, so that he’s fully facing you when he asks his question.

You simply nod, at which the waiter takes his leave.

Now that there’s only the two of you, you wonder how awkward this dinner will turn out to be. You’re not the most vocal, and even if you were, you don’t particularly care for or have the talent to come up with small talk. But it seems that worry's speedily addressed because your boss, with his large hands yet stealthy fingers, hums as he begins to pick away at the pickled vegetables and roasted peanuts with his chopsticks.

He just munches and snacks, until there’s none left in his dishes, and you push your small plates towards him.

“Are you sure you don’t want any?”

You shake your head, and with a delighted chirp of thanks, he quickly chows through your portions as well.

Compared to your quiet booth, the rest of the restaurant is boisterous and rowdy. You can hear the karaoke rooms at the back, drunken singing and screaming bleeding through wooden walls, and the parties sitting around – families, couples, friend groups – are cracking jokes, nagging at each other about table manners, dropping utensils. Clearly, this place is more suited for celebratory events or just a good time, but definitely not for business operations.

The comedy of your current circumstances only compounds. Actually, upon reflection, it's hitting you that this last week of your life has been laughable in a pitiable, disorienting way. 

Around this same time last week, your boss had called for an emergency team meeting before everyone clocked out, none other than to ask for a volunteer to accompany him on a last-minute business trip and work overtime during Christmas. Of course, no one, including yourself, wanted to, especially given the risk of the trip being extended due to the weather. However, unlike your coworkers, you didn’t have an excuse other than the fact that you wanted to stay home, eat junk food, and binge-watch dramas. After all, they all had romantic dates to go on or family gatherings to attend to, and you didn't, especially after your divorce.

You could feel the side glances, the shuffling of feet, the unanimous holding of breaths in the conference room, and you waited for three more long, torturous seconds before you finally sighed and raised your hand to opt for the position. The only good thing that came out of that was your boss' gleaming smile, solely directed to you.

You bitterly complained about the meeting to your work friend afterwards.

“We don't usually eat on my floor. What's going on?”

You looked over your shoulder to see your work friend, Fu Xuan, walk over and take a seat beside you, setting down her lunch box and a plastic bottle of green tea onto the table.

You glanced around, making sure no one else was present. When the coast seemed clear, you leaned close to her ear.

You muttered, “Just tired of all the talk going around. Can’t have any privacy over there.”

Fu Xuan huffed and crossed her arms. “You can say that again. I was already on my way to your office when I heard the gossip from your break room.”

“What are they saying?”

“Probably the same things you’re hearing.”

You slumped into your seat, resting your elbows and forehead on the cool surface of the table. Fu Xuan’s hand came to pat you on the back.

“Is it so bad to be divorced?” you grumbled.

Fu Xuan sighed. “Not at all,” she affirmed, “especially in your case.”

Fu Xuan’s the only person in the office that you would consider a friend, so naturally, she’s the only one who knows some of the details regarding your last relationship.

“You did what you had to do,” Fu Xuan continued. “It was the right decision.”

“I know,” you groaned. “I just still feel guilty, and everyone’s still throwing a pity party, and it's not helpful because I've been feeling like a complete loser.”

“They’re being ridiculous. It's been, what? Two years at this point?Besides, doesn’t this work out in your favor?”

You shot her a pointed glare. She simply harrumphed in response.

“Fu Xuan, nothing’s going to happen. I’ve been working here for years, and nothing has happened.”

“Only because you were married for most of said years.”

“Still. Nothing has happened since the divorce.”

“Alright, you’re being ridiculous, too,” Fu Xuan concluded.

You hissed, lunging at her. “I’m the one being ridiculous? You’re here, trying to delude me!"

Fu Xuan skillfully dodged your attempt, and instead, managed to grab your face in place so that the two of you were glaring eye to glaring eye. "I'm not," she insists. "In the few meetings I've been in with him, he always finds a way to bring you up, and don't get me started on the look on his face when he talks about you. Also, didn't you tell me he dropped off some medicine at your place that one time you were sick?"

You shook your head. "He just does all that because I do good work, instead of giving him more things to worry about."

“Either way,” Fu Xuan gritted through a thin smile, “enjoy your trip with your boss. Merry early Christmas, you fool.”

Upon reflection, you begrudgingly have to admit that you agree with your friend on several fronts.

Yes, your coworkers are being dramatically awkward, and yes, this business trip can probably fuel a lifetime of daydreams about your boss.

But sometimes, you're not sure if you're over your divorce yourself.

You separated from your partner because they were emotionally cheating on you. They had never really realized it themself, but you could tell they were meeting the same colleague every few weeks or so with feelings and intentions that extended beyond platonic.

To be fair, you can’t really bring yourself to blame your ex either. You’ve always had a more reserved and conservative nature, so it’s not easy for you to say or do anything affectionate. Your ex had always seemed fine with it, and never once brought it up as a concern when the two of you decided to get married for the sake of it. But upon reflection, there had always been some distance, some measured level of politeness, between the two of you, and it only grew as you were promoted in work and, thus, spent more time in the office. Even on days off, you barely spent time together, not when you were busy recuperating sleep and energy. Needless to say, you were quite absent in your marriage, and you can’t fault your partner for seeking comfort in another person.

You put an end to it, for both of your sakes. But ever since, you’ve questioned whether you’ve truly experienced love – if you’re even capable of loving someone at all.

In fact, saying you loved your ex feels… off. You definitely cherished and cared for them as a person, but if someone asked you why you loved your partner at the time, you would have trouble coming up with an answer. Maybe your ability to love is only limited to that.

Still, what’s making you think otherwise is…

The clattering of ceramic plates against the tabletop jolts you from your reminiscence. All of the dishes your boss had ordered have arrived, and you can barely make out his face from all of the rising steam.

“Don’t hold back! My treat, for all of your hard work,” he encourages.

You shake your head, replying, “Not at all,” and you watch as your boss swallows a mouthful of piping hot white rice and scoops spoonfuls of boiled tofu and pork onto his plate.

Honestly, you could get full just from watching him eat. More than that, you think you’d even give him all of your own portions if it meant that he could continue to eat so happily and cheerily.

And that’s exactly the thing. This… crush? Infatuation? Love?

Is this love? Because if it is, it feels so different – far more consuming and overwhelming – from even the faintest rushes of adrenaline and excitement you experienced from your ex. And you’re having these emotions for your boss, of all people.

You can’t lie to yourself for much longer. You know the real reason why you didn’t want to go on this business trip.

It’s inappropriate to date in the office. It’s risky to have to deal with power dynamics. It’s stressful to find new jobs, if you two started to date. Wait, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

You take a bite here and there, to mimic a performance of actually gorging yourself, but your eyes are trained on him. As the steam dissipates, you notice the slight beads of sweat forming at his temple, the flick of his tongue as he licks his glossy lips, and the reddening of his cheeks from the spice and heat.

You knew this trip would break down all sense of self-control.

It’s hard to maintain discipline when, for the past 72 hours, your heart has been tortured to its limits. You saw him when he was sleeping on the five-hour bullet trains to and from your destination. You helped him adjust his tie when you noticed it was astray, which required you to lean in close enough to smell the lingering scent of his cologne. The two of you were even mistaken for a couple by a barista, which neither of you denied because the coffee shop was running a Christmas discount for couples and families. He even called to wake you up from your nap, voice barely more than a deep purr, gentle and teasing and lilting, and you still think that was the best wake-up call, literally, in your life.

If anything, it’d be ridiculous if your defenses weren’t so worn down already, and you know you don’t have that kind of mental strength in the first place, no matter how stoic your exterior might appear.

You don’t even look away when he catches you staring. With a tilt of his head, he asks if you’re alright, at which you nod again, but there’s no way he doesn’t see you gulp.

If these feelings, in all of their riveting, painful, confusing glory, are love, you never want to have them for anyone else ever again.

The rest of the dinner proceeds the same, but it’s midnight by the time the two of you finish.

“Good night, Boss,” you say as you give a small bow.

You had expected him to dismiss you with a laidback wave, but instead, he says, “Wait.”

You quirk an eyebrow, and he chuckles. “It’s late. I can’t have one of my most senior employees getting kidnapped.”

“I’m no child, Boss.”

Regardless of your reservations, he proceeds to call a cab, with the first stop being your place. As soon as the car reaches the front of your apartment complex, you hop out.

But it seems your boss is subverting all of your expectations of him and his character tonight.

He gets out as well, telling the driver to give him a minute or two, and walks over to you.

“Boss, you don’t have to wait for me. The entrance is right there.”

He laughs, broad shoulders jumping a little. “It’s not for that.”

He unravels the red scarf wrapped around his neck and leans forward, beginning to wind the wool and cashmere around you instead.

It’s so late. You’re so tired. You don’t have energy to put up any pretenses.

For the first time, you lose your cool in front of your boss. You’re a flustering, bumbling mess, taking clumsy steps backwards, to no avail because he’s holding you hostage with the scarf.

“It’s cold – what are you – I don’t need –“

“A belated merry Christmas,” he mumbles with a small smile. Instead of its usual brilliance, though, it’s gentle and soft, as fragile and fleeting as snow. “For a very special someone,” he finishes.

He leans back once he’s done. You glance down, hands coming up to grip at the thick cloth. “But Boss…,” you mumble, a little muffled, “I didn’t get you anything.”

“No, no, you already did.”

“What?”

But he’s already rounding his way back. You don’t move from your spot, watching as the car pulls away and as your boss turns around, giving you his signature lackadaisical wave through the rear window, before he’s out of sight.

Mouth agape, you look back down at the scarf, only then noticing a small gold embroidering at one end of it.

Jing Yuan, it reads.

You can't resist the urge to bury your face into the plush and warmth of the scarf.

Without a doubt, you’re in love with your boss, Jing Yuan.

winter event masterlist

[divinesolas]

just a little 1k wc smutty drabble of jacaerys eating good, enjoy 😊

You wish you hadn't seen it. What they had been doing, for it is had been plaguing your mind all day. You try to shake off the burning desire in your stomach as you recall the events.

You can’t, for even while you're kissing your husband you are thinking about it. He pulls away from you, a small string of saliva connects the two of you and as he stares at you with hearts in his eyes. “Is something wrong dear?”

You and Jacaerys have always had a very standard time in the bedroom. It is always very pleasurable for you, though you now know that is not the norm after some very shocking and concerning conversations with the other ladies in court, and this leaves you feeling guilty.

Guilty for wanting more of him, wanting him to consume you, for wanting him to give you more when he has already been selfish enough.

“It is nothing dear.” You attempt to push your lips against his once more but he holds your shoulders firmly in place, looking at you worriedly. “You are not yourself. If you are not up for it tonight we do not have to bed, i will not force myself on you.”

This has your heart aching as you look down. He is always so kind and so sweet to you. Which makes you feel like a dirty animal for the thoughts you are thinking.

“I do want to, so badly dear its just,,,” You trail off , turning your head the other way. He is quick to grab your chin and tilt your head back up to look at him. “What is it? If it is something i can do for you i will do it.”

You know he can do it. Or at least you hope he can.

“I had been walking around and i stumbled upon something,” You hesitate, unable to believe the words that are about to drip out of your mouth. “they were a squire and a maid, in the wine cellar, he had he propped up on one of the boxes, he seemed to be giving her pleasure but,” “but what?” Jacaerys voice is shaky, his hands rattle on your skin, he is desperate to hear your words, his breath fans on your skin in a rapid rhythm.

“But his head was between her legs. It is sinful and it is scandalous but i have never seen or heard anything like that before. It had engraved itself in my mind and i cannot stop thinking about ti, the blissful look on her face, not that you do not give me pleasure of course but this looked like it was different. Im sorry i know it is wrong to think about-” You gasp as his lips press heavily against yours.

He grips your jaw with a fury as he kisses you like he never has before. He pulls away from you and presses your foreheads together as you catch your breath. “You wish for me to do that to you my sweet? i will i will do it, gods i have been thinking about this for so long. You let out a squeal as he lightly pushes you to fall onto your back.

“Truly? Then why have you never brought this up before?” He looks embarrassed but he cannot stop himself from tugging up your nightgown to pool around your hips and reveal you bare to him. “It is quite, carnal, i suppose theres no better word for it. I did not think i lady like you would be interested.”

He presses a kiss against your stomach before he looks up at you once more. Its breathtaking to see him at an angle like this, simply staring up at you, you try to catch your breath but you are unable to as he begins to trail kisses down your stomach before stopping right where you want him and moving instead to grab your legs and place them on either sides of his shoulders.

You should feel humiliated, shame should be coursing through your veins but the way jacaerys has an awestruck look as he admires you and the way his hands softly caress your skin is enough to quench any worries and fears you have.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asks, despite the fact that it had been your idea. “Yes.” There is not way you can stop your desire, certainly not with how desperate he seems, like he is dying to be able to put his head between your legs.

His face disappears from your view and you feel him kiss around your thighs. You whine as he continues to simply brush around where you want him and he chuckled, “i’m sorry i will not tease you.”

You wanted to say something back to him but you suddenly jump and a shiver runs down your spine as you feel his hot wet tongue push past your folds.

You harshly grip the top of his head as he hims content, the vibration adding another level of pleasure. You get why the woman seemed to pleased, this was on another plane of ecstasy.

Your head thrown back as he continues to lap against you, the sounds in the room leave your skin feeling hot. You continue to revel in the feeling of him licking at you, drinking up every drop you let out until you also feel something harder press against you. His nose.

You have no clue how he’s even breathing. But you cannot find it in you to care as you find your hips moving on their own, rubbing against his face, hitting his tongue and his nose so perfectly it has you seeing stars.

“Keep doing that please.” He pulls away for a quick second to speak before he is right back to it. You listen, continuing to rut yourself again his face, unable to contain your moans. You’re sure everyone in the damn keep could hear you but you don’t care.

You do notice something curious, he is rutting himself against the bed, the moans he pours into you adds to your pleasure. Was he surely so pleased by this? by bringing you pleasure he had no other choice than to try and quench his own hunger by rutting himself against your sheets like a dog?

You have no time to dwell on it as he brings one of his hands to your clit, taking it in his fingers and rubbing it around. You’re thrown into a whirlwind of pleasure like you couldn't believe. You're sure this is what heaven must feel like.

His hand slides up your chest and you lock your fingers with his as you feel yourself drawing closer and closer to your release. It is like your souls locking together. He grips you so tightly and you grip his back as your face contorts in pleasure as you burst.

You continue to wither in pleasure as he laps up every single drop of essence you spill out in your release. He sits up and stares at you with wide eyes, his usual brown eyes lost in a storm of black, pleasure seeping into his soul.

You can see the shine gloss all over his face, his nose, his jaw, his chin, his lips and his lip especially are noticeable as you can see they are redder and bigger. You watch as he licks his lips and grins at you. “That is so much better than i could have ever dreamed of.”

You have to agree

<3 went a little crazy and wrote this yesterday when i was freaking out of jace <3

Perm Jacaerys taglist

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aegonswife @jacesvelaryons

[natalievoncatte]

The palm-print panel was cool under Lena’s touch. She pressed her hand to the rectangular plate next to her front door and waited for the brief moment it needed to scan her skin. The door unlocked with a meaty thump and she pushed it open with her other hand, absently checking her phone as she stepped inside. As the system scanned her biometrics, it detected stress and dimmed the lights, automatically turned on the television to an abstract screen saver with cool tones, and began to play an arrangement for a violins to soothe her nerves.

She kicked off her heels and walked barefoot into the kitchen, where she skipped the countertop wine cellar and pulled out the half-empty box of Trader Joe’s vintage that she’d taken a liking to thanks to Kara. She pours herself half a tumbler full as a silent fuck you to her mother and took a swig, then walked out into her living room to sit down in the gloom for a few minutes and think.

Supergirl was sitting on her couch, head flopped back over the back so that her hair fanned out across the white leather. She sat splayed with her knees apart and legs out, arms resting on her thighs. Lena wasn’t sure if she was awake.

As she drew closer, she caught a small gasp. Supergirl had a black eye, and there were scrapes on her cheeks and the backs of her hands, the blood barely crusted. Both her hands and her face were bruised and she had a tiny split in her lip.

Lena placed the wine on the table, nerves jangling when the bottom rattled against the pale marble from the shaking of her hand. Her heart raced as she drew closer. Supergirl had taken off her cape and draped it over the couch. It was none the worse for wear but was covered in scorch marks.

Suoergirl’s broad chest heaved once and she let out a long, pained sigh.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Supergirl.”

She let out a little laugh, wincing. “Do we need be so formal?”

“I don’t have anything else to call you,” Lena said, coolly. “Mind if I ask why you’re in my apartment?”

“You don’t lock the balcony doors. You should.”

Lena sighed and folded her arms. “I said why, not how.”

Supergirl didn’t look at her.

“I just got the snot beaten out of me. Everything hurts.”

“I didn’t think that was possible.”

How was it possible? Curiosity tugged at her, but concern shot through it, making her fidget with her hands. Lena hated fidgeting. It made her look weak, and she could still remember the pain when Lillian cracked the ruler across her knuckles to break the habit.

“Can I have some wine?”

Lena swallowed hard.

“Sure,” she said.

She went to the kitchen and poured. When she returned to the living room, Supergirl was sitting up, hunched forward and leaning on he knees. Lena started a little at the sight. Sitting that way displayed the wide, muscular set of her shoulders and arms, especially her meaty biceps. Her back was a rare sight -she wore a cape, after all- and just as exquisitely muscled.

She was looking at her hands, at the damage to her muscles. Lena offered the glass and she took it. Her fingers were warm when they brushed against Lena’s, strangely soft.

Supergirl took a long pull of wine and smacked her lips, then winced.

“It’s times like this I wish I could get drunk.”

“You can’t?”

“Not on wine and not for very long.”

“Interesting.”

“So I have a problem,” Supergirl said. She was still looking at her hands.

“And that is?”

“I have to call off work tomorrow. These will heal, and I’ll look exactly the same. I don’t get scars anymore. But they’ll be visible for a day or so.”

“I see.”

“But I have to get brunch with someone, and they’ll be able to tell. Concealer won’t do much for this.” She touched her eye, wincing.

“Wait here,” said Lena.

She came back a moment later with some wash clothes soaked in cold water on a tray. Hands still shaking a little as she placed it on the table. Tenderly, she took one of the washcloths and dabbed the back of Supergirl’s hands, cleaning away the grime and dried blood from the abrasions.

Supergirl sighed. “That feels good. Thank you.”

“May I?” said Lena.

Supergirl hesitated, doubt flashing deep within the endless depths of her blue eyes, but she turned to Lena and tilted up her chin. With shaking fingers, Lena cupped Supergirl’s face gently and used a fresh cloth to clean and cool the cut on her lip. Supergirl closed her eyes and sighed.

Lena’s eyes wandered up, to the small mark above her eye.

“You don’t scar. Did you get that on Krypton?”

“Yes. I slipped and fell when I was a little girl. You should have seen me. I bled all over.”

“Must be nice, not getting hurt anymore. Not feeling pain.”

“I still feel it.”

Lena paused.

“I feel every bullet and blow and bomb blast just like anyone would,” said Supergirl. Just because it doesn’t harm me doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” said Supergirl.

She opened her eyes -eye- and looked at Lena reverently, one pretty blue eye glittering while the other remained bruised shut. She smiled a lopsided, honest smile, looked at Lena in a dreamy, almost adoring way that-

Wait.

“Oh my God,” Lena breathed.

“Hi,” said Kara.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Lena whispered. “Oh my God, what happened, how did this happen to you? You’re hurt!”

“I had a tough time with a very determined alien and had to worry about civilians,” said Kara. “It happens.”

Lena’s pulse raced and her breath quickened. Her gaze darted, searching and noticing every detail. She was so beautiful, and she was so Kara.

“Why now?” said Lena. “Why this time?”

“I don’t know.”

Lena bit her lip, and the tiny gesture had a noticeable impact on Kara. Her eyes widened and her gaze fell to Lena’s bottom lip, then flicked back up.

“So your brunch,” said Lena. “That was with me.”

“Yeah. I thought about cancelling but I can’t. I needed to see you now.”

Lena shifted closer on the couch, until they were hip to hip.

“Why?”

“Because I just got punched in the head by an alien with big stupid bone spurs coming out of his fist and I need to see you. I won, by the way. It was really cool. I ripped a fire hydrant out of the ground and hit him with it.”

Lena looked her up and down. Her jaw began to quiver.

“Oh God. Is it worse than it looks? Are you hurt worse than you look, Kara? Are you…”

Kara shook her head, then winced. “No. Not that bad, promise. I just…” she sighed. “I’m tired of going to lay on a sunbed and going back to my empty apartment and spend a sick day napping on the couch.”

Lena let out a slow breath. “So you came to see me.”

“Yuuup,” Kara said, slowly.

Lena shifted awkwardly in her seat. Kara slowly reached over with her now clean hand and curled her fingers around Lena’s chin.

“Lena?” she whispered. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

Kara turned and leaned into her, pressing the slightest, lightest kiss to Lena’s lips, not a quick peck but something slow and soft, warm and inviting.

“Ow,” Kara muttered.

“Kara,” Lena whispered.

“I have any idea. Since I can’t make brunch… how about breakfast?”

Lena leaned against her, gently draping her arms around her as they fell back into the soft cushions together.

“Okay.”

[divinegrey]

ᴘᴀɪɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ʙʟᴜᴇ / ᴊɪɴx x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sorry for the wait everybody!! been writing other things in the meantime, arcane hasn't been my sole focus. also i have homework and exams. but here's something to appease all of you!! anon, i hope i did this prompt justice!

prompt: I'd like to request a Jinx x Fem! Reader. I like the idea of the reader being a follower of Jinx, as I think the dynamic could be fun. I think it could be cool to explore a follower of Jinx getting to know her and realizing that she's more than just a symbol. She's a multifaceted individual.

words: 1585

warnings: none

It started when she caught you tagging the side of a building. With her face, no less. 

With all the shit going down in Zaun in the wake of Silco’s death and every gang leftover fighting for scraps of power, it was only time before Jinx caught up to the fact that while yes, her face is plastered everywhere on wanted posters, there are about a dozen more spray-painted graffiti tags of her over them. Which was the goal of what you were doing when she dropped down from a building and walked to your side. 

All she did was look at the statuesque version of her face, washed in shades of blue, and say, “My nose doesn’t look like that.” 

And she was right.

Of course, with time, you got better at it. The wanted posters did a mean disservice, honestly. The only thing they got correct were the pink eyes, pink eyes that followed you when you went to your shitty box of an apartment and flopped onto a mattress flattened by years of use. You’d go to sleep, wake up, grab your paint duffel, and head back out again. The nice thing about Zaun is that there’s always an empty spot just waiting to be tagged. 

Somehow, Jinx always finds you. 

“You know people see you as a leader, right?” You say, shaking a can of neon pink, the ball rattling around inside the canister. You glance over your shoulder to where Jinx sits on some pipes connected to the wall, her braids dangling and the gold bullet casings wrapped around reflecting the faint light that falls through the fissures. With a gesture to your own head of hair, dyed an insane hodge-podge of bright colors, blue included, you continue, “Silco’s gone. Whole world down here has turned upside down. But for the first time in a while, we’ve got hope. Cuz of you. Cuz of what you did to those fuckin’ Pilties.” 

“For all the good it did,” Jinx remarks, a dryness to her tone you’ve come to know and love. 

“I’m serious. C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t know the reason why I keep painting you? Why a dozen other taggers I know keep painting you? Why the color blue is nearly sold out in every damn shop?” You kneel down, arcing a curve of pink paint along the grey brick wall, moving quick and precise. Overthinking it makes it worse. “I’m not wearing spray-painted clothes in your colors for nothin, Jinx.” 

She turns, peering at you. In the shadows, her eyes seem to reflect some more, glowing like a cat’s would. “Because y’all have some weird, deluded sense that I’m a leader, or somethin’.” 

“You are. To me. To us.” You point at the other tags in the alleyway, some of them copies of the same mark you’ve seen a dozen times around town. Jinx’s name, sigils of BOOM! and explosives doodled about. You twist and take a seat on the scaffolding, your legs dangling off the side of it. “I didn’t know you when I first started drawing you. I heard what you did, and I thought damn, there’s someone out there willing to actually do something. In a single day, you did more than Silco ever did in years. Sure, we might be going head long into a war, but dying free is better than living under someone else’s boot.” 

Jinx hums. She leaps off the pipes, crossing the gap between you and her with ease, landing on the wooden scaffolding. She straightens up, gazing at the half-finished tag you’re working on. With a hum, she turns to you, and puts something in your hand. Before you have the time to look down and figure out what it is, Jinx says, “Nozzle control. Quality on some of your cans are shit, no offense. Slap that thing on it and you won’t have an issue after that.” 

“Oh, thanks—” 

“Don’t mention it!” Jinx steps off the scaffolding, landing on the ground below with a THUD. “And for the record, I ain’t the kinda person to follow.” 

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that to convince me!” You call down, grinning from ear to ear. Her brows furrow together, then a small huff, a hint of a smile on her own face. She walks away, off to do… whatever it is that she does when she’s not hanging out with you. 

It isn’t for some time that you see her again. You’d say you’re worried, but you pass through the crowds hearing whispers of Jinx sightings. Every day, it seems another head of blue hair appears, the quiet signs of revolution brewing in the heart of Zaun as the enforcers grow more and more strict, searching anyone and everyone for some hint or clue to find the one that destroyed the Council Chamber in Piltover. You’ll never say a word. 

You walk into your apartment. Work was… work, boring and mind-numbing as it always is. You wonder if you can handle another day of it, but another day will bring another chance of seeing her out there, so you decide not to fly off the handle just yet. You shrug off the soot-stained work clothes, and where you reach for your paint-splattered jacket, it isn’t there. 

Instead, a note. 

Never had anyone believe in me quite like you. The Hound’s statue, midnight. Come and get it. 

With the pink lettering and the doodles of monkeys and bombs scribbled across the page, it doesn’t need to be said just who left this note. You snatch it off the wall, utterly beaming; Gently, you fold it into fourths, tucking it into your shirt. Thank god for the late shift— less waiting!

Any of the weariness you might’ve felt before is gone as you race through the streets, taking any and every shortcut you know. The night is quiet, what with the enforced curfew put up by the Pilties to discourage wandering, not that they’ve done a good job of it. Zaun is Zaun, and the cogs down here will always keep turning, whether Piltover likes it or not. 

When you arrive at the open plaza where the statue erected to Vander, the Hound of the Underground, is, your mouth drops in shock to find the entire plaza covered, every square inch of it, in neon paint. Sigils upon sigils that you have seen time and time again, glowing in the dark. It reaches all the way to the statue, pink highlights in Vander’s hair and blue accents along his metal jacket. 

Sitting on the shoulder of the statue, paint can in one hand and your jacket in the other, is Jinx. 

“Shoulda known you’d be a little early. Good thing, I work fast,” Jinx remarks. She crooks a finger at you to come closer, and you do, taking care to step over the paint lines on the stone. You’re a little in awe of the work she’s done— how has nobody taken notice? Come to think of it, you heard there was a scuffle a few blocks away. The logistics don’t seem to matter anymore the closer you get to her. 

You arrive at the base of the statue. “How’d you even know where I live?” 

“Sweets, there are a lot of things I know about you. And a lotta things you know about me. Things that might drive other people away, but not you,” Jinx says, something like an angel as she looks down upon you from the statue. In the flash of a second and the trace of neon light left in the sky, she’s standing in front of you, your back pressed against the statue. The beam of moonlight that breaks through shines on her, her shimmer-pink eyes locked onto your frame. “You keep sticking to the inside my brain, can’t stop thinking about you.” 

“Could say the same for you,” you reply, a little breathless. “Why’d you do all this? Get my jacket and bring me here?” 

“Cuz you showed me somethin’ important. That people, for whatever crazy reason they got in their head, believe in me,” Jinx says. She holds out your jacket to you, and you take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves and fixing the collar so it stands upright. Her eyes go from bottom to top, taking her sweet time. “I wanna show em what I can do. Give those people with my blue in their hair a reason to keep going. To keep fighting.” 

“You have me. All the way, Jinx,” you say, putting a hand over the front of your jacket, where a pink heart has been painted. “So what do you wanna do? Other than all this?”

“Right now?” Jinx cocks a grin. “I wanna kiss you.” 

What? You blink, wondering if you heard that right, but her taking a step closer to you only confirms that yes, you did hear it right. You swallow the nerves, finding your cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling. “And then what?” 

“And then, we show Zaun all the fun we have to offer, and we tell Piltover to shove their Hextech where the sun don’t shine,” Jinx finishes, her hands grabbing the lapels of your jacket and pulling you in. Your lips touch hers, something you never thought would happen, not in your wildest dreams. 

But here you are, arms wrapped around Jinx as she kisses you in the streets of Zaun, the cry of revolution soon to come. 

~~~~~

A/N: thank you for reading!! comments are always appreciated <3

[drewsbuzzcut]

Spoiled Rotten

Mat Barzal x model!fem!reader

A visceral in doses fic

Warnings: smut!

Takes place Oct 2024

You stroll up to your apartment, your hair thrown into a messy bun and sunglasses perched on the bridge of your nose. In one hand is the key to your home, and the other holds the handle of your luggage. Your phone is squeezed between your cheek and shoulder as you giggle with your best friend, Beverly.

“Ugh I know! Who knew phone sex could be so exciting and fulfilling?!” You squeal into the phone as you walk through the door. You fight off a blush, but it only grows more furious as you notice what’s waiting inside for you.

On your kitchen counter stands two large bouquets of tulips and roses- your favorites. Next to the vases rests two boxes. One is quite large and pink. The other is smaller in comparison and velvet.

You’re silent for a brief moment, taking everything in. Beverly doesn’t even notice you’re silent as she’s too busy rattling off a story about her boyfriend. You’ll have to ask her to repeat herself once you’re not distracted anymore. The note sticking out of your bouquet keeps you for a moment longer.

“Congrats on your Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show debut. I couldn’t be more proud of my supermodel girlfriend. I love you, baby.” - Mat

Of course your sweet boyfriend provided these gifts. He loves spoiling you, and he takes full advantage of any time he gets to celebrate you. Your body fills with want, but it quickly subsides, knowing that he’s not in New York yet. He will be soon, though.

“Bev, you will never believe what I came home to,” you interrupt her, a giddy smile permanently stretching your lips.

You smirk and struggle to suppress a giggle at her response. Something about a naked Mat waiting on your couch. You wish.

“No. Flowers, like two huge bouquets. There’s also an Agent Provocateur box and a velvet box that probably contains something more expensive than my flight home,” you list off your gifts.

“Oh, your man has good taste. Have you opened the boxes?”

“No. I’m nervous. I feel like I’m about to explode. I’m literally shaking,” you sigh.

“Girl! What are you waiting for? Dig in!” Beverly shrieks. You can hear the grin in her tone.

You eagerly tear into the pink box holding your newest lingerie set. Butterflies fill your stomach, because a boy has never bought you lingerie before. But Mat isn’t a boy, he’s a man. A man that knows the woman he loves and that turns you on like no other.

Once you remove the tissue paper, you’re met with the daintiest, deep navy blue lingerie set. It’s all lace, leaving very little to the imagination. The front of your thong has your jaw on the floor. In orange, cursive embroidery says, “Barzal.”

“Beverly, it says ‘Barzal’ on the thong!” You practically cheer.

“Holy shit. That’s hot. Wait… you do like it, right?”

“Of course! I love it. It’s such a hot number and I cannot wait to wear it for him.”

Gently setting it aside, you move onto the velvet box. You close your eyes, wanting it to be a surprise. A gasp falls from your lips as you lay your eyes on the thin, gold watch. It has diamonds encrusted on the sides and it’s so shiny.

“It’s a gold watch. It’s dainty and has diamonds. I am truly at a loss for words,” you whisper into the phone.

“He loves you bad. I need pictures of everything asap,” Bev demands.

“On it- oops hold on. There’s someone knocking on my door.”

You look through the peephole, a scream bursting through its confinement when you see Mat waiting patiently.

“Bev, I have to go. Mat just got here. Meet for lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure thing. Enjoy your dick appointment.”

“I will,” you laugh and hang up.

Throwing the door open, you pull Mat inside and straight into a kiss.

“Fuck. I love you. When did you get home?” You breathe into him before sucking his tongue into your mouth.

“Early this morning. We were able to catch an earlier flight and I knew it was my opportunity to surprise you,” Mat says with a heaving chest and his forehead resting on yours.

“And surprise me you did,” you gleam, looping your arms around his neck and fully leaning into him.

“Do you like what I bought you, pretty girl?” He hums, face going to your neck. He noses at your pulse point and then sucks on your sweet spot. You let out a moan as he lowers his hands to your ass.

“I love it, baby. I can’t wait to put on my watch. It’s so gorgeous. I can’t wait to see my flowers every time I come home, and for you to fuck me in my new lingerie,” you whisper in his ear.

You subtly look at him to catch his reaction. A smirk fixes your lips when you see the way his eyes melt in desire.

“I can’t wait to see you look like the angel that you are. However, before we get to that, I want to take you out. Maybe to that small jazz restaurant you love,” he suggests, but his hands do most of the talking with the way they roam your body.

He refers to the restaurant as a place you love- which is true. He loves it just as much as you, though. You’ve shared many intimate moments there. His hands have settled on yours thighs when he leans closer to whisper in your ear; his lips have found your bare shoulder many times in chaste kisses as he watches you enjoy the music; his hands find your hips and the curve of your ass when you both occasionally indulge in a slow dance on the small, crowded dance floor. Chills zip down your spine just thinking about it.

“That sounds so perfect. But before I agree to any date, I think you should join me in the shower,” you hum, biting down on your bottom lip and pulling him to your bathroom.

It’s not much later that your bathroom is filled with steam and the sounds of you panting. Your back is pressed into the cold, wet tiles of your shower cabin. Water falls onto Mat’s large body and drips onto your smaller frame. His tongue flicks at yours as you meet in an open-mouth kiss. You both fight for dominance, but you quickly submit when he finally slides into your wet heat. A soft gasp falls from your lips and gets swallowed by his mouth.

His hips move softly, barely moving at all, so he can feel you stretch as you get adjusted. When you grab onto his shoulders and jut your hips up, he pushes into you fully. Mat’s body vibrates with a thrill that can only be caused by the tightness of your pussy as you suck him back in.

“Fuck. I love the way you make me feel,” you whine, eyes locked on his. The soft hazel color turns into something dark, more earthy than they already appear.

“I love the way you feel wrapped around me. Your pussy was made for my cock, baby,” Mat voices in a confident hum. The words get smothered on the hinge of your jaw by his lips.

“Oh yeah, Maty? I was made for you? Prove it, baby,” you tease and squeeze down on his length.

“Holy shit,” he sighs, muscles tensing before he locks in, grabbing onto your thigh and hauling it up and around his hip.

He pumps into you to the rhythm of your moans. His greedy hands grab at your flesh, squeezing you tighter to him. The tip of his cock prods into the deepest parts of you, making goosebumps dot your skin and your limbs rattle in ecstasy.

“I love you,” you chant through a muffled cry against Mat’s lips.

He sucks on your tongue, savoring every drop of you that’s reserved for him only. His hand travels to the back of your neck, tangling in your hair. A hiss escapes your throat when his teeth nip at the pulse point in your neck. Your heart beats crazily, fire bubbles in your veins and an earth-shattering orgasm starts to invade your senses.

“I love you,” he mutters, gripping your chin in his hand and bringing your mouth back to his.

Time seems to slip from your grip as your release washes over, drowning you in euphoria. You can barely feel Mat sucking on the flesh of your boobs, not when your vision turns into starbursts and your limbs feel like gelatin.

“Fuck,” Mat groans, hands finding your hips to keep you steady as he thrusts into you faster, chasing his own orgasm.

You shiver and cuddle closer to Mat, wrapping a hand around his upper back and neck. The thick cords of his muscles turn solid before going flaccid as he releases inside of you.

His heart thuds against his chest, almost tempting an escape. Mat so gently holds onto you, but eventually his strong body melts into your embrace. His forehead meets your shoulder, wet strands of hair tickling your jaw.

You suck his earlobe in between your lips. Dull nails dig into the plushness of your skin, making your pussy contract and pulse around him.

“You’re perfect,” Mat mutters in a half moan. He feels his cock spring back to life with the way you softly rock into him, luring him back to his personal heaven.

“No, you are,” you reply, nosing at his cheek while you enjoy the warmth created by the both of you.

“You know you’re spoiled rotten?” Mat breaks the peaceful silence, fingers gathering at your sides to pinch and tickle you.

“Am not,” you state with a sassy roll of your eyes.

“It literally took like less than 2 minutes for you to get me naked,” he claims, chin in the air as if no excuse you give will waiver his statement.

“I think you enjoy being wrapped around my finger. It’s not like I forced you to take off your clothes, so don’t complain, baby,” you hum.

Before he can respond, you place your lips on his, your tongue invading his mouth and all of his words falling silent.

a/n: Enjoy babes!!!

[motthe]

If there requests are still open <3 could you maybe do something with a isekai/Lumen au? I thought of how different would be The reactions towards The different technology or behaviors! Any character is fine! (But if it's possible Viktor) Any gender is fine too!

Only if you're comfortable with it! Your writing is amazing 💖💖💖

oh man this was fun to play around with. thanks for requesting!!!

“Construction will be delayed.” Viktor hated to say it, but the storm had done too much damage to the Hexgate and there was no telling what that lightning strike had done to the core far below ground. “We must pray everything is intact at the base.”

“Elevator’s running. That’s good, right?” Jayce tried to find the silver lining as they stepped in, doors closing behind them.

Viktor grabbed your lumen before gravity shifted. The first time in an elevator had sent you into the ground and you’d yet to learn despite the many times he had used the academy elevator.

It was a common thing amongst lumens. They merely floated so how could they expect the ceiling to suddenly come racing down.

You brightened at his touch as did Jayce’s when he grabbed his own companion. It was second nature for the both of them to keep you close with all the dangers going on around inventors.

“Surely the lightning wouldn’t travel all the way to the core,” Jayce murmured over the whir of gears moving. “It’s miles below surface.”

“All witnesses reported a pulse of energy,” Viktor reminded him, lithe fingers rubbing against the soft outline of you against the crook of his neck. Your warmth was blocked with the long raincoat covering him. “Perhaps a boost of sorts would be best case scenario. An excess.”

“It’s not powering anything yet,” Jayce said.

“That’s why we must investigate, yes?”

As the metal box slowed to a stop, Viktor dropped his hand. You remained pressed against him.

A loud rattling filled the space as the doors creaked open before quickly coming to a halt. The opening was slim.

“Oh, great,” sighed Jayce, pushing forward and attempting to get them open. He grunted, arms straining as his lumen fluttered above his head. “Yeah, no.” He stepped back huffing. “That’s not budging.”

Viktor eyed the opening. “I think I may fit.”

“You wanna go in there alone?” Jayce’s judgmental tone had him rolling his eyes.

“It would make the most of our time.”

“If you get in trouble, I won’t be able to help.”

Viktor gave him a gentle grin, raising a hand to pat his shoulder. “I will be quick, yes?”

His business partner shrugged, shaking his head as he moved aside to let Viktor through.

Grabbing the seam of the door with one hand, he wedged himself through, cane first. The hall was dark, the only light came from inside elevator and your small form as you eased through.

“Stay close, my star,” he whispered, knuckles nudging you as he began the walk to the core room. The hit of his cane against the floor echoed an eerie song, shadows closed in tight against your brilliance.

Reaching the door posed a problem seeing as there wasn’t any power on this hall. But Viktor was prepared.

Moving his raincoat aside and reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small pen light and master key and got to work. It was a heavy door but perhaps with some inertia, he’d get it open enough to slip in and check the core.

“You all right?” Jayce’s voice echoed from behind.

“The power is out,” returned Viktor, “I must open the door manually.”

“I’ll see if there’s a control box in here and work on getting these doors open.”

You loomed above, doing a better job of lighting up the lock. He thanked you, finishing up the various interlocking mechanisms before turning his attention to the door.

Taking a breath, he position his bad side against the frame, pushing off with his good leg. It took time, but soon the metal obstacle inched open bringing with it a cold breeze and the glow of the hextech within.

“The cooling system is still active,” he called to Jayce.

A curse sounded as well as an electric zap.

Rolling his eyes, Viktor pushed onwards, slipping through as soon as there was enough space.

His breath clouded in front of him as you hovered near his shoulder, the quiet hum of the core paired with the chill sending goosebumps across his skin.

The fact the core was still active was a good sign and the pack debris on the floor showed nothing had exploded, at least.

Taking a turn around the piece, he squinted as a warm light seeped through the cool, blue glow.

He jumped as the lights overhead flickered to life, the door behind him opening fully as gears turned and Jayce’s “A-ha!” rang out.

Blinking through the sudden blindness, Viktor sighed and rubbed his eyes clear before searching for the light he’d seen.

Instead he saw a hand peaking out from around the core.

“Uh!” he choked, the tip of his cane thumping hard as he moved quickly.

The hand extended to an arm, then a shoulder. A body laid bare just a foot or two from the fore, stomach down and face covered by their hair.

“Jayce!” Viktor yelled, kneeling so fast his cane slid across the floor. His hands hovered over the back, before he took a breath and grabbed their shoulder, attempting to flip them over.

He nearly jumped back as a lumen floated up, a deep, tawny brown. Viktor didn’t pay it much mine, too concerned with trying to get the person on their back and praying they were breathing—

But then your lumen was circling it, the two dancing around one another.

He paused, chest aching as the two brushed and another light blinded him.

You, he thought, breath quickening as he peered down, straining to flip you over. It’s you.

Moving your hair from your face, he took the slope of your nose, the shape of your jaw. You were in a deep slumber, all but dead to the world as clouds slipped from you parted lips.

“You’re freezing,” he whispered, quickly ridding himself of his raincoat and covering your nude form. “Jayce!”

Finally, those heavy footsteps came racing around, nearly slipping from the water trailed on.

“What is it?! Did the core—“ Jayce stood, dumbstruck as he stared down at your body in Viktor’s arms. “How…?”

“Help me,” Viktor gasped. “They’re my fated. Help me!”

“What?” he hissed, eyes moving to the two lumens circling in each other. “Why are they down here?!”

“I don’t know but they’re freezing to death as we speak. They need medical attention.”

Shaking his head, Jayce left the question for later as he lowered to take you from Viktor, carefully keeping you wrapped in the raincoat.

“Go, I will follow,” Viktor ordered. Jayce nodded and took off the way he came towards the elevator. That tawny lumen flew after them as yours returned to Viktor, rubbing against his cheek.

“Please, he all right,” he murmured, cupping you against his neck as he scrambled for his cane. “For my sake.”

.

The crack of lightning and thunder resounded in your head. You bolted upright, gasping.

Something tumbled into your lap, bright against the dark room. You thought maybe you’d knocked a lamp over or a flashlight—but as you get your breath back you find there wasn’t much weight to it.

You scrambled back as it floated up, shrieking.

“What the fuck?!”

Movement across the room had you scrambling for a weapon, the best you get was the pillow behind you as you hold it between you and the weird floating light thing.

“You’re awake.”

The accent was foreign against your ears. You squinted as light flickered on above, taking in a blurry outline on a couch. Rubbing your eyes, you remained tense a man pushed up onto a cane. He stood with a hunched form, shoulders long but dragging down. Wild brown hair framed tired eyes and a narrow face.

“Who are you?” you said, voice cracking from a dry throat. You held the pillow up higher as the light drifted closer. “What is that? Some kind of bug?”

Whatever it was, another one popped up over the man’s shoulder, perching there as if it belonged nowhere else. The man cradled it, brow furrowing.

“You do not know of lumens?”

“What? No,” you huffed, glancing around the room. The white curtains and beds hinted at a hospital or maybe a mental institute. Were you going insane? “Where am I?”

“The infirmary at the academy. It was the closest,” he answered.

“Academy? Which one?”

He tilted his head. “The only one. There are no other academies in Piltover.”

“Piltover?” you whispered. “I don’t know where that is.“

“Are you from another region?” You murmured the name of your country. “Is that in Runeterra?”

“You’re not making any sense,” you huffed, squealing when you spotted the ball of light creeping over the pillow. You panicked, thwacking it away. The man flinched.

“Please don’t,” he said, “it won’t hurt you.”

You eyed the creature before looking to the man.

“You’re connected,” you said.

“Lumens are the embodiment of our souls or so the legends say,” he explained, holding the one on his shoulder out and nudging it towards you. “This one is yours.”

“Mine?” You stared as it hovered, easing back towards the man.

“Go on,” he murmured to it, pushing it back your way. The thing—lumen—refused, sweeping up under his chin as he sighed. “You’re frightened.”

“I don’t know where I am or who you are,” you said flatly. “Of course, I am.”

“Viktor,” he limped forward to the end of your bed, offering a slender hand. “My name is Viktor.”

You took a breath, wincing as the tawny lumen brushed your arm. It was soft and warm, taking a moment before nudging you again.

“Uh, hi,” you whispered to it, raising your eyes to Viktor. “Or, hi to you, I guess?”

His lips twitched as if he wanted to smile.

You pushed your fear down and reached forward to take his hand, introducing yourself.

.

When Viktor left the infirmary to grab you food, Jayce was waiting in the hall. He pushed off the wall as soon as the door closed.

“How are they?”

“Fine,” Viktor said, frowning. “They are lost. They don’t seem to know anything about, well, anything.”

Jayce’s face twisted. “Uh, what?”

“They have never seen or heard about lumens,” he explained, “nor have they heard about Piltover or even Runterra. The names they speak are foreign to me.”

“Well, you’re speaking the same language,” he noted.

“That is one blessing,” he sighed.

Jayce frowned, noticing the new weight in Viktor’s stance. “They don’t know they’re your fated?”

He shook his head.

“Did you tell them?”

“They are overwhelmed, Jayce. I think it best to explain it at a later time.”

“But—”

“I do not wish to scare them even more than they already are,” Viktor stated, words sharp.

Jayce’s eyes lowered to your lumen, shaking against the crook of his neck.

“Right. Okay, yeah,” he whispered. The two stood in silence for a moment before he dared to ask, “Do you think…the Hexgate?”

“Perhaps,” Viktor breathed. “We shall find out, but first things first.” He started off down the hall. “I have my fated to take care of, whether they know it or not.”

[strang3lov3]

My Treat

Roman has a very special present to give you on your birthday, whether you want it or not.

Tags - dddne, noncon, face fucking, fingering, unprotected piv, rough sex, creampie, overstim, forced orgasms, degradation, mocking, intox kink (drunk reader/sober Roman), dacryphilia, manipulation, coercion, victim blaming, whooo boy. Roman’s gonna have some tender moments, but don’t be fooled. He’s a fuck and a half. Maybe even dark!roman? Excessive use of the nickname ‘birthday girl’ and too many dick in a box references. 4.4k words A/N - HAPPY BIRTHDAY @cum-a-calla !!!! You know much I love you and your work. Meeting you has been a highlight of my 2024!! I love you and I hope this nasty Roman scratches alllllll the itches. It had a tentative start but I’m really pleased with how this turned out 🩷 i tagged my usual roman readers but no pressure to read if noncon is not your thing, i will see you next time! @endlessthxxghts, you know what you did. thank you for your eyeballs and for holding my hand through it♡

9:27 and Roman’s still not yet graced his office with his less than illustrious presence. Not that you really mind, as his lateness gives you time to get work done without his hovering, his mocking comments and juvenile jokes at your expense, his nitpicking. With your morning work completed, you rest on his uninviting, scratchy office couch and inspect your manicure, freshly done for the occasion. 

Then, the doorknob rattles, jerking you from your peace and in comes Roman all self-assured and weirdly confident, his pelvis leading his awkwardly long strides. He spots you immediately, smiles with crinkling eyes and those little dimples appearing on his cheeks. He’s got a bubblegum pink pastry box in one hand and a cardboard drink carrier with coffee cups balanced neatly on top of it.“Hey, hey, birthday girl!”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “I didn’t tell you it was my birthday.”

Roman smirks mischievously, that infuriatingly smug tilt to his lips. “I have my sources,” he replies cooly, setting down the items on his desk. With flourish, Roman opens the pastry box and pulls one of the drinks out of the carrier, the one drowning in chocolate swirls and topped with more whipped cream than there is coffee in the beverage. “For you.” He holds the drink out for you to take. “I believe this is your Frankenstein coffee-shake-thing.” 

“You know my order?”

Roman scoffs and rolls his eyes for maximum effect. “Yeah, I know your order. Cookies and cake and ice cream all blended up with just enough coffee to pretend you’re a big girl. It’s just fuckin’ liquefied dessert, am I right?”

You take the drink from him and take a sip, humming at the sweetness as it hits your tongue. “Close enough,” you joke, and Roman pumps his arm in excitement, the satisfaction in his eyes. Digging through the trash days ago to copy the scribbled order on your old, empty cup was disgusting, sure. But worth it to see that pretty smile of yours. 

Roman beckons you to his desk with a curl of his finger. Excitedly, you make your way over and inspect the box of pastries he’s brought. Four oversized cupcakes, absolutely dripping in frosting. They’re from that bakery you’re obsessed with—the one you’ve maybe mentioned in passing once, because Roman really doesn’t do thoughtful. Or so you thought. It was obnoxiously out of his way, of course, but you deserve it. 

“Uhhh…” Roman points to the cupcakes, “That’s carrot cake, and then chocolate, obviously. Strawberry shortcake and birthday cake. But I call dibs on the birthday cake.”

“But it’s my birthday.” 

“Do you think I give a shit? I mean, I do. A little. Got you a present and everything.”

You perk up at that, eyes widening as you reach for the chocolate cupcake. “Yeah?” you ask, “What is it?”

“My dick in a box. What else would I get you?” he grins shamelessly. 

Roman watches you laugh as you suck a bit of frosting off of your fingertip. His cock twitches in his pants and he bites down on his lip, eyeing you up and down. He reaches into the pink box for his birthday cake cupcake and takes a bite. “Mm. Fucking delicious,” he mumbles, mouth full. “So what’s the plan, huh? How’s the birthday girl living it up tonight?”

“Uhm,” you hum, pulling back a little bit of the cupcake’s wrapper to take another bite. “The usual. Working for you, then going home.”

“Seriously?”

You nod, “Yeah.”

“That’s your plan,” he deadpans.

“Yeah,” you say again, shrugging.

Roman shakes his head, disbelief painted all over his face. “No. You’re celebrating. Properly,” he adds with a pointed look, as if daring you to argue with him. Which, of course, you do. 

“Oh, I don’t think so, Roman. What’s there to even celebrate? Do birthdays even matter past turning 21?”

“Yeah, of course they do. And what’s there to celebrate?” Roman parrots your question, pausing to eat another bite of his cupcake. “Oh, I don’t know. The fact that you’re alive,” he answers, smirking as you roll your eyes. “And hot,” he adds. 

You press your lips to hide your smile. “Yeah, see? You know I’m right. So here’s the deal: you, my dear, are going out tonight and you’re getting shitfaced.” 

“Rome-”

“Non-negotiable,” he winks, and it sends a flutter through your stomach. His charm convinces you, almost. Almost. 

“Mmmmaybe,” you hum, tilting your head. “With who, though?”

“With this handsome devil, obviously,” Roman says, pointing to his face and swirling his finger around in a circle. “What other sucker likes you enough to take you out on a pity-date for your birthday?”

“Wow. Gee, thanks, Roman. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Well, you know. It’s my specialty,” Roman says, reaching for your face. 

Your eyes widen as his hand makes contact, thumb swiping across the corner of your lips to collect a bit of chocolate frosting. “What–”

Roman smiles at you and sucks his finger, “It’s my treat,” he tells you, voice dropping a notch, mischief written all over his stupid grin. How flustered and bashful you are. Too fucking easy. 

The sun dips below the horizon, painting Roman’s office in warm shades of pink and orange as he closes down the tabs on his computer. Not that he was really doing anything, anyway. Just Connections and Wordle, and he sucks at both, but still plays them religiously. He’s gotta learn to beat you somehow and unfortunately, he can’t cheat very well at those games. Roman sighs loudly and dramatically, running his fingers through his hair before he stands up and stretches like he’s done real work. “C’mon, birthday girl. Off we go.” 

You glance up from your phone, startled. “Wait, now? I need to go home and change. I’m not wearing, like, going-out clothes.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Roman groans, throwing his head back. “You’re hot. You’re always hot,” he says, slipping into his jacket. He grabs yours off the coat hanger and holds it open, motioning for you to come over and slide your arms into the sleeves. Roman takes your purse and continues, “So hot, in fact, that I’m gonna give you my dick in a box for your birthday.” 

“Creep.” You zip up your jacket and turn around, snatching your bag back from Roman. “Stop making that joke. You’re a walking lawsuit.” 

“Mm, thanks, but it’s not a joke,” he mutters, straightening out the front of your jacket. “I’m as serious as a heart attack. I put a bow on it and everything.”

“Sure, Roman.” 

Roman holds the door open for you, mumbles “Ladies first,” and hits the lights on his way out. He follows you to the elevator and takes it to the garage level where a black car waits for you, vapor spilling from its exhaust. Roman plays the gentleman act well, swinging the car’s back door open for you, too. He gives his driver the name of some bar he thinks you’d like, and you’re on your way. It’s not a long drive, but he pours you a glass of champagne anyway. 

“Roman-”

“You gotta get wasted. Don’t fight the birthday rules. And,” he adds, pouring himself a glass, “This is the good shit, too.” 

Cautiously, you take a sip of your champagne. Before you can even put your glass down, Roman’s topping it off.

“See? Fancy bubbles.”

“Mhm.” 

By the time you reach the bar, you’re already buzzed. Warm, giggly. Just how Roman wants you, and he’s eating it up. He ushers you inside and straight to a private corner booth, then orders you appetizers of all varieties. The food keeps coming, and so do the drinks - Roman never lets you have an empty glass and keeps your attention entirely on him.

And then, it happens - the moment he’s been working towards all night. His hand lands on your thigh under the table, and it rests there with a casual confidence. And you don’t move it, either. Your inhibitions are lowered enough to the point that there’s no polite brush off, no shy smile as you timidly wrap your fingers around his wrist to kindly shove him away. You don’t even flinch. Fuck, do you even notice?

He lets you talk his ear off. Whether he knows what you’re talking about or not, he’s nodding along, pretending to listen intently to you. Throwing in the occasional hum of interest to really sell it. And you’re smiling, cheeks are warm as you slur your words, telling him all about this and that and the other as you launch into another tangent. Something about your neighbor or your fucking cat or whatever. Roman doesn’t give a shit. He snaps his fingers at the server and points to your drink.

You take a sip from your glass, then lazily toy with the melting ice in your glass with your stirrer. “Well,” you announce, a little hiccup breaking your sentence, “I think I’m wasted.” 

“Are you, now?” Roman’s grin stretches wide. 

“Pretty sure.” 

Roman smiles and claps his hands together once. “Well, there we go. My work here is done, birthday girl. Thanks for humoring the boss. You’re a real, you know - team player, or whatever the fuck HR would call it. A good sport.”

You laugh at him, and Roman’s already sliding out of the booth and waving down the check. “Shall I take you home?” 

“I haven’t-” you hiccup again, “Haven’t finished my drink.” 

Roman waves dismissively. “Meh. Take it with, who gives a shit. Call it your fuckin’ party favor.” 

Giggling excitedly, you slide out of the booth and Roman wraps your jacket around your shoulders, his hands warm against your flesh. You stumble a bit when you begin walking, like the floor is crooked or something, sloshing your drink onto him. “Shit, m’sorry, Rome.” Those first drunk steps always hit you hard.  

“You’re fine. I got you.” Roman wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes you tight, tapping his fingers against your back in a way that’s equal parts soothing and impatient. Just like before, he helps you into the car, hands steadying your wobbling frame. 

The ride is a blur. As the vehicle moves, the motion relaxes you, lulls you into a haze. You’re resting against his shoulder, which is your own doing. He didn’t have to wrap an arm around you and tuck you into his side or anything. 

Your breathing slows, and your eyes are fluttering shut. Roman notices immediately. Awake. Roman needs you awake. “Hey,” he mutters, patting your cheek lightly to jolt you into semi-alertness. “Eyes open. You’re not clocking out on me yet, need to finish that drink, yeah?”

“M’dunno,” you mumble. “Kinda-”

Roman takes the drink out of your hand and brings it to your lips, encouraging you to drink the rest. “Yeah, no. You do know. Drink up,” he tells you, tone flat. “Waste not, want not.” 

You take a few more sips, not counting them, though Roman sure as hell is. He makes sure you drink it all, every last drop. He needs you completely intoxicated. Absolutely fucked. 

The car pulls up to the building, and Roman’s out before the driver can even shift into park. He’s got a hand on your arm, moving you forward. The world tilts again, but he’s there, patiently guiding you to the elevator. Your eyelids are fighting a losing battle by the time you’ve reached the top floor, and Roman guides you inside and turns on the light. 

“Wait- wait a second,” you mumble, eyes adjusting to the light as you take in your surroundings.

Roman gives you a look and raises an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“This isn’t my home.” 

“Yeah, no shit. You’re in my home,” he replies. Roman watches the gears turn, your brows are knit together and you wear a pout as that first little bit of uneasiness sets in. “Doesn’t really matter though, does it? You’re at a home, y’know. Still a roof over your head. I can’t just leave your drunk ass alone somewhere.”

“I guess,” you mumble, blinking slowly. “Can I uh, can I have some water?”

“You’re not thirsty,” Roman cuts in, voice clipped. “You’re just tired. C’mon, let’s get you into bed, yeah? Bedtime for the birthday girl. She partied too hard.”

Roman takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom, his grip more steering than guiding. Everything’s still spinning in dizzying circles, but there’s an added layer of…of something. You can’t name it yet, but it’s there. That strange feeling in your gut, the itch in your chest. You’re nervous. Why do you feel nervous? 

Roman locks the door behind himself and sits you down on the edge of his neatly made king-sized bed that smells like laundry detergent and himself, then kneels in front of you to pull off your shoes one at a time. The casualness of it all, the intimacy of his fingers brushing against your skin. It makes your skin prickle. Roman stands up again to undress you, unbuttoning your blouse and tugging on the zipper at the side of your pencil skirt. “Get this off next,” he mumbles, pulling it down.

“Roman…”

He cuts you off with a dismissive shh as the fingers of one hand work the buttons undone on his shirt, then shrugs it off his shoulders and leaves it crumpled on the ground.

“Rome, stop- what is this? What are you doing?” The quiver in your voice and the slur to your words betrays you. You tried to sound firm.

“Giving you your last gift,” he says casually, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Duh. It’s my dick in a box, remember? I man-scaped for you and everything.”

He’s not being serious, right? There’s no way. “Pretty small package,” you joke, trying to ease some of the tension you feel. It doesn’t do much.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, and his eyes are dark. “Good things come in small packages, so fuck you.” 

You’re not sure how to respond. “Right,” is all you murmur. You manage to crack half a smile, laughing without much humor. “I guess I just - fuck, I really want that water, Roman,” you complain, pressing your hand against your forehead. You feel lightheaded, fuck. 

Roman doesn’t flinch or show any of that manufactured tenderness from earlier. “Yeah, I know. Everything, everything, everything. You’ll get it when you get it, okay? Relax.”

You groan quietly, rocking on the bed. “I guess I just don’t get the joke,” you say, changing the subject. “Like, how is your dick supposed to be a present for me?”

Roman scoffs. “How isn’t it?” he says. “It’s thoughtful. Wrapped nicely and everything. It’s all about the presentation, you know?”

“Umm…sure.”

As a silence hangs, you gather your strength and concentration to get up - you need water. Advil. Coffee. You’re ready to be done being drunk, ready to feel in control of yourself again. Roman’s drunk, too - has to be, even if he doesn’t totally seem it. He’s not slurring his words, his eyes aren’t droopy or red, he’s…unnervingly him. You hope to god he won’t remember this. You hope you won’t, either. You try to stand up, but Roman sits you back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“W-”

“Water, I know,” he snaps.  He tilts his head back and groans as he rubs his bulge, cock hardening beneath his touch. Your mouth drops open as he sucks in his belly and reaches for the button of his slacks, then unzips them. “So I lied, birthday girl. It’s not in a box, but-”

“Stop. This isn’t a funny joke. I don’t want this, Roman.”

“It’s a gift.”  

“But I don’t want-” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t - don’t fuckin’ be like that,” he snaps, sliding his pants down his legs until he’s clad in only his navy boxer briefs. “What do you say when I do something nice for you, huh? What do you say?”

“St-”

“Wrong. You say thank you. Say ‘thank you, Roman’.” 

Roman waits with both of his brows raised, but you never thank him. And something changes then. He’s always had an ugly streak, but this is different. There’s something sinister, almost, like a mask has slipped, exposing something awful that’s been festering beneath the surface. The crumbled facade. Your heart pounds so hard in your chest that you feel it in your throat. 

“You’re being kinda rude,” Roman says with a wave of his hands. “Like, really rude, actually. This whole night, I did it all for you.”

“And I can appreciate that, Roman, I do appreciate that. But I said-”

Roman crushes his palm against your lips, not allowing you to complete that sentence. “I have ears,” he bites, reaching under his briefs to pull out his cock, now at full mast. He moves the hand that’s on your lips to your shoulder and forces you down so that you’re kneeling on the floor, pinned between his body and his bed. Nowhere to run. 

He’s quick in how he does it, or maybe it’s the alcohol that’s fucked up how you process reality. Roman shoves his cock past your lips, harshly hitting the back of your throat so that you gag and choke. Tears blur your vision, though you can’t distinguish whether it’s from the pain or the rising fear. You reach for Roman’s torso and hit him as hard as you can, but he doesn’t stumble. Instead, he simply pouts at you. He takes both of your wrists in his hand and begins rocking his hips. 

“Oh, perfect - the fucking waterworks,” Roman mutters, his voice dripping with mock sympathy as his thumb brushes away the tears streaking down your face. He tilts his head, studying you with that sharp, calculating gaze, like he’s cataloging every tremble and shudder, filing it away for later. “Always so dramatic, aren’t you, sweetheart? I have to give credit where credit’s due, though. Oscar-worthy performance. Truly.”

Roman pauses, his smirk tightening, the false gentleness in his touch a sharp contrast to his words. “You know,” he adds, voice low and biting, “maybe if you’d been a little less… I don’t know, yourself - kinder, sweeter, less of a goddamn buzzkill - I wouldn’t make you choke on it. Just a thought.”

Roman’s cock tastes salty, slightly sweaty, and you’re disgusted that you kind of like it. The smell of him, too, that musky and heady sort of scent. Still holding your hands above your head, Roman squeezes your wrists hard enough so that your bones grind against each other. There’s a pinching, aching pain between your shoulders as Roman fucks into your mouth, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat with each thrust.

You’re growing aroused despite yourself. You can feel yourself dripping into your panties, the dampness making you feel sick. Roman slides in and out of your mouth with abandon, zero regard for your comfort.   

He draws out of your mouth entirely, biting his lip as he admires the sticky, shiny mess of your saliva and tears on his cock. You attempt to pull away, but with a tug of his hand, Roman holds you exactly where he wants you. “I don’t think so, birthday girl. Where the fuck do you think you’re off to?”

Roman thrusts into your mouth harshly once more. There’s no gentleness to it at all, just raw fucking ferocity. He ruts into your mouth so fiercely, turning you into a drooling, crying, choking mess. The tears rolling down your cheeks - god, he loves them. It fills him with a unique sort of confidence. Power. 

“Cry all you want,” he taunts. Your lips are sore with the repeated motion of his cock drawing back and forth between your lips, jaw throbbing, nose rubbed raw from the coarse thatch of his trimmed pubic hair. Roman continues to roll his hips, relishing in your warm, wet mouth and the way your sobbing makes your throat tighten around him. With your forehead bouncing against his stomach, you squirm and whine in discomfort as he uses you. The brutality. You’re at your breaking point when finally, finally you feel Roman begin to twitch and pulse in your mouth, and you brace yourself for his release.  

Instead, he pulls out. 

That’s it? Is that it? Is it over? You think it’s over. Maybe - god willing - he had a change of heart. 

“Th-thank you, Roman,” you whisper, voice wobbling. That’s what he wanted, right? A thank you?

“Oh, now you remember your manners,” Roman mocks. “How convenient. Too fucking late, birthday girl, ‘cause now this is really my treat.”

Roman forces you to your feet and pushes you onto your back, then climbs over you. He pins your arms above your head in one hand and with the other, reaches between your thighs and pulls your panties to the side. His fingers glide through the pool of arousal at your core, effortlessly slipping through your folds. 

“Please get off of me,” you whimper. “Stop.” 

“Why would I stop? You’re fucking soaked,” he says. “And I bet when I do this-” Roman purrs, pushing his ring and middle fingers into your slick cunt, “-you’ll get wetter. Won’t you?” 

He curls his fingers repeatedly, expertly stroking that sensitive spot inside you. The pleasure makes you cry harder. God, you just want it to be over. If you weren’t so drunk you could probably get out from under him. But your limbs are heavy and uncoordinated, your head is spinning. If you managed to leave, he’d drag you right back to his bed. 

“Shh, do you fucking hear that? Listen to yourself.” Roman covers your mouth to quiet your cries, and you hiccup beneath his palm. He goes quiet too, the only sounds in the room being his heavy breathing and the wet, sticky noises your pussy makes as he fucks you with his fingers. “Sounds to me like you fucking want this.” 

With his hand still on your mouth, Roman uses the other to stroke his cock. Your panties are still tugged to the side when he enters you, one brutal, violent thrust that has him groaning and you wincing in pain. 

Roman lowers his head and bites into your shoulder as he fucks you, rolling his hips over and over into you. You wish it didn’t feel as good as it does. You wish you weren’t so wet, so complicit. That’s what you are, aren’t you? Complicit in this?

“Give me your fucking hand,” Roman pants, taking one of your hands and wedging it between your two bodies. “Goes right here,” he mumbles, pressing your fingertips against your clit. “The quicker you come, the quicker it’s over,” he whispers. 

You nod under his hand, closing your eyes as your fingers circle your clit. If you pretend that Roman’s not here - or, even if he is - that it’s not happening like this, you can do it. As you rub yourself, you do your best to detach from everything going on. It’s just Roman on top of you, Roman inside of you. A body on a body, a body part in a body part. Nothing else. That pleasure deep in your gut is just pleasure, a sensation and nothing more. Dreading your release, you moan under Roman’s palm to coax release along and there it is - your orgasm. 

How deliciously you pulse around Roman’s cock. How needy your moans are, and what’s that you’re doing with your legs, wrapping them tightly around his waist? Roman grins and licks your neck. “Yeah, that’s on you, isn’t it?” he taunts. “Whose fault is that?”

“M-mine,” you cry. 

“That’s right,” he says, kissing your neck. “Now do it again. C’mon, birthday girl, give me another.” You cry harder, shaking your head no. “Come on! It’s your special day. Treat yourself and come for me one more time.” 

“I can’t,” you sob, voice muffled by Roman’s hand over your mouth. He gives you a look. If you do as he asks, it’ll all work out better for you. He knows it and you know it. 

“God, you’re a mess. Your fuckin’ snot’s all over my hand,” he spits, wiping his hand on your torso, then builds the pace again. “One more,” he reminds you, kissing your tear-soaked cheek. “Fuck, you take it so well, honey. Like you’re made for this.” 

Roman repeats his words and a variety of other praises, insults, and swears as he fucks you deeply. He’s got you pressed in half, your knees on either side of your chest as your hips ache in the position. The angle intensifies everything and he knows, oh how he knows what it does to you. Poor fucking thing. Tired, sore, drunk, overstimulated. Partied too hard. 

You don’t even have to rub your clit - the way Roman’s got himself angled has his body doing all the work, pubic bone adding the necessary pressure against your clit to make you come. You can’t quite identify your orgasm as it begins to build; no definitive start, but when it’s there, it ruins you. Washes over your body in waves, devastating you. Your climax coaxes Roman’s own, though you hardly register his pulsing cock as he spurts thick ropes of his spend inside you. 

Roman pulls out of you then, leaving you with an empty feeling as his come seeps from your cunt. He leaves the room and the tears have stopped, but an occasional sob wracks your body every few seconds. He returns to you with a big glass of water, ice and straw and everything. Your trembling hands can’t hold it so Roman does instead, guiding the straw to your lips. 

If you enjoyed, please lmk! Hop in my inbox or reblog with some kind thoughts 🩷 it means the world to me.

roman tags <3

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

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@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @/ziggymars

[jaysfavoritee]

ptolemaea | p.sh

pairing. ❥ vampire!park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre. ❥ angst, thriller, psychological

cautions. ❥ death, depictions of blood & gore, profanity

wc. ❥ 2.1k

synopsis. ❥ Park Sunghoon would do anything to protect you, no matter the price.

note! story inspired by Ethel Cain’s Ptolemaea ! thank you for reading, hope you enjoy 🤗

You stood in the room where the deep sunset appears through the singular window. The golden rays hit the quietest corners, providing solace in everything it touches. The sun does not comfort you, though. No. It cannot.

You poor thing.

You blink back the impending sting of hot tears from forming. You wish to not cry. You never cried. You shall not cry now.

“Come in here, I know you're there,” you whisper meekly, letting the vines and thorns planted inside of your throat rattle with each vibration of your vocal box.

No response.

You breathe in. You breathe out. “Sunghoon.”

The doorknob twists and slowly opens. It creaks loudly in this quiet space. Dust accumulating within the ridges and edges of the furniture floats about, the rays of the sun allowing you to see it.

A tall figure is seen, dressed in all black. His turtleneck, black. His slacks, black. His shoes, black. His neatly styled hair, also black.

He's utterly gorgeous. His pale skin complimented the silver necklace that adorned around his neck, the first letter of your name engraved on it.

He towers over you. He is not close yet not far away.

“My sweet angel. Why do you call out to me at this time?” His voice is as smooth as the sand that trickles down the hourglass that sits nicely on the table. You find that voice to be as comforting as the warmth of the sunlight that radiates on your skin. His presence alone causes goosebumps to become visible.

The rays kiss the side of his face, purely unaffecting him. He is perfect.

“You know why. I'd like to see him,” you state calmly, as calm as the waves of the sea that you could see from out the window.

Sunghoon's expression only contorts into confusion.

You blink once. You blink twice. “Jaeyun. You know this. I want to see Jaeyun.”

After a few seconds, the name registers. Sunghoon smiles and shakes his head. This action causes you to furrow your eyebrows. It's your turn to be confused.

“You promised me,” you mutter, letting the words become laced and tangled with offense. Your eyes moisten again with the tears threatening to fall.

“I devoted myself to you. I did that. I wanted you to let me see him again for the last time. That was the only thing I asked of you.”

Sunghoon walks against the old floorboard with hands clutched together behind his back, stopping right in front of you.

“I know. Is this what you want? Tell me.”

You nod. “Please.”

A pout tugs at his lips as he turns his head to look at the closet door behind him. “As you wish, my sweet angel,” he whispers before walking toward the door and opening it.

Out of everything you would expect, this was not one of them. The lifeless body of your dearest friend Jaeyun lies before you. His neck and the half of his face were mutilated with teeth marks. The rotting smell and the sound of flies buzzing around his body present itself.

He was bloody. So bloody. Clothes drenched in the colors brown, black, and dark red. You could see the insides of the flesh that had been played around with, making your body automatically gag.

You begin to blink rapidly. You slap your cheek in hopes for you to realize that you were hallucinating the entire image.

“You are not seeing things, my love. This is real,” Sunghoon tells you softly.

The sunlight that shone inside this room took away the familiar warmth and replaced it with an unrecognizable coldness instead.

Once your heart was able to process what you were seeing, you fell to your knees. The wooden ground poked harshly at the skin, but that pain did not suffice to the pain that spread throughout your entire body and soul like a raging forest fire.

The tears that struggled to escape, at last, released. Your eyes blurred 'til you no longer could make out anything. Everything felt hot and cold at the same time.

The fire deep inside of you climbed its way up your chest, to your throat, and finally, it came out as a blood-curdling scream.

Sunghoon flinched at the sudden change of atmosphere. You screamed as much as your body would allow, and you started to crawl on the floor, not caring to pick up your knees and letting it drag against the wood, causing the skin to peel and blood to trickle. It stings.

Everywhere it stings.

You cry out. Your broken sobs echo in this tiny room. The waves outside become dangerous, as if they could feel the grief that swallows you whole.

You see red. You see white. You see colors swirling in your vision as your heart breaks. You swear you can hear it.

You bring out a shaky hand and you place it on the side of Jaeyun's face that was not tampered with. One eye open, the other gone. Nothing emanates from his pupil. No soul. Nothing to be seen.

The same as looking into Sunghoon's.

Sunghoon lets you cry out for minutes, or hours, he isn't sure. Time does not exist for you right now.

You cough nonstop.

Sunghoon kneels in front of you. He tilts your chin up with his slim fingers. “You poor thing, my sweetest angel. Why must you cry?”

You angrily shove his hand away from you. He tilts his head in confusion, genuine hurt flashes through his eyes.

“You. You.”

Breathe in.

“What have you done?” You whisper hoarsely while glancing down at Jaeyun. “Why?”

“I kept your promise. Didn't I?”

You stand up immediately, though your balance nearly gives out from the wobbliness of your legs. “You didn't keep my promise...”

“But, darling, I have. He's right th-”

“He's dead. Look at him,” you mutter through clenched teeth.

Quietness fills the air once more. Your head begins to throb.

Breathe out.

“You wanted to see him for one last time, my love. Have I been mistaken?” Sunghoon asks, his face etched with worry.

“I wanted him to be...” you say quietly.

Sunghoon stares right at you.

“ALIVE!” You shriek. The glass cups that sit on the shelves rattle. Your throat is on fire.

Sunghoon swallows.

“I wanted him to be alive. You tricked me. You fooled me,” you cry, your shoulders slumping. You back yourself against the wall and slid down from exhaustion.

Sunghoon shakes his head profusely as he makes his way over to you. “No, no, no. My angel, I would never lie to you. I've devoted myself to you,” he says sincerely and looks into your bloodshot eyes.

“..I would do anything for you. I would die for you.”

“You knew damn fucking well what I meant when I said I wanted to see him one last time. I didn't want him to DIE!” You yell the last word at his face, making him flinch.

“My angel, you see, it had to be done. I've already told him your farewells before he took his last breath. I wouldn't say he deserved your kindness, though.” His eyes darken.

You feel like crying again and you shake your head resting on the wall. “What does that even mean, Sunghoon? What have I done to deserve this?”

Sunghoon gently wipes the tears that stained your cheeks. “My love,” he says as he stands up, holding his hand out for you to grab. You hesitantly take it and he helps you stand up, balancing yourself.

He looks down at you with something in his eyes that you cannot figure out, but you chalk it up to be something akin to adoration.

“I have told you this since the beginning,” he starts with a low rumble of his voice. “Once they see me in my full glory, I can never let them see daylight again. That's how it works.”

You bite your lip in an attempt to stop yourself from yelling at him.

“Jaeyun is not the man you think he is, my angel. I wouldn't have done what I did if I didn't think he deserved it.”

You stare into his eyes and for the umpteenth time, you shake your head. “What are you saying?” You ask, voice strained. Hurt. Broken beyond recognition.

Sunghoon holds your hands into his and he glances down at Jaeyun's body. He lets go for a moment before he reaches down to Jaeyun’s side, taking out a tiny journal from his back pocket.

Sunghoon stares at it before handing it to you. In pure confusion and your head still throbbing, you grab the book from him and open it to see Jaeyun's handwriting. All of the pages were filled to the brim.

As you take a closer look at the words, you realize that he was planning something. He was writing down the dates and jotted down a bunch of observations, along with his thoughts.

“Date. 03.25.12 - She tripped over a rock today. She laughed it off, but it was too tempting to pick it up and bash her head in with it.”

“Date. 05.01.14 - Every day the urge keeps getting worse. She disgusts me.”

“Date. 11.22.18 - I've practiced the way I'm going to kill her. I have it all set up.”

You look at the dates and the words in shock, your mouth opening while tears trickle down your face. “He-”

“My dearest. He was planning your murder,” Sunghoon interrupts, his hands finding their way behind his back. He stares at you flipping through the pages.

“No, this isn't right,” you blurt out, your fingertips losing their sense of touch. Everything is going numb.

Sunghoon lets out a long sigh and steps closer to you, embracing your figure and rubbing the small of your back soothingly. “I know. Throughout all those years of pretending, his main goal was to end you.”

You shudder and drop the journal, letting it hit the floor aggressively. You blink away the burning sensation in your eyes as you abruptly shove yourself away from Sunghoon's hold.

“How am I so sure that you were not the one to pull this shit out of your ass? How do I know you didn't do this on purpose?”

Sunghoon kneels down in front of you and places his hands on your waist. He looks up at you with love that you cannot ignore how hard you try.

“Have you ever seen a vampire blush?”

“What? No.”

“There's no blood circulating through my veins,” he continues. “I don't possess the ability to blush. However, my love, you have caused this. You make me alive.”

You sigh and he smiles. “You know what I am. You know my heart does not beat,” he says as he takes one of your hands and puts it right in front of where his heart should be. You feel the sensation of it beating. “This is possible because of the way you make me feel. I love you so tremendously, sweet angel. You are my light and my savior.”

“How do I know if you haven't said the same thing to thousands of women one hundred years ago before me?” Sunghoon can see the doubt written all over your facial features.

In response, he shakes his head. “If that were the case, that would mean I've ended them already. Your blood is the sweetest, and I have been tempted, though I have not acted upon those temptations. I would never lie to you.”

You know that to be true. He's always honest with you.

“I want to protect you the same way that you've given me life. You made me feel things I haven't felt in centuries, my angel. I would do anything you ask of me to. I would never let anyone or anything hurt you under my watch,” he says sternly.

He begins to stand up and he pulls you into another embrace. He protected you from what you didn't know. He saved you from what you couldn't possibly be aware of.

“I love you,” you breathe against the fabric of his turtleneck. “Thank you for protecting me.”

He smiles cheerfully that displays his sharp fangs. “I love you with everything in me. Everything that I do is to protect you, my dearest. Trust me.”

And shall you trust.

He beckons you forward to exit the room, and you wipe away the rest of your tears as he intertwines your fingers with his. Before he leaves, he takes one last look at the journal and Jaeyun's dead body.

The journal that he purely made up. The journal that he manipulated your sweet mind to hallucinate.

Jaeyun was straying too close to what was his.

The devil himself wouldn't let that happen. Not under his watch.

[niki-phoria]

너는 나의 orbit, you're my one and only / 밤하늘을 함께 fly with you

“come on, just one kiss,” you whine as HUANG RENJUN tucks the blankets a little tighter around your body. he raises a knowing eyebrow as he looks down at you, purposefully making sure your entire body is tightly wrapped in the softest blankets in your apartment. “please?”

“you’re sick, y/n,” he chuckles. renjun slides the tissue box across the table, propping it upwards in your direction. “you’ve been coughing on me all morning. i’m not gonna let you spread your germs any farther.”

“i haven’t been coughing on you.” despite your words, your body seems to immediately betray you. your eyes flutter shut as another series of coughs racks through you. the force rattles your lungs and forces you to breathe in through short, painful gasps. your throat burns painfully as you tuck your face into the crook of your arm, falling back until your head rests against the edge of the couch once again. “just be glad i’m not throwing up on you.”

“trust me, i am.” renjun grimaces, though he doesn’t let you see. the fabric of his sweatpants rustles against your rug as he kneels down beside you. his skin feels cool against your skin as he rests his palm against your forehead. “your fever is getting worse,” he sighs. “i want you to take some more medicine after you eat.”

you groan quietly; the sound is muffled by the fabric of renjun’s stolen sweatshirt that hangs loosely off of your frame. “if you’re gonna force me to take more medicine, can i at least have a kiss?”

renjun sighs softly as he relents. he quietly chuckles, shaking his head as he leans down. your eyes flutter shut in anticipation before his lips brush against your forehead - feather-light and cool against your feverish skin. his touch is gone almost as soon as you feel it, leaving you with flushed cheeks and a rapid heartbeat. “that’s all you get until you feel better.” 

“tease,” you huff. 

renjun chuckles in response. he intertwines his fingers with yours before leaning down pressing a final chaste kiss against your knuckles. “don’t worry, baby. i’ll make you some congee. maybe it’ll soothe your throat.”

you smile softly, squeezing his hand in return. “thank you, jun.”

notes: gn!reader, 374 words, still testing new layouts and idk if i like this one, inspired by the fever that i had last week lmao, very late but welcome back renjun :)) i'm glad he's performing with 7dream again <33, barely proofread !! please forgive any mistakes, title from txt - dear sputnik

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