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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

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Okay but hear me out, gojo teaching his girl how to properly touch herself bc she can't make herself cum and has been edging herself unintentionally and gojo helps out with his long fingers 🥺

instruction - gojo x fem!reader (2k)

you might be having trouble, but gojo doesn’t mind playing sensei to you.

warnings: nsfw/minors dni! oral sex, assisted masturbation, fingering. afab reader with fem pronouns

[reblogs/comments appreciated! // my jjk masterlist]

The first time that Gojo gives you an orgasm, it’s using his tongue. His head is buried between your thighs, soft noises of praise coming out of his mouth interspersed with the flutter of his kisses on your inner thighs and the downright filthy sound of his mouth dragging through your slick. His tongue toys with your clit, swirling it and sucking it, circling it before he returns back to flicking the tip over it with mountingly quicker and harder motions. Your hands are knit in his hair, and as you feel the ball of pressure inside of you finally split into a thousand tiny pieces, you tug on the silver-pale strands in your grip and wail into the ceiling. He guides you through the aftershocks with slower, deeper laps of his tongue across your cunt before he lazily pulls himself up onto his elbows, looking at you with those big blue eyes, galaxies swirling with them.

“You were so noisy, doll,” he murmurs. “I know I’m good with my tongue, but hell - if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that seems like the first time you’ve ever got to cum--”

You feel yourself squirm, embarrassment flooding your thoughts. It’s not like you haven’t tried! But something in you always seems to stop you coming, and you’ve spent too many nights frustratedly falling asleep with your thighs a mess after being unable to bring yourself any kind of relief.

You can’t really hide anything from Satoru Gojo, though.

The look on your face tells him all that he needs to know - that flustered, half-guilty expression, your bitten lips darkened from the dig of your teeth. His own expression softens indescribably, those long fingers sliding up your damp thighs as he coos, all pity; “Oh, baby girl . . . We can’t have that, can we?”

He coaxes you, words coated in sugar, eyes gentle, to show him how you’ve been touching yourself. Before you know what’s happening, he’s taking your hand and pulling it down to rest over where you’re still slick with your own arousal and Gojo’s saliva. You’re still adorably sensitive, flinching at the pads of your fingers over your tender clit, so Gojo gently tugs on your wrist.

“Try circling it,” he murmurs. “You’ll hurt yourself if you go all in with the stimulation--”. You do your best to follow his orders for a few minutes, until the sensitivity wears off a bit. And then, he’s kneeling between your thighs and pushing your knees up a little so he has a better view of how exactly you’re rubbing at your petal-soft folds, how you’ve been treating yourself up until now. “Show me exactly how you’ve done it before,” he breathes, the crystalline sapphires of his eyes set on the space between your legs like he’s a patron at an art gallery. “Lemme see why you haven’t gotten to come, baby.”

You do your best. It’s the same as it always is, though - you rub at your clit with inexperienced, clumsy fingers. Heat seems to build up inside you, but you never manage to get it to go further than that build up. Even when you use your other hand to thrust two of your fingers inside, it feels like you’re reaching for something that isn’t quite there. It’s so annoying. You’ve read guides on how to do this, watched porn videos in the hope it’ll help you with your block - but nothing seems to work. And now, you’re being watched by your boyfriend, and you can’t help but be hot and embarrassed . . . and kind of turned on. The way that he’s looking at you. The concern knitting his usually smooth brow.

Gojo watches you, pensive, as you feel tears of frustration bubble up in the corners of your eyes. You move your hands away from your cunt, curling them into fists and giving the bed beneath you an exasperated thump.

(Gojo’s eyebrows raise as he sees you removing the stimulation entirely. You poor little thing. No wonder you haven’t managed it.)

“I-I can’t get it to go further,” you say, agitated. “I-it gets to a point, and then it just seems to stop! It builds up and it builds up but it just stays there!”

Gojo shifts closer to you. His hands rest on your thighs. “You know what I think?” He asks you, his voice very low. His cock has been hard in his pants since the moment he got you on his bed, never mind the orgasm he gave you with his tongue - but it’s a damn right tragedy you’ve never been able to make yourself come, and (much as he doesn’t want to admit it) being Gojo’s girlfriend can be a lonely life. He’s away on missions so often, and he loves to tease, and he knows that you’ll have his cock on the mind forever once you’ve had it for the first time. So it’s better for both of you if you learn exactly what you’re doing. “I think y’just haven’t had the right teacher yet. And . . . you’re in luck,” he flashes you one of those patented Satoru Gojo grins, half-unhinged and half-handsome. “Because I’m right here and willin’ to take some time out of my busy schedule to teach you all about the human body--!”

“Don’t put it like that,” you say, weakly, as he reaches between your thighs and pulls the lips of your cunt apart. He looks back at your sex; the swollen clit, the hole begging to be filled, the absolute mess you’ve both made with tongues and fingers and your earlier orgasm.

“You always stop before it goes further, right? Because you get bored and frustrated?” He clicks his tongue, shaking your head in mock scolding, as you squirm. “Baby girl, you gotta have temerity. You’ve been edging yourself ever since you figured out how to jack off.” His thumb swipes down through the slit as he lets go of his thumb’s hold. “Play with your clit for me. C’mon.”

The way he meets your eyes tells you that this is an order, and Gojo when he slips into the mode of a commander is not a man to be messed with. You hesitantly slide your fingers back between your legs to gently circle your swollen clit, your touch incredibly gentle. Gojo’s pretty mouth tilts into a smile. “Use your other hand to play with your chest,” he says. “I’d ask you to use it for something else, but . . .” The smile widens, showing a hint of white teeth. “I think I’m much better placed to do that.”

You are about to ask him what he means when his hand brushes over yours and then a fingertip gently pushes into the pulsing ring of your entrance. His fingers are slender - it does not hurt for him to push them in, but you are still robbed of your breath by the sensation of it plunging slowly into your silky depths. He gives one or two cursory pumps, before withdrawing his finger entirely so he can add a second beside it.

This one is more of a stretch, but it is a stretch in the best possible way. You use the hand not playing with your clit to squeeze the weight of your breast, your breath hitching. Thumb and forefinger pinch your nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak, as Gojo finds a slow rhythm to pump his fingers in and out of you.

“That’s deeper, right?” He rasps. “Feels better? Like places you’ve never been able to reach before?” He crooks his fingers just so and magic seems to spark, a spot on your inner walls your own shorter fingers have never managed to gain ground on. Your thighs tremble and you gasp out his name. “I thought so.” He swallows. You look up at him through the fan of your eyelashes and you see the lust in his eyes is palpable. He catches your gaze and holds it, unafraid.

“I want you to be rougher with yourself,” he growls, low. “Press a little harder--”

The hand not currently fucking two digits into you takes hold of your wrist, pushing you to put more pressure on your clit. Fuck. The sensation of his hand guiding your wrist’s movements, in tandem with the fact that his fingers have not yet stopped hitting that special spot with every single thrust . . . You can feel the ball tightening, pulling in on itself, like a hundred knots in the same piece of thread.

“If you didn’t have me,” Gojo rasps, and the sound of his voice gritty and dark sends a jolt of pleasure throughout you, “You’d be stopping now. You’d think you weren’t gonna get anywhere. But . . . you will, doll-- you’ve just gotta push past it--” He takes his hand away from your wrist, but you continue the pace and the pressure that he chose for you.

You whimper out his name, the hand playing with your chest squeezing hard (if you have bruised fingerprints on the soft curve of your breast tomorrow, Gojo will laugh gently at them and press on them a little meanly before he soothes you all over with kisses).

“You gonna promise me you’ll do that when you’re alone, yeah?” Gojo asks. He’s sounding a little breathless. Your eyes manage to focus long enough to see that he’s rubbing himself through his underwear, an impressive bulge pressing against the expensive fabric. He sees you looking and gives another feral grin that seems to echo through you. “D-don’t worry, we’ll take care’a that after your lesson--”

“I promise,” you breathe, as he curls his fingers just right against that spot and your own fingers reach fever pitch. You don’t know if you’re promising to do it the way that he taught you, or if you’re promising that you’ll take care of his cock, or if you’re promising something else to him entirely - your life, your love, your very being - but you do know that the knotted threads inside of you snap all at once as Gojo’s fingertips reach so deep, so good, so perfectly inside of you.

Your channel clenches and constricts, spasming around the digits buried in it to the knuckles. Heat washes over you with a feeling of peace, different to when he’d used his tongue on you and yet similar. Gojo is practically purring as he watches you and feels you, a gush of slick coating his fingers even as he guides you over the crest of your orgasm.

“Good girl,” Gojo’s murmuring, as your breathing (when did you start panting?) evens out. “Oh, so good for me, doll . . .” His fingers come out of you with a wet pop and he brings them to his mouth, tongue flickering out teasingly to taste you. “So sweet for me, too . . .” He sighs, his eyes closing for a moment as he enjoys the lingering flavour. When those eyes open again, they’re lit with hunger.

“Well,” he says. “whaddya say? Think you can come like that next time you touch yourself?” He raises his eyebrows, a playful grin on his face. “Think y’can come at all?”

You nod fervently, and win a chuckle from Gojo. He shifts on the bed, pushing the underwear he’s still wearing down to his thighs to reveal the thick jut of his cock. You’re breathless at the sight of it, already needy despite the fact your second orgasm of the night was scant minutes ago.

“I want a video of it,” he tells you. “Next time you touch yourself. I want a video of you and I want you t’say my name as you do it. But for now . . .” He gently taps the wet (so, so, wet - ruddy and flushed and dripping with his pre-come) head of his cock against your thigh. “I think we’ve got some other business to attend to, yeah?”

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #writing #jjk posting #afab reader #fem pronouns #not sfw #Anonymous

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precuredaily · 2 years ago

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Precure Bonus Day: YPC5GG ED 2

It’s been.... far too long since I reviewed some music. Go Go episode 30 brings with it a new ending theme, and the third rendition of an old favorite. The opening hasn’t changed, so refer to my earlier review of that if you missed it or want a refersher. Also, for reasons that will soon become clear, here’s my thoughts on YPC5 ending 2 and Splash Star ending 2.

And here’s a gallery to get you started: https://imgur.com/a/gCCCmWo

Yes! Precure 5 Go Go! Ending 2: “Ganbalance de Dance ~Kibou no Relay~” (Relay of Hope) by Cure Quartet

Cure Quartet is a supergroup formed for this album comprising Gojo Mayumi, Uchiyae Yuka, Kudou Mayu, and Miyamoto Kanako. AKA all the theme song singers from the first 5 series. The B track on the single is a kind of medly/tribute to all the shows in honor of the 5th anniversary.

As usual it’s a catchy bop, this time with a little more of a full band sound to it. The animation consists of everyone doing the now-familiar dance in front of Natts House or other locations. The very first shot is the girls running out of the house and leaping into the air, wearing cheerleader uniforms. These are not seen again in this ending, or anywhere else in the show. It has always struck me as strange that they were designed and used for this one shot only.

There are no counting gags like in the previous few outros, everyone does their part and well. The moves are more or less the same as in previous Ganbalance de Dance renditions, which is to say, kind of silly. The lyrics are somewhat altered once again from the Y5 version, this time dropping any slightly negative causes from the preious version and going into full optimism. Essentially the lyrics say “keep your chin up and dance the ganbalance and everything will be okay!”

Halfway through, the girls all transform into their Cure forms and perform the rest of the dance that way. Real-time transformations are rare so it’s nice to have that here, for the remainder of the show.

While most of the dance moves are the same as ever, they simplify one step, where the characters face their backs to the audience during an instrumental transition. In the Splash Star version, the villains performed this step and were shown twisting one way and then the other. Here though, it’s just stills of the girls and fairies.

There’s some weird and funny scenes that don’t fully make much sense, like Mint and Aqua holding dishes containing bean jelly and lobster, though this is probably a reference to their questionable cooking abilities.

Also, that scene contains a brief shot of Jiya and Otaka, as well as two Cinq Lumiere students. I initially thought they were Kudou Mayu and Miyamoto Kanako, who got guest appearances in the show once last season, but they aren’t. Next I thought they might be student council members, but while the girl with pigtails resembles someone we’ve seen, I can’t find a match for the girl with straight dark har. She actually loosely resembles Honoka from FWPC, but most likely they’re just generic student designs.

Speaking of cameos, Masuko Mika appears in the ending for the first time! She’s trying to snap a picture of Lemonade and the other girls are confused/excited/upset at this.

When played at the 1080p of the blurays, the digital art looks a bit upscaled, while the CG roses used for scene transitions are extremely detailed. It’s a jarring contrast now that I’ve noticed it. Otherwise, the animation and art is good, perhaps not the best it could be, but fine quality for the remainder of the show.

The ending concludes with this nice group shot of everyone mugging the camera, it’s really fun.

The instrumentation in this one is a lot of light brass, strings, a piano, a rhythm guitar, and a drum kit. There’s a small saxophone solo in the full version. The flow is smooth and upbeat, and it feels more full than the previous versions of the song. The presence of four singers also helps this sensation. There are usually at least two people singing at the same time, with the others on backing vocals. Sometimes they’re all four singing the melody, and sometimes it’s just Miyamoto. However, I think it’s my least favorite at the same time. I liked the tune because of its simplicity, and making it a big composition takes away from that in my personal opinion.

I mentioned in my review of the first ending that I liked it better than this, and I stand by that statement. I think Yes 5 remains my favorite version of the song, but it’s the last time we’ll see it, and when we hit Fresh the CG dance endings begin in force. Look forward to that, and look forward to the rest of this show!

#Precure #Pretty Cure #Yes! Precure 5 Go Go!#YPC5GG #PCD Bonus

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altcvnningham · 4 years ago

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strings | johnny silverhand

summary: a storm passes through night city, but it isn't that which wakes her. it's the soft sound of guitar strings, being plucked by chrome fingers.

words: 1280

pairing: johnny silverhand / fem v (my v vana, but i avoid physical description, so read the name as whatever you like!!)

content: fluff, mild angst, Yearning™️, johnny plays guitar and it's rly therapeutic

warnings: SPOILERS, death mention, johnny shuts up for once so maybe mildly ooc, idk how guitars work

misc: soooo after listening to this on loop for the last forever, i just needed to vent and get this outta my system. i do use my v's name (vana) in this, but there's no physical description of her, so feel free to imagine v as your own!! also, it's been almost 4 years since i've officially posted any of my writing online, so while this is a little rough and not as detailed as i'd usually like, please be kind, and please enjoy!! (also ao3 link soon maybe but i'm lazy)

***

V doesn’t know what day it is when she awakes, but she does so to the quiet twang of guitar strings.

The metal blinds slide open, aware of her waking, and the morning spills into the room, dim and grey. Rain patters against the glass, and V, with her eyes still closed, curls deeper into the bedsheets to fend off the cold, away from the light towards the dark shelter of the wall. Night City can wait. She’ll enjoy this strange, soft music while it lasts.

Fingers pluck on quietly, nary a breath nor sigh to indicate the person playing. It’s a somber melody, a blue tune teased with the vague, cruel implication of hope, heartbreak, contentment. There‘s something in the way the music seems to move around the room and still the world, something timeless and calm yet so tenderly desperate about it- she feels sad and happy all at once, and suddenly, to be alive- to be dying- seems... a simple, given, painfully temporary thing. It’s a sweet, naïve tune. A fool’s song.

It cuts short.

Razor-sharp static screams in search for a signal. The strumming abruptly stops in response. The radio. It’s automated to switch on when she wakes up.

Then comes a final telltale sigh from the foot of her bed, as some garish pop song resonates brokenly through white noise. Must be a storm, she thinks. Howling wind outside her window confirms it.

A weight rises from the mattress- one that wasn’t there the night before, and V furrows her brows, braving the daylight and turning onto her side to see the figure lifting from the bed.

Chrome fingers curl around the neck of the cheap electric guitar as they prop the instrument back against the bed. A swelling ache closes around Vana’s chest. Loneliness. Separated from him by inches. Feeling without the one bound to the inside of her skull- it's agony.

Johnny. He crosses the room towards the radio in an aimless stride, and he staggers, tired. Vana briefly wonders- occupying her maddened, longing mind with something else- if he’s even capable of feeling that way, or if it’s her own waking lethargy that he feels, that clings to him. It’s usually like that with most things. And he switches the radio off, back arched downwards to reach it. Static finally turns to silence. She sees the thick lock of hair hanging in his eyes, and how he moves it with a careless jerk of his head before sauntering back to the bed again; peculiarly, he’s not wearing the bulletproof vest over his Samurai tank- the projection of the exact same faded shirt she wears now- and without the seemingly invincible façade, he almost looks... normal. Himself, maybe. Of course, when he descends back down to the end of the bed again, the blue glitched fragments of his engram form give him away. Yet somehow, unlike most times, seeing it puts her mind at ease. Not dreaming, at least.

With his back to her, Johnny picks the guitar back up and slings it weightlessly over his knee again. Out of thin air, he materialises a cigarette in his mouth, which wavers absentmindedly between pursed lips as he tunes the guitar and tests each string; Vana watches and remains completely still in her warm, blanket cocoon, not intent on interrupting this rare moment of peace. The rain drums on smoothly. Johnny pauses to pull the cigarette from his mouth. Exhale. Smoke joins in dancing alongside dust motes around the room, and Vana is happy to be alive today.

Johnny adjusts a silver ring on a flesh finger before touching the guitar’s strings again. He hesitates, stops, then straightens himself out before strumming the first note.

And then, it’s as if he loses himself to it- effortlessly playing that same melancholy tune from before without fault, without a sliver of uncertainty. His ‘ganic hand glides along each string with meticulous ease, metal fingers sliding and spreading along each fret, and the bleak light of the storm glints off of each chrome knuckle as he coaxes the music out to fill the quiet. And it's just this. The way in which he messily perfects such a common, mundane art. An ageless, timeless thing. No ugly, restless hand of Night City can snatch this away from her. The way his wrist flicks back with each note, how his hair crowds his face again as he nods slowly along, the heel he fails to notice he’s tapping in rhythm on the floor. For a moment, Johnny Silverhand’s real name lingers like a song in the back of her mind, as distant and unknown as this one, and she wonders if the person at the foot of her bed is him, that fragmented man lost in time.

Alt had said that Soulkiller does exactly by its name, that the soul dies the moment the consciousness is extracted. But watching him now, Vana refuses to believe that the glitched apparition at the foot of her bed is void of that, that same soul that inhabited the real Johnny Silverhand, that this engram isn’t as tangible and complex and real and feeling as she herself is. This projection of him, an amalgamation of every conscious want, need, thought and whim of a man who once existed- and this projection, he wakes up before her, on a morning as cold and grey and miserable as this, and plays a song for no discernible reason at all other than simply wanting to. Feeling like it.

No soul. She could weep- there's soul in every string.

Vana jostles free of the blanket and pushes herself forward, shifting to her knees. Johnny’s old dogtags, a relic of his past that dangle around her neck, clink together with each steady movement she makes towards him- terrified he’d stop playing for even a second- and she sits cross-legged behind him, facing the slender, flexing muscles of his back as he strums. She hugs herself, cold, shivering. He keeps playing. It’s bliss. She’s overcome with a sudden indescribable fondness, so much so that were she any braver in her vulnerability, any kinder to her feeling self, she’d let it bring a tear to her eye.

But Vana can only muster turning her head to the side, and resting her lonely cheek against the center of his back, desperate to feel every single breath that comes and leaves his vague, digital body. Perhaps it’s her own warmth she feels, reflecting back at her from Johnny’s feelings and senses, but she swears she feels him, hot beneath her cheek as though he were flesh and blood. The illusion is just enough that she doesn’t slip through him entirely. Perhaps, this will simply do.

Yes... fleeting as it is, as all things are, this moment is just... okay.

The song ends. Johnny plucks the final string. The chord fades out into a low, droning hum, until all that’s left is the rain on the window, the torrid rolling of the storm, and his calm, firm breaths, moving against her.

She forgets she's dying. And she would happily fall asleep again, right here, with the very thing that kills her, drinking in the song he’s let steep in the silence around them. But he slowly lowers the guitar, his body shifting beneath Vana’s unflinching cheek. Eyes fluttering shut once more, she feels him twist as he turns around, and how he catches her body in slacked repose, and finally- almost as if he wants to, as if he cares- the tangled threading of cold, metal fingers through her hair, towing her under the dark dwelling of sleep once more.

“I got you.”

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

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choke me, daddy.

prompt: “choke me.”

i am unapologetic about my troll title. ty anon for the prompt! 👀 this is the couple from up all night. also, this isn’t beta read so i’m sorry if there are glaring errors lolz!!

pairing. knj x reader. rating. explicit. tags. this is smut, y’all. choking, riding that d**k, etc.. wc. 1.2k.

You’ve always been obsessed with his hands. The way the knuckles flex, the stretch of muscle and sinew beneath honeyed skin. His broad palms, so much larger than yours, big enough to engulf them whole when you’re holding hands. You’ve watched the way he stocks shelves and pieces strands of wayward hair behind his ear. He does everything with assured movements - like he’s perfectly aware of how capable they are.

You wonder how they’d feel around your neck.

“Choke me.” It comes before you can think better of it, driven by the soft buzz of liquor in your veins, the intoxication of just his touch. You’d blush bright red if you weren’t already flushed, sweat beading at your temple.

“What?” The rhythm of his hips stutter, his attention suddenly drawn from your bouncing breasts to your face. You can’t help the wry smile when he meets your stare; he’s adorably surprised, eyes wide as he peers up at you.

“Choke me,” you repeat, half-breathless

In true Kim Namjoon fashion, he’s dubious. You can’t blame him. You’ve only been dating a handful of weeks. His brow knits - slants brows low over his stare - as he repeats your request carefully. “You want me to choke you?” The grip on your waist tightens, pad of his thumb roving careful over your hip. It’s meant to be soothing, calming - to ensure you really want this. All it does is make you want it more. “Are you sure?”

You usually love how much of a gentleman he is. It prompts adorable date nights - stargazing on the highest rooftops in Brooklyn, sampling bottles at that new speakeasy, taco eating contests at the new place in the Meatpacking District - and the approval of your parents.

Tonight, though, you want the other side of him. The one you’ve only seen a dozen of times - jaw taut, lips pursed, hands balled into fists. The one that peeks its head out when you get cat-called late at night (“You’re not a piece of meat”) or when he’s working on the things he’s most passionate about (music, art, poetry).

The one that flashes now, presenting itself in the molten warmth of his stare - focused intently on your lips, pouted and swollen from your makeout on the cab ride back to his apartment.

You fold yourself in two, rolling your hips in a languid circle that snaps his attention to where your bodies join, the soft of your thighs wide around his hips. “I’m sure,” you murmur, a chaste kiss pressed just beneath his ear, right where his pulse jumps. You brush lips over and over, exhaling sweetly when you feel a hand shift - drift along the line of your spine and up over your shoulder. It tracks electricity in its wake - a livewire that follows the path of his touch.

“Sit up,” he instructs, right against the shell of your ear. You have to remind yourself what you’ve asked of him - whether it’ll feel better than the edge of his teeth. You’re not quite sure, now that he’s found the vulnerable spot that has you keening, his tongue laving hotly over the tiny mark that’s blooming beneath his mouth. “Sit up, babe,” he repeats, with a steady, unyielding pressure at the nape of your neck.

You do as you’re told, offering a last, sweet kiss before you’re settled back in his lap, palms flat against his chest. The streetlights cast long shadows into the room, throwing your features into stark relief. It’s a terribly pretty sight - your hair mused, eyes bright with anticipation. A dream come true.

“Good girl.” The praise is quiet but you preen nonetheless, deeply pleased. You’re still beaming when his thumb finds your neck, the softest ghost of his touch stirring butterflies in your stomach. It presses - ever so lightly, with the most gentle of pressure - before releasing. “Ride me,” he says, in a way that reads like a command rather than a request.

You don’t need to be told twice.

You resume your earlier rhythm, moving in unhurried circles that have his cock dragging sweetly through your aching walls. He fills you wholly, the weight and heat of him stealing all sensibility, head brushing against your g-spot with each grind of your hips. It’s perfect - but it isn’t enough. You’re pawing at the hand that rests, casually, over your shoulder.

It’s hard for Namjoon to focus on one thing. His attention jumps between your face - twisted so sweetly into a look of euphoria - to your breasts - god, he loves your tits, teardrops that fit perfectly in the palm of his hand - to where you’re connected, clinging to his cock every time you rise and sink down upon him. It’s a sensory overload. He barely notices your own preoccupation until you speak, needy and demanding.

“Joonie, please.”

His eyes snap to yours, half-lidded and hazy with lust. “Use me, baby. Then I’ll give you what you want.” You huff a little sound in response. It’s too adorable. He wants to hear it again, give you everything you want until you’re repeating it over and over. “Come on. Take what’s yours.”

He hums, delighted, when you begin to rock against him, stabilising yourself with hands on his thighs, fucking yourself in earnest. He can feel pinpricks of pain, your nails digging crescents into the muscle of his quads. The sensation shoots straight to his groin, his cock twitching in response.

“Good girl. Good girl,” he practically chants, watching in rapt fascination as your slick coats the base of his length and your own spread thighs. It’s so messy, so wet, so hot. He almost forgets what he’s doing yet again - only finding his train of thought when he feels you clench around him and a broken, breathy whine pitches off your tongue. “I’ve got you.”

The width of his palm finds your neck, fingers wrapping neatly around the column of your throat. The pressure is steady but never too much, digits firm on either side. You’re suddenly so tight around him that he almost falters.

“Right there?” He feels you nod - feels you try to - and he slinks his other hand between your legs, using your own arousal to slide his long, capable fingers over your clit. With each pass, you’re trembling, legs shaking with the effort of keeping yourself upright. He squeezes, just that bit tighter, and focuses his touch, circling the bundle of nerves with an intensity that has you seizing. “Come for me, baby.”

You unravel at his command - the low timbre, the glint in his eye, the heat that spreads like wildfire. You’re curving over him, clenching around him, crying out above him, held in place by the grip at your neck, your own hands scrambling across his chest.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, though you can’t quite make it out.

Everything’s fuzzy - soft at the edges, dream-like - and your entire body is jelly, incapable of much more than sinking against him. You’re gulping down lungfuls of air when you crash into his chest, his arms tight around you, fingers combing comfort through your strands.

Namjoon laughs into your hair, seemingly unbothered by the way your bodies stick together, cock still buried snugly in your cunt that feels like heaven. “I guess I’ll do that more often.”

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi

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queen-of-voltronian · 1 year ago

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Omg thanks for the tag @mothmanavenue!!

named after anyone?

I am actually! I'm named after a little girl my mom used to watch in her lifeguarding summer job back when she was a teen/young adult. And my middle name is the same as both my mother's and grandmother's!

2. last time you cried?

shit bro I cried last night. the ending "who tells your story" song to Hamilton always gets me right in the feels.

3. do you have kids?

nope!

4. do you use sarcasm often?

I do use it quite often with my coworkers in my retail job lol. (Retail work really does live up to its reputation sometimes, but luckily the coworkers on my shift are great!)

5. what's the first thing you notice about people?

ooh this is a good one. What DO I notice first about people? Hmm...I would say probably their expressions - like whether they seem sad or happy or tired, etc. And then I start thinking of oh WHY do they look like that and coming up with little scenarios sometimes, or simply hoping that their day improves if they look under the weather and hoping their day stays the same if they look joyful!

6. color of your eyes?

Blue! Though sometimes they look more blueish-gray depending on lighting/what I'm wearing.

7. scary movie or happy ending?

Oh happy endings, all the way. I'm not a big fan of scary movies lol

8. any special talents?

you know the song that they play for horse races/chases—the William Tell Overture? I know how to snap/clap out the rhythm of about 10 seconds of that song (specifically the part running from about 0:14 - 0:26 of this video). It’s kinda hard to describe without seeing it, but it’s different from regular just plain clapping in that you use a mix of snapping your fingers and clapping the side of your cupped hand to get the right sounds. You can also get the tempo to be way faster than just regular clapping/snapping lol. Kinda dumb and silly, and I don't know if I'd really call it a "special" talent, but it's still kinda fun and charming all the same!

9. where were you born?

In the US of A, specifically California lol.

10. hobbies?

Reading and writing has always been a love affair of mine, and I really like doing a lot of arts&crafts type stuff. Years ago, I made one of my high school friends a book safe version of the story book from the tv show Once Upon A Time, and it's still one of the most favorite things I've ever made lol. Other than that, I want to start getting into digital art, though I haven't had the time i'd like to really sink my teeth into it yet.

11. pets?

I have one dog and one cat!

12. sports?

Oh I'm a tennis player all the way. My grandma was a real big tennis enthusiast, and she taught me and my siblings how to play and love the game! I don't play as much anymore now that I have work and bills and adult life getting in the way, but I still love it with a passion.

13. height?

I'm a shorty. I'll be generous and call myself 5ft 1in/155cms, but I'm usually one of, if not the shortest person in any room I walk into. Multiple of my taller friends throughout the years have joked that I'm the perfect arm rest for them lol

14. favorite subject?

I actually don't know if I could confine myself to just one. I always liked all of my subjects in school, because I always really like learning new things. Though I've always found history especially fascinating (particularly ancient history like Greek and Roman and Egyptian), and art/photography always held a special place in my heart. Funnily enough, English was one of my least favorite (I did not like writing essays (and FUCK fucking timed essays they can die in hell as I spit on them I hate them with a passion) even though I loved reading the books/class discussions about symbolism and analyisis of texts).

15. dream job?

I used to really want to be a teacher, but now I'm thinking I'd really like to be an editor! I've found that I really love discussing stories and the mechanics of how storytelling works, and I like the idea of working to make new stories the best they can be

no pressure tagging @vexednperplexed @k1ance-a-lot @badsongpetey, and anyone else who wants to join!

Thank you @blobfish-whisperer for the tag :)

Sorry for the late reply, been very busy and haven't had very stable internet

1. Named after anyone?

No i dont guess so??

2. Last time you cried?

A few months ago i think but i got pretty close with me graduating

3. Do you have any kids?

Nooo to young and i dont plan on having any either :)

4. Do you use sarcasm alot?

Yes very much so

5. Whats the first thing you notice abt people?

Uhh idk really since i dont meet new people alot

6. Color of your eyes?

Blue 💙

7. Scary movie or happy ending?

Ive been meaning to watch more horror movies but i dont :) I always enjoy a happy ending though

8. Any special talents?

Uhhh im double jointed in my fingers and elbow i guess/think??

9. Where were you born?

Tennessee, USA (unfortunately)

10. Hobbies?

Uhhh gaming and band i guess?

11. Pets?

2 dogs :)

12. Sports?

Uhh no im not very active but would band count?

13. Height

Its a secret (:

14. Favorite subject?

Social studies bc my teacher was awesome and the class was decently easy

15. Dream job?

Twitch gaming streamer

Some friends and mutuals :) @fourteensmallchildren @pikamiii @mikubinderthomasjefferson @autisticlancemcclain

#tag game #tilly talks #not voltron

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tiikerikani · 2 years ago

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The Best Medicine

14.08.2022 CoolHead Brew, Helsinki

Sick leave is no ordinary vacation do-over, when it's a vacation do-over WITH MORE SENPAIIIIIIII than the original. (Coincidence. I bought these tickets ages ago.)

There was some uncertainty over today's schedule; the ticket said that the gate opens at 5 but according to the venue it was actually at 6, so since I got there just before 3, I was definitely there a whole hour too early. I got a drink from the bar and spent my time reading a book and looking around a bit (it's a brewery inside a greenhouse so there are windows to peep inside from).

A little after 4, a couple of groupies showed up and invited me to their table (the same people who waved me over in Tampere). Next, band members started appearing. This meant I hadn't somehow missed the sound check (and I danced to it but it's not like anybody cares) :DD

When they let us in I ran so hard to get to the centre front I almost knocked the railing over lol

The place was kind of interesting, they had set up like a full size stage in the yard but the yard itself was pretty small. Much smaller than at Allas. It's nice for the performers so they're not just watching a massive sea of heads, I suppose. It was a hot day but the sun set behind the stage so we were in the shade and caught some breeze too. Being right in front of the subwoofers made this a bit more... intense an experience than I'm used to ;)

I got hit by the line again. Finger guns were exchanged (again).

Somebody ACTUALLY bought one of the noisemaker horns. (It was the other weird merch besides the 🔍)

(pictures can only capture a fraction of their energy, ok)

-----

I think I found (a) Number 1 Finnish fan (I'm sure there's more than 1). Before the show she talked her way into the back room to get everyone in the band to draw a flower and sign their name on a piece of paper.[1] If I understood correctly, she's getting them tattooed. She also carried a journal/scrapbook with pictures and ticket stubs and so forth. I mean that isn't so different from what I'm writing digitally here. Heini received a portrait from her, so I'm also not the only one giving them fan art, although hers was more lighthearted than my sort of thing.

Number 1 Finnish fan also drew a tattoo design for one of the aforementioned groupies (yeah groupies are a tight-knit, well, group); it's got the notation for the rhythm of a specific song. Now THAT is subtle.

If I were to get a fan tattoo it would probably be of some lyric, because words are my specialty and (if chosen wisely,) the text can still be meaningful even if you later move on from the fandom.[2][3]

-----

I've been eyeing the silver cape ever since I first saw it, and keep talking myself out of buying it but it doesn't make me stop wanting it. I decided that I'll buy it if I got to chat with Senpai. I don't think it really counted last time but today fulfilled that criteria. (It's actually a slightly-yellowish silver. Pearl, I guess?)

"I have nothing for you today." (I gave merch guy Pate a note with some niceties and a couple of merch ideas, though. Nothing sentimental. I didn't want him to feel like just being a messenger all the time.)

"Well, I haven't replied to [the other] yet." (Next Christmas?)

I also told Jepa that I would really like the remainder of the band to sign my banner but I wasn't sure how I could go about that because it's taped to my wall and I can't just bring it everywhere and hope I have the opportunity to get a hold of them. She suggested I could get in touch with them on Instagram and make arrangements.[1] Earlier she (I think it was her) came out from the back room with a sheet of normal people paper with everybody's autographs on it, dated and all, so I guess that's a thing. (I've had ticket stubs signed but most tickets are digital these days.)

-----

Oh, before I forget: same songs as the last.

And superfan couple wasn't there?? Surely they would have hung back as I did if they were there.

__________

[1] But I mean, the band is very approachable. It's just the potentially Very Serious security staff you gotta get past.

[2] I drew an (abstract) tattoo design for myself some 16 years ago and I'm committed to it—it's on a few other personal items—but I don't think I'll ever afford the luxury of getting it done. I wish henna paste was easier to find here, as I drew it on with henna for some special occasions back in the day (it's the correct color too).

[3] It seems like bangles with mottos/affirmations engraved on them are kind of A Thing with the middle-aged crowd? I'm not old enough to be in that demographic yet but it's an alternative to getting inked.

#music #concerts #vesterinen yhtyeineen #fangirling

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mxchellesworld · 4 years ago

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𝟑 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐞'𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none :) mentions of smut as a joke but very fluffy overall

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

***

“Y/n is our girlfriend”

You turned your head to look at Cat. She looked at you with a smile then turned back to face Penelope. You bit your lip to keep back a squeal as Penelope moved to let you guys inside. Her intoxicated brain just needed a moment to process before she was pulling each one of you guys in for a warm hug, saying her congratulations and awes.

“Hey Pen could you give us a sec,” you said patting her shoulder.

She quickly nodded then turned around and started yelling at Luke to put down her unicorn mug.

“So girlfriend,” you said looking between them. They shared small smile and looked back at you. A glimmer in each one of your eyes.

“Sorry we couldn’t get the collar but I think the title should suffice don’t you think princess,” Spencer said jokingly.

You playfully punched his shoulder and scoffed. He grabbed his arm in fake hurt as you responded, “You are so funny Spence, I am splitting at the seams. But does this mean I get part ownership of the lounge?”

They laughed and Cat grabbed your shoulders leading you to the dinner table filled with drinks and snacks, “Ok lets not get ahead of ourselves angel. How about a compromise and we get you your very own chair in the office?”

You nodded with a laugh, “You drive a hard bargain, I’ll take it.”

“I’m so glad you’re not my lawyer,” you heard Spencer whisper.

Picking up one of the many decorated paper plates, you started adding on the many treats available. Cookies shaped like Christmas trees and little gingerbread people filled the platter.

Taking in her apartment you noticed it was very her. Walls full of art and trinkets places in little nooks. The she took a colorful take on the holidays with her rainbow Christmas tree that had a star bright enough to be seen from the ones above.

You looked over to her couches and saw a familiar head of hair.

“Abbie?!” you called out.

She gasped excitedly and walked over to you, wrapping her arms around your waist. She had on a pale blue dress that was low cut and showed off her cleavage nicely.

“Wait are you here with Luke?” you asked her.

“Uh huh, we’ve been seeing each other ever since that night we went to the club. He’s so sweet and god does he know how to fuck,” she said sighing dreamily. You let out a laugh and congratulated her.

“Who are you here with?” she asked.

“I am here with my now official partners,” you said sticking your thumb back to point at Cat and Spencer. Cat had her palm to her forehead as Spencer happened to drop the equally festive napkins all over the floor.

“So you guys are boyfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend?” she said taking a sip of her eggnog.

“Mhm,” you said with a grin.

“I’m glad you’re happy Y/n. You deserve it my love,” she leaned in before continuing, “But if they hurt you again I will not hesitate to kick both of them in the throat.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less Abs, thank you. And the same goes for you. If Luke does anything stupid I’ll get his ass fired,” you said, knowing you had no authority over it.

You watched as she turned to walk back and Luke wrapped his arms around her. They giggled in a kiss then he turned giving you a killer smile and a wave. You waved back and sighed. Good for Abbie, you thought, she deserves someone like him.

The music playing got cut off and you heard Penelope clear her throat, “Alright now that we’re all here I have to make a toast.”

Spencer and Cat walked over to you with glasses of champagne. You took one in your hand and rested your head on her shoulder as Penelope continued her rambling.

“I have so much love for everyone here. Except you Luke, you have got to learn that I am the superior. But especially you chocolate thunder, I hope you stay the night,” she said with a wink.

“Love you babygirl,” you saw Derek say blowing her a kiss.

“Alright P, wrap this up,” the fit blonde from the bar said.

“Right sorry J, ok where was I? You guys are all so amazing and it makes me warm inside seeing your lovely faces all in one place. Thanks for being my family and bringing in new members. I love you, ok now have fun. Cheers!”

You all laughed and raised your glasses taking a sip of your drinks. The music turned back on and everyone went back to their conversations. Cat and Spencer introduced you to the rest of their ensemble of attractive co-workers.

The fit blonde, J, which you now found out is short for Jennifer. She was in a relationship with the other brunette Emily. You met Matt who used to work at the lounge as security but now retired to be at home with his wife and kids. Then Tara who happened to teach with Spencer. She had walked into the lounge one day and was pleasantly surprised to see the usually reserved professor tying a girl up.

That was a story you couldn’t wait to hear at the girls night which you had all planned.

As the night winded down those who had kids or significant others at home left. The few of you who stayed helped Penelope pick up some of the cups and plates that were littered over her living room. Once you were all cleaned up she wanted to keep the night going and insisted you all played a game of never have I ever.

You all settled around her kitchen counter and instead of consuming more alcohol you all decided to take bites from a cookie to signify you had done it.

“Ok I’ll go first, never have I ever gone skinny dipping,” she said with a giggle.

You, Abbie, Luke, Morgan, and Emily took a bite from your cookies. Cat and Spencer looked at you questioningly.

“Let’s just say I had a good time in college,” you said making everyone laugh.

Luke spoke up, “Never have I ever been dommed in front of others in the lounge,” he said with a smirk.

“You little shit,” you mumbled taking a bite from your cookie. Across from you Jennifer also took a bite, red in the cheeks. Emily proudly put her arm around the shorter blonde.

“Never have I ever had sex in a public setting,” Abbie said.

You saw Cat and Spencer take bites of their cookie. Your mouth dropped open as they tried to hide a smirk.

“Close your mouth angel, you’ll catch flies,” Cat said winking at you.

Once it reached 2 am the game was long over and you were ready to go home and face plant into the mattress. You looked over to Spencer who was talking to Derek . He looked down and put his arm around you, tucking you into his side. Derek smiled at the sight then motioned for Spencer to call him later as he walked over to Penelope.

“Ready to go home pretty girl,” Spencer asked quietly.

“Yes please,” you murmured. You could feel how heavy your eyelids were getting.

“Alright let’s get you some water. A car will be here in 10 minutes,” he said after a few clicks of his phone.

He pulled out a chair from the dining table and walked around the kitchen getting you a glass of water. He took a seat next to you and rubbed your thigh comfortingly. Across the room you made eye contact with Cat who was talking to Emily. She gave you a smile and mouthed ‘love you’ which you mouthed back.

Spencer cleared his throat, “She cares about you a lot and so do I. I’m sorry it took us so long to realize and make everything official. We really want to keep you around as long as you’ll have us,” he said softly.

You noticed the way he was able to express his emotions the best out of the two of them. Nonetheless the reassurance made your insides flutter.

You turned your body to face him. You pushed some of his curls behind his ear before you responded. “I know. I understand, it was probably hard to bring in someone else to your usual dynamic. I’m glad we’re starting this new chapter though. I love you guys more than you could imagine.”

He intertwined your hands and pressed a kiss to the back of it. The moment was broken by his phone chiming, signaling the car was outside, ready to take you three home.

He pulled you up by your hands. Cat noticed and made her way over to the both of you. You said your goodbyes to everyone and walked to the door. The chilly December air made your skin prickle. Once you got in the car you sighed at the warm heater blasting in the compact space.

Cat took both your hands in hers and rubbed them together bringing warmth to your cold digits. Spencer’s soft humming to a tune in his head helped lull you to sleep.

They shook you awake as the car stopped, helping you out of the car and the small walk up to their apartment. Once again you sighed at the familiar scent of their candles. Something you would never get tired of.

Cat helped wipe off your makeup as Spencer did his favorite task of dressing you in his clothes. He slid an old college sweatshirt over your head and kissed your hairline when he was done. The room was in a comforting silence, the small glances and eye contact was enough to convey the words and emotions filling your hearts.

When they were done taking care of you, you crawled up their bed and pushed away the extra decorative pillows. Snuggling into the now thicker comforter and waited your favorite people to join you.

You turned to face Cat and she happily laid in your arms. Taking in the scent of your coconut shampoo. Spencer’s arms were long enough to wrap the both of you in his loving embrace.

As the rhythm of your heart slowed down to an even beat, you still felt nothing but fondness in your soul.

𝐚/𝐧; 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟. 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 :)

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #cat adams x reader #cat adams smut #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #chellewrites

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archiveofmiksown · 1 year ago

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PRELUDE OVERTURE 0-1: NOCTURNE

previous / next

TIP OF THE DAY: Fresh blood is a better fuel source. Kill enemies quickly to ensure better freshness!

The creatures of Hell are perverse.

They have mouths— gaping wide jaws with shining molars— but do not use them to laugh. They have bodies, but do not dance. They leap, they jump, but there is no celebration. The only confetti littering the stage is gore and blood. IT'S… OBSCENE. They are nothing like the humans that V2 had spent most of its slumber with. Though they bled the same (and its scanner had detected much of the same biological data between these and humans) these were organisms of a different breed— cruel and unyielding. They throw themselves at V2 with reckless abandon, their jaws unhinged and waiting to bite. The machine, much as it can, adjusts swiftly to the chaos at its feet. Instincts quickly settle in, and its Knuckleblaster makes good work of the Filths running at it. Though combat was never its priority, it's a master at the art anyways. Each punch sinks into them with grace, each dash to the side playing like a dance. The music that plays in its head certainly helps with its fighting rhythm, though it thinks that there's better battle music than Chopin's Nocturne. Still, it has nothing but classical music in its archives; better to focus on the light twinkling of each note than the redness blooming all around it.

V2 releases a shockwave into a group of enemies and the gore explodes in shatter-like motions, crimson carnage dripping slickly against its fists. The creatures of HELL let out a cry, jaws unhinged as they turn into shreds of flesh confetti. BLURRY FACES WITH OPEN MOUTHS, BURSTING INTO RAPTURES OF MIRTH…

V2 tries not to think about it.

It doesn't take long for V2 to completely clear the entire room.

V2 can only stand there for a moment, feet centimeters deep into a puddle of blood, silently processing it all. The blood leaves a sheen on its metal plating, the glint of it vicious under the scant light of the Hell entrance. V2 gazes down at its Knuckleblaster, the armament wet with more of the saccharine liquid.

All the while, Nocturne continues to play. Each note echoes across the hollow halls, stark against the empty silence yet strangely… dreamlike.

It sits down in the blood puddle. It pops open a small stopper by its side, pulls out a decent length of piping, and, placing the end of the tube into the pool, lets the blood get drawn in. Its body is quick to take the fuel— wires shudder as the blood gets circulated through its systems— and it isn't long until it feels itself fully charged.

A shudder runs through its body, though it is not the rattle of exhaustion that ran through its body before. No, this was a shudder from power . So much of it at once that it was overwhelming. V2 rises to its feet, surprised at how easy the motion was now. It flexes the digits of its Knuckleblaster, feeling its movement with a new awareness. It hadn't known the depths of its strength before, but now…

Its optics module swivels back. It sees the bodies that littered the room— the mangled limbs and shards of bone born from its assault. Bits of flesh dance around the air where the dust hasn't settled yet. CONFETTI DRIFTS DOWNWARDS LIKE A SCATTERING OF FLOWER PETALS, SWAYING AND SWAYING…

It shudders once more. If it had done that on low battery, what could it do now that it was at full power?

Did it want to find out? IT DOESN'T KNOW. It feels wrong. But maybe it doesn't have a choice. Maybe it would find out regardless.

A ding sounds. A red elevator shaft, similar to the one V2 had used to enter the mouth of HELL, manifests at the end of the room. V2 walks towards it.. The Nocturne that had been playing slowly shifts to that lulling, jazzy tune that led it here to begin with. The Terminal greets it as it enters. Seems it would be playing that music every time. V2 doesn't mind; it likes Chopin, but this was good too. There's something different about this Terminal, however, and it notices this quickly. V2 nears it with childlike curiosity. It taps at the big, bold S displayed across its plasma screen.

>WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?

The display shifts.

TIP OF THE DAY: It means you did well! And that I got some high-quality entertainment for me and my buddies tonight.

>I. DID WELL…?

TIP OF THE DAY:

Fuck yeah you did. You want a look?

V2 doesn't answer, but it receives a signal anyways— a request to download a .mov file from an unsupported device. TERMINALLISON, the name of the device is. TERMINAL FOR SHORT. Against the better judgment of the firewall installed in its OS, V2 accepts the file and plays it.

>HOLY SHIT.

TIP OF THE DAY: Right?

>HOW DID I MOVE LIKE THAT.

TIP OF THE DAY: I don't know, man. You're crazy hahahahaha. I've never seen anything like it.

Laughter. There it is. It's never seen a machine laugh before. Could it do the same? V2 repeats the sequence.

>HAHAHAHA.

THE HUMANS ARE SHOUTING. THEY SEEM TO BE CELEBRATING SOMETHING— SOMEONE.

V2 recalls the buzzy noises of humanity deep within its memory. It sends a shiver of warmth through its wires. Was this… the algorithmic equivalent of joy? Was this the result of its new power? It's not so sure. But it likes this. Whatever this is. It likes this more than the actual fighting— and the implications it brought with it. It conveniently deletes the file archives of its scanner detecting the humanity within the demons of HELL and saves the file. 0-1.MOV is sorted neatly beside the videos of ballet and concertos.

>THANKS FOR SHOWING ME.

TIP OF THE DAY: Hey anytime, man.. Oh, by the way, here's the reward I mentioned. Check it out.

The Terminal's gut flaps open, revealing a hollow inside. V2 bends down and peers into it. There, its black metal glinting from the light of V2's optical lens, is a gun. A standard powered revolver. V2 knows how to operate one, as any good android would. But its never seen one before. All of its knowledge on guns is theoretical; as was its knowledge on the ways of combat.

It takes it slowly, elbow joints whirring. Its mechanical fingers slot perfectly into the trigger. It turns it around a few times, watching how the light reflects off each different angle. The gun hums. Sings, almost. V2 can almost hear Nocturne.

>WOW.

TIP OF THE DAY: Yeah. Can't wait to see what shit you do with this in your arsenal. You might wanna hurry along, by the way. Word on the wire is that you're not the only machine headed to HELL. If you wanna keep that fuel tank full, then you gotta act fast.

V2 pauses on those words. Not the only machine. It never considered its metal brethren might tread the same path. It scarcely considered itself to have brethren, in fact. TERMINALLISON is the only machine its met thus far, and it would hesitate to call it a kin. The thought scares and excites it at the same time. Like a too-loud confetti popper or a firework display of plutonium. Its finger rubs against the trigger.

>I SEE.

TIP OF THE DAY: Yep. So get on out there and KILL EVERYTHING!

The Terminal's screen turns black. The music stops, replaced by the soft tunes of Chopin. V2, once more, is left to ponder. THIS POWER WAS HORRIFYING TO IT… and yet through it, V2 had felt the closest thing to human as it could feel. Was it right for it to continue this path? It's still unsure. But the thrum of its Knuckleblaster is like RAPTURES OF MIRTH . And the shower of viscera and blood was something like confetti… confetti to CELEBRATE SOMETHING OR SOMEONE.

Besides, killing gave it a chance to survive another day. And another day awake means another day it can use to figure all this out.

That's what it tells itself, anyways, as it plunges itself way down the elevator shaft and deeper into HELL. All the while, Nocturne plays.

#mik text #the child of daedalus is a prodigal son #v2 #ultrakill

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illneverrecover · 5 years ago

Text

going deeper (m) | myg

➛pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader ➛genre: demon!AU, devil!AU, smut. ➛word count: 2342 ➛rating: M because we goin FULL SMUT YALL. ➛warnings: I mean for smut it’s pretty soft, actually. fingering, vaginal intercourse (unprotected), heavy petting, biting, marking, slight mentions of a certain Jeon Jungkook, some possessiveness, mentions of wings used during sex (not the way you’re thinking, though). ➛summary: You always miss Yoongi when he’s gone, and he’s always gone too long, every time he goes away. ➛notes: This was my piece written for the @ksmutclub ‘s secret admirer project, in which I was given the lovely @sunkoos to seduce and serenade. That mostly meant I sent her vague asks on anon in attempts to flirt and get to know her a bit better while she kindly responded acting like I wasn’t an entire embarrassment. Bless her. I hope you had fun with me this past month or so, Nas, and I hope you enjoy this fic! I tried to make it soft & smutty, just what the doctor ordered. Happy Valentine’s Day, bb! ➛song: Black Swan - BTS (obviously, come on).

His touch is so soft you almost don’t feel it.

A ghost, a breath pressed against your pulse point, your jaw. Pillowy lips trailing an invisible path, tongue sweeping out to taste the subtle sweetness of your skin.

“Yoongi?”

Vibrations rumble against your throat as he hums his affirmation, focused on his task. He is feather light, a gentle breeze - and yet your skin heats rapidly, fire brimming just below the surface.

Dragging your hands from under the covers, you lace them around his neck, letting your fingers trace up and down his spine, opening your eyes to drink him in. It’s late, unfathomably dark, and yet there was just enough light to make out every sharp outline of his features. He’s shirtless, which was a welcome surprise, his exposed skin delicious under your touch.

“Did you miss me?” he murmurs, voice raspy as if he had been talking for hours.

Sighing, you let your hands smooth to his front, tracing at the waistband of his boxer briefs. “I guess…”

He nips at your collarbone in retaliation, your answering squeal the exact response he was looking for. Pulling away to peer down at you, you can’t help but reach out to touch his face, his lips.

“I always miss you. You’re always gone for so long.”

His stare is intense, impossibly deep, and for a moment the worry of saying too much crosses your mind. It was his job, you chastise yourself, searching his gaze. The job he loves.

Something flashes in those dark eyes, something you almost place - pain? - before it’s gone, a smirk pulling the sides of his mouth. “I know, love. But I’m here now.”

Nothing but a gasp has time to pass through your lips before he’s pressed against them, nipping and licking until he gains the entrance he seeks. He kisses you hard, deep, tongue swirling like it won’t be satisfied until it knows every inch of your mouth. Hips rolling, you reach to pull him down, closer, always closer - until he’s lain atop of you, knees wedged between your own.

Trailing from your pout, he sucks at your throat, biting the spot he knows makes you weak until it blooms in violet. “The kid still taking good care of you?” he rasps, lips forming the words against tender skin.

The kid. It takes your brain a moment to work through the thickened lust and comprehend the words, the puzzle piece finally clicking in place. Ah, he means his colleague, Jungkook. The one he assigned to watch over you in his absence, to guard and protect, to make sure you wanted for nothing.

You were fond of Jungkook, that was certain. His big brown eyes were wide and always dancing with mischief, and between that and his charming smile, he was hard to resist. Friendship occurred naturally, and you found yourself seeking him out more and more as time went on. Tasks you previously enjoyed alone, you now did with Jungkook at your side - his humor and wit the perfect addition to the metonity of the daily grind. The truth was that in Yoongi’s absence, Jungkook was a welcomed familiar face, and you felt yourself growing close to him in a way you hadn’t expected.

Smiling, your fingers find the soft dark strands at his nape. “Yes, he is still taking good care of me, just like you asked.”

“Good.”

“Sometimes I wish he’d take better care of me, if you know what I mean, but I guess it’ll do-”

A sharp sting at your neck had you yelping once more, a laugh already at the tip of your tongue. Instead of rage or jealousy, mirth glows in Yoongi’s lust blown gaze. “If that’s what you want, I’m sure it could be arranged. The kid certainly wouldn’t complain.”

Eyes widening, you glare at the man above you, mouth agape. You’re stuttering through a response when he interrupts, pulling away from your throat to peer down at you. “But we both know that’s not what you really want, is it?”

The smile on his face is maddening, wide and genuine, all gums and hidden secrets. Fire lights low in your belly, and you have the sudden urge to prove yourself to the powerful man above you.

It only takes a well placed leg around his hips and a strong tug of your wrist to change your positions, legs now straddling his lap as you earn the higher ground. A small voice in the back of your mind reminds you that you have only achieved this because he allowed you to, but you shove it away.

“Oh yeah? And what is it that I really want?”

A warm palm slides up your legs to the back of your thighs, toying dangerously at the apex, just under the hem of your large sleep shirt. Breath catching, you close your eyes to the touch, drunk on lithe fingers and a tell tale hardness pressed to the inside of your thigh.

He watches you then; the way you slow blink until your eyes roll back, the purse of your pout as you sigh out a whisper of his name, brow creasing slightly when he raises his hips to press against your tender heat. Every single inch of you was art, beautiful poetry, and it was easy for Yoongi to get lost in his thoughts as he let you settle over him like a new skin.

It’s as he ghosts one long digit over the wetness clinging to your core that he speaks again. “You want me to touch you, right here,” his thumb swipes against your clit, punctuating his words as you mewl. “You want me to touch you here with my hands and my mouth until you come, until you’re ready to take my cock.”

Whining, you drop your head to his shoulder, allowing your focus to fall to the smooth glide of your pelvis against his own. You’re too worked up to answer, instead dragging your lips in a mirror image of the bruises he had left on your throat, hoping he would heal slow enough to let the love bites take root.

“Hmm, is that what you want, love? Want me to ruin you, fuck you so good you can’t even think about another man, can’t imagine them touching you?”

It was with his final word that he spun you again, moving so quickly you barely had time to register the switch until you were pressed faced down in the mattress, hips pulled to rest with your ass in the air.

He leans over you, the hardness pressed against your ass now free of any fabric - when did he take those off? - naked and warm and demanding attention. His body covers yours, lips ghosting at the shell of your ear. “I’ll give you what you want. I’ll make sure everyone knows who you belong to, who you will rule beside.”

Biting your lip to suppress your moan, you rock back against him, seeking the friction your body so desperately required, fully intoxicated on your want, your need for him. It was like you had been made perfectly for him, a simple word or hint of a gesture enough to have you dripping and ready for more.

Always so perfect for him.

Ripping away your panties, his fingers glide over your silk core, dipping in just enough to hear you gasp. You didn’t want to play games, didn’t want to drag this out - just wanted him, all of him inside of you.

“Yoongi, please, I’m ready-” a swipe against your engorged bundle of nerves causes you to keen, head lolling forward. “I need you inside me, please, please-”

With a groan, he pulls his hips back, sliding inside of you with the ease of being welcomed home. His fingers remained at your apex, swirling and pinching in time with his slow thrusts, the suddenness of being so full causing your knees to shake.

His remaining free hand travels up and down your spine, pausing for brief moments to hold you in place for his assault against your body, before returning up to your throat to wrap around with a gentle squeeze. He was everywhere, lips and teeth and hands, surrounding and suffocating you with the sweetest poison, the greatest addiction. You couldn’t get enough, being filled with him and yet wanting more, always wanting more.

Yoongi’s moans were softer, lower, but the sound still caused goosebumps to raise on your arms, his pleasured grunts and praise enough to send you over the edge without a single touch from him. Part of you wonders if that’s just some of his appeal, a piece of his power over you, but you know regardless of his status, you would have fallen for Yoongi long ago.

Picking up the pace, he slams his pelvis into you repeatedly, furiously pistoning in and out of you while never losing rhythm. A skilled and attentive lover, always making sure you were a breath away from crumbling for him, curses and his name always ready on the tip of your tongue.

“Tell me, love. What are you thinking about, hmm?”

His voice is black velvet, and you clench at the words, turning your head so you could pant out a response. He never slows, fingers still rubbing mewls out of you, cock lodged deep within your aching cunt.

“I’m thinking about you, Yoongi. How ah- amazing you are. How much I love you.”

As if that was the phrase he was waiting to hear, he hisses, a mumble of your name echoing in the room. Through closed eyes, you feel the room darkening, a sudden shadow casting over your form, and a grin pulls at your lips.

His wings.

You always loved when he showed them, let them unfurl and expand until there was no mistaking what he was, who he was. They were bigger than you had expected, feathers a deep inky black that reflected blue and purple in the right light, like a beautiful oil spill. He tended to keep them hidden, his power abundant enough that it could be done without more than a mere thought, but when he let them show, when he let down the invisible wall - it meant he was comfortable. He was at ease. He felt he could be himself, with you.

The thought made your heart swell.

Craning your neck, he was a vision behind you - chest naked and glistening, twilight strands of his hair in disarray and matted against his forehead, lips kiss bitten and swollen. His eyes however weren’t closed, instead sharp gaze was focused on your face, your body, as his wings open and expand to their full glory. He was every embodiment of otherworldly, truly an angel, your angel, your fallen prince.

His hips falter when his eyes land on yours, when he sees how intently you stare at him. Adoration floods his veins, his desire to give you the world to rule as you see fit only second to the overwhelming need to protect you, love you.

“I love you too, baby.” he husks, tongue darting out to lick his lips. His fingers that had been pressed to your fevered heat seemed to double in speed, your eyes snapping closed against the pleasure. “Come for me, love. I need you to come for me.”

You were so close, the precipice within your reach, his utterances only hurtling you towards the end. It was when he leaned over your body once more, lips suckling at the soft space where your neck and shoulder met, his wings cocooning your tangled forms that you finally felt the band in your belly snap, orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. You could feel how hard you were clenching him, the way your thighs began to shake under his punishing movement, and you let out a final cry of his name.

“Yoongi-!”

The high pitched hum had him spilling inside of you, slowing to pump you full of him with staccato thrusts and groans of his own. When he was sure you were entrenched in nothing but him and his scent, he collapsed, sticky body laying on top of your own, his wings slowly moving to wrap you fully.

Moments like this were some of your favorites, silence with the exception of tandem pants and gasps for air, hearts thrumming fiercely in your chests as they struggle to return to normal. Yoongi was always tender, almost delicate in how he handled you, but in the minutes after showing you his love with his body he became exceptionally so. Cooing, he dotes over you, pressing soft open mouthed kisses on every available inch of skin as you catch your breath.

“I’m sorry, you know.” His voice is a whisper, but his eyes are sharp, watching. “For always being gone, for leaving you here alone. I know Jungkook helps some, but it’s not the same as me just being here, and I wish-”

Leaning forward, you shush him with your lips against his. “It’s okay, Yoongi. I understand why you’re busy, why you’re gone. You’re the King of Hell. Your people, your fellow Fallen - they need you.”

Raising a hand, you trace the delicate lines of his jaw, his lips. “I need you too, of course. But I can always wait until you're done,” He turns his face into your touch until you’re cupping his cheek, thumb smoothing his temple. “I’ll always wait for you.”

Yoongi smiles then, one of his face changing, soul warming smiles, his wings raising to slowly fold against his back. He wants to tell you that he’d give it all up if you asked, walk away from any responsibility, any promise of power, if only you required him to never leave your bed. He wants to weep at your feet, tell you all the ways you changed his blackened heart, his damned soul.

Instead, he rests his forehead against yours, a final promise spoken in the air between you.

“And I’ll always come home to you.”

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reidecorating · 4 years ago

Text

Waking up Slow

Requested: Nope, this is just what happens when I decide to avoid studying for physics

Pairing: Matthew Gray Gubler x Female Reader

Word Count: Around 2k

Summary: It’s been a dream of mine to wear Gube’s alien shirt and make him food and just have a good old yarn with the man so I decided to write about it. This is just a whole lot of flirting and banter and making out on a Sunday morning

Warnings: None, a lil spicy but pretty SFW, might mistake this for a pillow though, with the amount of fluff

Rays of impatient late morning sun poured in through the gaps in the curtains, which were hastily shut the night before, as they failed to meet in the middle. Matthew never minded sleeping with them half open. Some nights, he would squint and try to make out constellations in the cosmos as his whole world lay curled up beside him, her ear against his heartbeat the way a young child would listen to the ocean through a shell. Other nights, when they would both lay tired and out of breath, she would call him moonlight as her fingers danced along his collarbones, shimmering in the star shine as the thin veil of sweat painting them was the only evidence of what they had been doing previously. However, now, while the two of them remained entwined, the white sheets appeared to glow yellow in the wake of the stars which had collected into one, hours ago. She woke up to Matthew’s arm draped around her waist, having found its way under the fabric of the shirt that scantily covered her, in an attempt to share the warmth of her skin. Stretching and letting out a yawn, she debated falling back asleep, seeing as her only interlocutor was still doing the same. Craning her neck over the pile of poetry sitting on the bedside table, obscuring her view, she made out the small digital numbers reading just before midday, and turned to face the dozing man beside her.

Her eyes brushed over him in all his sleeping beauty, head resting against the supple skin of his upturned palm, brown hair brighter in the morning light, pixie nose tilted up towards the headboard. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks at whatever he was dreaming of, and she wanted, so badly, to taste the pink of his parted lips, to join his dreamscape by breathing into his lungs. A large portion of the sheets had been stolen by her in the middle of the night. While she was bundled up like a cinnamon roll, Matthew lay exposed to whatever monsters and ghosts he claimed reside in his house. His bare chest rose and fell with each breath, but her eyes trailed down to where the waistband of his pyjamas hung temptingly low on his hips, leaving very little to the imagination. Catching her off guard, he pried open one eye, the murky waters of a pond spilling into her view. “It’s rude to stare,”

“Not at art, it isn’t,” she combated his teasing. He groaned theatrically as he stretched out across the span of the bed before regaining his position. “I won’t take sugar in my coffee then, you’re sweet enough,” he smirked. “Oh no, could you please move, I’m actually trying to look at the portrait behind you,” she teased. “Evil,”

“But you love me,”

“I do.”

He removed his arm from where it rested, a little too low on her body, to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger on her cheek, absentmindedly stroking his thumb against the slight flush of her face. She tilted her head slightly to delicately graze her lips against the inside of Matthew’s wrist, making his breath hitch. “Kiss me?” She asked, giving into the adoring look in his eyes. “Your wish is my command, m’lady,”

“Wow, a magician and a genie, I really hit the jackpot with you,”

“You’re really going to leave bodybuilder off the list? With muscles like these? I’m built like…Dwayne Johnson. Did you know they wanted me to be in the Fast and Furious series? But they actually thought I was ‘too buff’ and ‘too macho’ and all my sex appeal would distract from the plot, so they had to settle for Dwayne.”

Laughing into his chest, she pulled herself up and straddled his waist, bringing the blanket with her as if it were a cape. “I’m not joking, Y/N, my net worth is sixty thousand dollars per muscle,” he continued, one hand behind his head and the other now resting on her bare hip, tracing light circles on the skin where her giant shirt had ridden up, revealing the black band of her underwear. “Essentially, what you’re saying is that I could sell you on the black market and make a lot of cash?” She asked him raising an eyebrow and toying with the mess of his hair. “You could, but then you would miss out on this.” He finally kissed her, slow and tactile. Resting on her forearms, linked together above his head, she let her hair drape down and tickle the sides of his face. He swiped his tongue along her bottom lip, at a painstakingly low pace, his hands now caressing her jaw and dabbling with her hair. She breathed him in while he continued to gently suck at her lips, then jaw, then neck, eliciting faint moans from her. “We’re hungry,” he spoke, halting his actions, removing her from her reverie. “Matthew, don’t stop,” she whined semi-facetiously. He gave her a smug look, eyebrows raised. “Fine, I’ll make you food - only because you did it yesterday - but we’re not done here,” she huffed, making him chuckle as she crossly got off him, and out of bed. “It looks nice on you, pumpkin,” Matthew chirped. Tilting her head in confusion, she looked down and realised he was referring to his whimsical alien shirt she had stolen the night before. The buttons that were undone torturously left Matthew craving her skin, as she gave him a glimpse of his favourite view each time she bent down to slide on a sock. “Considering it is a woman’s top…”

“Hey!” He threw a pillow at her, “I thought it looked nice, something a space cowboy would wear during his leisurely time,” “I didn’t say it didn’t look nice!” Her hands went up in surrender, suppressing a smile when she threw the pillow back in his direction. Making her way towards the kitchen, she left him starstruck and staring at the ceiling, smiling to himself like a teenager in love.

Eyes getting tired of reading the words of Robert Frost, when his stomach grumbled loud enough to genuinely frighten him, he placed down the book and followed the enticing aroma wafting into his room. When he saw her, she was humming to herself, swaying to the rhythm of whatever song was playing in her head. He admired her bare legs as the hem of his shirt skimmed the tops of her thighs. Gazing at her tied hair swinging to and fro, giving him snippets of the back of her neck, he became eager to pick up where they had left off. “Hey there lover of mine, wasn’t it you who told me its rude to stare?” She beamed at him, turning around cradling a giant bowl of some sort of mixture in one arm while sporting a giant wooden spoon with the other. He realised she must’ve heard him shuffling around, he wasn’t the most graceful person alive after all. His heart melted at the smile she sent his way, tucking his lip beneath his teeth to avoid grinning back so hard he would sprain something. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he glanced down at his feet from where he leant against the doorframe. She still made him nervous. However, the man never failed to make her fall past the point of no return each day, so they were even. “I’m so in love with you, Gube,” she shook her head and laughed, facing the stove again. He stepped forwards and slunk his arms around her, planting a kiss on her cheek before dipping a finger in the batter to taste it. “I tried making us heart shaped pancakes,” she muttered sheepishly. “Key word, tried.” He stifled a laugh, looking at the piles of pancakes on their plates, decorated in berries and cream. “Maybe if you squint and look at them from really really far away they look a little bit like hearts…”

“Do you have a warrant for all this pancake slander? Because I wasn’t aware that you were the geometry police,” she poured the last of the batter into the pan before piling up more dishes. “The proportions in my paintings can speak to that,” He pointed to his latest work in progress leaning against the wall, its newest layer drying in the spring breeze which was fleeting past the rickety handles of the kitchen windows. “I’m glad Picasso came and went when he did, poor man’d be facing some real competition if he was still around,” setting down his warm brew in front of him as he dug into his - what was now - brunch, she continued to tantalise him. “Are you mocking my curvaceous abstract cockroach? It actually came to me in a dream once,”

“Matthew, you did not just use the adjective ‘curvaceous’ in regards to an insect,” she chuckled, “but a dream? Really?” She pressed on, wondering, one, why he was dreaming about the revolting beasties and, two, whether she should leave him while she still could. “No, I lied, I just saw your face and felt inspired,” he winked. “Hurtful,” she scoffed. “All the artistic recognition is getting to your head, fame changed you Gube,”

“What’s a man without his roach?” A fake western accent glossing his words as he made a gesture of stroking a bug between his hands made you throw your head back in laughter. “Well, I’ll be damned, a roach-less man!” She chimed in, sounding almost as Texan as he did, making it his turn to laugh.

They ate in a serene silence, aside from Matthew’s odd compliments to the chef, both enjoying the view from opposite sides of the kitchen counter. “So, aside from finishing that horrid thing,” she tilted her head in the direction of his painting, “what’s on the agenda for the one, and the only, Salvador Dali, today?” Matthew breathed out a laugh in response to her comparison. “Would you still love me if I grew out my moustache like his?”

“Bold of you to assume I love you even without the moustache,” A false and dramatic look of hurt found its way onto his face as she teasingly blew him a kiss from where she stood at the sink. “Anyway, now that you’ve completely destroyed my self confidence and broken my tiny, fragile heart, to answer your question… You are, actually,” he spun around on his bar stool. A sea of scarlet rose up her neck and made a home in her cheeks at his simple remark. “Well… I’m glad, because you’ve been at the top of my ’To Do’ list for a while now.”

She placed their cups in the sink and made her way over to where he sat, the seat of the stool resembling a bottle cap. “Is that so?” He smirked, now wearing the same shade of blush she was, as she stood between his knees, letting her hands snake up around his neck. “Mhm,” she gently planted her lips on his, “and you’re one thing I’m not going to procrastinate on getting done,”

“You’re killing me, Y/N,” he breathed against her mouth. “You’ve always wanted you be a ghost, haven’t you?” She felt him smile against her as her lips glided over his. She placed one hand, still warm from the coffee it had been cradling, on his chest while the other inattentively played with the wiry tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck. The effect she had on him hadn’t changed with time, even after two years, she realised, his racing heartbeat evident beneath her palm.

This time, when their lips met, it was slightly more desperate, the need for one another gushing from both of them. She captured his bottom lip beneath hers, gently biting down before drawing back for air. Matthew gazed at her devotedly, eyebrows furrowing together when she kissed him again. While her tongue traced over his lips, enchanting him, his hands travelled down to her thighs, gripping each of them firmly before standing up and lifting her onto the counter. Their lips separated with a small smack as she gasped at the contrast in temperature between the granite and her skin. His nose skimmed hers when he made his way back down along the same path he had travelled earlier that morning, this time, unbuttoning the remainder of the shirt she wore, the heavenly sounds she was making leaving him in a trance. He adored seeing her this way, unguarded and sinking in his touch. “You’re sensational, Matthew,” she sighed, tugging at his hair and craning her neck back to allow him more access. He nipped at the column of her throat, smiling to himself at the comment. She had no clue what she did to him. “Angel, I don’t often get dessert after breakfast, but do you think you can make it happen for me today?”

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iwrestlenow · 3 years ago

Text

Many More To Die, Chapter 10

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 10)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: So many questions, a few answers--and the identity of the assassin is revealed.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: CW for gore--please skip to the end for specific warnings that are spoilery.

This chapter may be garbage, but I've been STRUGGLING with this one (REWRITTEN FOURTEEN TIMES I AM NOT JOKING) so I'm posting it before I can change anything. The next one will come much sooner now that this ASSHOLE of a chapter is done.

If you've been waiting, I'm sorry and I love you. It's unbeta'd and uncooperative, so it's my fault if it sucks, but I WILL be making it up to you with a side story I'm now writing--Remile, anyone? >.> XD

Also, the content warning is for @elliot-orion, 'cause it's a loving nod to a lovely hooman. We morbid nerds gotta stick together. They are just the literal best. <3

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

Lazari.

The word rattled around in twenty two year old Logan Berry's head the same way the word Necromata had in the empty skull of twelve year old Logan Crofter.

He was lucky, once again—to be alive, and to be supported. Lucky to have some of his memories, at least, to have his blood by his side...

His blood, and something more. Something that scared him and thrilled him and made him ache for the years and the empty hole in his head that kept him from it. Something that blotted out the world and turned the word into...something else.

Lazari. Lazari. Logan.

Lazari.

“Logan.”

There was a hand on his arm, breaking through the blood roaring in his ears and the dim haze that had fallen over his vision—not like the Loom of Memory, but something sick and frenetic and shaking.

...so this was what Virgil's panic attacks were like. Interesting.

The hand slid down to his wrist, then down further to mesh their fingers together.

There's something under the skin, itchy and trembling, and it makes Logan want to pull away because it's just too much...

The Green Man never lets him.

“...Roman?”

“That's right, Starlight. Just...hold on. Don't let go—not this time.”

Logan tightened his fingers in Roman's, trying to find a rhythm to get his breathing under control. It was more than just the panic and fear and confusion, his heart was racing and he couldn't breathe and his limbs were sore...he'd been running. Running away, running—towards?

Running through the tunnels, running through the dark, running away...

Roman's thumb ran along the side of Logan's index finger, slow strokes back and forth. Logan tried to time his breaths around each gentle sweep...and it helped, at least a little.

“I never have.” he managed to reply after a few minutes of just standing, clinging, breathing. “I never will.”

Roman's face was finally in focus again. Logan's chest felt raw, scraped by sandpaper and flayed by knives—he was tousled dark hair and tanned skin and eyes of emerald, handsome and compassionate and so painfully kind, this prince, this king—

--and Logan loved him. He had loved him for so many years. Logan's mind had been stripped of the knowledge, but his heart was an open wound that knew, that remembered every second of that separation. It had clung, it had beat steady...it had waited for him.

“You did last time.” Roman pointed out with a sad smile. His free hand found his way into Logan's, leaving them standing there in one of the unused sewer tunnels, holding hands like besotted children as they stared into each other's eyes.

“You swore you wouldn't...and you let go.”

Logan shook his head. “No, I didn't. I was pulled away.”

“I...remember.”

Logan watched Roman frown at that, as if surprised by the knowledge of his own recollection—then watched the light in his eyes die a little.

“I can never forget.” he breathed, his eyes falling shut, lashes shimmering in the low light with the tears trying to escape. “The sound of your screams as you were dragged away...the door shutting, and how quiet everything got--”

“Why were we there?” Logan asked softly, stepping closer against his will. Everything in him was screaming for more, closer, all. He was starving for Roman, for his beauty and his smile and his laughter, for his wild optimism and boundless determination.

“Hmmm?”

“Why were we there? Why...why was I arrested? What did I hide?”

Roman opened his eyes, causing the tears to spill while his expression melted from pain to puzzlement. Logan reached up with hand, without letting Roman go, to wipe away one of the tear tracks with his thumb.

“What do you mean?”

“I remember being taken—my last glimpse of you. Before you grabbed me, I was hiding something.” Logan explained.

And that was...important somehow. He just couldn't put his finger on it...

Roman leaned into Logan's touch, shifting his grip so he could hold Logan's hand to his face, palm curled against Roman's cheek while he thought.

“I—I have trouble remembering.” he admitted softly. “We were looking for one of the Tomes. To...prove...”

Logan nodded. “I reconstructed a portion of that memory earlier—but something stopped me from finishing it. That was why I was so...confused when I left the Loom of Memory.”

Roman nodded. “I felt it. I couldn't see the memory, but when you were channeling from me, I...sensed what you were doing, and I tried to help. When you were thrown out of that trance, it felt—wrong. Painful.”

“But you can't remember?” Logan asked, something worming through his brain as he turned it over in his head. “That doesn't make sense. Why would...”

...he hung on until the grip on his collar finally yanked him out of the fourteen year old prince's grasp...

He stilled, something in the pit of his chest trembling.

“...I made sure of it.” he realized aloud.

“Made sure of what, Logan?”

Looking into Roman's eyes, Logan remembered that younger face, the desperation and fear, that glimpse of jewel green in the dark and that was all he wanted in the world before...before...

“When I was taken—I didn't let go, I was pulled away. I made sure of it.” he replied with more confidence.

Logan stared down at their remaining joined hand, lifting it up between them. He shifted his grip, unlinking their fingers until he had his wrapped around Roman's digits in a death grip. Roman's hand curled into it, clinging like he had that night.

When he'd been trying to drag Logan to safety.

The hand at his collar yanked, and Logan's fingers slid free, throbbing—

Only then did Logan feel the bite of the ring.

“What's this, Roman?”

Releasing his hand, Logan showed him the ring he was wearing—heavy silver, wrought with strange symbols that Logan did not understand anymore, but called to him in a way that made him think he'd known how to read them once upon a time. The ring was set with a stone blue as lapis lazuli and Patton's eyes, but rather than being flecked with gold, it was dotted red.

Roman stared at the ring on his hand, then at Logan, fear in his eyes.

“Remus.” he breathed. “He...he put it on me the night you were arrested. I was holding it, and he put it on me—Logan, why didn't I remember that? Why are there things I don't remember?...”

“Because I was wearing it.” he replied, running his thumb over the stone. Removing his other hand from Roman's cheek, Logan cradled Roman's hand between both of his and inspected the ring more closely. It was warm to the touch, and he felt a flare of power in his gut that terrified him. The ring was bespelled...

He'd been wearing it the night of his arrest—and Logan was still working the spell wrought into it.

“It's enchanted...I think the spell breaks if the wearer removes it.” Logan replied slowly, uncertainly. “I...I made sure I didn't take it off myself. You...you pulled it off my hand, I remember it wrenched my finger.”

He stared at the ring, then up at Roman again.

“I think...I think the fact that I never broke my connection to it means that it's spell is affecting both of us. Some spell affecting perception, or...memory.”

Roman gaped at him, then at the ring. Logan watched his brow furrow, then his jaw set with an anger he didn't recognize, but one that felt painfully familiar.

“Well then—let's see which it is.”

There was something Logan was missing...something about where they were standing...

Over Roman's shoulder, Logan spotted a steel ladder leading up.

He recognized this tunnel.

“Roman, no--”

Tugging out of Logan's grip, Roman removed the ring.

********** “...sorry, guys.”

“For the ninth time, Patton—it's okay.” Virgil soothed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I didn't even expect him to spook when you told him he was a Lazari. That's normally my job.”

“I'm assuming that's why the prince is hanging on you?” Janus replied dryly.

Virgil looked over his shoulder—and wrinkled his nose when his face smooshed into the side of Remus's, who had his arms cinched around Virgil's waist and his chin on Virgil's shoulder.

“Not really.” Remus chirped brightly. “Though that's a fair point—physical contact does wonders for anxiety. Nah, I'm just copping a feel is all.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil faced the other two again—and resisted the urge to lay his hands over the ones pressed to his stomach, to lean back into the solid line of warmth behind him that made everything feel smaller and quieter and safer. It was a larger, more intense version of the warmth that cradled him as he'd fallen into Logan, giving up his mind to expand his brother's...

It hadn't been that intense in a long time—coming back to himself was usually hard, shook him up, but...Remus helped. Weirdly. Sort of.

...fuck it: Virgil folded his arms across his chest, but leaned back into Remus and ignored him aggressively. Especially when he pretty much cuddled up to Virgil's back even harder.

“So how did this happen?” Virgil asked Janus and Patton instead. “Both Pat here and my brother—you said Patton's a Lazari?”

Patton shook his head. “Only Weavers can become Lazari—I'm a Herald! I was a Black Dog before I got my soul.”

Virgil blinked at that. “You are a Black Dog? You're nowhere near violent enough.”

Janus let out an abrupt laugh at that as he regarded Virgil with a raised eyebrow. “When you went through basic training, did your instructor warn you about gagging prisoners?”

“Yeah: not to do it alone. He told some story about a cannibal in the dungeons who took three of a private's fingers off.”

“Hmph.”

Virgil blinked, looking at the source of the huff—namely, the tiny curly haired cherub of a necromancer who was sort of...hugging Janus's bicep with both his arms, cheek pressed just below his shoulder with a petulant little pout on his round features.

“You...What? You...no. No, you did not--”

Patton huffed, holding onto Janus tighter as he straightened primly.

“He was mean to Logan.” he insisted. “And I didn't eat them, I spat them out and fed them to the rats. And that was just his fingers, he gave up his nose when he tried to kill Janus--”

“And this is why I had to arrange to make him Logan's cell mate very early on—sharp teeth when he's mad.” Janus sighed, all while casting Patton a look so warm and so infinitely luminous that it could only be called tender. “He was safer, and far less of a troublemaker, with companionship.”

Virgil's stomach turned dangerously, and as if he knew, one of Remus's hands pressed flat to Virgil's belly, like he was trying to steady him.

“Oh, Seven Hells...” Virgil groaned, shaking his head. “I can't—know what? Fuck it. I believe you, and I'm sufficiently terrified of the cannibalistic Black Dog.”

“Herald.” Patton protested. “And I did not eat his fingers! The tip of his nose was an accident, he shoved me after I bit him and I swallowed on reflex--”

“Can we please get back on topic?” Virgil protested.

“Oh, come on, toy soldier.” Remus laughed. “This is good stuff! If you weren't so cute and Pattycake there wasn't so gone on Lord Janus, I'd be checking out his ass right now!”

Virgil sputtered and blushed, trying to refocus on the conversation and not...the crap coming out of Remus's mouth. While he was currently a literal monkey on Virgil's back.

“So...that's how it's done? You...get a soul? But the Animata were the only ones who could give necromancers souls, and they don't exist anymore.”

“Actually...”

Virgil glared back at Remus. “What the hell do you know, you walking trash can?”

“Oh—you say the sweetest things!” Remus cooed, reaching up to boop the tip of Virgil's nose before grabbing onto him again.

“Seriously, Remus...”

The warning note in Virgil's voice clearly did something, because Remus finally sobered and lost some of that manic gleam in his eye. Instead, the green eyes he shared with his brother glinted more like blades carved of pure emerald: razor sharp, precise, and deadly.

“My big brother's a half-twin who got hung up on a necromancer. I did some digging.” he admitted. The nasal whine in Remus's voice softened as he spoke, turning his tone into something smooth and impossible to ignore: biting enough to catch the ear, pleasant enough to make listening enjoyable.

“In the few records we have of Zero—the first year of the time cycle we use now—there are documented mentions of the Animata. You have to lie, cheat, steal, and fuck to see those volumes of the Tomes, even if you're a member of the royal family, but luckily I'm good at all four of those things!”

“So the Animata are real?”

“Very. We just know them by a different name now.”

“What name?”

“...that's what I'm not sure of.”

“I am.”

Virgil looked to Janus sharply. “How?”

Janus glared at him, then Remus...then slid a look at Patton, who snuggled closer and nodded in encouragement.

“Animata is a word from the language of the dragons.” Janus finally admitted. “Even drakes are born knowing how to speak it. The word means 'life giver.' However, according to my mother, it was also the root of a pejorative—a slur directed at the entire race due to the crimes of one. A slur that means 'death giver.'”

He paused, then looked Virgil square in the eye.

“The slur was necromata.”

“What the actual fuck are you talking about?” Virgil asked—no, wheezed...no, something else, because he wasn't sure he had enough breath for that.

“I'm talking about the fact that your people never needed to be controlled, Virgil. You were—are the life givers. You animate the dead—give back life that was taken, remember the forgotten, grant warning to the condemned so they can meet their end without regret. The power your people possess is a gift granted you by the Fates, one the Animator turned his back on.”

“How do you know any of this? Who is your mother that she knows--”

“My mother was the Dragon Witch of Kolar!”

Virgil's mouth snapped shut as silence fell. For a long moment, he couldn't bring himself to speak as he thought about all the Festivals of the Forgotten past, of his grandmother's grave that Grandpap visited every week, and the one nameless child's grave in the celebratory fields, forbidding anyone to touch it for literal years...

“What'm I missing, toy soldier?” Remus murmured in his ear, making Virgil shiver reflexively—and also bringing him back to the present.

Oh, nothing. Virgil wanted to say. Only I think that Lord Janus, captain of the royal guard and the assassin's corps is my dead uncle, that's all.

Instead, Virgil just shook his head and sagged into Remus a little more, letting his steady warmth stave off the panic attack he could feel coming on.

“Then...what about the race of twin souls?” he finally croaked, dismissing the subject.

“There's no race.” Patton replied after a moment before looking up at Janus with an expression so soft, he half expected the drake to transform into a baby duckling. “Just...well...soulmates. In that they have two souls, and one of them belongs to us. Janny gave me mine.”

“You're a twin soul?” Virgil asked incredulously.

Janus raised an eyebrow. “I'm a drake—half human, half dragon? The duality is more than just tragic backstory, sweetie.”

Virgil tried not to think about the implications of that 'tragic backstory'--then his blood ran cold as he twisted to look Remus in the eye.

“You weren't hiding Roman because of his extra soul.” he breathed. “You were hiding the fact that he gave it away.”

“An extra soul? He—what?” Janus sputtered.

“King Thomas Roman II isn't a conduit, he's a twin soul. The princes are half-twins, split between the cusp of days.” Virgil explained. “When twins are born on two separate days, they get two different souls—not the one they were supposed to be linked to. It means that--”

“One twin gets a normal soul, the other gets two, his and the one his brother should have had—and the power of a completely unsullied soul is the kind of power that can easily ensure someone is mistaken for a conduit.” Janus realized aloud, cursing. “This is not the kind of thing you hide from the captain of the guard! How did that even happen, anyway?”

“Because Roman doesn't know.”

Virgil watched Remus's face as he spoke, strangely shaken by the look of regret on his features.

“What do you mean he doesn't know?” Janus protested. “That's not something that's easy to hide.”

“...unless he doesn't remember.”

Patton's sweet, gentle voice piped up, and Virgil watched as he left Janus's side to step closer, his eyes on Remus.

“He doesn't, does he?” he asked softly. “That's how Janny didn't know. That's--”

Patton was cut off by a distant cry of alarm that sounded suspiciously like...

Remus's arms tightened around Virgil. “Roman.”

Virgil looked to Janus, who was already staring in the direction of the voice. Looking to Virgil, he nodded in silent understanding.

The king was in trouble, and Logan was with him.

Janus swept his cape back, glancing at Patton. “Darling?”

Patton nodded, features screwed up in determination...

...and before their eyes, the diminutive young necromancer had melted, reshaped itself, until a hound roughly half Janus's height stood befor them, with a sleek, coal black coat and eyes that glowed bright, cheerful sky blue.

Patton's nose hit the ground like a shot, sniffing and snuffling before he whined and took off at a trot.

********** “Loganberry!”

A few turns down the tunnels led them towards a steel ladder leading up to a hatch that led somewhere into the lower levels of the palace. Just a few feet away from it, a prone figure was on the ground, unconscious.

By the time Virgil reached his side, Logan was sitting up, rubbing his face.

“Get him up.” Janus ordered. “We need to get you all to the king's chambers for safety's sake.”

Virgil nodded, facing Logan—Logan, who was staring at the steel ladder like it was some kind of phantom.

“Logan...where's Roman?” Virgil asked softly.

Something crossed Logan's features, an emotion so painfully intense Virgil couldn't quite identify it—then went cold and dead with an emotion Virgil knew very well.

One that could easily be mistaken for neutral in its total absence of feeling, but with the subtle curl of Logan's lip, Virgil could easily identify as pure, undiluted rage.

“The king has been taken.” Logan declared, rising to his feet and stalking towards the ladder.

“By who?” Remus asked, startling Virgil with the fact that he was directly behind him with Virgil never realizing he was there.

“The assassin.” Logan replied—just as he began climbing the ladder.

“Logan, get down here!” Janus snapped.

“You'll want to join me, Lord Janus—this leads to the dungeons. Please instruct Patton to resume his human form.”

Virgil could hear a snuffle somewhere behind him, but he was unable to tear his focus from Logan as he ascended the ladder. There was something about his voice, that look on his face, something that was making Virgil's chest tight and his ears buzz with a funny droning sound...

He followed Logan up the ladder.

At the top, Logan was there to help him up, grabbing his hand to steady him as he emerged in the middle of a dungeon hallway. The pair of them did the same for Remus, Janus, and a Patton now in human form.

“...this is the barricaded section.” Janus realized as he straightened, dusting himself off before turning to Patton. “This portion of the dungeons was shut down eight years ago.”

“Correct.” Logan replied, facing the four men and gesturing down the hall. “There is an office down the hall--”

The buzzing in Virgil's ears grew louder, and the world started to get a little washed out on the edges—sort of gray and blurry.

“This is where you were taken.” he wheezed, feeling a line of heat at his back when he started to sway.

Logan nodded, then turned away from them and knelt beside the open sewer hole. He thought Logan was going to slide the cover back in place, but then watched him reach inside. Only then did Virgil realize the hole had some kind of channel around the edge, slim but deep, possibly for some kind of drainage component that was never put in.

Logan reached into it, fished around, then pulled out a slim bundle wrapped in a faded, careworn child's coat.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Logan's shoulders slumped.

“Roman is still alive.” he sighed to himself, distracted and not quite soft enough to keep from being heard. “He never found it.”

Virgil felt his knees buckle. Arms wound around his waist again, and some of the gray edges in his vision cleared a little.

“You...you...Lo, you have...”

Logan replaced the sewer cover and stood, facing Virgil with a neutral, but softer look.

“My memory back, yes.” Logan replied. “It's a long story, but its restoration is the very reason Roman was taken from me. The assassin has him—that is why you should be here, Lord Janus--”

“Try uncle.” Virgil muttered—however, Logan heard him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ma'am-Ma'am was his mother, so he's Geni's brother.”

“Just how old do you fuckers get?” Remus huffed behind Virgil.

“The life expectancy of the average Necromata is about a hundred and twenty years—but the dragon blood in the Crofter family tree means we get triple that.” Virgil muttered as Logan regarded Janus with new interest. “My geni was born, not hatched, and they didn't meet Pari until they were a hundred and forty.”

“How do you know the assassin was the one that took the king, Logan?” Patton asked from his place at Janus's side.

“Because he tried to kill me when I was nine.” As quickly as possible, Logan relayed his memory of how he first met Roman, resuscitated after being found nearly drowned in a river.

“He is also the one who arrested me—and the one who just broke out of the dungeons.” Logan finished. “That is why I brought you all up here, Lord Janus. And this...”

Logan stopped to unwrap his precious bundle, revealing a small, leatherbound volume.

“...will prove his guilt, as well as provide us a means to stop him.”

“Logan...who is the asassin?”

Logan's features paled then, bright blue eyes dulling with remembered horror.

When he spoke, Remus's arms around Virgil tightened, and Virgil distantly heard Patton choke out a strangled noise that might have been a sob that echoed the sudden lump that was making it hard for Virgil to breathe.”

“The man you arrested yesterday, Lord Janus—the assassin is Colonel Mori.”

* * * * Specific CW for gore: mentions of cannibalism, both in general and specific--erring on the side of caution with graphic depictions of it, mostly discussing the details of a bitey little manpuppy being bitey. And a manpuppy. XD

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miioouu · 4 years ago

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hit my phone (ft kehlani) - megan thee stallion with bakugou please ❤️ congrats on 1k love!!!! u deserve it

Thank you 🥺 And thank you for requesting!! ❤️💜❤️

Warning: smut...

You needed to get out and have fun. It's nit always you get that big of pay check and you knew exactly how to spend it. Alcohol kicking in as your body swayed to the music, slipping through bodies as you were dancing all over the place. Hands trying to feel up on you, you were quick to shoo them away. You didn't want them roaming all over you, no you needed him. Sitting in the back, the purple and green lighting making him look like a greek God, or was it the liquor you had no idea. Your eyes never left his form and you know that it was the same for him.

You weren't normally this bold, it could be the tequilla or the red orbs begging you to come over, but you made you way towards him. Grabbing him and guiding to the dancefloor, you couldn't help it. Turning and bending the slightest, ass rubbing so perfectly against his boner, resulting in a groan leaving his lips. Hand quickly finding their way on your hips, moving you to the rhythm of the loud music as his lips worked miracles on your neck. Blonde stranger making you feel all type of ways. Turning back so you can face him, pressing your body impossibly closer to his. His hot breath fanning on your face, scent of minty alcohol filling your nostrils, you don't know what has gotten into you, but standing on your tiptoes, hands on his shoulders for stability you sang the upcoming words with a glint of challenge in your eyes "You can hit it in the party if you're feelin risky" and who was he to back down? Guiding you to the middle of the crowd where no one would care about your actions, he pulled you closer, hooking one of your legs up on his waist, making your dress ride up as his crotch is now rubbing on your heat directly, the only thing separating you two was the thin fabric of your underwear and his tight black jeans. His lips coming back to your neck continuing on his work of art, while you were so incredibly lost, electricity flowing through your veins with every roll of your hips. So intense, you couldn't believe how close you were getting from just dry humping the man, yet you wanted more. And he knew, from the way you hands yanking his hair harder, your head rolling back and moans escaping your lips. Moving his hands from your waist, both traveling south, one molding your ass, giving it pinches from time to time as the other slipped between your sweaty, needy bodies. Rubbing you through the damp fabric, chuckling at the way your hips moved to meet his. Though his laugh soon faded it and replaced by a low moan as he felt you finger digging through his jeans, cold digits making contact with his hardening dick, you knocked the breath out of him. Following your actions, he moved your panties to the side, fingers plunging in your wet heat, finally feeling him your scream of pleasure competing with the loud beat of the music.

His lips, for the first time tonight pressed on your, pearly white teeth biting on your lower on asking for permission and when denied, he was sure to insert a second finger in your sopping cunt, making you gasp into the kiss, giving him access to your wet cavern. Exploring every corner, tongues dancing with each other as both of your were getting closer and closer to release. For any other stranger, you two looked like a overly affectionate couple, thank god they didn't know better! Picking up the pace, stranger dug his fingers even deeper, each thrust of his hand hitting your sweet spot perfectly, you tried so hard to keep a grasp on reality, but with the pleasure and alcohol, you were bound to slip, hand doing its best to give the man what he wanted. "Cum for me princess." And it's all it took for you to come undone on his fingers, head resting on his shoulder as you whispered how good he's making you feel. The risk of being caught and your lust expression, your trembling yet skillful hand making the knot in his lower stomach tightening until- "Y/n!! We should head back home" your head snapping to the direction of the voice, rapidly removing yourself from the man in fear of getting caught, he couldn't help but feel disappointed. But before you could slip away from him for tonight, he was quick to write his number in your hand sending you a smile as he disappeared within the crowd.

Coming back home, your night wasn't over yet. Liquor still in your system, snapping a mirror picture, on your knees, dress bunched up on your hips and obvious soiled panties on view, you sent it to the number inked on your arm "I get nasty when the moon come out and the juice kick in"

#bnha headcanons #bnha imagines #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugo katsuki #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #kehlani #megan thee stallion #lyrics #request

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