#this is so lazy and barely rendered at ALL please I draw better than this I SWEAR

[clegfly]

Hey

[undermattsun-archive]

tell me

(skate rat) miyas x fem!reader | w.c 1.6k

a/n: ok look i’m no brother fucker on main, but the lewding potential post-show me was too delicious, and if i’m not an opportunistic whore... so here it is the pt 2 y’all keep screaming about that i actually started writing no more than two hrs after posting show me bc i have no self control

another big thankies to @sugardaddykenma for giving this a read over big fat wet besitos for u

18+ university | please read ALL warnings

warnings: INCEST full on (i’m sorry god), dubcon/noncon elements, fingering, overstimulation, dumbification (lowkey), degradation, manipulation, a dash of gaslighting, a bit of humiliation, virginity loss (mentioned), crybaby!reader, little bit of mind break, reader is tired + slurs words a bit

just...them taking advantage of dumb reader

read show me first! (not necessary but appreciated + it would make more sense to do so) NOW with the third part make me !!

One hour, twenty-six minutes and who knows how many seconds have gone by since your brothers have decided to go into an entire good cop, bad cop tirade.

Their words barely making a dent in your mind as a soreness settles in your bones, the added discomfort of a mixture of sweat, saliva and cum drying on your skin with the debauched feeling of Kita’s cum dripping from your sore cunt keeping your mind thoroughly distracted.

“You’re never gonna see him again.” Atsumu-nii barks out.

“It’s better that way.” Osamu-nii adds gently.

“In fact he’s dead next time we see him.”

“Yeah, very much dead.”

“We told him to stay away from you, fuck.” Atsumu flops down beside you, Osamu follows sitting on your other side.

“It’s not that big of a deal.” You mumble, regretting your words the second you see the look in your brothers’ eyes.

“Not that big a deal?” Atsumu’s voice is no more than a low growl as he rises, eyes narrowing at the statement. “Kita’s a fucking bastard and you just let him between your legs like it was nothing. Are you stupid?”

Your eyes widen at the accusation as you scoot away from him, drawing your knees to your chest, letting your eyes fall to the rumpled blankets surrounding you.

“You let him cum inside you?” A gasp falls from your lips, embarrassment scorches through you as you realize the way your bare cunt is exposed by the way you’re sitting. You immediately shoot back, slamming into Osamu as you squeeze your legs shut, dread filling your lungs as Atsumu crawls forward.

“Our little sister really is dumb. Is that what you’ve been up to while you’re away?” He’s always been faster than you, proven by how his fingers are already around your wrist, yanking you towards him. You know that struggling is a moot point, he’s bigger and faster and so much stronger. But you can’t help but wiggle around, barely able to make him budge even a centimeter.

“No! That was my first...” you bite your tongue as Atsumu crosses his legs and seats you in his lap, your back pressed against his chest as he snakes an arm around your waist. He rests his chin atop your head, a thoughtful hum vibrating in his chest against you.

“Hear that Samu?” Atsumu squeezes you tightly as your eyes frantically dart around Osamu’s features, silently begging for him to free you from this situation.

“Yeah Tsumu, she really gave up her virginity to Kita.”

“Like an idiot.” They muse in unison.

“I- but-”

“But nothing. Now your nii-chan’s need to clean you up. Stupid little girl.” He mutters against your hair, smoothing his hands over your thighs, spreading them apart more and more. Stretching them until they’re caught by his knees, rendering you helplessly exposed.

“Umm.” Your legs twitch, the position all too embarrassing, the powerlessness of it parallel to when you were being held by Kita. Taboo, the position screams.

“It’s okay, dumb girls like you make mistakes all the time,” Osamu smiles gently, shifting over to lift the hem of your shirt, handing it to Atsumu keeping it pinned just above your belly button, “that’s why you have us.”

Confusion swirls as you watch your older brother's fingers disappear into his mouth, eyes watching as his tongue flicks over the digits, retracting them slowly.

“Ah! Wait!” You yelp out as he pushes his index and middle fingers past your puffy hole, a stinging pleasure making the taut muscles of your thighs twitch. Atsumu lets out another low laugh, steadying your legs, forcing you to keep still as Osamu continues to prod further. The blunt ends of his fingers pressing and dragging against the sore gummy walls.

“Too much, too much.” You gasp as Osamu’s fingers dig further into your cunt, shaking as you feel the tips of fingers brush against your cervix. Fat tears begin to roll down your face as you press harder back into Atsumu, as if you could find escape in the rigid planes of his body. 

His fingers continue to twist and scour, the sensation is all too overwhelming, making your throat tighten as you make futile attempts at clamping your legs shut, only making Atsumu snicker above you. You watch with panting breaths as Osamu finally draws out his fingers, covered in the milky white slick, evidence of the sins you committed just a few hours before. 

“What a sloppy cunt, you really let him make a whore of you huh?” Atsumu bites, the words cut into you, the betrayal in his voice making your throat tighten further. You can only manage to choke out a broken sob of a denial as Osamu brings his fingers against your lips.

“Say ‘ah’.” You shake your head frantically, face quickly being caught in Osamu’s other hand.

“Don’t be difficult, we’re helping you.” Disappointment, the disappointment crumbles what little fighting spirit you had in the first place, you can’t stop the tears from falling as you let Osamu slip slicked fingers into your mouth. Lazily you swirl your tongue around them, exhaustion starting to sweep over you. 

“All good?” Atsumu asks as Osamu pulls his digits from your mouth, smiling proudly at you.

“Let me make sure.” He lowers himself more onto the bed, bringing him face to face to your dripping cunny, he plants a hand against the taut muscle of your thigh, staring so intently at your twitching hole. “So fuckin messy.” It’s the closest to warning you get as he pushes his fingers back in, the yelp you let out sounding pitiful even to you. 

“We shouldn’t, d-do this.” You grip at Osamu’s arm, but it’s as if each tug you make has no effect. There isn’t a purpose to his motions, his fingers pumping in and out of you with reckless abandon, the wet, lewd sounds filling the room. 

“‘M just helping you.” Osamu breathes out, hot breath fanning over your sensitive cunt. With each push of his fingers you feel as though your whole body has been thrown under an unwavering waterfall, every stroke of his fingers feeling like the ruthless waters beating down on you. 

“Yeah, you’re the idiot who went and fucked Kita Shinsuke of all people.” Atsumu chides, running a hand across your belly, lips tickling the shell of your ear. He pulls one of your hands off of Osamu, intertwining your fingers, securing your hand against your heaving chest.

“M’Not an idiot.” Your panting whines swirling with the soft wet clicking made by his digits in your cunt punctuating your shame, your words weakly slurred together. “Samu-nii n-n’more.”

“Hm? What was that?” He teases his ring finger against your entrance, viciously scissoring his index and middle, making your body stiffen, the pain of overstimulation surging violently chased with flecks of pleasure. 

“Pretty sure she said more Samu.” Atsumu goads, slipping his other hand underneath your shirt to massage your tender breasts, the endless waves of exhaustion leaving you unable to deny yourself melting in his hold.

“More it is.” Without the slightest of stutters in his motions he stuffs in his ring finger, forcing your back to arch at the sting, the throbbing of your cunny is gut wrenching but the delicious curl of Osamu’s fingers is undeniable.

“Shlow down.” Your tongue feels thick in your mouth, head lolling back, knocking into Atsumu’s chin as you stare down with blurry vision at Osamu’s fingers disappearing into your wet heat.

“Think our little dummy means speed up, right sis? You wouldn’t want Samu to miss any leftover cum from your little slut stunt.” 

“I-I don’t?” You mumble, trying to crane your head to meet Atsumu’s gaze, the disconnect of his words is disorienting as you continue to slip into worn out haze.

“Of course not, that’s what we’ve been telling you.” He releases your hand in favor of sliding his hand up to grip at your jaw, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. “Hey Samu I think you can fit a fourth.”

“Yeah, me too.” Atsumu presses your head against his, leaving the two of you cheek to cheek as your eyes widen at the sight of your brother’s pinky swiping besides your entrance.

“Won’t fit.” 

“It will.” Osamu looks up at you, the familiar lazy half smile almost comforting as he begins to work his fourth finger into your thoroughly abused cunt. A jolt of biting pain mottled with bliss erupts through you. The feeling of being utterly stuffed, pushed past whatever limits you had, leaving you unable to even focus your eyes or make sense of whatever Atsumu whispers against you. 

The entirety of your body feels like an exposed nerve, as if you’ve been left out in the sun too long, simultaneously hyper aware and numb of all the little touches and strokes across your flesh. You can feel Osamu steadily pick up the pace with each thrust of his fingers, each stroke as if he’s trying to dig deeper, as if he’s trying to make your cunny memorize the shape of each finger. 

“Tsu-tsumu-niii, I thiiink…” Whatever comment you had is lost in your throat, the tiniest caress of Osamu’s thumb against your clit has your mind going blank, the entirety of your body coiling tightly, a mangled whine preempting the feeling of yourself gushing around Osamu’s fingers. Your body spasms, held tightly in Atsumu’s arms as you squeal out at Osamu unwilling to relent his movements, continuing to piston his fingers with reckless abandon.

“Enough, Ssamu enough.” Your vision goes spotty, watching with jagged breaths as he gradually withdraws. You spiral into unconsciousness one last shiver wracking through you as you watch him bring his fingers up to his lips, licking a stripe up his coated fingers. A dastardly grin the last thing you see as you black out.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (Part 7): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: the General makes you train, you wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into, and plans are revealed. 

wc: 2K

tw: none

a/n: Thank you for being patient, sunshines! 7.5 will be out tonight as a huge thank you to all of my followers and anons who are reading. You all are just amazing. 

masterlist

“Take a break!” The heavy rake is tossed to the ground,and you struggle for air, panting and coughing. Torturing you with the rake-swinging seemed to be Geto’s objective today, and it’s taking the life out of your body. 

As you rest on your back - facing the sky - there’s a massive gust of air above you, and you tilt your head back to see a tiny, raven haired boy standing above you. He’s fanning you eagerly, face scrunched up in frown as he exerts all of his energy on the fan. Your first reaction is to stare at the child in fascination; the next is to laugh. 

“Junpei…” you chuckle, and the child stops, letting the fan drift to his side. “You’re too sweet.” He nods once, huffing out a short breath, then starts fanning you again, making your hair blow back behind your ears. 

“Giving Lady y/n a nice breeze, Junpei?” Geto asks, walking towards you two with the rake in his hand. 

“Yes, Master Geto,” Junpei affirms, scrunching his face up even more as he increases  the force of his fanning. Geto leans on the rake and watches the scene with a small smile on his face, and you allow Junpei to continue his task for a moment longer before standing. You grin at the child, placing a hand on his head as you murmur:

“Thank you, sweet one.” His hair bobs as he bows to you, then to Geto, and dashes off into the camp once more. You watch the child run off, his hair flying in the stale air of the mid-day. 

“You have quite a few admirers, I see,” Geto begins, and you shake your head. “First, little Itadori, now Junpei… who’s next, I wonder?”

“I would like to wager a certain General would be next in line to try and win my hand,” you reply; Geto straightens up immediately and walks closer to you, a lazy grin painted on his face. 

“Well, it seems that General might have quite a difficult time getting past your growing line of suitors.” You both chuckle, and Geto tilts up your chin with a forefinger. You’re prepared to kiss him - well, that is until he stops and says:

“Only six more sets of ten swings to go.”

_______________________________________________________________________

 You can barely bring your spoon to your lips during lunch. 

“My Lady, do you require assistance?” 

You shake your head no, but your arms are screaming please help us. 

It was one thing to have to swing until the sun went down. It’s an entirely different thing to not only swing seventy times but also run laps around the field like a soldier in training. You felt exhausted by the third lap, but Geto encouraged you to run more; his hands on his knees as he watched you turn into a floundering fish on land. 

The other women surely watched you train with a curious eye. No one dares to ask why you allow Geto to reduce you to mush in full view of the camp, even though they know why you let him do it. 

Because he turns you to mush when they’re not watching, as well. 

“Master Geto?” Kaori shouts, standing from her seated position on the tarp laid out in the grass. 

“No, don’t!” you cry out, but she’s already trudging down the field, leaving you behind as she calls Geto’s name over and over again. You curse softly, sitting down your soup with agonizing slowness and try to stand from where you’re sitting, but your legs will not move an inch. 

“She can barely move; how do you expect her to eat lunch and remain healthy if you render her arms useless? Then you walk off, leaving her to her own devices! You don’t pay me enough to feed her like you do during dinner.” Kaori is stomping back up to you, followed closely by Geto, who is shrugging on his haori and appears to be rather alarmed. “You should take better care of your captives, Master Geto. Look at her!” 

You try your best to look as painless as possible, but the facade is broken when Geto extends a hand out and you grimace as you try to reach your own hand out. His face falls instantly and without speaking, he hoists you up into his arms. “Kaori, bring her soup, please. I’ll feed her myself.” Your head rests against his broad chest limply, and the way that his heart beats wildly against your ears oddly soothes you. You’re in pain, yes, but you’re not completely immune to the way he makes your heart stutter and trip over itself when he’s near you. And you’ve never been as near to him as you are now. 

“When you are in pain, you need to say something,” Geto chastises as he lays you in the bed, folding a fur up before resting you against it and sitting beside you. “Kaori made it sound like you were dying.” 

“I wasn’t dying,” you retort. “I tried to prevent her from saying anything.” 

“So, you thought I wouldn’t find out later?” When the head maid deposits the soup bowl into Geto’s hands, he looks up at you and raises a brow. 

“No, I--” 

“Open.” A spoonful of clear onion soup is presented to you, and you obey, knowing your argument is completely lost already. “It’s my duty to make sure you’re taken care of while you’re here,” he continues, offering another spoonful. “You should let me know when you’re struggling, or when you need something.” 

Your mouth is full of soup, so you can’t reply like you want to. But what would you even say? Would you tell him that you’ve been struggling between your plan - which had been altered slightly over the past few days - or would you tell him you needed him in more ways than one?  

“Master Geto,” a voice calls out at the opening of the tent. You don’t recognize the voice at all, but when the person walks through the flaps, you recognize his face. His wide, dark blue eyes are all-too familiar, and the young man’s mouth presses together in a thin line at the sight of you being spoon-fed by Geto. This is the same man who captured you when you tried to run away the first time. 

“Yuta, I’m glad you’re here. What do you have for me?” Yuta… The name rings a bell along with the memory of Nanami mentioning him when talking about the new emissary. Yuta produces a thin roll of brown paper and hands it to Geto. 

“They’re not going to send another emissary.” The implications of this knowledge brings the weight of the world down on your shoulders, and you look to Geto’s face, which is blank. 

“Wait, but that means--” you’re quickly interrupted by Yuta’s sharp eyes cutting to you, and Geto chuckles. 

“That means I’d better get you all settled in the next village as soon as possible.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

“What if the elders don’t agree to his plan?” you wonder aloud, and Kaori runs water down your arms before answering softly. 

“Then he will wipe the village out, my Lady.” 

“But how? And single handedly?” 

“I won’t claim to know how he does it. I have never been privy to his methods, nor would I want to be.” 

You think about Kaori’s words long after the bath was over, alone in the bedroom and wrapped in furs. The thought of Geto slaughtering an entire village is chilling, but his truly ruthless side was not something you had been exposed to. You shake thoughts of death out of your mind and stand from the bed, dragging the fur pelt behind you as you stride over to Geto’s desk to eye his newest plans. 

The page full of black and red ink marks is unfamiliar to you, and you can’t make heads or tails of the drawings despite looking at it from different angles. The mystery of the paper engrosses you fully - so much so that you don’t hear someone approaching you from behind. 

“They’re formations.” Yuta speaks behind you, and you jolt, knocking your hip against the table. 

“I b-beg your pardon?” you stutter, clutching the pelt around you tightly. 

“Formations... for battle.”  Yuta reaches over to point at a circle and then to the arrows moving away from it. “This is the center of the formation - where Master Gojo will be - and this,” he points to the triangle at the head of the formation. “Is where Master Geto will be.” 

“Why is Gojo well-protected and not Geto?” The inquiry is met with laughter as Yuta slides the paper away from you. 

“He’s not being protected. He’s protecting everyone else.” 

“And when is this occurring?” Yuta raises a brow, looking over at you with a tender gaze. 

“Haibara and Gojo are negotiating with the closest village as we speak, but we could encounter the Imperial Warriors at any time. This could happen tomorrow, if I’m being honest.” 

“Tomorrow?” Your shock doesn’t affect the young man at all, and he steps away from you, eyeing you carefully. 

“I won’t say anything further. Geto is protecting you from this information for some reason, and has obviously commanded Kaori to say nothing as well.” With this, he exits, and you’re left looking at the squares, circles, and triangles while wondering where you fit into all of this mess. 

_______________________________________________________________________

Your encounter with Yuta gave you more questions than answers, and when the bed dips behind you, you roll over to meet Geto face to face, intent on getting answers.

“I thought you were asleep.” You don’t respond to the statement, instead sitting up fully and pushing your hair out of your eyes. 

“You should have told me that you could go to war at any time.” Geto frowns, sliding in next to you and tilting his head to the side. 

“I’m waiting on word from Haiba--” 

“And that. What happened to my village after you took me?” 

“Little one, I haven’t touched your village. You would know if I made any decisions about the fate of your peers.” 

“Kaori doesn’t know what happened to her family, and she’s just a maid! Why would you feel obligated to tell me - a captive - about my family?” 

“You’re more than just a captive to me, y/n. You know that,” he whispers, blinking slowly. 

“Right, I’m a pawn,” you grunt. “I asked you to tell me your game, and now I’m asking you again. What do you plan on doing with me while you’re away at war? I know you’re not stupid enough to leave me here while you’re away and can’t keep an eye on--” 

Geto puts up a hand, trying to stop you from speaking. “You’re right, I hav--” 

“Did you know I tried to run away?” The General looks at you, face blank. “But I came back and…” You fumble for the words, but they don’t feel right in your mouth. So, you rephrase. “I came back because…” You pause. You remember the reason you justified coming back, but it doesn’t make sense now. You can’t even say you followed your own plan. It had fallen by the wayside the moment Geto’s lips met yours; that you knew for a fact. 

“Nanami watched you; I knew you left the tent the moment you began walking across the camp,” he admits, and your lips part in surprise. “But you turned around. I came to confront you after dinner, and that’s why I was at the tent when you started to yell. My anger overshadowed my disappointment, but then even that was overshadowed by my desire to have you.” 

“Then why--” 

“I’m not leaving you here; you’re absolutely right about that. I wanted to wait to tell you when the time was right, but… I suppose now is the time. Your carriage will leave as soon as Gojo and Haibara send word back to me about the village. I’m sending you home.”

TAGLIST: @kamisamaundercover​ @jotazinha @just4readingfics​ @mxhi​ @sammytamaki​ @brownskinnedgirll​ @keelyshayee​ @leanne-tamashi​ @vabybizzle​ @amaris9​ 

[boxboysandotherwhump]

The new boy in town.

Tags:  @salamancialilypad  @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee  @ashintheairlikesnow   @haro-whumps   @moose-teeth @vickytokio​ @yet-another-heathen​ @orchidscript

Chapter 2

CW: body-shaming/ insults, discrimination/ dehumanization of mutants, an insect gets hurt, a nearly fistfight ensues

Heat thrummed through Gideon’s bones and throbbed in unison with his building headache. His patience had shriveled up like dried fruit under the torrid summer sun while this horrible lavender scent clung to his hair,  his skin, his clothes, making him dizzy.

It became stronger on the village outskirts, Gideon realized as he hurried after Director Sahin. The man ascended the crooked stone staircase effortlessly, his moss-green robe billowing behind him. His artfully decorated spear swayed with every step he took, not brushing a single leave. The only thing rustling through the underbrush was the wind and the creatures living there.

A twig caught in Gideon’s black curls, while the Director rambled on about the virtues of disciplinary work. How it encouraged the growth of one’s character, or some shit. The twig broke off with a quiet snap, painfully pulling at his scalp. Gideon’s mood dropped even lower. It was going to be a nightmare to fiddle all those shitty branches and leaves out of his hair later on.

He was seconds away from losing his barely-held composure. 

The only thing keeping him from bursting at the seams was the promise he’d whispered into his brother's grave, a last farewell bedded beside a corpse. 

Gideon had come to this godforsaken village to learn how to fight and survive in the forest, not to become some obedient little soldier boy! But in order to do that, he had to get cleared for training again and out of suspension.

If he had to play the director’s errand boy for a day to achieve that, so be it. He had endured worse.  

“Haaah, here we are.” Director Sahin inhaled deeply, arms falling wide. “Finally. My dear friend’s farm. Tell me, young Gideon, is it not simply beautiful?”

Gideon shrugged. “‘S’ okay.”

Granted, the house did look cozy, resting encircled by giant roots with its warm brick walls, but those gigantic snails everywhere sent a shudder down his spine. If he had to touch those slimy monsters he-

The farm’s sliding doors opened before he could utter a protest, and a fine-boned, middle aged woman emerged, followed by a huge man with a greying beard.  A boy, probably his own age but significantly shorter, held the door open for them.

The older woman’s lips curled into a crooked smile as she caught sight of Director Sahin, whose whole face had lit up. Dark eyes shining. 

“Moira. My darling. Please do not tell me you are about to leave? Not when I looked forward to seeing your beautiful face again.”

Gideon suppressed a gag. Moira crossed her arms, smile growing sharper. Her eyes held a warm twinkle as she spoke. “Eric; charming as ever.”

The man behind her stepped closer and huffed:  “M happy ‘ter see ya too, Eric.”

“Oh Ansgar you flatter me. But I must confess, I am not here solely for tea and a chat-“

The Director rattled on and Gideon’s focus wandered to the girl that had stepped out the door behind a blonde woman. A fancy grey blouse hung off her thin shoulders, nearly covering the  lace trim of blue silk short. A stark contrast to the more practical attire favored by most villagers. But that wasn’t what caught Gideon’s attention, no, he had seen all sorts of fancy getups up in Berlin -in the city's upper ring that is- what drew his eyes to her, was her face.

Its left side was oddly deformed, her pale skin uneven like a creased silk sheet, drawing her left eye down and her full lips up. She mouthed something to the boy, smiling, earning a smile from him in turn.

“Ah yes may I introduce: Gideon, my newest student.”

Having lost most of the adults’ conversation Gideon tuned back in just in time, to give them a curt nod.

“I will send him to collect the salve after the feast, then,” Director Sahin announced, please as can be. 

“Wonderful.” Moira clapped her hands. All back to business brusqueness.  “Sahar will appreciate not having to deliver it for once. Right?”

The other boy snapped to attention, green eyes wide and fingers twitching like the hands of a pianist. A grateful smile rose to his face and he nodded.

Oh great, so Gideon had to take the trip up here twice. 

They descended the stairs, lined up one after another on the narrow path. Sahar right in front of him, following the strange girl. He had avoided Gideon’s eyes as he squeezed past him, careful not to touch, probably scared off by his uniform. The school’s emblem, embroidered on his stainless white shirt, proudly declared him a scout in training. Deadly. Fearless. The little farm boy definitely did better not to mess with an insect slayer like him.

The girl came to an abrupt halt, frozen in the woodland’s shadows before it gave way to the dusty hill road. Gideon nearly collided with Sahar, when he heard it.

A primal, bone chilling hiss tore through the hot afternoon air, rattling through his very core. 

Every hair on his body stood, muscles tensing, on edge just like his fraying nerves. 

He knew that sound. 

Even though he’d heard it only once before. On the crusade from last-stand-berlin to the village, where he had seen the beast it belonged to lurk on the riverside, watching them.

He would never forget a spider’s hiss. 

And there one stood, right in front of him, its eight thorny legs towering high above its ugly head. The spider’s giant yaws worked, rubbed against each other in agitation. Its razor sharp fangs glistened in the sun.

A man sat atop its massive, hairy body, scar-faced and clad in a straw cape that was fastened to a beetle’s shell armoring his left shoulder. Shimmering in iridescent hues of blue and green. The man did not smile as he glanced down at them. A silent challenge was edged in the hard lines of his rugged face.

Tense static filled the air, an almost tangible thing that bit at Gideons fingers. It wormed its way into his bones, crawled over his scalp.  

He almost, almost, flinched when Director Sahin shouldered past him, spear drawn and followed by the other man. Both planted themselves right in front of him and the others.

The intruder’s scar stretched with the rise of his eyebrows, eyes slitting in a lazy half-grin.

 “Hey, there. Hold your horses. Before someone does something he regrets later.”

“That a threat?” Ansgar grunted.

Moira ducked past him, face twisted in a furious scowl as she spit. “Oh, something other than entering our village on a damn wolf-spider you mean?!”

The corded muscle in her boney arm flexed as she shook her fist at the man, unveiling a wrath behind her primly dressed form that no one would have wanted to fall victim to.

He, however, just leaned closer, smile stretching into a shark-tooth grin. “Gutsy, are we? I like that.”

Director Sahim stepped up beside her, spear held in a steady grip. “How could you make it past our InD-Units with this monstrosity?! God show you mercy if you did something to-”

“What do you think I am?!” the intruder drawled, hands raised in mock offense. “A monster?! Only reason I got past your insect defenses was this baby here.”

Gideon had to stand on his tiptoes to catch a glance of the small round device that sat embedded into the spider’s head, partly hidden by the man’s straw cape. A little red light blinked in a steady rhythm above three buttons, which the man was careful not to touch as he rapped his knuckles against it. 

“Renders her absolutely obedient. All natural instinct turned off. See?”

He unsheathed a knife from a holster strapped around his leg and its steel blade shimmered in the sun before he rammed it in one of the spider’s eyes, plopping it out with a nauseating plitch. The spider endured its master’s violation in utter stillness, only its yaws twitched, creating this awful hiss in their never ceasing movement.

 “She’s docile as a lamb.”

“And how exactly is that supposed to work?” the girl inquired, meeting the man’s stare with a calculated cold composure. She ignored the incredulous look the blonde woman gave her, as she mouthed: “Charlotte, what are you doing?”

The intruder's mouth twitched.

“Man, what do I know, Missy?! I’m a mutant hunter not a scientist.” He leaned closer, eyes narrowed, fixed on the girl's deformed face. Venom spiked his words, dripped from his tongue like acid. “My expertise lies in chasing down freaks.”

The condescendingly cruel way in which he spoke, wielding words like a weapon meant to pierce and twist where it hurt most, reminded Gideon oddly of his father. Anger welled up in his chest, buzzed down his legs and made them move. He planted himself right between the girl and the intruder.

How dare he compare someone to mutant scum?!

“Tsk. Mutant hunter?! You’ve ever even seen one? Or are you just talk? Threatening girls?!”

“Gideon.”, Director Sahim hissed, squeezing Gideon’s shoulder in warning as he tried to pull him back. 

The man gave them a wry smile. “No no. Let’s hear him out. Have you ever seen one boy?”

“Yes.” Gideon spat, unable to reign his emotions back in. “They’re hideous monstrosities.  And I’m going to find and kill every single one of them.”

The man burst into violent laughter, shoulders shaking and head thrown back, nearly losing his balance under the force of it.

“You do have guts, I give you that. But also lots to learn. Do you really think a girl can’t be a mutant? Monster’s come in all shapes and sizes, boy.” His eyes wandered back to Charlotte.  “Just ugly, that’s the whole lot of them.`` 

The blonde woman gasped, searching for words to shoot back, but falling silent as she noticed Charlotte’s expression. 

Red blotches burned on her face, rage twisting it into a vicious scowl. The afternoon sun set her copper curls on fire. Ready to spew fury and flames, she opened her mouth but Sahar was faster, his small voice piping up.

“Char- Charlotte is… is no- no mutant and and and she’s neither ugly nor weak. And and and people who talk about, talk about killing others for no- no, no reason are… They’re the- the real monsters.”  

His fingers fiddled with his shorts, tapping and twisting in the dark, worn linen as he stumbled over his words. His big green eyes jumped from the rocky street to the spider’s fangs, lingered on the intruder’s face before landing on Gideon. They narrowed as he all but spat the last words in Gideon’s face.  

“The hell you just said?!” Gideon’s nostrils flared. How dare this little runt run his mouth about things he didn’t know shit about!

Crossing his arms, Sahar forced himself to hold his ground against Gideon’s furious, wide eyed stare.  “You you, you heard me.”

Gideon heart hammered in his throat, pumping liquefied fire through his veins. His hands twitched.

“I give you one chance to take. That. Back.”

The boy’s trembling fingers dug into his forearms, knuckles whitening as he lifted his chin.

 “Never.”

A roar tore from Gideon’s throat as he leapt forward. Rage burned through him like a wildfire, ready to ignite everything his fist would come in contact with.

Beating the selfritousnes out of that stupid stammering farmboy was the only thing that mattered now. Everything else blurred to background noise. Even the stranger on his shitty spider. 

In that frozen second between charge and impact, Sahar’s  feet moved. His body tilted to the side. Dodged Gideon’s blow. Effortlessly. He bounced back. Landed on the first stone step and uncrossed his arms. Ready to defend himself. His fingers had stopped twitching.

That little runt had nerves! 

Gideon broke into a sprint.

“You sure are good at dodging!” He swung his arm back. “Try to handle this!”

Muscles flexing Gideon readied for impact, only for his arm to be janked back. A  large hand had wrapped around his wrist. Stopped him mid punch.  Craning his neck, Gideon stared up into Ansgar’s stern face.

Fuck he’s fast?! 

“Looks like ya still got lots t’ learn about respect ‘n self-discipline, young man.”

Director Sahin sighed, eyes still locked on the intruder, who watched the spectacle with a lazy kind of interest.

Ansgar released Gideon’s hand and turned to Sahar. His grey eyes glistened like ice shards. “Same goes for you. Ya disappointed me, Sahar.”

Sahar blinked up at the man, eyes round and full of disbelief.

“Wh-what- what, what do you, do do do do- what do you  mean?”

“I haven’t trained ya to run off ‘n start mindless fights. I tried to teach ya discipline ‘n how to survive these woods.” Ansgar’s voice did not waver and every word made Sahar shrink into himself. His fingers tapped a hectic distorted rhythm over his leg

The intruder snickered, “someone’s a stuck up,” earning Moira’s venomous glare. 

“But- but I didn’t- he he he he he was, he was the one who-“

“Enough,” Ansgar thundered. “Don’t argue with me. If ya want a beatin’ so bad I’ll give ya one later. And now back t’ the farm. Ya grounded for the week. No fest. No nothin’!”

Sahar crumbled under the man’s anger, head ducked between his shoulders as the first teardrop fell. It trickled down his trembling jaw, painting a glistening path on his warm skin.

Voice reduced to a shaky exhale Sahar nodded,  “yes, sir.”, and stormed up the stairs.

He had just vanished between the thick bushes, when the intruder broke out into a new laughing fit.

[rvmmm21]

. i think he likes you back .

summary : joohyun is tired of hearing seungwan go on and on about this wonderful, attractive senior she’s head over heels for. joohyun wants a name, and she knows exactly how to get it out of her, no matter how much Seungwan wants to keep it a secret.

requested : yes, by rvmmm21 to rvmmm21.

note : oh wow, is this my wenrene niche? do i have a soft spot for nervous, spluttering wendy and (big)tease, soft dom irene? oh, i don’t know... but this was ?fun-ish? smut practice nonetheless. i still cringed though, working hard on my plotless smut. i’ll proofread it like later or smth i’m gonna sleep now.

[(soft)dom!irene x wendy]

...

“… and I like him.”

“A name, Wan-ah, I need a name… come on…” Joohyun insists, dropping her pen and herself onto the bed next to the younger girl, incomplete pie charts and bar graphs surrounding them both.

I mean, yes, she could very easily bite the bullet and tell Seungwan that she, too, wishes to see them as more than just friends, that she’s been waiting for the chance to… deepen their bond. Or that she already knows that this infamous heartthrob senior Seungwan has an undying crush on is, in fact, her.

But really, what’s the fun in that?

They’d talked about crushes before. Far too much, in all honesty. Ask all the missed deadlines and turning up to class halfway through it. Oh, and Joohyun’s now a pro at flattening knowing grins and keeping her eyes from rolling skywards from all the times she’s had to do it when Seungwan was in one of her particularly ‘gushy’ moods. The senior she’s wholeheartedly in love with.

Senior as in a boy senior, of course, and definitely not Bae Joohyun.

“Oh unnie, he’s so good-looking… but – but you’ll never guess who it is.”

“His legs… his hair… he’s so pretty and… I don’t know, I think about what it would be like to… to kiss him and – and ugh, just kinda everything, you know?”

“… but – but seriously, you’ll never guess… I mean… so don’t even try.”

Joohyun could write a novel, at this point, with how much information she’s gathered on this mysterious senior no one else but Seungwan seems to know about. It’s the fine print, really. The little details like how smooth his fingers are when he tucks a spidery velvet lock of hair behind his ear, how she can just tell he’ll make a great partner because of how he well he listens; things that are far too in-depth and descriptive for someone who’s supposedly admiring from afar, for someone’s who’s never actually spoken to him.

Oh, and don’t even get her started on the number of times this ‘boy’ has been referred to as ‘she’.

“So?” Joohyun blatantly peers, head cocked and eyebrow quirked, “I’m sick of hearing about it. Are you going to tell me or what?”

“… I-I can’t, unnie, it… it’s a secret…”

There we go, that A-class excuse – ‘It’s a secret’.

Oh no you don’t, Joohyun thinks, not this time. She’s not letting Seungwan slither out of this one like she’s very poorly managed to slither out all those other times.

She casts the younger girl (who seems hell-bent on keeping her mouth shut) a look of determination, and receives one right back, doubled in intensity, if not a little fragile round the edges.

Fine, be like that, Joohyun thinks. She’ll pry that name from those lips… oh yes, she will… even if it has to come after a plethora of… other noises.

Joohyun sneers, edging closer to the girl who’s a few seconds away from releasing white puffs of steam from her ears. “Honestly, I kinda like how you try so hard. Unless you’re just playing dumb… Wan-ah, you don’t think I’m stupid, do you? This lover-boy of yours clearly doesn’t exist.”

Well… not like that. ‘He’ may not… but ‘she’, on the other hand, very much does.

Seungwan feels those very familiar cherry-blossom petals sear into her cheeks at how close Joohyun is. Suddenly, everything is amplified. Suddenly, she’s hyper aware of how she’s twitching, holding back from just leaning forward and connecting them both… or how she’s now caged in by her definitely-not crush, back against the headboard with absolutely nowhere to go.

She has to let out a nervous chuckle, if only to distract from her raging blush. “… unnie, I… he does exist… he’s –”

She’s cut off. Seungwan’s eyes bulge out before fluttering closed when she feels a pair of velvety lips against her own. There’s a lively tinge of strawberry-burst lip balm exchanged from Joohyun’s mouth to hers, and her lips are already tingling by the time the older girl pulls away.

“… w-wha – what was… that?” she finally manages, going stiff when she sees that sinful smile on her unnie’s otherwise innocent face.

“Now you know,” Joohyun replies, licking her lips, savouring the taste of inexperience and cherry liquorice – with a slight aftertaste of denial, of course. Although that’s nothing she can’t fix.

Seungwan couldn’t look more confused… or guilty.

“… know –” she gulps, not knowing how she could say anything that wouldn’t immediately give her away, “– know what?”

“What it’s like to kiss him.”

Seungwan’s eyes go wide again. Her brain short-circuits, and she jolts forward. “Unnie!”

But Joohyun splays a hand against her chest, gently easing her back onto the pillows. Seungwan knows the she intended the gesture to soothe her nerves, but it only succeeds in firing her up twice as much. Still, she’s mute, unwilling to believe this is actually happening.

“I bet you want to know everything about him, don’t you –”

Oh? Joohyun’s hands are inching their way under her skirt. Oh? What’s she doing?

“– I bet you want to know what he can do… to you. Hm?”

Seungwan whimpers down at the pretty fingers now caressing her against the damp fabric of her panties, stroking her slit with practiced precision. Oh no. No, no, no… this is so bad. She can’t possibly feel how wet she is, can she? That dewy heat had been radiating at her core the entire time, but she really didn’t think she’d have it revealed to the one person she was trying her best to hide it from.

Joohyun simply smirks up at her, poised as ever. “You’re thinking about him now, aren’t you?”

When Seungwan stays silent, Joohyun pushes herself up and leans over to give her a kiss on the cheek. And then her other one, and one on the corner of her lips, her forehead, her nose and her right ear. Her fingers never move from between her legs.

“Aren’t you?” she repeats, breath tickling the shell of her ear.

Of course I am, Seungwan confesses to herself.

It’s like an out-of-body experience, when Joohyun grasps her by the arms and scooches them towards the edge of the bed, grabbing one of the pillows and propping it up behind her. Ah yes, there’s that fine print in action again, in a very live setting, this time. She knows this can’t end well for her, but there’s something about Bae Joohyun, the girl she’s had very... descriptive dreams about, on her knees before her. It grants her the near perfect illusion of being in control. 

But then that naughty shimmer in those flawless eyes reminds her she really, really isn’t.

The older girl smoothly hooks her fingers into the waistband of her panties, pushing her bottom up and giving them a swift tug down past her hips. Despite the scorching humiliation, Seungwan complies, shifting up so Joohyun’s job is easier. Her fingertips leave trails of warmth down her skin and she can only watch as her underwear is chucked gracelessly over her shoulder.

“You want to know what he’s like in bed...”

Even almost fully clothed, Seungwan feels more naked than she’s ever felt before. She inhales sharply when she feels a brief pressure on her clit, instinctively trying to draw her knees together, but with Joohyun in between them, it’s impossible to. So she resorts to laying back, resting her weight on her elbows, helpless to whatever Joohyun has in store for her.

“You want to know how well he can take you.”

A finger dips into the wetness it finds and the younger girl gasps, feeling herself leak even more when it draws lazy little circles around her clit. Not on it, just around it. If she didn’t know any better, Seungwan would think she’s doing this on purpose, deliberately not touching her where she wants – needs. It’s unfortunate that Joohyun’s maddening teasing rendered her unable to speak, because she really needs to ask for more.

“… p-please… touch… touch harder…” she tries, not caring at how pathetic that sounds.

Joohyun smiles.

“Touch harder where?”

The embarrassed squeak she receives in reply gives her a pretty good idea, though.

“Harder… here?” She asks, sliding her fingers back into her core. Seungwan whimpers. “Or… here?”

A thumb on her sensitive clit rubs slow, firm circles, and it’s the direct contact Seungwan’s been longing for since they began. She’s being filled and fucked so well, it doesn’t take long before it’s unravelling that knot in her gut and she can’t help voicing her relief, all her muscles tensing at the sheer pleasure. “… oh, oh – oh my gosh, unnie…”

“Feel good, Wannie?”

‘Good’ doesn’t do it justice, especially not after she’s been teased out of her mind like that. Her hips are rocking against the fingers pumping in and out of her, trying to get them to go even harder, faster.

“I’m going to make you cum, Wannie,” she hums, “unnie’s going to make you cum on her fingers, okay?”

She sure as hell is. It’s already bubbling to the surface. Joohyun’s about to make her spill over, tip her over that edge, have her falling apart with her two fingers hitting her g-spot perfectly, with her thumb against her clit, that wonderful ache clouding her sensibilities so she can’t think straight. “… I’m… oh, unnie, I’m gonna – I’m…”

“Uh, uh, uh.” Joohyun stops completely. She’s still knuckle-deep, but any movement, any friction is ceased. Seungwan’s would-be orgasm plateaus then plummets just as quickly.

And she barely stops herself from ripping her hair out. “Uh-unnie!”

“Tell me who you really like.” Joohyun resumes her unbearable teasing like she did at the start, brushing over her clit, never giving her anything concrete to hold on to for longer than a second.

Seungwan groans, dazed and obviously reluctant. “… huh?”

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Joohyun pries, holding the younger girl’s hips still when they try to grind onto her hand. “He isn’t real. It’s me. You like me. Say it, tell me.”

“… wh-what… no, please it’s n –”

She chokes back the rest of her sentence when Joohyun continues to pump into her at an agonizingly slow pace, keeping her orgasm painfully tethered. “You want to cum… you need to, don’t you? You need it? I want to hear you say it, so say it. Say it and I’ll make you cum. I’ll give you what you need.”

Seungwan wants to slap herself. She’s walked right into this. She’s just played herself – but Joohyun’s right, she needs to cum, she needs it so badly – oh god, her thoughts are everywhere. Joohyun tone is as sweet and as kind as she is, but her actions are utterly cruel, and Seungwan hates it that she wants everything she’s dishing out. It takes little more than a peer down at that searching gaze, inescapable, blinking innocently up at her like she isn’t driving her absolutely crazy with pleasure before she caves in. She’s broken and they both know it, all red in the face and choking out a weak – “… I-I like… I like you, unnie… you, it’s you, it’s you. I like you!”

To which Joohyun chuckles, playfully.

And then her fingers are moving again, plunging into her. Oh gosh. Oh my gosh, it feels good. Too good, it’s insane. Seungwan can feel herself clenching down intermittently on the fingers thrusting, curling against where she’s most sensitive. The pressure on her clit is nothing short of delicious, and she can finally hold onto the feeling for more than a second, but she craves it so badly that it only takes a second before it – it’s – it’s coming –

With a hoarse whisper of Joohyun’s name, she tenses up and goes limp all at once, slumping forward and clinging onto Joohyun for dear life, tiny shocks of electricity racing through her system as she twitches and convulses in her unnie’s arms.

Joohyun shifts off the floor and settles down next to her trembling Wannie, taking the opportunity to hum sweetly in her ear. “There, there now… see? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Was it really worth keeping it secret for that long?”

It feels like a millennium before Seungwan finds the strength to sit up and the ability to swallow. She flops lifelessly onto her side, letting those warm arms engulf her before looking Joohyun in the eye.

“I don’t know,” she half sighs, half pouts. “Wasn’t like I had much of a choice.”

Joohyun huffs fondly, leaning in to press a light kiss to a sweat-matted fringe. She lingers, and Seungwan can feel her growing smile. “Don’t worry, Wan-ah. He definitely likes you back.”

[janumun]

NSFW headcanons for Theo?

Lmao, I totally walked into this one when I said I would write for Theo finally if I got in another request for him. I hear you, anon and my thirsty self.

I hope you enjoy these!

.

Theodorus Van Gogh

 You know how he likes to be feel the one on top. But have you ever tried defying orders, hondje? Do it. Because nothing gets him harder than the sound, the feel, the taste of your defiance.

“Move.” He’s breathing the order through clenched teeth as your mouth bobs above his cock in steady undulating motions.

You do not comply immediately, and the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of that mouth of yours has the tension winding tight, tighter, until Theo feels he could suffocate under the sheer weight of his own desires. What you do to him.

The fingers of one hand are threading through the free strands of your hair, pulling without true enthusiasm in an effort to tug you off his cock. He’s amused when your eyes meet his in a defiant stare, lips curling into a smile as much as they can with him in between.

Bound hands reach for his balls, fondling, squeezing. Your sucks tighter around his length, much harsher, it wipes the smugness off his own face, long enough for his pleasure to release itself on a sharp in-drawing of air, but not for long. Breathless laughter leaves him at the sight of you, so determined to have him come in your mouth.

“Hah. You really like sucking on that thing, don’t you? Go on then. Show me how good you are.” He’s tugging at your hair again, until you meet his eyes; frosted sapphire glittering dangerously above a sharp edged simper. “But you better make it worth my while, hondje, disobeying me as you just did.”

Theodorus Van Gogh: lover of the sweetest diabetes-inducing desserts your release perhaps tops that list.

Your body thrusts itself against his hand, invasive, unrelenting, hard on you yet always so gentle . Settled on his lap, he watches the wanton gyrations of your body as you fuck yourself against his fingers, before coming onto him with a loud cry.

Your body collapsing against his chest in quivering gasps, Theo parts your hair away from your face so you can watch him as he pulls out of you, your aching pussy uselessly trying to clench around his digits to keep him within but failing miserably.

A deliciously dark chuckle leaves the confines of his chest, deep, resonating as you lie there against him. “Just look at this mess, hondje. You really want it bad, don’t you?”  His pointed tongue sweeps out a path across his dripping fingers, his knuckles soaked through, the sheer number of times he made you come through touch alone having rendered you useless and quivering.

Your wetness replaced by his own slick, his hand is making its way back to the space in between your legs before you whimper. “Theo, please, I want you…”

A short bark of laughter. “Surely you can beg better than that.” The words leave him on a lazy drawl before he’s pushing his fingers back into you for another torturing round of finger fucking.

He can be here all day, liefje, just making you come around his fingers, on his mouth, till he’s sated. And he’s not fulfilled that easy.

This one’s obvious enough but Bondage

Theo loves the feeling of you vulnerable beneath him. When you’re wrapped up nice, like his own personal present, your dress a flared mess around your bare legs, caramel satin unfurling around you like a flower’s petals wherever his hands reach to expose a new piece of you.

Your blush, whole and arousing against your cheeks, your neck, reaching down towards your breasts, Theo is almost jealous of how well it fares against your skin. He’s dipping his head to smear his own slick on broad laps of his tongue against the red, enjoying the feeling of you straining helplessly beneath him. Theo’s dress pants are heavy, too constraining against the arousal that wants to drive into you in maddening, senseless strikes till you’re a gasping, shuddering heap of pleasured moans underneath him.

And when you call for him –

Theo

Like you would die if you do not feel him in you right this instant –

“Verdomme, lekker ding,” he’s growling out on harsh whispers. Lips pulling apart on a ferocious snarl to expose wicked canines, he’s reaching out to yank at the chain of your collar, propelling you towards him, crushing your mouths together in a vicious kiss. It’s like he has lost all his inhibitions, unhinged like a true beast as his fingers claw at your hips, shoving you down onto his throbbing cock. A scream has barely ripped free of your throat before he’s turning your world over on its axis again, pressing your face deeper into the sheets as he savagely works against your backside in rapid, frenzied thrusts, harsh slaps of skin against skin the only sound loud enough to rival your groans of ecstasy.

 Weakness: Ears.

The lightest of contacts, even just the tip of your tongue grazing against the softness of his ear lobe has him turning away from you on subdued shudders, his cock twitching in his pants at the cool wetness you leave behind on him. Sucking his earring into your mouth is worse because then Theo’s fingers are positively digging into your hips as you rock yourself against his clothed arousal.

“Knabbeltje ,what are you –” Your tongue coiling into his ear, the moisture cooling behind’s doing nothing to temper the heat. You don’t understand how hard he wants to fuck you right this instant, your drunk self a perpetual state of torture and divine test for his self-control.

He hardly wants to push you off of him but if you don’t get your act together sometime soon, hondje, he’s going to have to lock you up in your own room while he strides off to find a bathroom for himself.

.

[domesticatedantelope]

five stages

Pairing: Logan x MC

Rating: E | NSFW, 18+

Word Count: 6,420

Summary: The one where Logan sets a record; or, the five stages of waking up with best boy.

@brightpinkpeppercorn​ @choicesarehard​ @desiree-0816​ @leelee10898​ @client-327​ @navigatorholmes​ @lovehugsandcandy​ @anxious-arliah​ @zaffrenotes

Her abuela had this saying about idle hands.

It tickles at her mind on the third pass of Logan’s fingers down her back, when she is still emerging from the fog of sleep. There is a rhythm to the movement, measured steps to map each beauty mark that dots her skin; she knows them better by his touch than she has ever learned alone. Two below her shoulder blade, and one between her ribs, a scattering that draw his fingertips along well-travelled paths down the curve of her spine. 

Make yourself busy, mijita. The devil will find work for idle hands. 

She remembers staring at the lines across her palms, silk paper skin and soft with youth. She curled them into fists as if her tiny fingers might be strong enough to keep him out. Thinner now, and more experienced with age, but never tougher, always tender, curious and clumsy. What could the devil ever want with hands like hers?

But Logan’s hands -

Older and harder than the rest of him, brutal with strength, yet capable of such adoring reverence when he touches her, Logan’s hands could easily become the harbingers of her descent, could orchestrate her absolute undoing in a heartbeat, eighteen years of busywork and cautionary tales all swallowed up into the bend between his forefinger and thumb. He has the devil in his hands, and nothing but the best intentions built around them. 

One wicked finger twirls and spirals down the small of her back, penning love letters into her skin. They feel like testimony, sacred like confession; someday she may ask him what he writes there, but until then she is empty pages to his worries, content to let him bare his soul across her body with the wordless promise she will keep it safe. 

“You awake?” Pleased and teasing, rasp of sleep. His finger traces out a loop and punctuates it, etching the question soft into her skin.

“Nope.” She hides her smile somewhere in the sheets. They smell like Logan, and like her, like the sex they had here last night, when they fell into the bedsheets and they let themselves get lost, and an ember of that tension smolders once more in the pit of her gut. Like cinders given life again, that need for him is only ever resting, easily awoken, summoned to his touch and stoked to scorching. 

Logan hums against her shoulder, pleasant tremors of his laughter, heady with affection. Breath and kisses temper shivers down her body, and he follows their trajectory beneath his fingers, branching off to curl a hand around her hip and bunch her nightgown underneath his palm. The wet warmth of his mouth descends her spine in gentle presses, and every touch is heavenly, is devilry, is far better than he has any right to be upon first waking. “And now?”

Mercy bites down on a giggle as his fingers zigzag up her side, that roughened touch against her ribs, just short of tickling. “Sleeping like a baby,” she reports, her voice a frail and breathless echo. Too risky glancing back at him; her self-control is tenuous where Logan is concerned, and if she sees that wanting look he gives her - like the force of all his gravity is realigned around the cradle of her hips - no amount of her abuela’s most severe god-fearing proverbs could ever occupy her idle hands. 

The bed shifts when he nestles in behind her, sweeping the mussed tangle of her hair aside to find the space beneath her jaw. “S’that so?” he questions of her pulse, smile in his voice, pausing to scrape his teeth over the heartbeat crashing there before his mouth seeks further down her throat. He’s dangerous this close, all body heat and rhythmic breathing and the tempting stretch of his bare skin against her own. 

“Stage three,” she gasps, sounding far less unaffected than she’d hoped. “At least.” Her focus starts to fray under the lazy circles that his thumb traces along her hip. “And it’ll take a-ah-” his mouth rounds down to suck against her neck, forcing a whine into her breath that breaks her voice, “a m-miracle to wake me.”

“A miracle, huh?” Logan splays his hand over her stomach, and she shudders as his fingertips descend the twitching muscles of her body, slipping down between her thighs with unerring intent. “I know something like that.”

“Logan -” The first few languid passes of his fingers have her panting out his name, clutching the bedsheets between shaking knuckles as he teases that molten touch in against her, too dull and far too distant through the cotton of her panties.

“Mercy,” he answers back, warm with laughter, smothered against the column of her neck before he nudges teeth along her skin. “Mi alma. Do you want me to stop?”

She shakes her head, all pretenses of sleep firmly abandoned for the further promise of his touch. “No.”

“That’s good.” There’s a smile wrapped around his voice. “‘Cause I really don’t want to.” He hooks two fingers past her panties, nudging them aside to find where she is surely wet with wanting, and the groan he bleeds against her shoulder sounds a satisfying confirmation. “Oh my god. Baby.”

With a whimper that borders on pitiful, Mercy wriggles her way back against his chest, where she can feel the hard and eager heat of him scorching between her thighs. He twitches at the contact, breath hitching somewhere close behind her ear as his fingers navigate a careful loop around the hood of her clit. 

“¿Duele?” He murmurs his concern between the loving touches of his lips across her shoulders. His fingers hesitate between her legs, never daring to forge on if there’s even the barest chance that he might hurt her. 

Her heart squeezes behind her ribs, affection singing with its every frenzied beat when finally she twists to face him. The want is dark and heavy in his eyes, just as she expected yet the sight still takes her breath away, and she shivers at the full force of that longing, tracing her fingers in a soothing line down the plane of his cheek. “No, baby. You’ve been perfectly gentle.” When she grins up at him, he matches it, like there is some knee-jerk response that rises in him when he sees her smile. “I’m fine.”

Reassured, Logan works his fingers with increasing urgency, reading every shift in her expression as she bites her lip and writhes under his touch. Those fiendish hands press burning pleasure tight between her legs, deep wrings of heat unfurling from the skilled tips of his fingers. He rests his mouth against her collarbone and slowly kisses his way down between her breasts, nosing the satin of her gown aside when it threatens to hinder his path.

With shaking fingers, Mercy sweeps his hair back from his face, tugging only hard enough to win herself a rumble from the cavern of his chest. She can’t stop the tremble from taking her hips, shuddering with every blazing touch that he paints down her skin, every loving drag of lips and teeth. Logan knows her down to the breath in her lungs, and if she weren’t so consumed, undone, enraptured by his touch, it would be such a treat to witness him at work.

She feels so small under his hands, like she is something fragile he could shatter into pieces, something precious he would never harm. He drops a kiss to the end of her lips before burying his face against her neck, teething at the tender nerves there as his fingers find the dip between the slick folds of her sex and tease at pushing in. The flat of his thumb shapes determined circles one by one around her clit, and then he’s slowly driving in, those wicked fingers never thicker than when they are filling her like this, and she can only grasp her clumsy hands along his shoulders as the splitting pleasure overwhelms her.

A broken noise lifts in her throat. It sounds a little like his name, and Logan smiles, flash of teeth, rolls his thumb and drives his fingers deep until she pleads it again and again, begging for more of him between her shattered gasps. His touch is everywhere at once, and when her eyes slip shut, it’s just the golden honey glow of sunlight bright behind her eyelids, and the endless ecstasy, unraveling and raveling and tearing her apart. 

“Please -” Somewhere among the clouds, she finds her voice again. “Oh, baby, please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Like the confessions that he presses to her skin, his voice rings with a truth that feels too pure to ever doubt. The earth will cease to turn around the sun before he stops, and she could almost weep as the careening, plummet-freefall feeling of her climax closes in. With Logan, there is never any hesitation; she sinks into release with open arms and forfeits every fragment of control, and she is flying.

Coming is gentle, soft and calm, and oh, she thinks, like every time he brings her here, I was so right to trust him. She savors the breathtaking peak and lazy river float back down, dust motes slowly realigning into focus in the streams of sunlight overhead as she recovers.

With a breathless smile, Logan flutters kisses down her cheeks and panting mouth, winding an arm around her shoulders to tuck her against his chest. She fits there nicely, lulled to stillness by the warmth of his body and the sleepy, drugging weightlessness that lingers in the wake of her endorphins. When he relinquishes his touch between her legs, even the brief graze of his fingertips still drags a shiver from her body, scattering her weakly gathered thoughts, and she is rendered speechless, blushing crimson as he slips his fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean.

“Logan!”

He grins, lapping delightedly along his teeth. “Yeah?”

“You just… y-you…” Still flushed and stuttering, Mercy can only gesture vaguely at the very pleased expression on his face. 

“You looked so good,” he tells her, licks his tongue over the slick pad of his thumb and hums in satisfaction. “I had to taste you, too.”

Despite the warm flutter of mortification, she manages to smile. “How do you always have the perfect line?”

His arms sweep in around her as he laughs, burying the sound against her skin until she starts to giggle too. “You,” he says decisively, and kisses the corner of her smile, “make it very easy to be romantic.” Then, with a prideful smirk, “That one was pretty good, though, wasn’t it?”

“Extremely,” she huffs, pressing shaky fingers to the warmth under her skin. “Maybe one day they won’t make me blush so much.”

His thumb coasts tenderly across her cheekbone. “I really hope not.”

Another line, and yet it isn’t - none of them are lines, not anymore, just every errant, loving thought that flits across his mind in blind pursuit behind his heart; and Mercy doesn’t know what good she ever did to deserve claiming that prize for herself, but she will spend her lifetime giving back and loving him, if it will keep that smile on his face.

With Logan sprawling out across the sheets, all tempting suntouched skin and stretching muscles and so very much aware of her attention, Mercy thinks that now’s as good a time to start as any. His eyes are black with hunger and fixed firmly on her own as she tiptoes her fingers down the architecture of his chest. Her touch roams lazily along familiar pathways, ribs and muscle, beating heart, the ridges of old scar tissue that split across his side. These she christens with an arc of tender kisses, end to jagged end, humming when his hand winds gently through her hair. 

“I don’t think they’re going anywhere,” he tells her fondly when she glances up at him, the cadence of a joke.

“I don’t want them to.” Her fingers chase the trail she blazed with lips and tongue. “I love all of you, hermoso, just the way you are.” 

Resting on his elbows, want and worship in his gaze, Logan watches her adore the contours of his body with a smile that swells like rising tides around her heart. “I love you,” he answers easily, eyes dropping to hang longingly on the curve of her mouth. “Always.”

Mercy blows him a kiss, and he reaches up to catch it just before she sinks onto her arms and ducks her lips against the tensing planes of his stomach. Black ink spans long and sprawling palm leaves down his hip, and she admires every stretch of frond that marks him as her own. His breath sucks in between his teeth, body flexing as she charts a slow progression lower, lazily approaching where he has been straining, waiting for her, trapped behind the fabric of his briefs. She frees him to the open air and a few teasing curls of fingertips, and then her lips are trailing down his cock, and Logan arches up against her, forcing his hips back against the sheets with a strangled whine.

“Almacita.” The name seems to stick in his throat, thick with need. “Baby, can I touch you?”

“Again?” She laughs, planting languid kisses to the hard, hard heat within her grasp. 

“Please?” Breathless, gasping, twisting fingers at the bedsheets. He stares at her like she might disappear if she is not between his hands, like every line of him is coiled tight with urgency and only Mercy holds the key to his release.

“I’m yours, Logan. You can have me when you want me.”

Like a floodgate lifted - better, broken through - he springs and reaches for her, curling certain hands around her thighs and shifting her bodily over his chest. Mercy squeaks and giggles and clutches at his hips for balance as he coaxes her knees above his shoulders, draping her legs open around his head and claiming for himself the full expanse of both her thighs and everything between them. Warm lips and breath tickle against the tender insides of her legs, that starving mouth wandering higher as his arms lock eagerly around her. 

When he parts his lips against the wet slick of her sex, she gasps and arcs and feels his cock twitch hard between her fingers. Before the first time Logan got his mouth on her, she never thought to want something like this, to make herself so open and so vulnerable, invite someone into that very softest part of her - but this is Logan, and she loves him, and he is so unfairly talented at swaying her away from that cerebral feedback loop she runs around herself that sometimes she can’t sleep at night for craving it. The loss of her control is strangely freeing, letting him reduce her down to instinct and sensation, when her thoughts are only warmth and want and all the many ways she’d like to watch him fall apart.

Draped across his chest, she can feel the muscles clench under his skin as her lips part to take him deep over her tongue. His groan hums low between her thighs, prompting a shiver that leaps swiftly up the notches of her spine. The salt of precum hits her tongue, and jolts of heady bliss expand from where his mouth is hard at work against her skin, burning with all the heat of dying stars. 

There’s a flicker of hot coal pressure when he curls his tongue, something deep and tight, unholy, plunging past her gut and lashing through her like a wildfire. Her mouth lags as she pulls away, dropping slack around a scream as everything shuts out into the black behind her eyelids, and she comes apart once more, rent through with vivid pleasure.

At the sound of her voice breaking, Logan seizes into a tight line beneath her, and she barely has the sense to take his cock between her lips before he jerks and comes and spills across her tongue. Sucking through the headrush of her high, she hums a tipsy sound low in her throat as she swallows him down.

Her body is still wracked with violent after-shivers when she drags herself away, collapsing in a clumsy heap beside him as they fight to catch their breath. 

“Okay,” Mercy gasps, waiting to let another shudder pass before she makes a weak attempt at speech. “Okay… shit.” 

Winded laughter wheezes in his throat beside her. Even now, his fingers wander ceaselessly across her skin, kneading at her weakened legs and the ticklish soles of her feet. Her body feels abruptly far too heavy, anchored in the sheets beneath the weight of her complete and utter devastation.

Postcoital locomotion is a job for stronger women. 

“Babyyy,” she whines instead, a whimpered siren call summoned together with the last wells of her energy.

Devotion heats his gaze as he reaches out to lead her bangs back from the damp skin of her forehead, leagues of softness to his touch in the delicious glow that lingers after coming. “What do you need, beautiful?” 

Logan’s never just asking; he offers, with the smitten, solemn tone of voice that promises the stars and sky if she would just request them.

Her fingers run the wet curve of his mouth, laughter rising when he snags her index gingerly between his teeth. “Help me get clean?”

Four words and one shy smile win her passage from the bedroom to the shower, lazy kisses while the water warms, her hips against the countertop as Logan hauls her onto it and deepens all the points where they connect. He fits himself between her legs and prowls loving hands around her waist, lifting the flimsy satin of her gown away with gentle care. And then his eyes roam slowly down the bare curves of her body, always with that same awestruck and almost bashful disbelief, the heartsick rush of fumbling first times and falling desperately in love ad infinitum. 

The shower’s plenty big enough for two of them, but they press together like they need for every precious inch of space when Logan backs them both under the spray. Scalding water washes over her, soothing the stiffness of a long sleep from her muscles, lulling her somewhere toward a dreamy haze, and for a blissful moment, Mercy melts into the purest pleasure. 

She thinks maybe she might have moaned, because Logan breathes a husky laugh and tips her head back underneath the water, teasing careful fingers through her hair. He bends to kiss the slack line of her mouth, and there is so much promise in that simple touch; whatever he would give her, she would happily accept, a thousand Faustian agreements in his name and no regrets to leave behind her. 

Steam lifts to mist the smooth bronze of his skin, slicking his hair back dark and wet against his neck, and with it rises an insatiable desire for the feel of him beneath her hands. While her fingers chase the branching streams of water down his chest, he cups her face between his palms and ducks his head against her own, gazing the softest yearning down at her. 

“Let me take care of you,” he says, as if he ever needs to ask.

Stretched up on tiptoes, held between his hands, she is an open well of affirmation in his grasp. “Please.” 

Logan has told her there is never any need to beg, but the eager satisfaction in his gaze suggests a zealous hunger for it. Grazing touches at her hips, he urges her to turn, guiding her back against his chest and letting the long masses of her hair trail down into his open hands. Her eyelids flutter shut, and she can feel his fingers testing gingerly at all the tangles knotted through her hair, moving with utmost care and deference.

The warmth of cinnamon flickers across her senses, and she dips her head back with a groan as he begins to weave the silky glisten of shampoo through her hair. His fingertips chart soothing shapes over her scalp and down the slim line of her neck, working his thumbs through all the tension in her shoulders before proceeding onto the full tresses of her hair.

When Logan tilts her back under the water, curls of cinnamon and sugar steam lick softly up their bodies. He sinks a groan against her shoulder, lashing the warm flat of his tongue across her skin. “You smell so good,” he sighs, and bites down at the bend between her neck and shoulder, just deep enough for her to feel the sting. 

Mercy shivers at the prickle of his teeth. “Good enough to eat?” she teases, her voice almost lost among the shower’s sigh and swells of water that drop loudly at their feet.

A chuckle rumbles lovingly against her neck, hints of pressure as he sucks a mark into her skin. “You know better than to ask me that.” 

“Apparently,” she says, and turns to smile up at him. “I don’t.”

Keeping her gaze held with his own, Logan curls his grip around the showerhead and twists the spray over wet tiles, warming the ceramic there before he backs her gently but quite decisively against it. At his height, he has always towered over her, but when he bends to claim her mouth, it feels like all the angles of his body lead to her, implacable in orbit, circling her heart.

And then, while she is rapidly unwinding to his kisses, one broad and scalding hand follows the flow of water down her body. Her nerves exalt his touch, singing with need, hard tiles at her back and Logan’s mouth still moving readily against her own. When his fingers reach the throbbing heat between her thighs, a ripple of sensation grips her spine, and she cries out beneath him, raw and still recovering. 

“Easy,” he breathes. “I’ve got you.” His fingers gentle, murmurs of her name shaped longingly against her skin, his free hand lifting up to find the cradle of her jaw. His thumb strokes calming haloes at the thumping of her pulse; like the ataractic influence of lullabies, his touch soothes her to stupor. “Oh, god, you’re still so wet.”

The next exploring nudges of his fingers flutter just the barest contact, coaxing her to shivers as he tempers the savage flare of too much into softer and more tolerable pressure. At times his touch is barely there at all, and after a few tantalizing cycles of this almost teasing, Mercy starts to ache for it. She licks her lip and catches it between her teeth, swallowing the sudden urge to whimper. “Logan…”

A crooked smile slants his mouth before he sets his teeth against the contours of her collarbone, nipping at the tender flesh there and the dip between her breasts. When his free hand roams her skin, the slick of soap propels his fingertips along her neck and shoulder, over fringes of her own palm fronds that fill the canvas of her arm. Heartbeats hammer hard against her ribs as he so delicately cleans her, tender and attentive, all the while mapping patient signs around her clit. 

Logan only releases her to rinse the soap and lather from her body, checking his work with searching teeth and leaving marks behind that make her giggle. At the tail end of his journey, he is kneeling at her feet, and peering up at her as if she hangs among the stars that fill his sky.

She weaves her fingers through his dripping hair and offers him a blissful smile. “All clean?”

The grin he echoes back is far more fiendish. “Almost.”

His touch was reverential with the tresses of her hair, but the same cannot be said for all the rest of her. Two eager hands maneuver her around him with delightful ease, shrugging one suntanned leg over his shoulder as he pins her back against the tiles. Palms and fingers loop around her thighs and guide her slowly, firmly down onto his mouth; with her legs folded tight behind the muscles of his forearms, she is helpless to resist him, senses overtaken by each scrape of blinding pleasure that he laves into her skin.

Mercy gasps and arcs and tightens down the hand that’s gripped among his hair. Her eyes shift out of focus when they roll back under heavy lids, but she fights against the instinct, watching water surge in heavy torrents down his shoulders and thinking in her dreamy, dizzied haze that she might envy every drop. Beats of rapture pound along with all the frantic crashing of her pulse, orchestrated expertly between the skillful tip of Logan’s tongue and roughened fingers digging perfect bruises at her legs.

Her world is falling water, steam on tiles, fingertip trails twisting through the fog across the glass, and the pale reverberation of her own voice bouncing back at her with every sobbing of his name that he pries loose. His tongue winds crescent shapes of vibrant heat between the swollen folds of her sex, dancing careful steps around the line of overstimulation, and she can’t believe it but god bless him, he is actually about to make her come again, and wild, manic laughter catches in her throat before she’s hooked and dragged over the summit into climax.

For a moment, Mercy only knows the blank release of coming. White-hot pleasure scorches out across her body from the point of their connection, and she wails a tortured noise into the ether as time and space are washed away into a savage nothingness.

The third descent is quick enough to flip her stomach, and she flinches when the heavy, overwhelming pleasure crashes over her and starts to sting. “Baby, baby, please, I can’t-!”

Logan supports her with a steady hold as he slips back from between her legs. Pride lights the hunger-darkened color of his eyes, tongue flashing out across his bottom lip before he dips a kiss against her twitching stomach. In the speechless wonder that remains, Mercy pants for breath and traces shaking fingertips at the familiar topography of scars and ink and muscle while he commits more thoroughly to cleaning her, dragging the soft bar of her soap over her body.

They savor the lazy process of washing each other clean, lingering under the spray until the water starts to cool, and even then a moment longer, sharing body heat and sated laughter. 

In a series of well-practiced movements, Logan snags a towel from the bar outside the shower and drapes it snug around her shoulders, shielding her wet skin from the cold. Grabbing his own, he scrubs the water from his hair and lets the towel hang haphazardly around his hips before grinning and sweeping an arm under her knees, gathering her up into his hold once more.

The travel back to bed is measurably quicker, hastened by hurried steps until they tumble in a laughing sprawl across the mess they left of all the bedsheets. Kissing the giggles at her lips, he peels her slowly from the cotton of her towel, leaves her open to the star struck wonder in his eyes and heady crawl of sunlight that peers in between the curtains. She could ascend under that look, float her way into heaven on the beating wings that he affixes to her heart with smiles like that.

Sore and satisfied and still nursing the aftershocks of climax, Mercy barely has the breath to mumble her appreciation as he takes her towel in his hands and pats the beads of water from her body. With a catlike stretch of sleepy limbs, she preens under his touch, stifling more giggles when he flips her over and continues down the wet span of her back. 

“You’re gonna spoil me,” she slurs into the duvet.

“Yeah?” Logan laughs somewhere above her, sounding pleased. “Is that so bad?”

“Only when I turn into a princess and start bossing you around.”

His silence spans a thoughtful pause, followed momentarily by calloused fingers down the notches of her spine. “Hmmm…”

Mercy rolls back over with a knowing smile. “You sound intrigued.”

Grinning, brimming with delight at the idea: “I could think of worse fates.” 

There is an eagerness in him that hovers just beneath the surface, everready, spurring all his thoughts into a reckless, wild urgency. Here in the sanctuary of their bed, it leads him always to the circle of her arms, against her heart, catching her lips beneath his own as the wet length of his body presses her into the sheets. Warm lips travel down her jaw to the crook of her neck, hunting drops of water that still linger on her skin with meticulous attention. By the time he has kissed every inch of her suitably dry, her eyelids sink like anchors, and she clutches onto consciousness with only the most feeble, last-ditch grapple of the thoroughly exhausted. 

And when he leads her head into his lap and starts to tease a brush through the damp masses of her hair, those devil-taken hands tilt her ongoing battle firmly in the favor of a catnap here among the honey touch of sunshine and the sheets that smell like them. 

The last thing she remembers before she succumbs to sleep is the gentle pull of fingertips like ebbing tides as Logan gathers the long tresses of her hair, weaving the dark and dampened waves into the dual braids that he composes for her every night, that sacred rite they share like evening vespers. 

Memories imprint her technicolor daydreams: twirling under Logan’s hand to the swelling strings of a Sinatra song, walking the scalding sand at Venice Beach, falling asleep beneath the shifting shadows of palm trees that flicker black like ink across their skin; city streets and lamplight clusters constellation-bright in rearview mirrors, neon signs with missing letters, shooting stars against the dark of night, gossamer impressions melding memory and fantasy, impermanent and perfect.

Waking is gradual, glimpses of consciousness that shift at her peripheral, occasionally tapering back into sleep. She rouses herself in lazy cycles to the hazy glow of afternoon with diligently woven braids and two long arms curled loose around her body. His bare skin simmers like a furnace at her back, the languid sway of slumber in his breath, and when she stirs to stretch the numbness from her muscles, he voices a soft noise of protest and constricts her tighter in his arms.

Yanked back against his chest, Mercy only has the room to squirm and laugh and wriggle in his hold until he sinks his teeth at her throat with a playful chuckle, half-awake. Tangled among the sheets, their bodies form a link of sleepy warmth and roaming touches, and Logan spans her hip with one rough hand, biting groans into her skin as she grinds back against the thick weight of his cock. 

“Again?” He echoes her own question back at her, husky and rough with wanting, thrumming like some magic incantation underneath the skin.

She sucks in a shuddering breath and shivers to the next soft mark he shapes into her neck. “I don’t think you know what you do to me, hermoso.”

His hand slips confidently down between her thighs, prying them apart to feel the warm silk of arousal that still slicks her skin. Teeth climb her neck and lift to graze the delicate shell of her ear, soothing with the press of lips when she leaks out a strangled whine. “Mmn, I think I can feel.”

An ache throbs in her hips and thighs at just the thought of any more activity, and Logan seems to sense the tension of fatigue in her reaction. His lips brush the crown of her head. “Can I move you, beautiful?”

She chokes out a dry laugh. “As long as I don’t have to.”

“Never.” Palming her thigh, he guides her legs apart and slides his knee between them. She lets herself spill open to his grasp, little more than weightless when he hooks her legs open around him, and some sweet, submissive thrill descends her backbone at the first stroke of his fingers down her sex. They move decisively across her skin, finding where she splits and nudging in, the sheer expansive width of them stealing her breath as they edge deeper. After the rise and fall and rise and fall of coming again and again, her body sings with ecstasy and clings to the intrusion, throbs of pleasure welling in the deepest parts of her.

“Logan-!”

His teeth score neatly at her shoulder. “Need me, baby?”

“Yes! Please, god, oh, Logan, please...” Restless chanting dances on her tongue, impatient invocations, rough with longing. 

He doesn’t make her wait. In slow and inching increments, he edges himself into her, and everything is stretching, thick and solid and divine. A gasp crawls deep into her lungs, her fingers grasping out at nothing as he takes his time to fill her. It feels like an eternity before his hips cage flush against her own, and then there is only heat and pressure left between them.

His fingers dig in at her hips, pinning them together as he huffs a curse into the lovemarked column of her neck. He nips and sucks and drags his tongue across her skin, distracting the most tender nerves he knows among her shoulders as he slings his arm around her and pitches an experimental thrust.

The world throbs at the edge of her peripheral, her body full to bursting, sunlight blinding in her vision, and she reels. She’s not sure how it happens - pent-up longing, maybe, something like an ache that he has left and tempered in her, emptiness that craves the perfect pain of taking taking taking all he has to give, and now that he has finally gripped in and split her open, climax lashes over her with the gut-wrenching shock of ambush. 

“Ohmygod, baby, I’m-!” Sobs of panic fill her throat; she hasn’t ever, not so quickly, not on the first brutal strokes, and Logan fucks her through it with implicit understanding, chaos crashing in her veins and carving heat along the tight arcs of her nerves. In her frenzied high, among the savage batter of her heartbeat, she can hear him gasp her name and groan a strangled sound as his hips shudder hard against her own.

“Fuck,” he pants, and glances teeth across the pulse point slamming in her throat. His arm sweeps down above her head, fingers twisting in around the base of both her braids and angling her face up to admire the soft heat of pleasure in her features. “I can’t believe how good you feel.”

Her shaken breath will have to count as laughter. “Me?” Even that tiny word feels suddenly so clumsy on her tongue. “You f-feel... like…”

“Like…?” His voice is rasp and gravel, molten whispers at her ear. He rocks another thrust and lingers, keeping her caught full around him, and the pressure, pleasure, every heartbeat of it all so good, so much, fuck -

“Like -” but Mercy lacks the words, she lacks her sense entirely. She wishes - blindly, swimming the oblivion of bliss - that his hands would leave a path like footsteps on her skin, marking all the scalding points his fingers brand across her body, dotted lines where she can sign her soul away if he will only just keep touching her. 

When Logan latches teeth into her shoulder, the pain descends in perfect twinges deep between her thighs. She clenches down around him, and he fucks an urgent, clumsy roll of hips in swift response, and the cinders of bright ecstasy that linger after her last climax start to surge together once more, currents rising ever higher, threatening to drown. Shudders wrack her hips as all her muscles seize into a brutal arc, chasing the pounding beat of pleasure every time that he sinks home. His hand seeks out the crosspoint of their bodies, and the pads of two rough fingers gliding down around her clit is all her weary nerves require for one last intense and devastating peak. 

His name rips through her teeth, her fingers winding fists into the sheets as ecstasy erupts in every atom. The breath he drags in at her throat is rigid with surprise, and then he tenses, fingers flexing down around her waist and body arcing when he hisses and comes after her. Ripples of searing bliss still pulse like heartbeats through her body, and she locks the blunt points of her nails into his shoulders for support, gasping for air though every breath burns the dry cavern of her throat. The last few frantic jackknifes of his hips drive him as deep as she will take him, and that innermost of pinnacles is where he spills inside of her.

Gently, as if now that she has come for a fifth time she is immensely fragile, Logan disentangles himself from her body; with the soreness of exhaustion that has settled in her bones, she can’t exactly summon any strength to disagree.

He rumbles tired rasps of laughter, dropping his lips to the flushed nape of her neck. She smiles and bends an arm back to run fingers through his hair with a purr of his name, if only just still capable with what is left of her frayed vocals. 

His teeth and fingers have left bruises in her skin, and in the golden trance of afterglow, he takes the most devoted care to kiss them over, as if each one is deserving of its own heartfelt apology. The quiet wake of intimacy soothes her crashing pulse as he retraces where his treatment left its mark on her body.

When he is satisfied that he has christened all the evidence of their affection, he tucks her in amongst the sheets with steady hands, his smile outlined by the sinking sunlight as he sprawls himself around her like he simply cannot bear even the briefest inch of separation. Catching the slim stretch of her wrist, he links his fingers through her own and rolls his thumb along the valleys of her knuckles, where his lips leave breathless kisses.

Devilish, perhaps, how fast those hands dismantle her, but Logan knows precisely how to piece her back together, press himself into the empty spaces left behind and make her feel like something whole again. His mouth follows the column of her throat, hushing the tender promise of te amo there between her slowing heartbeats, and she murmurs back I love you with his jaw against her palm.

Sins and marvels have both passed between his hands, brutal and strong and reverent, and she would trust no other’s with her flesh and tender heart.

And if the devil should possess them in those lazy, idle moments -

Maybe there is marvel in that, too.

[blackleatherjacketz]

My Brother’s Keeper: Chapter 14

Negan x Reader, Ezekiel x Reader

Summary: Your brother runs away from the Sanctuary and you pay the price. This Chapter: You get to know the people of the Kingdom a little better, the King approaches you.

Featuring: Morgan Jones, Benjamin, Dana

Warnings: Lying, Cobbler, The Sound of Music, Nursing, A Game of Thrones Quote, Ezekiel Fluff, A Piano

Word Count: 2595

Read the rest of the story HERE!

The breakfast cobbler crumbled under your fork as you pierced into it, the smell of sausage and egg mixing together as it brought you back to Sunday mornings with your grandmother. It tasted even better than it smelled, the warm flaky crust sealing the deal as you closed your eyes and savored it out loud.

“That good, huh?” Morgan took a bite of his potatoes and red pepper, raising an eyebrow. “Still think they’re trying to poison the Kool-Aid?”

“Alright,” you rolled your eyes, chewing up your food. “I feel better about it now that I’ve slept,” you admitted. You couldn’t tell him that you only said those things in a last-ditch effort to sell your skepticism, to seem like you weren’t really sure about this place. “Anyways, you should really try this cobbler,” you changed the subject.

Morgan smiled, finishing his bite. “All life is precious, Maria.” He pointed to the sausage and egg on your plate.

“Even those deadbeats out there?” You pointed outside, taking a big bite of sausage.

“They’re different, they’re already gone.” He paused, looking down at his plate then up at you. “But yeah, no matter how small, all life still has potential to do some good. I’ll stick to my peppers, thanks.”

“Your loss, vegan.” You shrugged and continued on with your cobbler as a young man with curly brown hair sat down next to Morgan. His hazel eyes reminded you of Alex’s, the way the green overtook the brown in the morning sunlight as he stared at both of you.

“Ezekiel told me there were some new recruits, and I know just about every face here in the Kingdom except for yours, so… must be you guys. I’m Benjamin.” He held his hand out for you to shake.

“Maria,” you shook it gladly, unable to remember the last time you simply shook hands upon meeting a new person in the apocalypse.

“Nice to meet you.” He smiled and let go, looking over at Morgan who quietly returned the gesture. “So where are you guys from? We haven’t had any guests here in a long time.”

Uh oh, the dreaded question finally came. You heard your pulse start to beat loudly in your ears, deafening you as you scurried to remember what Laura had told you to say. Where were you supposed to be from again? What was your backstory? Where were you even at right now? Virginia? Tennessee? You looked over at Morgan who mumbled something about Georgia until it was your turn to speak.

“Memphis,” you blurted out, causing both Morgan and Benjamin to look up. “I’m from Memphis,” you confirmed.

“You don’t have an accent.” Benjamin leaned forward in his seat, your brother’s eyes shining curiously from his young face.

“Well I didn’t live there until later, I was… I was travel nursing, and I’d only been there for a week or so when…” you started to dig yourself even further into the grave.

“You’re a nurse?” Morgan asked, setting his fork down. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah.” You stated matter-of-factly. “Well, now I’m telling you that.” A fiery heat filled your chest as you looked at them, afraid they’d call your bluff. “And what did you do before all of this, huh?”

“Wait a minute, you didn’t know that? I thought you guys were traveling together.” Benjamin pried, the little shit.

“Nothing useful,” Morgan addressed you first, turning slowly toward the younger man. Oh, so he could be secretive, but you couldn’t? You crossed your arms over your chest.

“We’d only met a few hours before we ran into your men. The walkers didn’t give us much time to talk,” he finished, looking up at you as if asking for your input.

“Morgan saved my life when he didn’t have to, so… I stayed with him,” you added, finally telling the truth.

Benjamin looked at Morgan then back at you, suspiciously trying to put the pieces together before leaning forward. “Well, if you’re a nurse, then I gotta show you the infirmary. Dana could always use a pair of helping hands.”

———————————————

Dana wasn’t nearly as friendly as the rest of the people at the Kingdom, and certainly not as considerate of your peace of mind. She showed you around the infirmary only after quizzing you on about a dozen medical issues per minute, reminding you of your least favorite professor from nursing school. She was tough and blunt, but you could tell that she meant well, presenting a wealth of knowledge for you to learn from.

You finished your day with her and met Morgan for dinner, repeating this mundane sun cycle two or three more times until a week had almost passed. He’d tell you about teaching Aikido to young Benjamin and in return you’d tell him about wrapping a sprained ankle. It was hardly an even trade, but it was already better than your life back at the Sanctuary.

The next day on the calendar was Tuesday. It was the day that the Kingdom always prepared their offering for the Saviors, and also the day that you had to meet up with Negan. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t nervous, that you weren’t wringing your hands dry of any bit of information to give him. The people here were too nice, too giving, and above all else too oblivious of their deal with the Saviors to give you anything worthwhile. In order to get any good information you’d have to drill Morgan for everything he knew about the King's Guard, or even more risky, the King himself.

You’d already seen him around the Kingdom a few times, walking amongst his people without requiring them to bow at his feet. He helped Nabila in the garden, Jonathan with the laundry, and Samantha in the kitchen when he had the chance, all with a smile on his face. He directed that smile at you a couple of times, too.

His hand patted your shoulder a little too long while his smile widened deeply into his eyes enough to make yours hold fast. It was probably nothing more than a ruse, though, and you wondered if you could use it to your advantage. How long could he keep up that happiness for the sake of his people, for you and Morgan? Little did you know, the answer was about to fall right into your lap.

“May I join you, fair maiden?” The King stood in the doorway to the choir room, his proper demeanor betrayed by a lazy lean against the metal frame. He offered his hand out in the direction of the piano bench you were sitting on, that beautiful smile of his sparking immediate joy within you.

“Who, me? Here?” You tried to ignore that joy, clearing your throat as you looked at the empty seat next to you.

“Yes,” he smiled. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, Your Majesty.” You scooted over to make room for him, closing the sheet music you were studying before he approached the bench.

“Please, call me Ezekiel” He tilted his head and sat down next to you. “Now, how are you liking things here, Maria? How do you find the Kingdom’s infirmary? Up to par, I hope?”

“It’s wonderful… Ezekiel,” you tried out his first name. “Everything here is just wonderful.” You felt his eyes on you as you kept yours forward, the intensity of his stare making your pulse skip ahead.

“I do my best to make life here at the Kingdom as pleasant as possible, to thwart out the night that’s so dark and full of terrors.” He paused briefly. “I try to make up for it with things that make me happy, things that make others happy.”

“Yeah, well you’re doing a pretty damn good job,” you praised him, focusing on the picture of Julie Andrews dancing in a meadow. You tried to think of a quick excuse for a nurse sitting alone in the choir room, but could come up with nothing.

“Am I?” He laughed, the sound a sweet and pleasant song in your ears. “And what makes you happy, Maria?”

“Me?” You turned to face him, the freckles on his cheeks barely evident as the sun slowly slid below the horizon.

“Is it music that you love?” He pointed to the book before you, tracing the large cursive S at the beginning of the title.

Nursing was the one thing that kept you alive before and after the apocalypse, but it didn’t make you happy, not really. It paid your bills and gave you leverage at the Sanctuary with your family… until it didn’t. Truth be told, you’d rather study musical theater, and when you discovered that the Kingdom had a choir room, well, you just had to check it out.

“Yeah,” you summed it up.

“How do you solve a problem like Maria?” He swallowed slowly, tracing his fingertips onto yours.

Despite your desire to see where this went, to feel good and happy while extracting information for Negan, you pulled back from his touch. You clutched the paperback book to your chest, staring at him with conflicted emotion.

“I’m sorry,” The King started, putting his hands up in the air.

“Sorry for what?” you asked, placing the book back on the stand. You didn’t mean to draw back from him so quickly, to seem like a caged animal who hadn’t been touched in years; you just weren’t used to someone being so gentle with you.

“For whatever harm he’s done to you,” he provoked.

Oh God, did he know? Was he talking about Negan or was he just using it as a blanket statement for anyone who might have hurt you in the past? Did he think it was Morgan who caused you to be this way? You decided it was better to play dumb until he put all of his cards on the table.

“For whatever he’s still doing to you.” He pointed to your jacket and the yellowing bruises on your neck, letting his hands rest on his knees as he took in a deep breath. “I can’t imagine Negan is a gentle lover, and I understand your resistance to trust me.”

Your mouth all but fell onto the floor, rendering you speechless as he saw right through you. “I…uhh…”

“Kindness to you must be nothing more than another bargaining chip, a way to merely manipulate the facts in front of you. When you’ve lived in darkness all your life, it’s hard to believe that there’s any light.” Ezekiel’s face softened, his thick lashes blinking over deep brown eyes.

Wait a minute, what? Wasn’t he mad? Wasn’t he going to yell at you or bring you out in front of everyone to be made an example of? Why wasn’t he questioning you in front of Morgan to get a better story? Did he know how terrible Negan could be? What his plans were for him?

“The turning of the tide changed people, Maria. Some for the better, but most for the worst. I saw too many people go bad, or become victims underneath them. I built this place to be different, to be good.” He lifted his hand to the sheet music and opened to the number ‘Something Good’.

“Back before all of this I was a zookeeper.” His voice changed from proper and theatrical to common and relaxed. “Shiva, she didn’t trust me right away, either. We had a symbiotic relationship to a degree; I would feed and bathe her while she didn’t eat me for lunch, and that was enough for a while.” He smiled at you, amused at your puzzled look. “One day she got trapped in a mote, cut her leg wide open in the exhibit and I went down there when no one else would. She was bleeding out, so I tied my shirt around her leg to stop it, and ever since then she’s never even shown a tooth my way.”

“Are you comparing me to your pet tiger?” You blinked at him wildly, unable to register the amount of weight taken off your shoulders with your involuntary confession.

The King laughed. “What I’m trying to say, fair maiden,” he went back into his proper speech pattern. “Is that my kindness comes at no cost, has no strings, and no stipulations.” He held out his hand. “All I ask for in return is the truth.”

You stared at him in disbelief, his face honest and true. Did Richard recognize you and tell him who you were? How did he catch onto you so quickly? Were you that bad of a liar, or was he just that perceptive? It didn’t matter, the jig was up and you had to say something… anything to cut this silence in half as it weighed down on both of you.

“I…” Your words would barely come out as you took his hand. You wracked your brain for the right words to explain yourself, to come up with some sort of story to save your skin, but all you had was the truth.

If Negan was a haunted house, then Ezekiel was a church. His hands welcomed you home without judgement or anger, without worry or fear of being harmed. His presence was holy, purifying you with nothing more than a look and a touch of his hand. How had God made these two completely different people and put them both in your path?

“Negan sent me here to spy on you.” Your lip began to quiver, your eyes welling up with tears as your brother’s memory came back to you. You thought you’d feel guilty after telling him what your mission was, but instead you felt cleansed, like you were immediately forgiven after visiting the confessional.

“I know.” He confessed, raising his eyebrows. “I recognized you the moment you walked into the Kingdom.”

“You did?” Maybe Negan had underestimated him. “W..why didn’t you say anything?”

“And risk blowing your cover in front of Morgan? Nah. I wanted to see what you would do… how long you could keep it up. What’s that old saying? ‘Can’t bullshit a bullshitter’?” He laughed and placed his fingers on the piano, pressing down on the keys as they played the opening bars of the duet. “Plus, I wanted to see if you’d like it here.” He took his hands off the keyboard.

“So, now what? You kick me out? Send me packing in the morning and tell Morgan that I left?” You turned into him on the bench, wishing he would have continued playing the song.

“Now, what good would that do anyone? Negan wants information, does he not?” His smile wrinkled his eyes, making you wonder if his face hurt from doing that all day.

“Yes.” The thought of seeing Negan again after being here was more than daunting, like returning to work after an amazing vacation.

“Who says Negan has to know I found you out? That Morgan or anyone else here has to be any wiser?” He leaned forward and closed the book. “I keep many secrets from my people about the Saviors, to keep the good in and the bad out. If you’re happy here, even if you only think that you could be… Let’s let him believe that you’re still working for him, to keep whoever it is from harm.”

“It’s my…” you started to explain, but he put his hand up in protest.

“Another time. You can tell me after.”

------------------------------

Tags: @negansdirtygirl22 @genevievedarcygranger @annablack1102 @letsby @irrelevantwriter @negans-network @rasa1945 @chamberofsloths @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @namelesslosers @collette04 @bishsposts @haleyea @bodhi-black @mblaqgi @ptite-shit @jamiekingofmen @ibelongtonegan @chloejanedecker1 @divadinag @dxloverpunk @tylersblurrylittleface @marriedtonegan @astrobabezblog @death-unbecomes-you

[fullmetalscullyy]

day 18 -  christmas time (don't let the bells end) - the darkness

the magic of christmas time - royai advent calender

24 days - 24 oneshots | with angst, fluff, and everything in between | both canon and au

a collection of christmas themed oneshots to celebrate royai | chapter prompts based on my favourite christmas songs

read on ao3

a gift for @lumberjackofthelumberwoods for his birthday <3

sam is truly one of the greatest friends i've ever had and i can't imagine my life without him in it

thank you for being my angst friend and just Getting Me in a way no one else does you're one in a billion and i'm so grateful we met. ilysm and always will <3 thank you my friend!!!!

you've got your career spent the best part of last year apart and it still hurts

so that's why i pray each and every christmas day that it won't end

Roy snuck into Riza’s apartment stealthily. The rucksack on his back was less discreet than he would have liked, however there was not much else he could do. He didn’t have many presents, but he was proud of what he’d got her for Christmas. The best one was in her locker at the firing range at work, and while he would have liked to have given it to her tomorrow morning when they awoke, it would raise suspicion for him to be walking around with a rifle case in this neighbourhood. Anyone purposefully watching him would know exactly where he was heading after clocking that case.

“You know, you could have just used the door,” a quiet, yet amused, voice greeted him. A yip from Hayate accompanied her greeting and Roy turned after softly closing her bedroom window, shutting out the cold and the wind whistling through the gaps of the fire escape he’d climbed up.

“It was safer,” he grinned. “Plus, if you’d really wanted me to use your front door, you wouldn’t have left the window open in the middle of winter.” Roy shivered at the reminder of the cold that had bit at his face moments ago. He was sure his cheeks were bright pink.

Riza offered him a small smile and approached him in the gloom of her bedroom. Her hands were placed gently on his chest and Roy held his breath, awaiting her next step, almost shivering in anticipation. Hands snaked up to his shoulders and around his neck, one tangling in his hair while the other curled around the collar of his shirt and jacket. She drew him close and it was like a spark that lit the flames. They met each other halfway. The kiss was feverish – the result of them being apart and having no real contact with one another for the last two weeks. It had been hell. Roy’s hands slid around her back and pulled Riza even tighter against him. Her back arched and she moaned breathlessly into his mouth, her hands now cupping his cheeks, anchoring him in place.

“Hello,” he grinned, unable to resist pecking her on the lips again after they broke apart.

“Hey,” Riza replied, smiling up at him with not only her lips. Her eyes danced even in the dim light, pouring out the love she felt for him into his own eyes, and Roy was lost in it for a moment. “Does this have presents in it?” Riza asked, a hint of a pleased smile in her voice. She slipped the backpack off his shoulders, relieving him of it while Roy recovered after what he’d seen in her eyes.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Wow, Roy Mustang, rendered speechless by a kiss?” Riza teased, glancing at him over her shoulder as she walked to enter her living room. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Roy blinked after her, then chuckled. “If it’s a kiss from you, then it happens every time.”

“Really?” she asked doubtfully, raising an eyebrow. She’d turned to face him fully after depositing his bag on her couch. One hand was on her cocked hip, the other resting on the arm of the couch beside her.

Roy smiled as he approached, cupping her face in his hands. “Always,” he murmured against her lips. Riza initiated it again and drew him close by the lapels of his jacket.

“So…” Riza ventured, still holding him close to her lips.

“Yes?” he chuckled.

“What did you get me?”

Roy laughed and pecked her cheek, digging into his backpack. He handed her three small parcels – one was a scarf he’d overheard her talking to Rebecca about, another was a blouse he’d picked out for her himself, and the final one was a book she’d been discussing with Falman a few weeks ago in the office. The best one, though, wasn’t wrapped, and would be revealed as soon as he handed it over.

“Those three are for tomorrow, but I’m really excited about this one and wanted to give it to you today.”

“Okay then,” she smiled in amusement. “Go ahead.”

They found themselves sitting on the rug in front of her roaring fire, side by side with their backs leaning against the couch, before Roy handed it over. Hayate was curled in between their knees. It was the most domestic moment they’d ever had together in their adult lives. For a second, he forgot about all that went on in the outside world.

“Roy…” Riza whispered in wonder, staring down at the rifle’s user manual in her hands. It was a new rifle for her – the one that was currently in her locker at work.

“I couldn’t bring it here because it would be suspicious,” he explained, rubbing her shoulder. “It’s in your locker at work.” Riza turned to him, flabbergasted. She did nothing but blink at him, her mouth working to try and say something, but coming up with nothing.

However, the way she expressed her thanks came in a much better method, leaving them tangled in her sheets in the late hours of the day.

“I don’t want this to end,” Roy murmured in her ear. They were facing each other in her bed, Riza’s head tucked underneath his chin as he drew lazy patterns on her exposed back. Her hands returned the favour in kind, drawing similar patterns on his bare chest. Every so often his breathing would hitch, and Riza would smile to herself because she’d drawn that out of him.

Riza curled closer into him, burying her face in his chest and nodded in agreement. “Neither do I.”

Because when they returned to work after Christmas Day, she’d return to being Bradley’s hostage and they’d have to act with casual indifference when they passed each other in the hallways, as if the whole situation didn’t bother them both.

But it did. It really did, because nothing hurt more than pretending she was just offering a professional courtesy when saying hello to the man she loved when passing him in the hallway at HQ.

A distant clanging reached them from outside. It was almost muted by the whistling wind, but it managed to reach them both. The bells of the cathedral in Central were tolling, signalling the new day. It resonated within both their hearts, because it was one step closer to being apart again for god knows how long.

“Midnight,” Riza muttered.

“Merry Christmas, Riza,” Roy whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Roy.”

“May those bells never end, and I get to live in this moment forever.”

Riza huffed a laugh, but a pain clutched at her chest. They’d made their bed and now they had to lie in it, but it didn’t mean it was easy. It was bearable when she could watch his back, but now they’d been torn apart there was a constant anxiety within her, because she wasn’t fulfilling her promise. Being unable to protect him caused her to lose her sole purpose in life for almost a decade – push him to the top so he could cause the change they both wanted to see in the world, and prevent the atrocities they lived through from happening again.

She didn’t know what she’d do if she failed by not being by his side.

One certainty was this, though. They couldn’t do this again until the enemy was beaten. It was too risky, too dangerous. They couldn’t be together anymore, not like this. And although it was Christmas, supposedly a time for happiness and joy, Riza felt nothing but sorrow in her heart because of that fact.

But it was what they deserved, she supposed, after all they’d done.

[junghelioseok]

relief.

↳ a celebration is in order.

   ◇ jungkook x reader    ◇ smut    ◇ 1.7k [1/1]

notes: whoever decided that periods should be a thing deserves to fall off a bridge. monthly bleeding blows. if you prefer to skip the light period-related humor, feel free to start reading below the break. ^^

also, i have such major issues writing kookie in smutty scenarios. like, he’s just a baby boy in my mind and i’m not sure how this filth even came about. i’m sorry. anyway.

It’s on a particularly lazy Saturday evening, deep blue and hazy, that you realize something wonderful. “I’m free!” you exclaim joyfully as you burst into the bedroom where your boyfriend is, drawing out the last syllable until you are short of breath. 

Jungkook is actually home for once, this weekend being one of those rare occasions where he’s both in Seoul and not at the studio with his members. Sleepy eyes crack open and he raises a brow at you from his spot on the bed where he had been dozing with his laptop beside him, the screen dark and forgotten. 

You flop down beside him unapologetically, bouncing up and down. “My period’s over, silly,” you inform him like it’s the most excellent thing in the world (which it probably is), bopping him on the nose cheerily. “Freedom at last!” 

He chuckles. “Sounds like we need to celebrate.” 

“Mm,” you hum, curling up against his side and burying your nose in the crook of his neck. One of his arms comes up to wrap around your shoulders and you sigh happily, nestling closer to the warmth of his body. “I’m just glad I can sit normally again.” 

“You know what I’m glad about?” he asks, a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. 

“Hmm?” You don’t see the wicked smirk Jungkook sends in your direction, but you certainly feel what he does next. His hand slides into the waistband of your sweatpants, finding its way to your clit. A gasp escapes you as he pinches it gently, turning into a moan as he teases your entrance with those devilish fingers. 

“I’m glad I can do this again,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your cheek. 

A breathless little laugh escapes you as he continues his ministrations. “It really must’ve been an agonizing time for you,” you joke, wriggling a little as a finger slides inside you. The sensation of being filled, combined with his thumb on your clit, sends your body into overdrive and you come undone with a gasp, collapsing back against the pillows. 

“Probably not as agonizing as it was for you,” Jungkook says as he withdraws his hand, looking very pleased with himself. 

You laugh. “Wait, are you talking about my period, or about not being able to have sex with you?” 

A grin. “Both.” 

You peck him on the cheek affectionately. “Sorry, Kookie, I like you a lot, but the last thing I want is a dick inside me when there’s blood coming out of my hoo-ha. Nothing personal.” 

“That’s fine,” he replies with an amused smile. “I’m starving. Want to order pizza?” 

“Sounds good to me. You know what we can do while we’re waiting for it to get here?” 

The wicked little grin he sends your way tells you that he knows exactly what you have in mind. 

///

Jungkook is finding it very difficult to concentrate on ordering dinner with your lips wrapped around his cock. It’s all he can do to keep his voice even as he speaks on the phone, silently cursing the technical difficulties that have rendered his favorite pizza place’s online ordering system useless. “Hi, I’d like to place an order for delivery?” 

You swirl your tongue around him gently, smirking when he hisses through his teeth. 

“Yesss, ah—c-could I get one medium sausage pizza with a side…” Jungkook trails off when he feels your mouth tighten around him, breath catching in his throat. “…side of breadsticks,” he grits out. 

Your tongue traces the vein running along the underside of his erection, tantalizingly slow. Jungkook struggles to focus on the voice on the other side of the line, barely processing what he’s being asked. 

“Sure. The address is…” He barely manages to string the numbers and street name together. Between his legs, you begin a leisurely bobbing rhythm, intent on driving him to the edge. “Yes. That’s all. Thanks, bye.” He ends the call as quickly as he can, dropping his phone and throwing his head back against the pillows as you increase your pace. Your fingers twist in the material of his pants, pushed down just enough to allow his cock to spring free. 

Just as he’s about to come undone, you suddenly pull away, regarding him with a wicked little smirk. “I’m impressed that you remembered your manners there, Jungkook,” you tease, rubbing circles into his thighs. 

He lets out a surprised huff, frustration lacing his voice. “That’s what you’re choosing to pay attention to right now?” 

You adopt a look of feigned innocence, as if your lips aren’t still slick with saliva and arousal. “Oh? Is there something more pressing that I should be attending to?” Ever so slowly, your hands inch closer to his erection, savoring the way his muscles tense underneath your fingertips. Carefully, you straddle his lap, hands coming to grip his shoulders as you grind down on him. 

Jungkook shakes his head and releases a breathless laugh, one hand resting on the small of your back as the other tilts your chin toward him, bringing you into a kiss. His languid tongue tangles with yours, and you can’t help the moan that escapes you. “Don’t you think you’re teasing me too much?” he murmurs, pulling away momentarily, his warm breath fanning your cheeks. “I already let you come once.” 

“That’s true,” you admit, trailing a hand through his hair lazily before planting a light kiss on his waiting mouth. “You’re always so good to me, Jungkookie.” 

He flashes you a little grin, the one that always reminds you of a rabbit. “So you’ll stop teasing me?” he questions, hands sliding down to your waist and toying with the hem of your shirt. 

You hum agreeably, trailing your lips along his jawline. “Mm. But you better take off your clothes before I change my mind.” 

“You first?” he requests boldly, and you grin, allowing him to tug your shirt up and off. 

“I suppose.” 

Jungkook makes quick work of your sweatpants as well, sliding them off your legs and tossing them to the ground. Before he can reach around to take off your bra, however, you stop him. 

“Later,” you say shortly, guiding his hands to his own shirt. Obediently, he pulls it off, revealing the hard, toned expanse of his chest and abs. You smooth your hands down his torso, reveling in the way his muscles twitch underneath your touch. Reaching the waistband of his jeans, still bunched up around his hips, you breathe, “Let’s get these off, too.” 

“Your wish is my command,” he murmurs, letting them slide off and onto the floor, leaving him bare underneath you. No matter how many times you see him like this, you aren’t sure you’ll ever grow used to the sight—tousled hair and flushed cheeks, his body pliant and ready. Your core aches at the sight. 

Your boyfriend seems to sense your body’s reaction to him, for his hands are on you again, unhooking your bra and peeling your damp panties away from your skin. “God, Jungkook…” 

“Yes, {Name}?” he asks, blinking innocently up at you. 

You don’t answer. Instead, you rock your hips sharply against him, pinning his cock between your swollen sex and his stomach, sliding wetly against the hard shaft in long, sensual drags. He lets out a strangled groan, fingers coming up to curl around your hips as you continue riding him, splaying your hands on his chest to maintain your balance. The pressure is beginning to build in the pit of your stomach, coiling like a spring. 

“I want to be inside you,” Jungkook rasps lowly, his heavy gaze fixed on the way you’re moving above him. He’s rolling his hips in time with you now, and with every stroke, the flared head of his length slides against your clit. You’re already sensitive from the first orgasm Jungkook gave you, and that, combined with his sinful declaration, is enough to make you weak in the knees. 

“God, yes. I want you inside me too,” you breathe, moaning as your core clenches around nothing, your body aching for release. The words have hardly left your mouth, when Jungkook is suddenly tilting you forward into his chest, his cock sliding inside and filling you to the brim. A choked moan escapes your lips at the sudden surge of fullness, and Jungkook can only groan harshly in response as you seize around him, mumbling half-coherent, fragmented praises about how good he feels. 

Your thighs are quivering now, unable to support your full weight as you grind against him. Jungkook seems to sense this, for his fingers tighten around the curve of your hips, holding you up as he begins rolling up fervently to meet you, lips parting with another low groan. 

“Kookie, kiss me,” you gasp out, fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. 

He does. His lips crash against yours, all tongue and teeth and fire, swallowing down your moans and cries. Every push of his hips drives you closer to the edge, the hot, full weight of him dragging inside you setting your nerve endings alight. Your body trembles—tenses—and then you’re coming, clenching in spasms around Jungkook’s cock. His hips stutter slightly at the tightness, but he is persistent, relentlessly drawing out every bit of white-hot pleasure from you. 

You can no longer hold yourself up, folding over in exhaustion as Jungkook’s pace becomes sporadic, the wet draw of your body driving him to his own sweet release. Warmth floods you, and it’s all you can do to rock against him languorously, milking him for all he’s worth. He chants your name as he comes down from his high, dark eyes opening tiredly to regard you with satisfaction. 

“Ah, we really should do that more often.” 

Laughter bubbles up in your chest as you nestle against his sweaty, spent body. “It’s been less than a week since we last had sex,” you tell him pointedly. 

“That’s too long,” he responds immediately, giving you an impish grin. 

You open your mouth, about to retort, when there’s a loud knock at the door. “Go get the pizza,” you say instead, arching your back and stretching languidly underneath Jungkook’s heavy gaze. “Round two can commence after dinner.” 

You’re pretty sure you’ve never seen Jungkook move more quickly in your entire life.

[sakiwriting]

Memories in Silence

"What will you do today, my love?"

The words roused him from slumber, and were accompanied by the sensation of delicate fingers being brushed alongside his cheek to draw raven locks from his face. He smiled before arcane infused eyes opened to look upon the woman lying next to him.

She was a stunning sight to behold, lit by the morning's light filtering in through the opened curtains. Long, chestnut curls hung over one shoulder and glistened in the sun like freshly spun silk. Her skin was bare, having just awoken to the morning after the night of passion they had shared, and the way the sunlight reflected off of it made it look like exquisite porcelain, soft to the touch. Even against the daylight, the smile she carried on those tempting lips was warmer than any sun, and twice as bright. Sky blue eyes watched him with curiosity and, once he met them, ensnared him like two deep wells to a man dying of thirst. In his eyes, she was like a goddess made mortal.

He reached for her before an answer would be given, drawing a finger down the length of her skin. "I have yet to consider the possibilities, though there is one idea sitting in front of me that I might wish to indulge myself in further." A wry smile followed, as his fingers continued to drift along her skin, intoxicated by the very presence of the woman.

A smirk was delivered back to him before she playfully smacked his hand away. “If we continue to indulge, we might not ever leave this room. You are not the only one with obligations to consider, my love.”

“Perhaps,” a low, playful growl escaped from his throat. He sat up on his elbows for leverage and then leapt upon her, rolling himself on top of the woman. With his new advantage, he pinned her to the sheets before delivering swift kisses to her jawline. “Then I will make your only obligation to be the love of my life, so I may ravish you day and night, and shower you with all of my love and adoration. I will make it -my- obligation to ensure your happiness in all the days to come, so you may never want.” He traveled from her jawline, down to her neck, ensuring to kiss and caress what skin he could find with his lips as he went.

A soft giggle escaped her throat followed by a sigh as her hands lifted up and drifted through his hair. “Ever the poetic one with words, you are,” she mused. “Much as I would want nothing more than to stay here with you, what will you tell your father when you miss the meeting he wanted you to attend?”

“I will simply say I had a more pressing engagement to see to,” he murmured over her skin, intent on kissing every inch of her. His hand came down and began to feel along the contours of her body, fingers swirling around her belly before tracing back up the length of her and cupping those perfect breasts.

An appreciative sigh escaped her over the affections rendered.

“What about your sister? I thought she wanted to collect more seashells with you today.”

“She will understand when I tell her there was the most beautiful rose in the world that I needed to tend to,” his lips now traveled down the length of her, stopping at her breasts and nibbling upon the erect nipples.

A soft gasp escaped her, and her fingers dug further into his locks.

“And what of your uncle?”

A pause in his attentions came, as his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Not now...” he whispered in response. Almost immediately, he ceased what he was doing and lifted himself up to hover back near her features. Once he was there, his lips crashed against hers passionately, like it would be the last one they would share. The taste of her was intoxicating, and even if it meant he would not breathe again, he did not wish to let her go so quickly. He would rather drown himself in her as an aching longing sprouted up in his chest.

Not yet. Don’t let it end now. Please...

Gently, however, he felt her hand press to his bare skin. Her lips drifted away from the kiss and met his gaze with her own. A warm smile caressed her features as she lifted a hand and ran her thumb over his lips. “You wish to stay here with me that badly, do you?”

“More than ever,” his eyes pleaded with her, truly wanting nothing else in this moment.

Her hand drifted, cupping his cheek with that same warm smile he loved so much. Her hand was warm to the touch and he couldn’t help but to lean into it, the touch he desired so much. The moment lasted for a few, blissful seconds before her other hand came up and shoved him off of her with a strength he knew she normally wouldn’t have.

Out of surprise, he fell back as she sat up. When she lifted her head, there was now a sadness in the depths of her eyes.

"Then why didn't you stay with me when I begged you not to go?"

He paused, the smile he once held quickly faded from his features.

"Because I was a fool," he said softly, moving himself upright. "I should have listened to you."

The sunlight that had previously filled the room began to fade, sapping the warmth from around the two of them.

"You should have listened," she repeated his words, her tone growing more cold. The loss of the sun’s light began to make her skin look much more pale and sickly in color, and the curls of hair that had bounced now wilted and clung to her features like a mess of brambles. "It's your fault," she hissed.

Gone now was the warmth her eyes once held. Now, they were stone cold and accusing. "Your fault," she repeated as tears of blood now began to well up in her eyes.

His heart sank but he could only look upon her with sorrow. "I'm sorry," he said softly before thrusting himself forward to gather her into a tight hug. "You were right. In my arrogance, I disregarded what you told me to do and because of that, you died."

Blood began to run down her paling body, both from the blood red tears and from a gaping wound that opened up at her belly which spread all the way to her back. It began pooling underneath the both of them, staining the once cream colored sheets with crimson. There was no stop to it as it spread. Beneath his embrace, he could feel her skin stretching and thinning, shifting into angler shapes as she began to transform.

"Your fault," she rasped, her voice becoming gurgled and ragged. When he looked down at her again, she was like a corpse in his arms: thin, bony and bloody. Yet, even so, he held onto her.

"None of this would have happened if it weren't for you!" Her fingers, thin and sharp like claws, lashed out and dug into his back. He cried out in pain, but refused to relinquish his hold. "You should have died! Instead of me!"

"I know," he hissed through gritted teeth. "You deserved better."

"And for that, you deserve agony!" she shrieked and raked her claws murderously down his back, causing him to bite back screams. Still, he hung onto the animated corpse of his lover. "You deserve a thousand lifetimes of loneliness and pain for what you’ve done!"

The world around them darkened, and her screams were then echoed by a canopy of others, both familiar to him and strange. They all screamed anger and pain upon him like a chorus.

You deserve this! You deserve this!

"I do," he whispered against the void.

=========================

He opened his eyes to a ceiling of wood. The boots that walked upon it from up above caused it to creak horribly and was anything but an enchanting sound to be roused to. Nearby, his ears twitched at the underlying sounds of waves slapping against the side of the ship, further drawing his focus back to the world he was now in. Turning his head and giving a glance to the side brought nothing to be found in the space next to him on the bed. No warm, or cold, body that had been there moments ago. There was nothing, and yet, there was no surprise to be felt. Or much of any emotion in the outcome he knew would be found.

He sat up in his bed, eyes tired, yet feeling nothing despite the images of the nightmare that still hung about behind the lid of his eyes. 

“Gabriel!" boomed a voice, resounding from a comm device that sat upon the wooden nightstand near the man's bed. "If yer done lazying about, meet me on deck. Now." 

The man's grey gaze drifted to the device, tempted to toss it against the wall instead. But with a sigh, he reached for it and clicked it on. "Aye, Cap'n. I'll be up in a moment." 

"Make it half," the voice snapped back before clicking off.

He tossed it aside and pulled on his boots. The short slumber had been anything but pleasant or restful, but he was use to it by now. The dreams, or rather nightmares, had always been a common expectation whenever he closed his eyes. The scene often changed, as did the players, but it was always the same themed play, and he was the spectator that had seen it enough times to expect the twists and turns. Most of them no longer phased him anymore. 

Pushing the last traces of the nightmare out of his mind, he rose and moved to the door to meet the Captain's summons.

Today, like every other, he would continue to live with the memories.

=======================

(A piece that’s been knocking around in my head for a long long while, long before he was able to get some of his nightmares under control)

@forever-afk for brief mention