#was it that hard to be happy about his return

[after-witch]

Points of No Return [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Title: Points of No Return [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: You run into someone from your old life and it shakes you into making a decision you might regret. Companion piece to Bait, Fever Pitch and Bus Stop.

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, Stockholm syndrome; mentions of physical and mental abuse, mentions of pregnancy

The town is hustling and bustling. It looks a little different every time you visit. New banners, new shops, an endless sea of revolving faces that you barely remember once you’re back home.

Here, in the outdoor market, there is a sense of thrumming aliveness that keeps your thoughts dancing from one step to the next. Should you go to this stall, or that one? Stop for a bite to eat? Check out new wares? A dress for yourself, bracelets for the girls, a book for him–or not? There’s too much. Too many people, too many choices. It makes it hard to concentrate. 

But then a squeeze to one your hands--Nanako and Mimiko on either side of you, the three of you making quite the trio on a trip--brings you back the ground.

“We’ll go look for our gifts,” the girls say, smiling. “You should look for something new to wear to the party.”

You smile and wave them off and turn towards the nearest stalls with fabrics and kimonos hanging up for sale. The outfit should be elegant, but understated. That’s what the girls told you, which means that’s probably what Geto told them.

An outfit appropriate for his birthday party.  

You’ll find something here, that’s certain. With this many stalls, and the amount of money allotted for the trip. 

The city was shocking, the first time you were allowed to visit again. You didn’t stay long–a panic attack took care of that. It was too much in a horribly overwhelming way, and you’d buried yourself against his chest and asked to leave. 

Of course, Geto had been with you then. It took a year for the girls to convince him to let you come only with them–a girls’ trip. And here, now, years down the line, you didn’t even need to beg and plead. It was a matter of fact: the girls were taking you shopping, and you’d go home to Geto, and that was that.

Sure, it’s still overwhelming; but not in a way that leaves you breathless. It does make you long to go home, to sweep into Geto’s private quarters, to relax in that space which has finally become warm and inviting to you. A sanctuary, away from his followers, away from any sense of the greater world out there.

It would be nice, to go home later today. To be with him. To have him hold you and kiss you, to simply sit quietly at his feet while he reads. He was kinder, now. In his own way. Long gone are the days of punishments, of scoldings, of that awful bitterness that kept you from truly feeling alive. 

And–just when did that happen? That sense of normalcy–happiness, even?--with him. With your life.

Your fingers fumble with the fabric you’re holding and there’s a few awful moments where the world wants to spin, but simply stands stationary instead and makes you feel its terrible crushing weight. You want to take it back, those thoughts; want to simply go about your day like everything was normal, and fine, and–

Someone calls your name. Someone close.

It’s not the girls. It’s a man. A man’s voice, but who, and why, and how long has it been since anyone has said your name that hasn’t been Geto or the twins or one of his followers? 

Your name, again. Spoken softer, but breathier. Like he’s shocked. Surprised. But pleased? 

You turn slowly, your brain whirring into action, putting forgotten puzzle pieces back together as it pulls from deep within the foggy recesses of your memories.

The voice. The mole on his cheek, the curve of his jaw. The color of his eyes. It’s yanked from deep within your mind, sticky taffy that barely wants to come up–but it does and he does and you know this man.

“Kenji?”

It tastes sour, this man’s name on your lips–a name that isn’t, for the first time in years, his.

The muted shock within you is like wet sand, being scooped and patted firm by a small hand. 

He says your name again, and takes your hand in his own–your heart begins to beat more rapidly, knowing that this is wrong, that Geto will know, somehow, that another man’s touch has been upon you.

He says more things. Things that barely register. That your family has missed you. Your friends have missed you. He’s missed you. 

It shouldn’t be surprising. He was–after all–your boyfriend. Was. Had been. Once upon a time, when the world was different. 

“What happened to you?” He asks, and you don’t answer. You can’t. Not fully.

“I…” How do you tell him, exactly? Where do you even start? And where would you end? By telling him that gosh, you were just thinking about how you’d like to get back home to the man who kidnapped you years ago. The man who’s held you hostage and hurt you, but the man who–who loves you, too? Who saved you, who is kind when he can be.

“Your parents are going to be so happy,” Kenji says, quietly, filling your silence. They hadn’t been on your mind in some time, and isn’t that awful of you? But it was too hard to think about them. It hurt too much. So you put them away, like old things in a drawer, to be avoided like a painful memory. 

But… they had been hurt, of course, by your disappearance. They missed you. Did others miss you? And had you been missing them, all along? Only for that pain to be glossed over to protect yourself. A selfish sort of trickery. 

Pangs in your heart begin to puncture that heavy shock. Your mother. Your father. Your best friend. Your dog. Neighbors, the friendly woman at the grocery store who always stuck a pack of gum in your bag before you left. And–Kenji. Kenji, too. 

Tears prick at your eyes and you know they’re threatening to spill. Just when had you forgotten all of them? Set them all in that dusty drawer, to avoid the pain, to indulge in the comfort of increasingly familiar days inside Geto’s compound. 

“Listen,” Kenji says, soft, slow. As if you were wrapped in a silver emergency blanket and perched on the end of an ambulance after fighting off a monster. And–have you been? 

Confusion blurs your thoughts, your memories. You haven’t been… unhappy in a long time. Haven’t thought about those unpleasant days, when you fought. When you ran. Instead, you’ve thought about how comfortable you are; how nice it feels when Geto puts aside his duties now and then, and spends more time with you.

When did you stop trying to get away?

Kenji seems to sense your thoughts, somehow; sense your inner turmoil which must surely be written on your face as clear as day. 

“I’ll help you,” he continues, as his words seem to grow louder and louder in your ear. Like a siren–like a wake up call. “Meet me at the park around the corner. Tonight. Whatever’s going on… whatever’s happened, I can help you.” 

I can help you. And you need it, don’t you? Help?

Your mouth opens stupidly, like a fish, but before you can say anything, two familiar presences are by your side. 

Kenji drops your hands, and you find yourself staring down at them. 

“Who is this?” Mimiko asks, a shopping bag tucked over her arm. She takes one of your hands in hers, gives it a firm squeeze.

“Do you know them?” Nanako’s hand is in yours just as swiftly as her sister’s, and this time, you recollect yourself–you give her hand a squeeze first.

“I don’t know,” you lie, the first time you’ve lied to the girls in what seems like forever. “He was just apologizing for running into me.”

The girls look at each other, leaning forward, with you in between. You feel the weight of their stares glancing by you, like they might just brush your cheek. 

But–

“Let’s go home,” is all they say together, and begin to lead you away. You don’t dare answer Kenji, but as they turn you away, you dare it–

You give the smallest of nods.

You’ll meet him.

–

“Did you behave?” Geto murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead. Every muscle in your body seems to lock in at once, the thought pattering against your skull–He knows he knows he knows he knows–before he pulls away and laughs a little. A melodic sound that pulls you down from your tense height, though it feels like your feet skid the entire way.

“Only a tease,” he says, almost airily, before he looks at the girls. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Nanako and Mimiko exchange a look, and there, an awful thought–They’ll tell him–before they dutifully pull the sides of their shopping bags closer in near unison to hide their gifts. 

“You’ll find out at the party,” they say in unison, and you can’t help the cold wash of relief that runs through your stomach. They must have believed you, and they know mentioning the man to Geto will only spoil the party they’ve been planning for weeks. 

It will definitely spoil it, you think, once he finds out you’ve run away.

–

You’re not very poetic, as a general rule of thumb. Oh, sometimes you try. You take pen to paper and scribble out lines about your feelings, about the way the trees look in the garden you’re allowed to roam, the way Geto’s empty side of the bed feels in the morning. 

It never amounts to anything satisfying, you can’t quite seem to make the words stick. But here, now, in this moment, maybe you could write something worth remembering.

The moonlight brushes against Geto’s hair as daintily as your fingers, which skim the strands on the pillow, not daring to get anywhere close to his scalp, to the softness of his cheek. He might wake up. He might wake up and realize that he’s let you go in the night, his arms tired and slack, and you’ve slipped out of bed–

But you’re not gone yet, are you? No. Now, you’re leaning next to the bed, watching the way the moonlight through the window makes half his face glow in the darkness. He looks like a sculpture, with only a hint of his chest rising to tell you that he’s a living being, and not some piece of marble in the garden.

And oh, how lovely he looks. How serene. 

Maybe you should stay. Maybe this is an awful idea. Maybe it will simply lead to trouble and upset and you’ll topsy-turvy everything in your world again, and it won’t be worth it.

But then you remember Kenji’s hands squeezing yours and those thoughts, whirling and long repressed, of the world outside. The world you left behind. A world waiting to welcome you again, you’re sure, if you just make that first move to leave.

So you do leave–swiftly and with dread and hope fighting for space in your stomach. 

–

Meeting Kenji in the park is surreal. Being truly alone in some outside place, away from attendants, away from the girls, away from Geto. It is only you and Kenji and the moon above, watching silently. 

You don’t tell him about this out of body feeling; there is an embarrassment that overtakes you all too suddenly at the thought of letting him know everything.

Instead, you tell him about the kidnapping. The training. The ups and downs with Geto, the highs and lows of what has become of your life. The escape attempts, the fights, the slow descent into accepting that you won’t be able to leave.

You don’t tell him what he doesn’t need to know. How it feels when Geto strokes your back on nights you feel lonely, how it makes your stomach flutter when he kisses you with a quiet warmness instead of hunger; how you no longer dread his presence, but normalize it, welcome it–invite it, even.

“We’ll go to the police,” he says, and you feel bad for the barking laugh that pushes its way out of your throat. He didn’t mean to say something stupid. Pointless. You know that.

“He would find me,” you say, quietly. “Find us. He’d kill anyone involved. He’d kill you.” Would he kill me? You wonder, and don’t ask aloud. This should make Kenji give up. Run away, and protect himself. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he grips your hand again, squeezing it like he’s been the one to hold you all these years. He waits until you turn to look at him, and you can see the glossy tears in his eyes, the way he looks so frazzled–but determined. Hopeful. Kind. 

“Please let me help you.”

These words hurt your chest. 

“Is there a day you can slip away like this again?”

You don’t answer right away. You chew on the words, heart pounding. 

How sick it feels that some part of you wants to say no. Wants to be Cinderella hiking up her ballgown and calling out that she has to get back to her kidnapper’s compound by midnight or she’ll turn into a pumpkin.

But–

It’s not just Kenji that you left behind, is it? It’s your parents, your friends, your family, your neighbors. The world itself. 

And something small inside you, louder and louder, knows you want to get back to that world. 

“The party,” you murmur, almost without thinking. “Tomorrow night. Can you meet me at the gate of the compound?” 

Kenji’s smile breaks your heart and you feel tears slipping down your cheeks. He reaches up to brush them away and you almost flinch from the intimacy.

“Tomorrow night,” he repeats.

Tomorrow night indeed.

The giddiness of it all carries you all the way back to the compound, sneaking through the shadows, stumbling through the gaps in security that the girls taught you one evening so they could take you to see a movie in town. 

It even carries you through the hallways back to Geto’s bedroom, where he should still be sleeping–

Where he is, instead, sitting in his chair and staring right at you as you come through the doorway. He stands, when you enter, and you don’t move as he bridges the gap between you. 

"Where did you go off to?"

A lie passes your lips as easily as air. "I was just helping with the decorations for the party. S-Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.” 

He pauses, pulls you closer and leans in, kisses your neck. “Ah,” he hums, “And here I was worried you were trying to escape again.” He sighs into your skin, warm and tickling. “You’ve been so good. But I still wonder, now and then…”

It feels impossible for your muscles to lock in so tight, but they do, even as he pulls you back into the bedroom towards your shared bed. 

“No,” he says, almost a murmur. “You’ve been so good to me these past years, haven’t you?” He gestures towards the bed and you climb onto it, no need for instructions, and begin to disrobe. Your chest is tight–everything from your head to toe feels tight–and you’re waiting for something to snap. Him–or you? 

But he doesn’t. And you don’t. Instead, he lets his robe drop to his shoulders, then lower. 

“I think I’d like an early present,” he says, low. And the sound of his voice, the sight of him disrobing, brings a familiar heated flush–a familiar pride. A familiar feeling of usefulness that he has cultivated in you through careful training.

You don’t protest as he climbs onto the bed, as he hovers over you and begins to take what is his–but as your head hits the pillow, you wonder how much emptier the bed will be tomorrow night. –

It’s like you're not in your own body. Can Geto tell? Can the girls? You take another pretend sip of champagne so they think you’re just drunk, high on the alcohol and not the thought of freedom. What an elusive thing, freedom. Something you’d given up on grasping yet here it is, dangling in front of you, held by Kenji’s warm hands.

Geto is too busy for most of the night to stay near you. There are too many people, too many speeches, too many moving parts. It’s glorious, really, for the opportunity it gives you–

Because when he’s crowds-deep into the room, and the girls have run off to start gathering the gifts, you are able to slip away. It feels sickeningly easy. No one pays much attention to you anymore, not like they might have a few years ago, keeping you on a tight and perhaps literal leash.

It wasn’t practical to pack anything, so you try not to regret leaving a few treasured items behind as you shift through the shadows, keeping yourself in the darkness. Though it hardly matters. Most everyone is at the party, desperate for a glimpse of Geto; desperate to please him. Like you are, sometimes. Or were, you think. You’re going to leave all that behind. Aren’t you?

Kenji is standing at the gate like he isn’t seriously risking his life to help you. Like this is a game. He even smiles when you make it, as he pushes open the unlocked door and grips your hand to pull you through.

It makes your heart feel a bit strained–how stupid he is, how little he knows about Geto. How much more you know about him, how cruel he can be–How he looks when he sleeps contentedly by your side, how his smile gets a little higher when you do something he finds cute, how his fingers feel against your cheek.

Your feet skid against the ground. Oh, oh–

Kenji looks back when your gravity pulls against him. 

He says your name, and your chest tightens.  

“What’s wrong? Did you forget something?” A touch of annoyance in his voice. No wonder, he is afraid to get caught, after all. 

“No,” you say, voice cracking, throat dry. But haven’t you left something behind? No, not something. Someone. (Not just him–not just him, but the girls, too.) “It’s just–I just–I don’t know if I…” 

If I can leave him. 

You shouldn’t feel this way. You shouldn’t. But you do, and it keeps you rooted, keeps your shoes digging into the ground even as Kenji gives you a tug.

“Come on,” he says, more of a hiss. “We don’t have much time.” He gives another tug, and this time you actually pull against his grip. 

“I can’t!” 

The shock registers on his face as quickly as it registers in your heart, plucking hard like a taut string. 

Kenji’s surprise turns to something else, an emotion you haven’t seen for some time. Irritation–no. Stronger. Harder. Something meaner mixed with disbelief.

“What the hell–” He says your name in a way that makes it sound like an awful thing. “Don’t tell me–” His lip curls, his eyebrows furrow. “Don’t tell me you love that bastard. Think of what he’s done to you!”

Your tongue snakes out to lick your dry lips and you know what might be said here. What Kenji wants to hear. That you’re just confused, you’re scared, you don’t know what to do. 

But you do know what to do. And what you can’t say. What you don’t want to say to him. 

It doesn’t need to be said, anyway. It’s clear as day on your face, on the way your shoes are planted in the ground. Kenji’s expression turns awful and you can tell he understands that truth of yours; a truth that feels so much uglier when you’re outside the compound. 

You do love Geto. You do, and maybe it’s wrong and fucked up and–

Geto is here–somewhere. You can feel him, although there’s no sign of him anywhere, no sound of approaching footsteps. But it’s something innate in you now, this ability to sense his presence. 

“You have to leave,” you say, quickly, words hopping out of your mouth like a skipping stone. “Before it’s too late. He–he’ll kill you.” And despite the way Kenji looked at you, you don’t want him dead. You just want him gone and out of your life, back to his old world, even if he will no longer be ignorant–happily?--of your whereabouts.

For a moment he keeps a grip on your hand, and you wonder if he’ll plead with you to come with him. Convince you that your life here is terrible and you need to leave. He’ll try to convince you for so long that Geto will come and kill him, and you’ll sob over his dead body.

None of that happens. Instead, he lets go, abruptly, like your hand is electric. 

He says your name and when you look up at him, he merely shakes his head. 

“I don’t know who you are anymore. You’ve… changed.” Changed. Said awfully, like the word was spoiled milk in his mouth. 

“What do you mean?” And you ask this, despite perhaps not wanting the answer. 

It doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t give one.

Instead, he turns, without so much as a goodbye, and leaves you standing alone at the gate in the darkness. 

Alone–and clutching the string of your heart that kept you from leaving in the first place.

–

Everything is wrong. The compound should be lit up, all sound and music, the din of people inside the party. But instead, it’s like the world has been snuffed out–there is only darkness. Not even the familiar glow of candles in hallways or electric lights snug inside the maze of rooms.

There’s only one light and you follow it, moth to flame, all the while a knot in your stomach ties itself tighter and tighter. The world is quiet and dark and you’re going to the only thing you can see–the temple where Geto and his followers meet. 

A temple of light, now.

You don’t see anyone inside as you cross the threshold, but you’re not stupid enough to think that you’re alone.

And you aren’t–you aren’t, and when you sense Geto behind you, it is with the same familiarity as the feeling of someone presenting your winter coat to be put on at the long end of a weary evening.

Only instead of being enveloped in warmth, Geto stands behind you–and his hand shoots out to grip your neck.

It’s nostalgic, in its own way. The press of his fingers against your neck, the slight squeeze. A warning, but this time, you think it will be more than that. A blown last chance, perhaps. He’ll kill you. Or throw you out, and that might just be worse. 

“It was quite stupid of you,” he says, slowly, as if you need time to process his words, “to think that I wouldn’t find out what you were planning.”

How awfully nostalgic, too, when he pushes you against the hard stone of one of the statues in the temple. It connects with your side in a flash of pain, and Geto turns you around with ease. If he notices the way your body has begun to tremble, he doesn’t show it. 

“Humor me,” he murmurs, curling his hand around the front of your neck. “Why didn’t you leave with him?” 

His expression is cold, you think. You’ve gotten so much better at reading him, and yet, you haven’t done anything particularly displeasing in so long that it feels like wading into unfamiliar territory. 

“Not that you would have gotten far,” he adds, a slight sneer in his tone. “Not with that fool.”

A sneer in his tone, yes, but also–is it jealousy? How could Geto be jealous of someone like Kenji? Geto, who is smarter, and stronger; Geto, who always seems to know what you need, even when you don’t. Geto–the man you can’t imagine being without, despite it all.

The thoughts come like dominos, clicking together with precision.

“I didn’t leave because… because…”

Despite his grip on your neck, despite your trembling, despite the fear that he might kill you–

“I love you.”

You reach out and caress his cheek with one hand, and reach forward, his fingers pressing into the soft tissue of your neck, to kiss him softly on the lips. 

The surprise that registers on his face does not meld into disgust like Kenji; instead, it seems to freeze, and you’re keenly aware of the fact that you know he prefers to initiate any intimate contact himself. You forgot, in your haze, in the blurry anxiety of this evening. 

“I’m–” 

Sorry, you were going to say, but you don’t say; because his lips are suddenly on yours, hungry and warm and unrelenting. The hand on your throat grips the back of your hair and keeps you in place as he presses himself closer against you.

And what trembling you had from before is replaced with anew, but from warmth this time, from the buzzing that begins low in your bellybutton and spreads as Geto’s kisses travel from your mouth to your neck; as his fingers begin to work at your clothes.

“I want to hear you say that again–” He bites your neck, lapping at the mark. “And again–” His fingers undo the last belt holding your outfit together, and the fabric drops to the ground. “And again.”

You whimper as he guides you further into the temple, onto the space where he might normally greet his followers. The tatami presses against your bare skin as he begins to undo his own clothes, not bothering to order you to do it for him in his need.

“Until you’re screaming it,” he murmurs, his hair tickling your face as he looms over you. 

And you know his words are nothing short of a promise. 

–

You are sometimes a stupid thing, he thinks. Yet you are undoubtedly still his–stupid, yes, on occasion. But his. 

You proved that to him, on the night you chose not to run away. You wouldn’t have been able to, of course. That moronic monkey that called himself your “boyfriend” had neither the intelligence nor stamina to get you farther than the gate. He didn’t even sense the guards watching him the entire time.

He didn’t sense Geto, either, early the next morning, when he came to kill the fool who thought he’d steal something from a far superior being. 

If he hadn’t been still basking in the bliss of the night before, it might have been more excruciating. Oh, it hurt. Kenji’s eyes had gone wide and he’d choked on blood and tried desperately to get some final words out. But it might have been more entertaining to drag it out for hours–days–perhaps longer.

Ah, the things you make him do, without even realizing it. Unintentional mercy was just another thing to add to the list of things you’ve placed on his shoulders. 

He’d come here to tell you just that; to tell you how Kenji died, and why he died, and how he’s glad you’ll never have to worry about him bothering you again.

Only you’d surprised him. Something you don’t often do, even when you try.

Surprised him with a shy smile and your hands behind your back, holding something apparently quite precious.

It was–it is. 

A positive pregnancy test. No doubt procured by one of the girls. 

The full weight of it doesn’t hit him yet, won’t hit him, he thinks, until much later on. A child–with you. There is much to consider. Legacies and heirs and all that.

But for now, he focuses on you. You, not leaping for joy but smiling at him, an almost nervous sort of expectation on your face. He can see the thoughts dancing inside your head–Is this okay? Is he angry? Will he be happy? And he can never quite describe how it feels, this knowledge that he has so much power over you.

That he can make you smile shyly and look down with a nervous little glance and ask if he’s happy.

It’s endearing, truly. You’re endearing. 

And ah, that unintentional mercy strikes again. It is enough to make him slip Kenji’s bloodied watch into a fold of his robe.

For now–he’ll let you plan on how you’ll share the news with the twins. 

You can learn about the fool’s death another time.

[rmview]

when you’re just too cute, ATEEZ.

featuring — ateez members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — headcanons of what the ateez boys are like when you’re just too darn cute for words!

contents — fluff, cute aggression, no warnings.

hong ♥ joong

⟶ tries to play it cool but ends up stuttering whenever you do something adorable. ⟶ covers his face with his hands to hide his smile and mutters, “stop, you’re too much.” ⟶ pulls out his phone to record you, pretending it’s for memories but secretly watches the videos later. ⟶ uses your cuteness as inspiration for lyrics, often scribbling down phrases like, “you make my heart skip a beat.” ⟶ calls you “too dangerous” jokingly because your cuteness distracts him from work. ⟶ tries to tease you to balance the power dynamic but ends up melting when you pout. ⟶ gifts you oversized clothes because he thinks you’d look even cuter in them. ⟶ regularly mutters under his breath, “how can someone be this cute?” ⟶ always gives in when you ask for something in a sweet voice or with puppy eyes. ⟶ quietly brags about you to the other members, but acts nonchalant when they tease him about it.

seong ♥ hwa

⟶ softly pinches your cheeks and coos, “how are you so cute?” ⟶ tries to remain composed but ends up giggling whenever you do something adorable. ⟶ constantly offers to carry things for you, saying, “cute people shouldn’t have to lift a finger.” ⟶ gently fixes your hair or clothing while smiling fondly at you. ⟶ buys you cute accessories or plushies that remind him of you. ⟶ holds your hand more often, just so he can admire how small and delicate it is in his. ⟶ whenever you’re being too cute, he jokingly says, “i can’t handle this,” and pretends to walk away. ⟶ talks about your cuteness as if it’s a world-changing phenomenon. ⟶ tries to teach you his “cool” expressions but melts when you fail adorably. ⟶ protectively hovers around you in public, thinking everyone else must also find you too cute.

yun ♥ ho

⟶ laughs so hard at your cuteness that he has to sit down to recover. ⟶ constantly pokes your cheeks or playfully taps your nose, saying, “boop!” ⟶ teases you about how adorable you are but gets flustered when you call him cute in return. ⟶ loves it when you match his playful energy, especially with silly poses or expressions. ⟶ challenges you to aegyo battles but declares you the winner every time. ⟶ takes a million photos of you doing cute things, claiming he needs “evidence.” ⟶ randomly hugs you tightly and says, “you’re too cute. i’m keeping you.” ⟶ tries to keep a straight face but bursts into laughter when you catch him staring. ⟶ complains jokingly, “you’re going to give me a heart attack with that cuteness.” ⟶ encourages your cute behavior, saying, “don’t ever change. it’s perfect.”

yeo ♥ sang

⟶ quietly stares at you with a small smile, occasionally muttering, “so cute.” ⟶ pretends to be unbothered but blushes furiously when you catch him staring. ⟶ gently pokes your cheeks and murmurs, “i don’t think this is fair.” ⟶ buys you matching items, like plushies or keychains, because he loves seeing you happy. ⟶ when you’re being especially cute, he hides his face in his hands, saying, “you’re killing me.” ⟶ tries to tease you, but his soft voice gives away how much he’s enjoying it. ⟶ loves watching you get excited over little things and secretly takes pictures of those moments. ⟶ often uses your cuteness as a reason to spoil you. “how could i ever say no to that face?” ⟶ gives you his hoodie, just to see how adorable you look drowning in it. ⟶ sometimes tells the members, “they’re too cute. what do i do?”

san ♥

⟶ dramatically clutches his chest and exclaims, “i’m not strong enough for this!” ⟶ squeezes you in tight hugs and says, “you’re like a teddy bear. so squishy!” ⟶ constantly tells you how adorable you are, no matter what you’re doing. ⟶ pinches your cheeks gently while giggling, “so cute, it hurts.” ⟶ acts jealous if you’re being cute with the other members, saying, “that’s my cuteness!” ⟶ shows you off to everyone, bragging about how “the cutest person in the world” is his. ⟶ whines playfully when you’re cute during serious moments. “how am I supposed to focus now?” ⟶ randomly bursts into song about how cute you are, complete with dramatic gestures. ⟶ insists on taking selfies with you every time you do something adorable. ⟶ calls you his “weakness” and dramatically pretends to faint when you do aegyo.

min ♥ gi

⟶ laughs and squeezes you to his chest uncontrollably whenever you do something cute, sometimes until tears form. ⟶ ruffles your hair constantly, calling you his “little fluff.” ⟶ teases you about how small you are compared to him but secretly adores it. ⟶ tries to mimic your cute expressions but ends up making you laugh instead. ⟶ randomly picks you up and spins you around, saying, “i can’t help it — you’re too cute!” ⟶ constantly compliments you, saying, “you’re like a real-life cartoon character.” ⟶ pretends your cuteness “annoys” him but can’t stop smiling. ⟶ buys you snacks or small gifts just to keep seeing your excited reactions. ⟶ gushes about you to his members, saying, “they’re so cute, i don’t know what to do!” ⟶ like yeosang, always gives in to your requests because, as he says, “how can i say no to that face?”

woo ♥ young

⟶ playfully scolds you for being “too cute,” saying, “this is illegal!” ⟶ mimics your cute behavior but makes it extra dramatic for laughs. ⟶ pretends to faint or clutch his heart every time you do something adorable. ⟶ constantly calls you pet names like “cutie pie” or “baby.” ⟶ shows off your cuteness to everyone, saying, “look at them! aren’t they the cutest?” ⟶ takes countless candid pictures of you and saves them in a special album. ⟶ whines jokingly when you’re cute, saying, “you’re going to ruin me!” ⟶ pulls you into playful dances just to see you smile and giggle. ⟶ teases you, “you’re lucky i love you, or i’d be jealous of how cute you are.” ⟶ admits in quieter moments, “i never thought someone could make me this soft.”

jong ♥ ho

⟶ tries to act unaffected but ends up smiling every time you’re cute. ⟶ gently pokes your cheek and says, “you’re not supposed to be this cute, you know.” ⟶ loves teasing you about your cuteness but secretly thinks it’s the best thing about you. ⟶ randomly sings for you when he’s overwhelmed by your adorableness. ⟶ pretends to be “tough,” saying, “cute things don’t work on me,” but folds instantly. ⟶ often shakes his head in disbelief and says, “what am i going to do with you?” ⟶ buys you little treats or gifts, claiming, “i couldn’t resist because it’s cute like you.” ⟶ protectively hovers around you, saying, “you’re too cute to handle the world alone.” ⟶ laughs when you try to be serious because look adorable while doing it. ⟶ although always admits, “i don’t think i’ll ever get used to how cute you are.”

notes: i’m actually against doing the same trope for multiple groups, but if this is something you guys like then i might do it for my other groups too!

[mossygirl333]

bakery order if you please! <3

logan howlett - chocolate mousse, scotch sour, & tea; along with edging/orgasm denial which isn’t listed (or if it is i missed it and that’s my bad)

reader has been teasing logan for far too long- wearing skimpy outfits when he’s around, brushing up against him, giving him doe eyes she knows he can’t resist- so he decides it’s time to return the favor

AN: ofc!! thank you so much for the request Anon!

Logan Howlette x f!reader

Bakery Order: Chocolate Mousse- "You look pretty fucked dumb." + Scotch Sour- Degration + Tea- Sub reader

Tw/Cw: DUBCON, edging/orgasm denial, teasing, lots of foreplay, degradation, panty stealing, pervert!Logan, Old man!Logan, unprotected p in v, spanking

SMUT UNDER THE CUT!!

'stupid stupid girl'.

It was all Logan could think of when he saw you. Dainty outfits, thin material, meant to show off as much skin as possible without being straight up lingerie.

You'd bend across his desk to talk to him about the newest assignment, squishing your boobs together, trying to get them into his face. A pretty pout on your lips and wide innocent doe eyes staring down at him.

He knew exactly what you were doing. And as much as he loathed it, the act was working. Grunts and groans of filth leaving his mouth as he jerked off furiously in his empty office.

Peering across the dining room, watching you drop something and bend over, showing off the plump fat of your ass and lacy white panties. A lustful gaze locked onto his, sliding your hands up your thighs when you pop up. Looking back to see if it worked.

Running up to him in the winter time, giggling about it being cold and rubbing your hands across his muscular chest. Pushing your plump tits against him.

Maybe he was doing the same, it just became something he would do. Rub his half-hard cock through his jeans when you spoke, spreading his muscular thighs to show you how big he was. Walking around in just his boxers when he knew the two of you were the only ones out.

He stole your panties out of the laundry a few too many times. His sharp nose could pick up which one was yours. And yes, he did jerk off with them. Pressed up against his nose, rubbing against his leaky tip and finishing into the fabric.

"Accidentally" discarding them in your room when you were out. Leaving you confused and utterly aroused at the cumstained underwear left half-under your bed.

Eventually it came to be too much. Too overwhelmed by your "innocent" displays and downright filthy actions. He knew what you wanted and he was going to give it to you.

Cornering you in his office, you practically folded like a lawn chair. Kneeling down as his rough cock bruised your throat, gagging as tears stream down your face. Muffling and moaning around the thick girthy shaft. Swallowing down his cum with a cough.

Shoving you into the couch, hiking up your skimpy little skirt. No underwear, just how he expected you to be. Filth leaving his mouth, degrading and mean. Your lip trembles as he rammed into you, practically rearranging your guts.

Holding onto the sofa for dear life, his happy trail scratching across your ass, rubbing it raw. Loud moans and whines leaving your lips, drooling all over your smushed together tits.

"Such a dumb little whore huh? Look so pretty fucked dumb, drooling all over those fat tits."

You beg to finish, clit throbbing, but he refuses. "You cant cum yet slut, you gotta take care of me first~"

His girthy cock hitting all the spots except the ones you want, brushing against your little bundle of nerves but not enough to truly get anywhere. Tears of frustration and overwhelm filling your eyes and spilling over your plump cheeks.

He finishes, twice, before you can cum once. Leaving you a twitchy, shaking mess of semen and slick. Thighs quaking and trembling, cramping up as he lays you down. Giving a soft slap to your ass.

[sorrysisx]

Middle distance sisters who have started to feel... different.

You were at her place this time. Her college, her campus, her dorm, her home.

Her bedroom.

It doesn't look too different from when you shared one. Or the one she had when Mom made you two get different rooms.

She hasn't changed, has she?

She's still your big sister. The same big sister that patched up your scrapes, that played with you in the yard, that carried you inside when you were tired, that held your hand when you had to go to school, fought your bullies and stood up for you when no one else did,

--not even yourself.

She was still your sister and she still made your heart flutter. She still made you blush. She still made you giggle and laugh and feel so safe. So happy.

Do you deserve to feel this happy when you feel how you do about her?

Do you deserve to feel so at ease in her bed, feeling her hands rest on your tummy as she breathes so gently?

You're here for three more days, and all you can think about is turning around and...well what would you even do at that point? Its not like you can tell her that-

"Can I give you a kiss?"

. . .

What?

"What?"

She asked you again. A kiss on the lips, she specified. Quick, short, and just because.

Did you deserve to be this excited? Did you earn the blush flooding your cheeks? Did you really mean to tell her yes?

She's so close to you as you turn to face her in her bed. She smiles when she sees your face and you move a hand to hide it but she just brushes your hand aside, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Your big sister just stares at you for a moment, biting her lip.

She's so, so pretty up close.

"...Hi," she giggles.

"...hi..." You say, feeling a smile creep up onto your lips.

Is this it?

Is this a point of no return?

Did you deserve this?

She scoots a little closer and places her hand on your cheek. You aren't sure where to put yours, so you clasp them together and tuck them between your legs.

"Um," you whisper, feeling her breath dust your lips, "I, uhm...I haven't kissed anyone before."

"Then let me show you."

The moon glints off her eyes and the soft glow of the fairy lights above her bed guides you closer and closer, until you close your eyes and...

And you feel it.

Your sister's lips. Pressed right up against yours. You feel your sister giving you a kiss, on the lips, and you're pretty sure it's the best feeling in the entire world.

You deserve this, you think to yourself, before she pulls away.

How long did that last for? How did it make you feel so dizzy? How did just a kiss from someone like her make your heart feel so, so full?

Before you have the chance to tell her thank you, before you can think too hard about what you just did, before you get too caught up in self loathing or regret or dread--before you could ask her for one more--she tucks you under her chin, and you both drift off to sleep.

[cadavercowboy]

O Come, All Ye Frightful

Art The Clown x Reader | WC: 5.3k+ | Explicit Content

Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Santa actually comes way more than once a year. Warnings: 18+ ONLY — Minors DNI. Idk this entire thing feels slightly sacrilegious. Art being criminally hot in the Santa suit while behaving like a Certified Freak. Slightly dubious consent. Handjob. Premature ejaculation. Multiple orgasms (his refractory period is non-existent). Cum as lube. Unprotected sex. Rough sex. Choking & breath play. Degradation if you squint really hard. A/N: In the words of my iconic king...ho, ho, UH OH🎄Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and so on and so forth. <3

The clock hands finally crawl their way past 7pm and you sigh tiredly, knowing you’ll soon be freed from this hellish holiday prison. Christmas music plays quietly from the speaker system and you mouth the words mockingly, tired of hearing the same dozen or so songs repeat over and over during each shift. Between rude, entitled customers and the unruly hordes of children screaming their heads off for a chance to beg a fake Old Saint Nick for crap they definitely don’t need, you’ve just about had your fill of the season.

Outside the store, the rest of the deserted shopping mall has been left in engulfing shrouds of pitch-blackness; the other closed-down and empty shops like a line of pocket-sized abysses. It’s Christmas Eve and everyone else has shut their doors early to spend time with loved ones. You should be home too, but your boss is a heartless prick.

You huff with annoyed boredom, bent over beside the register with your elbows planted atop the counter and your palms cradling your chin. It’s been dead for hours—not a single customer in sight—but you’ve been forbidden to leave until the mall officially closes for the night. A quick glance at the clock says that’ll be in about an hour or so. Just beyond the entryway, a flurry of movement near the floor catches your attention and you lean over the counter to see what it is. 

The dingy strands of an old mop sweep into view and your eyes trace along the wooden handle until they land upon Mike, clad in his loose-fitting uniform. His long legs bring him into view with stuttered steps as he cleans the tiled floors. He spares you a quick glance and a wave which you return, trying to hide your obvious disappointment in the presence of the headphones planted firmly over his ears. You’d kill for some conversation right now. 

Aside from the janitor’s brief visit and the flash of someone dressed all in red in the distance, you’re certain the building is otherwise totally vacant. With that in mind, you decide to pack it up just a little early. What your boss doesn’t know won’t kill him, you muse.

Your back is turned as you straighten merchandise and lock the door to the rear exit, rendering you completely unaware of the noiseless presence lurking and watching you from just around the corner. When you close out the register, your head is buried in the drawer and your attention is too focused on what you’re doing to notice the tall figure which glides sneakily past the shop.

You flip the switches near the door and step outside, reaching over your head to pull down the steel security gate. The heavy contraption slams shut with a resounding clang and you crouch with your key in hand to lock it in place. From your stooped position, you spot a small puddle and several oddly-shaped droplets splashed across the tile floor beneath you; the substance opaque and viscous. You hum contemplatively, knowing Mike had been by not long ago to mop and wondering where the mystery liquid could have come from. With a dismissive shrug, you stand back up and turn to head for your usual exit, the only door you know will still be unlocked at this hour.

A single row of recessed lights remain lit overhead, lending a somewhat spooky atmosphere to the abandoned concourse. You reach up to whip the red-and-green felted elf hat off of your head, the decorative gold bell jingling as you shove it into the pocket of your matching dress. A pair of tight, flesh-toned stockings hug your legs and you long to peel them off. While the uniform is fun and festive, this year you’re feeling decidedly not. In fact, you’d go as far as to deem yourself unjolly. Even as you absently hum along to the tune still filtering through the mall, you aren’t feeling your usual holiday joy.

Passing through the food court, you approach the center of the mall where the massive North Pole backdrop still stands, illuminated beneath the silvery halo of a light that never gets turned off. You laugh to yourself, wondering whether a selfie inside Santa’s sleigh in your silly costume might help to prompt some Christmas cheer. You'd deemed yourself too old to take a photo with the man himself during business hours, but you still deserve to have a little fun on your own time, you suppose.

With renewed energy, you traipse towards the yuletide scenery where you find the zig-zagging velvet ropes blocking your way, but easily slip beneath the blockade between two posts. Once you’ve entered the empty queue, you spy a comically large pair of black boots sticking up from inside the sleigh—propped casually on the curled front. Your heart stops at the exact moment the ambient music cuts off and the wide-open space falls eerily silent. It would appear you aren’t as alone as you thought.

A familiar red hat peeks over the back of the cushioned bench seat and you approach cautiously, admittedly hoping to find the rosy-cheeked man who usually occupies the sleigh. Maybe you’ll be permitted to take a photo with Santa after all, as childish as the notion may be. 

What you actually find is alarmingly opposite of what you expected. The face tucked beneath the fur-rimmed hat isn’t jolly or round, nor is it warm or welcoming. It’s harsh and angular, painted in a stark black-and-white motif; seemingly done up for the wrong holiday altogether. A long, lithe body clad in all the trappings of a traditional Santa suit reclines leisurely in the sleigh, crowding the confined space as if he belongs there. Blackened lips wrap around the blunt tip of a candy cane and upon hearing your startled gasp, a pair of pure white eyes—spectral and inhuman—lock onto your face. The darkened pupils shine like two specks of coal.

Art’s expression twists into one of genuine surprise, having not expected you to come across him quite so soon. Your eyebrows flick upwards and he mirrors the gesture, waiting with barely restrained excitement as the wave of confusion contorting your face is swiftly replaced with the tell-tale signs of apprehension he knows and loves. His stomach knots with gleeful anticipation.

“S-sorry,” you laugh, awkward and breathy. “I thought you were Santa.”

The clown immediately hurls the peppermint candy aside and his oversized shoes come down with a loud thud as he hastily sits upright in the sleigh. Art points frantically to the massive banner overhead that bears the namesake, then gestures to himself; seemingly wanting to indicate that he is in fact Santa Claus. You can only chuckle in amusement, but when he emphatically waves in an attempt to have you join him where he sits, you realize he isn’t joking. 

Your smile falters only a little and with a dismissive lift of your hand, you attempt to politely decline his request. Art is not pleased with this response so he childishly stamps his feet and crosses his arms over his chest as he regards you with an exaggerated and churlish pout. When he tries crooking a beckoning finger in your direction, an actual laugh escapes unbidden. His surly expression of disappointment softens slightly at the sound and his hope renews. He attempts once more to entice you, this time patting a velvet-clad thigh with his hand and even offering an inviting if not unsettling smile.

Something about the animated stranger intrigues you and you find yourself compelled to accept the clown’s invitation. You relent with some hesitation, smoothing your palms over the knee-length skirt of your elf dress and shuffling timidly towards the sleigh. Art can hardly contain himself and twists his body, looking swiftly from side to side as if struggling to remain calm and seated. You lift your foot onto the raised platform and slide your way into the tight space with him.

Art continues to wiggle back and forth restlessly, his knees pressed tightly together as he pats them excitedly with both hands before eventually straightening his spine and adjusting himself until his posture is stiff and proper. A rush of air bursts from your nose as you laugh nervously. The celebratory clapping of his palms is muffled slightly by his fingerless gloves as he waits for you to plant yourself in his lap. You do so gingerly, lowering yourself with as much finesse as you can manage and situating your bottom at the very edge of Art’s bony knees.

You’re perched awkwardly only for a moment because Art promptly yanks you in, spreading his own legs so abruptly that you nearly tumble to the floor of the sleigh between his feet. The jarring movement forces you to reach out, grabbing onto his shoulder with one hand to balance yourself as he wraps an arm around your waist and uses the other hand to nestle both of your legs between his parted thighs. Your hip is so close to his body, you can feel the warmth emanating off of him and notice a distinct lack of the customary belly you’d normally expect to find beneath the velvety soft suit.

“Sorry,” you apologize a second time, clearing your throat with a smile and another awkward chuckle as you fold your hands in your lap. “This is probably weird...me sitting on a grown man’s lap.”

Art responds with a scandalized, open-mouthed frown and a firm shake of his head that makes the white pom-pom sewn at the end of his hat flop back and forth. He blinks his eyes rapidly and swishes a gloved hand in your direction, effectively batting away your concerns. It’s clear he finds little issue in having you perched on his thigh. 

When Art leans uncomfortably close, you stiffen, though he pays it no mind and peers around your shoulders to look at one of the props which comprise the festive scene. It’s a crooked sign whimsically nailed to a red-and-white striped pole that begs the question: What Do You Want For Christmas? He sweeps his hand towards the signage—inviting and expectant—prompting you to provide an answer.

“Hmm,” you stall, having not expected the creepy clown to go through all the motions of the mall Santa experience. You shift with a huff and his arm tightens around you as his other hand pats the outside of your thigh in what you suppose is meant to be some semblance of encouragement. It only serves to distract, filling your head with a disorienting buzz at the near-intimate closeness of this complete stranger. “Guess I haven’t really given it much thought.”

He considers your admittance for a moment, his face slack and pensive before he shrugs. Art releases his hold on your thigh in favor of diving a hand into a pocket in the pants of his red suit. To your surprise, out comes an artfully weathered scroll of paper that he unrolls with a quick flick of his delicate wrist. Evidently another prop, it contains names written in two columns—apparently a naughty and nice list. Art tips his head towards the paper and regards you inquisitively, as if asking which side you belong on.

“Well, I think the nice list,” you offer, happily playing along. “But I’m not entirely sure what it would take to end up on the naughty list.”

The clown tilts his head and regards you like a predator, grinning salaciously and wagging his thinly-drawn eyebrows in a way that causes an undeniable heat to stir low in your belly. You squirm in the clown’s lap and he playfully squeezes your leg just above your knee. Your cheeks prickle with something you’d rather not acknowledge and suddenly you can no longer meet Art’s pale gaze. Endeavoring to assuage your growing discomfort, you redirect your attention back to why you’d come over here in the first place.

“Would you mind if I took a picture of us?” you inquire politely. 

Art acquiesces quite gladly and frantically nods in agreement, his obvious enthusiasm making you smile. You shift your weight to access the deep pocket of your costume and his colorless eyes follow your every move. 

“You don’t talk very much, do you?” 

The conversational question somehow sounds more invasive out loud than it had in your head and you turn to dig around determinedly in your pocket so as to disguise the way you cringe. Luckily, your phone slides out and brings with it the floppy elf hat you’d shoved in there earlier, leaving no time for Art to respond. Not that he would.

The clown moves swiftly, snatching the crumpled felt hat and violently unfurling it with a loud jingle. His mouth forms a perfect circle of delight and he gives the hat several more shakes just to hear the musical tinkling before lifting both arms to gently fit it over the top of your head.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” you say, bending to allow him better access and smirking when he playfully flicks the little gold bell sewn on the end.

He adjusts the hat to his liking, then taps a single long digit on the tip of your nose. You duck your head bashfully, though he doesn’t allow you to hide for long. Two slender fingers hook under your chin and he lifts you by the jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes in a silent stare that stretches on until your pulse increases and your entire body grows hot.

Turning your attention to the phone clutched in your fingers, you beg your hands not to shake as you open the camera app and lift the device to align both yourself and Art in the frame, making sure to include the beautifully decorated tree in the background. The clown is so large, you have to extend your arm to its limit in order to fit him. As you do, his eyes meet your own in the image reflected on the screen and he draws his body even closer to yours. One of his hands drop into your lap and the other rests gently against your lower back. You swallow loudly. 

“Smile,” you command softly, struggling to make your lips lift in a gesture that doesn’t reflect the conflicting feelings of trepidation and attraction brewing within you.

Art’s grin slashes across his face in an instant, a wide set of teeth suddenly emerging from behind his inky lips. His ghostly eyes burst open and his eyelids all but disappear with the exaggerated stretch of his face. The abrupt appearance of the severe expression makes your stomach curl with unease, but you cannot deny the way the thrilling glimmer of fear settles somewhere a little further down.

You snap a couple of photos, then switch the angle to capture a few more. When you drop your arm slightly, Art repositions himself as well. With the hand that had settled in your lap, he reaches up to cup your chin and draw your face nearer to his. This close, your senses cloud with nothing but the clown: the earthy scent of grease paint mixed with something spicy, the warmth of his nearness and touch, the subtle whisper of his steady breathing.

His painted skin is unexpectedly soft when it rests against your own and he goofily purses his lips against your cheek like a teenage girl taking a silly selfie. While the pose appears playful, the painful way his fingertips pinch the flesh of your face against the firm edge of your jawbone is anything but. Shock zings through your body, though the heat it carries isn’t due entirely to surprise. Art holds you with unrelenting force and your smile weakens even further as you fire off several more snapshots.

Before you can lower your phone, Art’s hand ventures from the small of your back until it settles between your shoulder blades. Its counterpart finally falls away from your face, instead reaching for the illuminated screen and switching over to a video before returning to firmly encircle your throat. Your breath catches and you suddenly feel as though you may overheat. The furry cuff of his suit presses against your cleavage, the synthetic material quickly absorbing the warmth that rolls off of your body in waves. Your hand shakes so much, you doubt the recording will even be watchable.

When Art turns his head, the tip of his pointed nose drags sensually along your jaw and his grinning mouth opens with an audible slickness. Humid puffs of breath skitter along your hypersensitive flesh, a prelude to the wetness of his tongue wriggling lasciviously along your cheek and up towards your temple.

You’re paralyzed—arm still hovering parallel to the floor—frozen beneath the disbelief of Art’s seductive attention and held still by the increasing pressure surrounding your neck. You know you should tell him to stop or push him away, but you just can’t bring yourself to put an end to the suggestive way he holds you prisoner and samples the saltiness of your skin.

As quickly as he licked your face, Art stops and you cease filming with your phone, hardly able to comprehend what you’ve just recorded. His mouth snaps shut with force and his hands slip away from your body as if burned by the contact. To your surprise, he carries on as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened and steadies you in his lap as he pitches to one side.

Reaching into a bag stashed near his feet, Art presents you with a single candy cane. Your head is still reeling from the hot, wet drag of his tongue across your skin and it takes a moment for your brain to catch up to what your eyes are seeing. The hooked confection is waved tantalizingly in front of your face before you manage to raise a hand and accept it.

“T-thank you,” your words emerge barely a breathy whisper. 

The cellophane crinkles slightly in your grasp and you robotically stuff your phone back into your pocket. Your body moves on autopilot as you plant your feet and shift to stand, but Art’s sinewy arm bands around your waist and crushes you right back into his lap. It seems to jostle you from your stupor and you blink several times before turning to face the mysterious clown. He reaches out and snatches the candy cane from your hand, causing you momentary concern that you’ve done something to offend him by trying to leave. 

He proceeds to methodically unwrap the candy with theatrical flair, then holds it out to you, indicating a desire for you to eat it here and now. You hum in understanding and attempt to take the candy cane, however Art pulls it away with a chiding look and instead directs it towards your mouth himself. Staring incredulously, you watch with niggling suspicion as the clown nods in encouragement, a glint of something sinister flickering in his white irises. 

Your lips part obediently and though you do so somewhat clumsily, you lean forward and—as requested—allow the candy to slip into your mouth. Sweet peppermint flavor bursts across your taste buds and your mouth instantly begins to water. Art studies you with unflinching and steadfast attention as he feeds you, his pupils expanding into deep, dark pools of hunger. While the act is bizarre and slightly humiliating, you find yourself inexplicably turned on; exhilarated by the pleased way in which Art’s open-mouthed expression seems to silently praise your compliance. 

Perhaps it’s how intimately close you are to his monochrome face or the way he shamelessly watches the lewd swirling of your tongue with such rapt, appreciative awe, but you find yourself clenching your thighs in an attempt to quell the sudden wetness blooming between your legs. Art takes notice of your restless predicament and his body responds in kind, blood rushing to his loins where he begins to harden against you.

Without warning, Art yanks the candy cane from your mouth, giving no thought to the way the sharp, hard sugar scrapes painfully along your bottom lip. He plunges the spit-sheened end of it into his own mouth, savoring the taste of you and coating it with his own saliva before carelessly shoving it past your now-bleeding lips once more. 

You’re unsure what possesses you to behave so wantonly, but you lock eyes with the clown and practically swallow the narrow cylinder of candy whole; being mindful of the slight point your sucking had formed, but taking it deep into your mouth until your lips meet the tips of Art’s fingers where he holds the curved end of the candy cane. For good measure, you even let out a throaty moan that shatters the quiet of the empty mall. 

His drawn-on eyebrows raise so high, they disappear behind the furry brim of his hat and his mouth rounds into a humorous circle of facetious astonishment. This time, he removes the candy cane from your lips more gently, ignoring the thin strand of saliva that follows it. With the list he had procured earlier back in hand, Art takes the pointed end of the candy cane and uses it as a pencil, pretending to add your name to the naughty column. He smiles proudly and fakes a hearty laugh before blindly tossing the props over his shoulder.

You lick your sticky, bloody lips and try once more to slide off of Art’s lap. When he latches onto you this time, something noticeable shifts in his demeanor. Whether it is the darkening of his eyes or the muscles in his body growing taut and coiling like a beast prepared to pounce, it is blatant and frightening. Your skin prickles with apprehensive awareness, though your aching center doesn’t seem to receive the same message. 

A breathy cry escapes you when Art harshly twists your body around, pulling you away from his thigh and settling you directly over his pelvis where you immediately feel an unmistakable ridge of firmness through the thin material of his suit. You have no choice but to allow all of your weight to rest against him as Art holds you down and begins to grind against your ass. He isn’t testing your reaction to his advances like you might have expected, rather the distinct lack of shyness in the unhurried rotation of his hips indicates something more like a warning of what’s to come.

Unsure what else to do with your idle hands, you reach behind yourself and brace either palm on the clown’s writhing hips. Your biceps quiver with the effort to ease at least some of your weight off of Art’s lap, but he’s having none of it. He yanks you down fully and even parts his thighs wider to facilitate more contact between your body and his painfully hard erection. You’re overcome with your own bout of carnal need and reciprocate his enthusiasm, swiveling your hips with determined precision.

Art has only known physical contact though the occasional struggle of a terrified victim’s body against his own and this new sensation is totally foreign to him. The stimulation is overwhelmingly pleasant—a particular faction of indulgent self-gratification yet unfamiliar to him—and he leans into the strangeness of it. His body’s reaction is swift and imminent. Art’s arms twine around you with disconcerting strength that renders you immobile, practically squeezing all the air from your lungs as a powerful shiver wracks his trembling body.

The clown makes no sound, but he hotly exhales the relief of his release against the back of your sweat-dampened neck. His hold is unrelenting, trapping you close to the solid heat of his lanky frame for a moment longer until he recovers. However, his composure does not return and instead he’s burdened with a new and curious hunger which instantly begs to be sated.

Art presses both hands to your lower back and shoves you forward onto his right knee, creating enough space between your bodies to access the elastic waistband of his crimson costume. His gloved hands move with grace and speed, easily freeing himself from the suffocating velvet prison. The consuming fire in your belly beckons you to turn and look at him and in doing so, you fan the flames into a raging inferno of desire.

A light sheen of sweat decorates the narrow sliver of skin that is visible between the disheveled halves of the rumpled Santa suit. Beads of cum still ooze from the tip of his length and evidence of his orgasm smears messily along the pale skin of a thick and still visibly hard cock. With lust-driven bravery, you reach for it, desperate to feel the solid heat of the turgid flesh against your palm and yearning to quench a lecherous thirst of your own.

The tacky streaks of Art’s release wet your skin as you grip his swollen dick and give him an experimental squeeze. You slide your fisted hand from the reddened, shiny tip all the way down the veiny shaft until your knuckles meet the cum-matted thatch of hair at the base. The engorged appendage throbs noticeably in your grasp and Art’s shoulders drop as he throws his head back. His white irises roll and disappear behind his hooded eyelids, his body thrashing with stilted, stuttered jolts as your fingers tighten and you take advantage of the glide of his slick spend to begin steadily jerking him off. 

When your thumb sweeps over the sensitive head, Art flinches at the stimulation and a milky rope of cum spills lazily from the slit. The warm strand of seed splashes across the back of your hand and in a flash, he’s rudely batting your sticky fingers away from his cock with a sharp slap. 

You’ve barely recovered from the harsh contact when his spindly fingers delve under your skirt and tear at your tights until the delicate threads come apart and allow him access to your panties which he yanks unceremoniously down your thighs, the garment tangling in the torn stockings still wrapped around your legs. Art’s hands dig claw-like into the flesh of your upper arms, brutishly twisting and turning you as he pleases; dragging you back into his lap so he can lift your hips high enough to notch the tumescent head of his cock at your center. 

A grating cry rips from your throat and echoes through the cavernous building when you’re violently yanked down and stretched with sudden force around Art’s erected cock. Though unprepared for the size of him, your cunt swallows the clown’s length with little trouble. As your lips part with an unbridled cry of ecstasy, your cheeks sting with shame at how the flood of moisture leaking from your core eases the harsh penetration, the momentum of you taking Art’s cock halted only on account of his considerable girth.

Finally managing to get your feet under you, you scramble to escape the dizzying pressure and overwhelming penetration so you can catch your breath, but Art refuses to allow you a single second of reprieve. He stands abruptly without ever pulling free of your relenting body, sinking his cock unbelievably deeper as he bends you over the curved front of the sleigh. Your elbows crash painfully into the hard surface when you attempt to catch yourself before your face makes contact. As you adjust your position, your hips drop in a way that forces the bulbous head of Art’s length to grind against you with blinding pleasure and your knees grow weak.

With your eyes pinched shut against the onslaught of sensations, you can’t see Art reaching towards the massive Christmas tree to unravel a length of perfectly-strewn ribbon. He yanks the metallic gold material free and gives it a dramatic twirl through the air before lashing it across your back the same way Santa whips his trusty team of reindeer, ushering you to continue writhing so willingly along his slippery cock.

Art quickly grows bored of that and instead takes the ribbon between two fists with a flourish while he continues to thrust leisurely; burying his cock to the root then slowly, tortuously, and teasingly dragging it back out until only the tip remains within your spongy walls. He reaches over your head with the ribbon, taking advantage of your parted mouth to wedge the scratchy material between your lips. It pulls taut and settles between your teeth, becoming the perfect means for Art to wrench your head back at an uncomfortable angle. His eyes widen comically when they meet yours upside down in a taunting stare, holding your gaze hostage as he starts to fuck you mercilessly.

Mounting you like a feral animal, Art becomes desperate with the need to wreck you wholly; driven by the desire to possess and consume you. His hips surge with unforgiving and powerful thrusts that have his heavy balls slapping your clit with each stroke.

You call out on every deep drive of his cock, the unsteady and unpredictable rhythm sending you into a tailspin of pleasure that robs you of the ability to breathe. Drool and tears spill down your face, the harried sounds he forces from you catching in your throat as you gasp for air. The hat crammed down on your head falls sideways, its cadenced jingling a derisive reminder of the depraved things the clown is inflicting on you.

Before long, the frenzied push and pull of his cock isn’t enough for Art and his lips split with a snarl, his teeth bared in a savage display of greed. Nothing but complete surrender will satisfy him and only total ruin could fulfill his recently unmasked libido. He wants to watch you fall apart and the evil motive shines brightly in his unsettling eyes.

Using your tongue, you force the spit-soaked material from your mouth so it falls around your neck. Art gathers it in one hand and pulls tight, fashioning the glittery ribbon into a sort of noose that begins to choke you out. While the position of your head is more comfortable, the lack of oxygen certainly isn’t.

Your grow light-headed both from the inability to breathe and the unrelenting grind of Art’s fat cock. With his unoccupied hand, he grabs your waist with bruising pressure and pins you in place so he can curl his towering frame over top of you. Blanketed beneath the heat and heft of the impassioned clown, your ribcage presses agonizingly against the edge of the sleigh and you can do nothing but accept Art’s brutal usage of your body.

Bending his knees, he leverages his height to fuck up into you with rapid and shallow thrusts before he cruelly buries every inch of himself inside you. Your slick walls spasm around the thick, veiny intrusion as an orgasm slams through you. Art cums with you as your pussy ripples and squeezes, but he has no intention of relenting. He ruts wildly against your ass, fucking you harder and faster until your juices spill around him and your combined fluids form a creamy ring around the throbbing base of his cock.

You bite back a scream when Art pulls out of you with a vindictively mimed laugh. The sudden termination of your pleasure sends you tumbling to the ground on unsteady legs that refuse to hold you up any longer. Twisting as you fall, you’re met with the sight of Art looming tall and ominous above your crumpled form. With his thickening cock in hand, he fists himself like a madman, crowding over you just in time to paint your face with yet another burst of cum. Ropes of opaque fluid splatter messily over your features.

The clown gives his length several harsh shakes, managing to flick a few more measly drops of his release onto your stained skin. Your face twinkles and sparkles in the light coming from overhead, appropriately looking like flecks of snow melted on your cheeks and lips. Clapping happily above you, Art offers you a rather proud thumbs-up of approval, deciding you fit in rather perfectly with the rest of the festive decor.

David Howard Thornton Masterlist || Writing Masterpost

[storiesfromafan]

I Want All Of You (18+) - Benny x Plus!Size Reader

A/N: I bring you all part two of my plus size reader one-shot 😊

Feedback always welcome 😅

Warning/s: 18+, smut, unprotected p in v, a bit of praise kink (?), grammer/spelling mistakes

Tag list: @psychocitylights @lilithlunastark

Kathy was right, a man will always want to be seen with his woman. No truer statement fitted Benny. After the first night he did everything to chase you. Showing up at the house, or your work, to make sure you were right to get home, or needed a ride. Even watching you as you grocery shopped with Kathy. It became so much that one night you just asked him; what do you want Benny?

His response; you.

You were shocked, surprised, excited and scared all wrapped up in one chaotic ball. You asked him why you? What made you so special. He looked you in the eyes, point blank and asked why not? That stumped you. There were so many reasons why it shouldn’t be you. But in that moment, you couldn’t think of them. The holding gaze Benny had on you, all the negative thoughts, or doubts disappeared. How did he have such power over that part of you?

Maybe it was the way he pursued you. Not taking no for an answer. Not caring who saw him with you, talking to you, wanting you. The determination in this man was commendable. That was why you gave in. No man has ever pulled you in for a kiss so fast. A hungry, possessive kiss. His large hands holding onto your waist securely, like you’d run from him. The way his tongue dominated your own, had your knees buckling. When Benny pulled back, he enjoyed the kiss drunk look on your face. Telling himself to do that to you often.

Though you were happy and excited for what you had with Benny. You found it hard at times to fully let yourself loose itself. Such as when Benny would kiss you stupid. Hands running over your body. Usually started with your chest, down your sides to grasp your hips. Or grope your behind. His movements were desperate and dominating. But you would shift, or move away. Worried that sooner or later Benny would find a part of your body that he doesn’t like. So, you kept as much distance as you could. But it was hard with his need to touch you.

Monday was an extra day off, making up for a double you’d done Friday. Kathy was at work, leaving you to do your share of the house work. Before you were done you heard that familiar rumble of an engine coming down the street, before it stopping out the front of your house and the engine cutting out. You smiled softly knowing Benny was here to see you. Like he did every day you’re off, along with nights. Yet he hadn’t stayed the night, or been in your bed.

You made it to the front door just as Benny leant in to knock, of course surprising him. But then he shot you an amused smirk.

“I could hear you two streets away with that thing" you mused leaving the door open, and returning to the kitchen to finish scrubbing some pots.

“That thing is my bike" he retorted closing the door after entering the house. “And you like my bike”.

You laughed from the sink, a sight that greeted Benny as he leant in the kitchen doorway. The soft sound of the radio on in the background, which you were absent-mindedly moved too. Oh how Benny enjoyed watching your body move, swaying side to side. Those curves he enjoyed feeling, before you’d shift or move away. Cutting him off from the simplest joys. He had thought about it for the last week, and the only thing he could put it down to was you being self-conscious. Afraid there will be a part of you he won’t like. Which is wrong.

To Benny, your body was a supple, curvy feast for his eyes and hands. If you’d give him the chance, he would run his hands over every part of your body. His lips, tongue and teeth not fair behind them. He would worship you till you couldn’t take it anymore.

Moving from his spot, Benny crossed the room to stand behind you. His arms wrapping around your waist, and burying his face in the crook of your neck. You giggled when his stubble brushed your skin, while you fidgeted in his hold. Yet Benny made sure you weren’t getting away from him this time. You protested and whined, making it about needing to finish the pots. But really you were worried today would be the day he’d find something about your body to dislike.

“Stop fidgitin' baby" Benny sighed against your neck. “I just want to feel ya”.

You quieted down, movements halting. You racked your brain for an excuse, a reason, to get out of his hold. But you couldn’t think of one. Shakily you continued to scrub the pot before you. While Benny remained wrapped around you. Happy to finally get to feel you against him. But he could tell you were still holding back, and he knew he had to nip it in the butt once and for all. So Benny started to think of a plan, one that would show you just how much he loved your body.

Starting by soft, sloppy kisses to your neck. His hands then moved over your stomach, which had a little chub to it, but not enough for a tummy. You stiffened when his hands roamed that area. Which was a worry of yours. But Benny didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he was being nice. Slowly his hands headed up, over your ribcage to cup your breasts. His large hands encased each mound, slowly caressing them over the sweater you were wearing. With the first gentle squeeze, a small sigh slipped from your lips, a little surprised mixed with a touch of pleasure. Yet, you were still fighting those self-doubts.

Benny planted a firm kiss to your neck, before moving and nipping your earlobe. “You’re so beautiful” Benny growled lowly in your ear. “Every inch of you...”

He moved his hands back down your stomach, and to your hips. Holding them firmly he drew his head back, before he turned you around to face him. Benny's lips met yours in a hard kiss, hands slipping to your rear. Firmly he squeezed before drawing you close to him. Your chests pressed together. Benny pushed his tongue into your mouth, dominating it. The way his tongue took charge, stroking your tongue in a guiding manner. He wanted you to know you were everything.

You pulled back from the kiss with a small squeak when Benny picked you up, his large hands cradling your behind. Those delicious arms of his flexing with strength as he held you up. You protested, saying to put you down. That you were too heavy to lift, you’d hurt him. Those words soon died on your tongue when he shot you a dark, angry look. Resting you against the sink, Benny held your gaze firmly before speaking.

“Sweetheart, these arms were made to pick you up. What kind of man would I be if I couldn’t carry my girl?” his tone was low, gravelly but deathly serious. Sending a delightful chill down your spine.

You moved your hands to his shoulders, gripping his denim vest and t-shirt. You felt embarrassed by his hold on you, but his strong words lightened you a bit. That flutter in your stomach back because Benny wanted to show you, you were just like everyone else. Feeling pride in him, you leant in and gave him a quick kiss. Which made him smile. It was a small step forward to you getting over your self-consciousness, and Benny would take it.

“I want you" he said softly, looking you deep in the eyes. “I want all of you".

God, he knew what to say to make you a mess. If he keeps going, you’d go limp in his arms. You know if he keeps talking like this, you might finally believe it all. You crushed your lips to his, hand moving to hold the back of his head. Your lips moved together in a fever, tongues colliding and caressing in a rush. You might be a worry wart, but you wanted this man to help you get over it or learn to love yourself through his eyes.

Pulling back, Benny hoisted you up in his arms, a loud squeak leaving your lips this time. Which made you both laugh. Before he carried you from the kitchen, and up the stairs to your room. Entering the room, Benny made sure to close the door with his foot. He placed you upon the bed, a tad ungraceful, resulting in him leaning over you. Again you both laughed, before sharing a quick tender kiss. What should be a heated moment, seemed to have touches of clumsy and laughter. Which seemed to ease you.

Pulling back, Benny removed his denim vest and then his t-shirt. Giving you the opportunity to gaze at his chest. And what a sight to behold. Starting at his pecks and then down his abs. Noticing where you were looking, Benny ran a hand over his chest, down and then up, a knowing smirk on his full lips.

“Like what ya see?” He asked with a chuckle, and a wink.

You blushed, but nodded your head.

“Good" he stated, leaning back over you again, eyes boring into yours. “Because I know I’m gonna like what I’ll see".

Benny's hands moved to the hem of your sweater, his fingers sliding under as it rode up. You stiffened, holding your breath. He kissed your lips, softly telling you all the right words before moving his hand higher, fingers skimming over the flesh of your stomach. The pads of his fingers were rough against your soft skin. His hand warm, almost scorching you. Yet the briefest touch of his ring was cool. You relaxed but shuddered at the feelings he was bringing forth in you.

With a bit of shuffling, Benny removed your top, tossing it behind him to rest with his vest and t-shirt. You were a sight, slight laboured breathing and laying before him in your bra and slacks. His eyes feasted on the revealed skin. You squirmed a little, wishing you could cover yourself.  But you stopped the moment he leant down and placed a kiss between your concealed breasts. The eye contact he was giving you – intense and determined – took your breath away.

“So beautiful" he muttered against your skin. “And I haven’t fully unwrapped my treat yet...”

You felt the heat pooling in your lower half. His words, actions and eye contact the trinity to your arousal. God, if this was what it would be like to fool around with Benny, you’d have done it sooner. Next Benny moved his hands to undo your bra, and rid you of it. Right away one of his large hands cupped a breast, the warmth of his hand hotter than your skin. His lips kissed the other breast, then his teeth grazed it. You groaned, arching your back wanting more.

And Benny happily gave it to you. His lips touching the erect nipple, a chaste kiss. Next, he sucked it into his mouth, full lips plush to your skin. The more he sucked your groans turned to a glorious moan. Music to Benny’s ears. He then switched breasts, sucking one while fondling the other. All the while Benny watched you, enjoying how he was making you feel. The moment his name left your mouth, he groaned as he sucked harder. Which in turn turned the volume of your moan up.

Satisfied with lavishing your breasts with attention, while driving Benny crazy, he released them. Of course he wasn’t going to leave it there. He moved on to your slacks, unbuttoning and zipping them before removing them without a trouble. Now you lay before him in just your panties. Instinctively you drew your legs together, arms moving to cover your chest.

But Benny was quick, hands on your legs, moving them apart for him to crawl between. No way to hide that part from him. Not after being such a torture to him. His manhood was hard, uncomfortable in his jeans. He could so easily free himself, push your panties to the side and fuck you into the mattress. But he wouldn’t – couldn’t – do that to you. Your body had to be worshipped, tended to with care and devotion.

“I love your outfits" Benny racked his eyes from your panties, up and over your stomach and chest, to look deeply into your eyes. “But I love you like this so much more".

It’s funny, but you believed every word he said. He was genuine and honest. Slowly you removed your arms, placing them at your sides and holding onto the bedding. He smiled, pleased you trusted him.

“Good girl" he praised, hands skimming up your sides. “I want to worship this body with my hands, my tongue and my teeth. But I desperately want to be inside you. Do you want that, baby?”

Slowly you nodded, your face hot from embarrassment.

He pinched your side gently. “I want to hear it. Say you want it".

Biting your lip you took in a shaky breath. “I-I want it" you muttered.

Benny shook his head. “Gotta be louder...”

“I-I want it!” your voice was loud and clear for Benny to hear.

He smiled before moving in to kiss you deeply once more. Nipping your bottom lip before pushing his tongue in. It was all hunger and want. He then moved down your neck and chest, sloppy kisses and bites. He licked from under your breasts and down over your stomach. You sighed with content, watching him with hooded eyes. This would be when Benny would move his hand lower, fingers exploring the jewel between those enchanting thighs. But he really couldn’t wait. He had to be in you, fucking you till you couldn’t take it.

Managing with one hand, Benny freed himself from his jeans and boxers. And – with a little time – was able to get them over his hips and far enough that he could kick them completely off his legs. Pulling back from you, Benny moved to your panties. He should have pulled them down your legs, like anyone would. But by now, he was a little impatient. Swiftly he tore them from you, extracting a small surprised scream from you. That made Benny laugh.

“Sorry, I really can’t wait anymore, baby" was his amused words to you.

With some moving around, mostly opening your legs wider, and getting himself into place, things were back on track. In this position Benny could see you all, how perfect your pussy looked. Holding his cock, Benny leant in, running the tip through your folds. You softly gasped, he looked to you as he did it again. The moment he nudged your clit, you groaned. Over and over again he did it again, sometimes even slow, just to get noises from you.

This was all good and fine, a feast for his eyes of you on display and your reactions. But he needed more. Slowly Benny pushed the tip into you. Inch by inch he watched himself sink into you, before bottoming out. You’d taken him so damn well. And he voiced that. Making you blush, which he found beautiful. You needed to know how good you were for him, and how good you were doing.

Leaning in Benny once more kissed you. This time it was slower, tender even. Showing you that he was still there, and would go easy on you. Even if his words said otherwise. He was doing this for you, showing you how much he wanted and needed you. In and out of the bed. How you were his. This was the final way to claim you as his girl.

“You feel so fuckin' good" Benny sighed against your lips. “You ready, baby?”

You nodded, and he let that slip this time. But he will teach you to answer him, how much your words mean. Benny slowly pulled back, until the tip was just inside, before thrusting back in. He kept his pace slow at first, letting you get use to his size and the intrusion. You felt so damn good, and it was getting hard for Benny to not just lose himself. Your back arched, noises of approval leaving your lips, spurring him on more.

You’d slept with a few men before but they were nothing like Benny. For them it was all about them. What they liked. How they felt. That they got off. None had ever taken the time and care like the man above you. Benny was taking care of both of you, but had put you first of course. You felt that coil in your stomach tightening. His word and actions playing a big part in your arousal. Plus Benny was exceptionally good to look at. He was the total package.

When he hiked up your leg, and snapping his hips, Benny somehow managed to thrust deeper. Hitting that spot that was sinfully pleasurable. The moan it ripped from you should have made you blush and want to die, but it felt just so good. Again Benny thrusted, hitting that spot. Getting the same reaction, only the moan seemed a little more desperate, needing more.

Leaning over he moved faster – harder – needing more of those reactions. Your hands moved from gripping the bedding, to grasping onto Benny's shoulders and back. His name falling from your lips when he hit that spot over and over again a few times. God how he loved hearing his name coming from your mouth like that.

With every thrust you got closer to reaching your climax. That coil in the pit of your stomach getting tighter and tighter. The groans and noises Benny was making just added fuel to the fire. The gruff, deep voice of his lost in this moment between you both. The way he would look at you with those stormy blue eyes, the fire and passion there shining back at you. This man was perfect with attention and affection.

“I-I’m c-close...” you stuttered, voice raspy.

Benny groaned in approval. “Cum for me baby".

With a few more harsh, deep thrusts – hitting that spot over and over – finally pushed you over the edge. Clutching at Benny, nails digging into his skin, back arched you moaned as you came. Feeling you tighten around his cock, Benny thrusted a few more times, movements getting more sloppy. Before finally hitting his peak. Buried deep within you Benny came, his seed filling you up.

You both stayed how you were for a few moments. Sweaty and heavy breathing messes. You looked up at Benny, face warm not only from your activities but shyness washing over you. Benny, on the other hand, looked down at you with admiration. He was absolutely transfixed with you. How beautiful and perfect you were. And those words tumbled out of his mouth, shocking you.

“W-what?” You asked softly.

Now Benny was the one going shy. “Shit...I said that out loud?”

You nodded, remaining quiet.

He put his head down, feeling embarrassed. “I-it’s true though, you’re beautiful and perfect...”

Your chest fluttered from his admission. You might not see it or believe it when you look at yourself in the mirror, but the man above you did. A small, warm smile graced your lips as you moved a hand to the back of Benny’s head. Running your fingers through the tuff of hair on the back of his neck, you coaxed him to look back to you. Seeing how happy you were, it made him smile in return.

“Thank you" you said with joy.

Wanting to not ruin the mood, but Benny wanted to hold you close, he reluctantly removed himself from you. And fell beside you on the bed, bringing you to his chest as he wrapped you up in his arms. Placing a kiss to the side of your head, Benny repeated his words, wanting you to remember them. You moved your head back and pulled him in for another kiss, showing him just how much he meant to you.

“I think I could get use to bein' your girl, if that was what I get every time we’re in bed" you boldly stated.

He chuckled before moving his lips to your ear. “Baby, not just in bed will I do that to you".

Numerous places crossed your mind, all the possibilities that lay ahead for you in Benny's presence. You were thrilled but also a little embarrassed, but a good kind of embarrassed. This man might be the death of you. Or the man of your dreams.

[kiestrokes]

Day 20: heatwaves | NSFW

▸ Idol: Kim Hongjoong of ATEEZ ▸ Rating: NSFW. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. ▸ Genre: active WIP, smut, monster fucking, DUBCON, demon/apocalyptic AU. ▸ Vibe: this came from a casual conversation with @minttangerines and @minisugakoobies over the summer about the extreme heat. Luce said that she "expected to see demons playing in the grass" and my brain ran with it. The Earth's core is cooling, demons are like reptiles in a way, they need extreme heat to survive. Heat that now can only be found on the Earth's surface. Until that too is gone, or the anti-demon humans annihilate their entire race. This is a much later excerpt. ▸ Warnings: language, pet names I think, demons, green striped crop top HJ.

Sexually Explicit Content: MONSTERFUCKING, HJ is a demon, DUBCON. DNI IF THESE THEMES/KINKS ICK YOU OUT, cross species curiosity, kissing, oral (male receiving), sexual intercourse (penis in vagina), multiple positions, orgasms (multiple for both), biting, marking, overstimulation, lust haze, aftercare.

🗝️ Note: Has not beta-ed by me or anyone else. THIS IS A WIP! (it is being posted for my wipmas.) It is not complete; this is very much a rough outline/first run through. Left notes in again.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

「 25 Hours: Hard, Soft and WIP-mas Masterlist 」

Hongjoong was nestled into your side like he had been for the last couple of months, absorbing any heat he could leech from you with his already scorching body. Wearing the same crop top as the first time you had met him. Slim waist and curve of his hips taunting you. 

“Do I have something on me?”

“What? No.”

His hand skims his stomach brushing the shirt further up his ribcage, exposing just the slightest peak of the swells of his chest. 

“Can you lay on me? My stomachs cold”

“You could pull your shirt down,”

He pouts at you, and you sigh, complying. Snuggling into his waist, pressing your cheek to his stomach. Nuzzling around to get comfortable. He threads a hand into your hair, fingers singeing your scalp with a happy sigh. You press a kiss to his navel, and he stiffens. 

“Sorry...”

“You just caught me off guard.”

His hand trails to your lips, fingers stroking. 

“Your mouth is cool.”

“Is yours?”

“Why don’t you come check.”

You lift your face to see his staring mischievously down at you. 

“Joong,” you breathe eyes dropping to his lips

“Only if you want.” 

You roll your cheek against his abdomen laying another kiss, heat flaming your face at the soft gasp he makes, fueling your pursuit. You trail his belly button with your tongue and he groans, stiffening underneath you, his hand returning to fist your hair.

You kiss your way up his stomach, rising up on your knees to straddle him. The noises he’s making as your leave marks in your wake knock any previous apprehensions out the window. Shoving his shirt up to expose his chest, lips locking onto a nipple.

Causing Hongjoong to buck his hips up into your with a broken moan. Your tongue swirls around the nub and he shudders into the bed beneath you. His hands in your hair trying to tug your face to his, you let him and his mouth is hot, so warm that it makes you moan into his mouth when your tongues press together.

“Hongjoong-” you rasp, trailing kisses across his jaw before you let him seal your lips again. 

He’s devouring you, as if this is the only thing he’s wanted to do for months. You pull away to gasp for air, sitting in his lap and realizing that he’s hard as he pants, pupils gleaning red from the contact. 

You stare down at the small demon, your marks littering his body. You reach out and squeeze the pectoral you didn’t get to give attention to and his eyes close at the contact. You trace your hands down his waist, over the curve of his hips to rest on the band of his jeans. 

You swallow as you undo them, your mouth already salivating at the thought of his dick. 

His pretty fingers capture your wrist, “you don’t have to.”

“I want to.” 

“Ok” he sighs raggedly.

You unzip the jeans and slip a hand inside just to palm him, Hongjoongs hips jerk at the contact and you give him a small squeeze. 

“You’re hot here too.”

He nods, lips parted. You retrieve your hand and hook your fingers into the band of his pants to pull them down. You nearly moan as he lifts his hips toward you to help, a movement as small as that shouldn’t have such an affect on you.

The jeans hit the floor with a thud and Hongjoong tugs his shirt off before pulling your face back to his for another kiss. You reach down to stroke his hips and thighs before cupping him again. Causing him to gasp and thrust into your hand, you lips disconnecting. You take this opportunity to latch onto his other nipple teeth squeezing before rubbing your tongue against the peak as your hand slips beneath his boxers, stroking him bare. Hongjoong let’s out whine and you jump as wetness greets your thumb you pop off his nipple in surprise. 

“Do you have semen?”

Hongjoongs flushed face nods and you’re slipping down to remove his boxers so quickly neither of you have time to think before he’s completely nude beneath you. Dick beautiful, curved and leaking against his stomach. 

“Fuck,” you hiss before lowering yourself to lick the bit off his stomach, your tongue brushing to tip.

Hongjoong jerks, crying out at the contact. You appease him by sucking the tip into your mouth. 

“Ahhh!”

His hand cups the back of your neck as you stand his cock up to slide him into the back of your throat.

“Oh fuck please,” Hongjoongs frantic gaze meets yours and you hum around him before sliding up and down his shaft. 

You swirl your tongue around the tip and slide back down as he watches you. Body stiff underneath your touch, growing hotter. 

More head details. 

Until he’s resisting the urge to thrust upwards into your mouth. You pull off to stroke him and he knocks your hands away after a few pumps.

“I need you.” 

You nod and let him roll you onto your back, fingers slipping into the side of your panties to dive into your hole. You arch into him, already embarrassingly dripping.

“Fuck,” Hongjoong growls behind clenched teeth.

He slips them off and moans as you open yourself to him, his cock swollen and dripping at this point. He bites his bottom lip as he fists himself. 

“I just need to feel you.” 

You nod again, and he’s slanting up your body, tugging your hips down to thrust inside. The two of you gasp out at the impact and he burrows his face into your neck with a slow rock of his hips. His erection searing your canal. 

“Hongjoong.”

“I’ll stop in a minute.”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder as he deepens his thrusts.

He lifts his face to meet your lidded gaze.

“Yea?” His eyes glint, as he angles his thrusts up into the front of your pelvis you cry out in pleasure. “How good do I feel?”

“So good.”

You whimper as he strokes hard into that one spot, your body already tightening on itself. 

“Fuck so do you,” his hips stutter and he realigns. “I’m not gonna last” 

“It’s ok, I’m not either.” 

His lips are on yours again and you’re panting into each others mouths as he speeds up.

“Holy shit,” you bury your nails in his shoulders, causing him to hiss into your neck in pleasure. “Deeper Joong.”

He complies with a moan and your head tips back at the stroke, baring your throat to his lips. 

“I need to-“ and then he’s biting your neck and you’re coming around him hard.

So suddenly you can’t hold back your sounds of pleasure and his muffled moans echo yours. As his tongue laps at your neck sucking a spot against the column of your throat. His hips jerk sharply as he spills into you, warmth spreading across in the inside of your pelvis.

"Ahh-hngh-Joong!"

Hongjoong keeps pumping until your legs drop from his sides in exhaustion. He pulls back to look at you, pelvis rocking slowly into yours as you shudder through the aftershocks.

“You feel so good. Just let me,” his eyes close and a groan leaves his lips as he picks up speed again, “one more.”

And he does, you watch almost out of body as he pumps you to another orgasm. You can feel his hot release spilling around his swollen cock as he keeps working your tight hole.

“Hongjoong!” You a gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets as you gush around him.

“I can’t stop,” he pants his jerking erratically.

You’re pushed into another orgasm and Hongjoong right along with you. Red glint in his eye strong as his release forms a creamy ring around his cock being pushed out by your seizing insides. 

“Joong-” you groan.

He pins your arms above your head pumping into you, “it's been so long, I forgot how good this feels.”

Hongjoong's mouth is on yours then, tongue sliding against yours as your hips tiredly rock into his, sweat pooling between your breasts that he trails his mouth down to lick before his teeth nip across to a nipple. 

“Shit!,” you hiss. 

He releases your hands to hitch a leg up, wicked smile spreading across the sensitive skin of his breast. You cry out as he strokes that one spot tirelessly, groaning around your breast as you tighten around him. Rubbing deeper until you’re convulsing again helplessly.

“Joong, I can’t-I can’t!” 

“One more,” he moans rolling you partially on your side slapping into you. 

As it builds again you roll onto your stomach and Joong moans at the way you submit yourself underneath him, lifting your hips to slam into the hilt. 

“Fuck, I’m spilling out of you,” he strokes his release seeping out around your entrance and you groan. 

“We-" you stop as a shudder rolls through you, “-need to stop.”

Hongjoong splays a hand between your breasts pulling you back against him. Slowing his hips but deepening the stroke. You cry out at the sensation. Hongjoong watches over your shoulder. Tongue teasing this top teeth. 

“Why stop when it feels so good?”

He pulls your lips to his, both of you panting into each others mouths more than kissing.

“It’s too much,” you clutch his thigh as another orgasm threatens to roll over you. 

“Is it?”

Hongjoong groans squeezing your hip as his dick swells at the tip, spearing open your swollen, sensitive insides as he fights off spilling into you too soon.

“Ye-sss” you stutter, legs tightening and he groans, both of your hips jerking, heads tossing back and you come together. 

“One more,” he hisses and pins you down by the back of your neck.

Fighting with your swollen insides for entry, even with the overly slick glide of your multiple releases.

“Joong,” you gasp, turning your cheek against the dampened sheets.

“You look so good right now, and you’re so fucking warm.”

Hongjoong's lidded, red hazed gaze meets yours and you know you’ve unlocked a door neither of you will be able to close. His small but toned chest flushed an angry red, as his shockingly strong hips steadily chasing yours. You cry out in pleasure at the sight of him. Cunt fluttering. He groans, hips rubbing into you flush against your ass.

“You can come harder than that, let me feel you!”

Hongjoong gets what he wants, his words extending your heavily building climax you rut back against him and are greeted with a surprised gasp from him so you do it again. Lewd sounds filling the room until he’s bowed over you hammering in. 

“Ahh I’m close-” he whines bucking into you hard.

The friction directly over that one spot as your body tightens on itself. Hongjoong groans, rubbing harder as you thrust back. 

“Not yet!”

Your vision clouds as your chase your new high. His hands bruise into your hips, his body stiffening behind you. Breathing raggedly and he fights his release.

“Hoongjoong,” you whimper, hips jerking shakily against his hands.

He guides you along and you wail at the feeling, clutching his cock.

Hongjoong growls slamming into you, “right there.”

Then it is there. Falling over the ledge just as Hongjoong spills one final time into you before shakily stilling. He falls away from you muttering a flurry of "I’m sorry" as you collapse on your side. 

“It’s ok, it's ok, that was just...intense”

He’s out of the bed in the bathroom running water and then he’s back “I can’t walk”

He looks alarmed “what?”

“Just give me a minute.”

He does and the helps you into the tub, beginning to clean you intimately until you catch his wrist and he meets your eyes. The lust gone from his, but resurfacing in yours at his touch. You watch his Adams apple bob as he swallows.

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure? You won’t drown if I leave you?”

You laugh, “you can get in with me.”

He shakes his head no “you look-“ he swallows hard and then looks away.

You understand he’s controlling himself. He leaves to take a cold shower. You find him shivering after you’re clothed and cuddle up on the couch to recover. 

© COPYRIGHT 2021 - 2024 by kiestrokes  All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

[deadhands69]

*❆ Candy Cane ❆*

MDNI

Loser!Shigaraki x gn Reader

loser!Shigaraki gets a cute Christmas present after you tease him at the tree lighting not explicit, just strongly suggestive

“Didn’t wanna be here,” Tomura Shigaraki’s voice is muffled under the layers of scarf wrapping his face. 

“Oh come on,” you quip, grabbing his arm to pull him along with the group, “you'll live.”

If you were anyone else, he would have fought back. Anyone else and he wouldn't be so nervous, tensing under your touch. 

But you're you. 

So he follows. 

Admittedly, you were finding that you don't really want to be here either. Since when were tree lightings so boring? 

You find yourself standing in front of a dark tree with a long countdown. Listening to the same music you've heard for weeks now, watching the crowd shuffle around you. 

There's not even the thrill of being caught in public, when you're all so bundled up no one could possibly recognize you.  You've accepted that the evening peaked when you all bought hot chocolate and candy canes. Now, you just have to get through it.

“Who's idea was this anyways,” you ask from under the balaclava covering your face, “to show up this early?”

“If you don't show up early, you don't get a good spot,” Spinner asserts. “Plus, not everyone here has done something like this. It'll be a better experience for them.”

He's right, you think to yourself. Suck it up for them. Toga and Dabi both had such limited childhoods it’s hard to deny them these fun new experiences. There's probably still some magic left in Christmas, for Toga at least. You doubt Dabi cares too much. 

Shigaraki groans next to you. He still looks grouchy. Hands stuffed under his arms for warmth, closing himself off from the world. You know he's probably never been to anything like this either but you can't imagine it means anything to him. Holidays never do, yet even he showed up for everyone else. 

Maybe you should reward that and make this a little fun for yourself. He's cute, in a bumbling way, and teasing him had become your biggest hobby lately. 

Shuffling slightly to your right, you lean into his arm. He assumes it's a mistake. That you've accidentally bumped into him because what else could it be? He steps to the side, giving you some space that you immediately fill again. Eyes staring into his, half pouting.

There are at least eight layers of clothing between the two of you, but that doesn't matter to him. Your sleeve is touching his. 

You're close. 

On purpose.

The countdown hits a minute and the crowd begins to shift their attention forward. Well, everyone but Tomura. 

His eyes are locked on you. Breathing, forced to appear regular but you know he's an absolute mess in his head. 

Through the two thick layers of pants he's wearing, you can still see a bulge beginning to form. 

This is too good. 

Leaning in even closer, you whisper in a voice you know only he can hear. “Is that a candy cane in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

It's cheesy, absolutely. You know that. But it does the job, his face glowing more red than the lights that just filled the tree in front of you. 

Upon returning to the LOV headquarters, the group is determined to keep the party going. Bottles of champagne and sparkling cider are being popped. Jackets are strewn across the chairs and table while everyone peels off their outer layers. 

Tomura wanders down the hall, not pausing for a second. He'll come back to the celebration but you know that first he needs to tend to the raging boner you gave him just by standing too close. 

You follow him. Something about his demeanor struck a nerve in you. After months of this, you can't deny that watching someone so powerful become so pathetic doesn't do anything for you. Especially when you're the reason for it. 

No one notices as you run down the hallway around the corner, catching him just before he disappears to his room. As he turns to see who came after him, you shove him into the wall with a thud. 

“That's dangerous. Sneaking up on me. I could have touched you, you know.” 

“Tomura, you have three layers of gloves on. What were you going to do?” you laugh. 

Reaching towards his face, you begin to unwrap his scarf. 

“What are you doing?” he barely whispers, the tent in his pants becoming increasingly obvious. 

“Just because it's Christmas,” you answer, making him wait for what that means while you pull the last layer of scarf from his face. 

“...and just because you get so cute when you're flustered…” you trail off, bringing your face closer. One of your hands cups his jaw while the other runs through his unruly hair. You can feel his breath on your skin before your lips connect with his. 

His lips are sweet and sticky with peppermint. He's obviously never kissed anyone before, moving clumsily but still returning the kiss more than you expected him to. 

In something between a groan and a whimper, he bites your lip. Gasping for air while he clutches your shoulders for support. 

“I… sorry,” he mumbles before turning to lock himself in his room in embarrassment. 

Merry Christmas to you too. 

m.list

I love canon Shig but there's something so fun about someone so powerful absolutely losing their shit over you sooo I'm gonna keep writing these

[alexthetrashyracoon]

Fantasy au nobody asked for but I give you anyway.

Tags: Flowerfairy Reader, traveling mercenary Ghost, a bit of cursing, momentarily character death but we stay above the ground don't worry, a bit angsty but it gets a happy ending, I promise <3 (if that flops I'll cry)

Word count: 1350

"We shouldn't go this way." They flatly said and fluttered next to Ghost's face, brows in a pinch with their hands pressed against their rips. "It's dangerous."

Ghost grunted and swatted at them, not hard enough to hurt them or cause them to crash to the ground, but to get them out of his face. "You've been traveling with me long enough. You should know by now I don't care how dangerous it is as long as it gets me to the place I need to get." He says and leaves the cobbled path to take the short cut through the woods.

They huff and flutter after him. "I warned you."

It's been three months since Ghost met the little flower fairy, caught in some bandits' bottle. Ghost was hunting the group of bandits down, a big fat reward waiting for him when he brought back the leader, dead or alive it didn't matter.

So when he cleaned the camp, he found the bottle that had rolled under a sack and at first, Ghost had discarded it as trash, not looking twice at it but then he heard the little banging sound on glass and checked the bottle again, finding the little thing inside.

At first Ghost wasn't sure if he could believe his eyes. It wasn't everyday after all that someone came across a fairy, tiny human with wings on their back, but they pinched Ghost hard enough for him to believe it.

Ever since then Ghost allowed the fairy to graciously follow him, if they promised to keep their mouth shut, which they never truly did. They were talking all the time, chatting about whatever was on their mind. And Ghost, he would never admit that out loud, actually enjoyed the company for once. He was used to traveling alone, never bonding with others or keeping friendships alive for long. But something about the fairy was different.

At the end of the shortcut, Ghost finds himself standing in an opening that looks quite peaceful, not enough for him to drop his guard but the scenery is nice for a change.

He turns around to face the fairy who sits on his shoulder like usually when their wings get tired. They barely weigh anything more than a feather, even if he teases them all the time that if they keep eating so many cookies that he won't be able to keep walking with them on his shoulder. They always pout in return and don't talk to him for exactly ten minutes before chatting about some flower they have passed on their way.

"See. No danger around." Ghost grunts and decides it's time for a break, to replenish his strength and energy while enjoying a bit of nature's beauty. He puts down his backpack and sits down next to it. "Wake me in an hour."

The wake-up call never comes, or at least, not an hour later, but several hours, considering that the sun is going down right now and Ghost finds himself in a cage with his arms bound behind his back with rough rope. "The fuck is going on?" He asks, his tongue heavy as he speaks, eyes needing a few moments to focus again, ears still ringing, making hearing hard. Someone must have knocked him out cold when he took a nap, how embarrassing for someone like him to get caught off-guard by some amateur bandits.

Something... Someone, steps in front of the cage. "Look at that. The shithead who killed my brother is awake." That someone kicks the bars of the cage, making Ghost flinch at the rattling sound that comes with it.

He quickly gathers himself again, checking the guy outside the cage but not recognizing the person. "I killed many brothers... So, who the fuck are you?" Ghost asks, sounding overly confident, as always, even in situations where he should show a bit of restraint. Especially in situations like this.

The person grabs onto the bars of the cage and rattles them, baring his teeth like an animal. "You dick. I'll make you remember before... Hey! What the fuck! What is that?!" The bandit jumps and swats at something in the air but can't quite catch it.

Ghost's eyes widen, his fairy is back, he has been asking himself where they have gotten lost while he was in that cage. But he can't let their distraction be for nothing, he uses the chance to break the binding and steal the key from the bandits' leather belt to get out of the cage.

"Shit!" The bandit curses as he turns to look between Ghost and whatever is attacking him but decides to ultimately pay attention to Ghost, the bigger threat. Ghost's fairy uses the chance to get away to safety, leaving Ghost to fight without worrying about getting them into more danger.

It's clear as day that Ghost is no amateur and that there was no way in hell that the bandit would ever win. But somehow he managed to get away, right where Ghost's little fairy waited for him.

Ghost isn't fast enough to save them, he watches as the now bleeding bandit grabs the little fluttering thing and squeezes his hand shut until the noises stop and the forest completely falls silent.

He makes quick work of the bandit, he doesn't even look at his face as he cuts off his head. All he cares for is the little fairy in the bandits hand that's laying there, like a little doll, unmoving.

"Come now. Don't play with me, little fairy." Ghost says and picks their body up with shaking hands.

He never felt like this before, so damn helpless and clueless. What is he supposed to do? How can he turn back time to get his fairy back. The little chattering fairy that he learned to care for.

"I know you warned me it's dangerous... I should have listened." He says, not crying. He can't. He won't. Ghost never cries. Even if he wants to. "It's my fault you're dead. I'm sorry."

He remembers the promise they made a few weeks ago.

"Let's see the world together. You and I." They have happily announced back then and Ghost couldn't say now to their happy, smiling face. "Let's see the world together. You and I."

He would give his own life just for one more chance with them.

A single tear rolls down Ghost's cheek. It's more than he ever allowed himself before. It lands on their tiny body, staining their clothes.

Ghost searches for a spot to bury them, he knows they love flowers, so why not bury them in a field of them.

Just as he's finished with the hole in the ground, the air picks up, the breeze becomes warmer with flower petals and leaves flying through the air, surrounding him.

"That hole is way too small for someone as big as me."

Ghost knows that voice, he looks down only to find the body missing. Instead he sees naked feet, human feet standing in front of him, he looks up, following the long legs.

"How?" He asks, ignoring their nakedness and standing up, touching them, their humanly sized body. "I saw your dead body. He squeezed..."

"I don't know, Ghost. In my last moment I just remembered that we promised to travel the world together and when I opened my eyes again, I saw you on your knees, digging that hole." They explain with a smile, gratefully taking the woolen cloak from Ghost's hands and wrapping it around their shoulders. "I think Lady Fate is still not done with our story, Ghost."

At first it was a big change, gone was the tiny fairy fluttering around his head all the time, but Ghost quickly got used to seeing the other human next to him every night and day. Ghost had to teach them how to be human at first but he was sure that this was a challenge they would master too. One step at a time. And this time, Ghost would listen to his fairy turned human more often.

[minikoko-a]

general relationship headcanons — tim wright x fem!reader pre-mh

starting that Tim finds it difficult to have a bond with someone, if with a platonic one he has his challenges, now imagine with a romantic one!

and it's very probably that he either met you through Brian (extra points if you are his sister... i got an idea) or during the recording of Marble Hornets but since this is pre marble hornets, we'll go for the first one.

if you met through Brian...

if you met through Brian, it was a little easier for him to have a conversation with you, because Brian did his best to make sure that the three of you could talk without leaving anyone uncomfortably silent.

the three of you went out constantly, until little by little, you two began to start a conversation without looking for a topic by searching hard in your little heads.

first were more fluid conversations.

then you hang out more often.

and then one of you caught feelings.

most probably was you first.

"she fell first, but he fell harder" trope.

at this point, you were just thinking about when you had developed romantic feelings for Tim. for your other friends, he was a quiet, reserved and sarcastic guy, according to them, he was absolutely not your type! but hey, he has something that makes you feel your heart beat as crazy and honestly, you don't give a fuck what they say lol.

Brian knew it.

he knew it even before you had developed feelings for him.

get ready for the most teasing ever.

but at the end, he would be more than happy to help you figure out if your feelings are reciprocated.

Brian would be the third wheel but not in an awkward way, he would help you two always be together. in small details like, if the three of you are walking, he will be on the other side so that you are both walking side by side.

until one day, Tim asked Brian if you and he had something, obviously, Brian denied it and in the end he collected an important fact.

TIM ALSO LIKES YOU!

you considered just giving up on your desire to tell Tim that you have feelings for him, for fear that the friendship would fracture and hangouts would become awkward and strained. But you didn't expect to have that day that you once dreamed of, to have him in front of you, his jaw somewhat tense pronouncing those words that had you in heaven: "i like you"

although you confessed to each other, it was after a week that he officially asked you to be his partner.

"can i be your boyfriend?" his voice sounded so intimate, so honest, the intention and the feeling were genuine despite his reserved nature.

congratulations! you and Tim are a cute couple <3!

your dates would be simple but cozy, an outing to a restaurant or being in their respective houses/apartments cooking something delicious for both of you.

i feel like it took Tim a while to give you a kiss, you were the one who showed more physical affection but it wasn't something that bothered you.

but don't worry! his mainly love language is quality time and acts of service.

but when he kisses you, oh god! his kisses are slow but so real, could fall into passionate, emotional? kind of that type.

use honey, dear or a nickname of yours.

your relationship with Tim was going pretty well. the attention Tim gave you, the protection and his genuineness in his feelings towards you made you the happiest person in this whole place! he usually gives you some little things, like flowers, a necklace or things that he knew you liked. you didn't want to pressure him into kissing on the lips, sure there were kisses on the temple and cheek but that was it. you knew Tim, you knew that for him there had to be a certain time for him to be comfortable in doing some actions and it doesn't bother you.

but it was a day that you went up one more step.

you were both waiting for Brian to return, he had a project to give to a professor and he had told both of you to go ahead and wait for him at the exit. Tim was next to you, his cigarette smell made you dizzy, he started to get into the habit of not smoking around you, he recognized that the cigarette smell was strong and he doesn't want to hurt you.

you played with your hair somewhat bored, you raised your gaze meeting his, making your gaze soften. his fingers tangled in your hair sending a tickle down your stomach that wasn't bad, a smile began to curve on your lips

"honey, can i..."

his voice sounded somewhat nervous but didn't tremble, you confidently took his cheeks, feeling his freshly cut beard in your hands, bringing both of your faces closer, cutting the distance and sealing it with a soft kiss.

the kiss escalated into one still slowly but with more contact from the two until a fake cough made your lips break the union, looking where it came from it was Brian with a smile.

there was a day where you were waiting for Brian and Tim. you remember that Brian had said something about a project that a friend of his wanted to do and he needed actors, since you had left your classes a little late Tim accompanied him.

a while had passed and you saw their two figures approaching the exit, Tim's gaze was tired and Brian raised his hand a little when he saw you from afar, corresponding to his sign, you did the same.

as Tim set his gaze on you, he smiled softly, seeing you brought him calm and warmth, he didn't want to lose you, he really didn't.

he was so grateful to have you as his partner, so much that it would hurt him that this so genuine, so... warm would end, but that won't happen and not soon, right?

[olailamajnoon]

Bruce got up from a coma to find that the Manor had become the site of a baking contest, with everyone who was anyone in the superhero community participating, either as contestant or judge.

"What the fuck," he croaked to Alfred the moment he could.

"Steady on, Master B," Alfred said staidly. "You had so many visitors in your...state, that I'm afraid Miss Cassandra and Miss Stephanie took horrible advantage of it. Master Richard reluctantly agreed, citing morale as the reason, although I suspect it may have just been his sweet tooth that won the day."

"Alfred," said Bruce wearily. "How likely is it that my awakening will go unnoticed."

"Your 'awakening', as you put it, although that word rather implies that you are a mummy—"

"...Alfred!"

"—will be noticed in no time. Master Clark has been...quite assiduous in his visitations."

"How assiduous?"

"He visits everyday, and checks on you twice or thrice. There is just no keeping him away. He has brought over Masters Jon and Conner. They are rather ahead on the scoreboard."

"There's a scoreboard?" Bruce rubbed his face. "Alfred, please tell me you have not taken part in any of this tomfoolery."

Alfred looked mildly guilt-stricken. "Well I'm afraid you see, sir, that I am...head judge."

"What about Selina?" asked Bruce, his head wandering.

"Miss Kyle has submitted her lioness, Nala, along with Master Damian's pet tiger, to the 'animal judges' section of the baking contest."

Bruce grit his teeth in annoyance. "The more I learn, the more I wish I had stayed in bed. But, I suppose, every buffoonery must end."

Alfred stopped in his tracks. "Buffoonery, sir?"

Bruce looked up at him, sliding on his gown. "Well surely you don't agree this should have been done?"

Alfred looked still. "Well, sir—"

He looked away. Bruce's hackles rose. "What?"

"You forget. The participants of this contest were not here for this...buffoonery, as you put it. They were here because they cared about you enough to drop their lives and come to your home, and stay with your children in their grief, and bake silly cakes that they probably had no interest in baking. They stood here as your heart rate fluctuated and stabilized, they supported each other and were stronger together. And the thing that bonded them was you, sir." Alfred turned to the heart rate monitor, and turned it off. He still had his back to Bruce. "Most persons would be lucky to have half so many people their lives, who cared half as much."

Bruce's face grew still. "Alfred, you don't think—that I don't appreciate it."

"Of course not, sir," said Alfred soothingly. "I know you have a hard time expressing your feelings. And some of the blame, I'm afraid, rests with me."

"No—"

"Yes, sir. I never taught you how to say thank you. You have many virtues, but I'm afraid gratitude's one that was missed." Alfred gathered up the sensors, and stuffed the syringes, tidying up. "So you can start with me, and work your way up."

He looked up at Bruce expectantly.

"Thank you," said Bruce, in an abashed voice. "I know I haven't been the best at—"

"You're welcome, dear boy," said Alfred, his wrinkled face illuminated with a smile. "You're always going to be welcome."

Bruce leaned forward and hugged Alfred. Alfred's lean body returned the hug with a fierceness that Bruce had not expected from the seventy-year-old man.

"Now," said Alfred, after they both had cleared their throats and looked away in embarrassment. "The winners of the contest are to be given their prize by you. So I suppose there will be multiple reasons for people to be happy you have awoken."

"Who has won?" Bruce asked, thinking about the people who visited him in his coma: strong firm hands that held his and did not let go, a woman's subtle perfume that enveloped him with one kiss, and a small boy's warm tears that fell on his father's face.

"Hal Jordan," announced Alfred, checking the scorecard.

Bruce groaned. "Not that man."

"I'm afraid so. The judges were unanimous, after tasting his soufflé. I suspect he used extra-terrestrial ingredients, but although that went against the spirit of the competition, it did not go against the letter of it." Alfred smoothed down the sheets. "I must inform you, Master Harold has been instrumental in keeping Master Damian's hopes up, in regards to your recovery. 'Your father is one tough bastard to beat', I believe were his words."

Bruce stood up. "Well, I suppose I can give Hal Jordan his stupid prize." He corrected his sleeves, brushing lint off them. There was something stupid in his heart. He suspected it to be fondness. When had so many good people started caring for him? And why would they care for a fuck-up?

As usual, Alfred read him to a tee. "Let us put our self-doubt to rest, Master Bruce. Go upstairs and be a bloody good host."

Bruce sighed, although his heart was almost content, for once. "Yes, Alfred."

[jaune-submissive-and-breedable]

Merry ChristmAss

(Canon divergence, obviously)

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

"Thank you all for inviting me over for Nondescript Winter Holiday, Ms Rose" Jaune said as he sipped his hot coco. A large blush covered his face as he sat on the living room sofa. "And this hot cocoa is amzing, Ms Belladonna"

Flanking him from all sides were Team Rwby's mothers, sipping hot chocolate and chatting with the flustered blonde. After the fall of atlas, his Everafterian adventure, and the the shell shock of returning home, he was glad to have some company in during the winter festivies. With Ren and Nora enjoying their own date and team RWBY no to be found, he'd being lying if he wasn't a little happy that their mothers invited him to spent the holidays with them. Even if it was a little weird.

"Think nothing of it, Jaune" The chirper and perky voice of Summer Rose said. She sat down a platter of cookies infront of him, giving him a generous view of her bust before she headed back to the kitchen "It's the least we can do for you since you've been keeping our girls safe all this time~"

To his left sat Kali Belladonna. She place a gentle had on his thigh and smiled, "And no need to be so formal my dear, we are all friends here, so first names are fine~"

*After all you won't be speaking for long* She thought as she decretely licked her lips.

Jaune sipped more hot cocoa and sighed. True he was present for aa lot of their adventure, but in truth he didn't feel worthy of their praise and addoration. In fact, ever since he got back he's constantly began doubting himself as a hero. If he was a hero, why was everything so hard, why couldn't he protect anyone.

As if she could sense his inner termoil, Willow took up residence on his right. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, she leaned in and kissed his cheek, her other hand rubbing his other thigh.

"Jaune..." she started, "You may not know it, but you've change alot more lives than you believe." A blush graced her pale as she continued, "I can say for certain you've change mine."

From the other side, Kali watched with a cheeky smirk. "Easy there, Willow....Otherwise he might not want the present we got him~"

Jaune perked up at the word present. Even though he's been through hell, a fairytale world with an annoying cat, and the faced down the immortal grimm queen, he's still a child at heart.

"You got me a present?!" He squeeked, barely containing as he bounced in his seat. The sight and reaction of the boy sent pangs of lust through the bodies of Willow and Kali. Both women leaned into his side and began attempting to calm him down.

Hearing the commotion, Summer returned with a smile on her face. " I never tire of seeing kids jump for joy during nondescript winter holiday~" She sat on the coffee table in front of him as she continues "Yes, we got you a gift......In fact, I think IT'S TIME!!"

Jaune was confused as to why she yelled, but quickly came to the assumption that his friends were in another room with his gift. He kept is innocent smile until he saw two figures walking into the room. One being Raven Branwen, bandit queen and biologic mother of Yang. The other the immortal grimm queen herself, Salem.

"Surprise~~" she sang with a smirk as she watched Jaune get up to confront her, only for Willow and Kali to pull him back into his seat.

"Now now, that won't do~. And i came all this way just for you too~" she pouted playfully

"What is she talking about?!" Jaune demanded as he looked at the other three present.

The women smiled and rose from their positions joining Raven and Salem in front of him.

"Well...I know who stressed you've been lately, and I know we all grow tired of this war. I swear Ozpin is just gonna get our children kill in his wars, just like he did my Tai.." Summer growled before her smile returned "so I made a little with Salem here, and she agreed to stop her war on Ozpin..But." she booped his nose again "You have to do something for her~"

While his training and experiences told him to run and get reinforcments, his curiousity told him to wait and see what the grimm woman wanted. If he could end the war without anymore blood shed, he do it. Even if it ment his sacrifice.

"Alright, what does she want me to do?" he replied, patiently waiting for a reply.

Salem smiled and chuckled at his agreence. She closed the distance between them and pulled his chin upwards so his gaze met hers. "Tell me boy are you familiar withwhat your generation calls "Cake"?"

He nodded slowly.

At his confermation, she stood up and turned around, the rest of the women joining her. Before he could ask what they were doing or what this had to do with her request, he watched as each of them dropped their bottoms exposing their fat milfy ass to him.

"Ah...a....aa..." he stammered repeatedly, making the five women giggle.

"As for what you must do, dear boy, You must devour my "cake" until I'm thoroughly satisfied~" Salem purred

"And as a reward for your heroic deed, you can eat all of ours for dessert~" Kali purred next, giving her bellabooty a mighty slap to make it ripple.

Jaune sat on the sofa dumbfounded. After everything he's been through, everything he's seen, nothing could have prepared him for this. He had five curvy milfs standing with their asses out and telling him to eat them. He pinched himself to ensure he wasn't dreaming or still in the Everafter. He would slap himself until a shadowy tentacle wrapped around his arms and dragged him forward until he kneeled before Salem's massive pale moon.

"What are you waiting for?" She teased as she looked down on him. She placed one of her deceptively strong hands on his head and pushed him into her ass.

"Bon appetite~"

_____________________________________________________________

Yes, I made an entire prompt around this image I had commissioned.

Anyways, please support the artist Prayforcummies. They did a really great job on it, and I should probably get one for team RWBY and Cinder since, you know...Salem's here

[noxiousgrace]

In my mind i keep assuming krs spent his entire life alone and surviving on his own

But that isn't the case, there's clearly proof that he was at some level helped by other people

He mentions it often

He was saved by social workers from his uncle when he was a kid

LSH saved his life

Grandma kim always looked after him like her own son while LSH was gone

CJS and LSH died for him

And so many other incidents

But why does it feel like he's still all alone?

I think his tendency to self isolate is why i keep assuming he survived on his own, when he very much didn't.

Everyone fails him or leaves him eventually, he ends up all alone so often that it's hard for me to think about krs as someone who's had support.

He's had the rug pulled out from underneath him so many times, that it no longer shocks him anymore (take chapter 1-3 for example, he was so chill about waking up in another world and stated he didn't have anyone who he'd miss

But that isn't true either, krs spent 10-ish years of his life as team leader and protected his coworkers time and time again, of course people would miss him. In elisehns illusion, Kim Min Ah and Bae Puh Rum came to check up on krs who hadn't returned to work.

While he mentions the physical support and companionship he's received from other people, his mental wounds run too deep.

He keeps a very clinical count of who he owes and who owes him in return, support is not a familial thing to him, it's transactional

The biggest reason grandma Kims death affected him so much was that he owed her A LOT, she was always quick to have his back and support him, Willing to treat his bruises over and over again despite her ability being limited.

Same with CJS and LSH, they supported him more than his own family ever did (parents dead and an abusive uncle), he was devastated that he couldn't spend the rest of his life with them in order to "pay back" all of their kindness so far.

He doesn't feel responsible for their deaths, but he feels responsible for every opportunity he lost to care about them in return. He mourns the future he could've had with them and the happiness krs could've brought to CJS and LSH.

"you can't smooth things over with the dead" is something he said in the novel, around the time choi han figures out who he is and krs is ready for CH to be extremely upset with him.

Krs!Cale feels responsible for everyone who shows kindness to him, a part of it is because whenever someone has cared about him, his heart always cared about them in return. And krs caring about people caused them to get hurt, that's why he feels the need to protect them so that they don't fall victim to krs' affection, and he actually has enough time with them for their "kindness" to be evened out.

This is why he's annoyed when his group grows larger and larger because of his subconscious altruism, there's so many opportunities for all of them to get hurt before he's done caring about them to the amount he thinks is acceptable, it worries his emotionally stunted heart.

Anywho, i think he feels alone to me because of how little he opens up to other people. He is a self isolating king and manages to be the most famous man ever.

I want him to open up that scarred heart of his and finally allow himself to be loved beyond transactions.

[weapon-xox]

Anything Wade could have said would be an understatement when it came to how much Logan fucking loved the snow.

Like the sweetest little puppy Wade has ever seen, next to Mary of course, the Wolverine would run up to the window, chirping at the snowflakes, clawing at the glass in a feeble attempt to play.

How could Wade deny him? He couldn't, simply wouldn't, because that would be cruel and in Wades eyes, means for a nosey neighbour (or a blind roommate) to call animal control for Logans own protection with how fucking loud he whined up at the Merc.

Eyes wide and wet, the saddest pout on the plumpest of lips, it was rare for Logan to be so vulnerable and atuned to his inner animal. But on soft days like these where the pair could be lazy, not a care in the whole entire world, with the snow falling light but landing heavy on the ground, Logan seemed to mellow out.

Wades working theory was that the snow reminded him of the harsh winters of Canada, where he'd stand in a storm and howl for hours and never get cold. Maybe he missed the freedom, to play and pounce, to just let go.

He'd think back to warm summer days, too, where Logan would take his shirt off and lay on the floor where a warm beam of sunlight shone in, much like a cat he would soak up the sun, Wade would try hard not to squeal and squirm when he'd hear the man purr.

Now, Logan was sat on his knees between Wades legs, metal joints nestled into a pillow on the floor and his scruffy cheek pressed to Wades thigh, while strong fingers cradled his ankles and Logan sighed sadly.

"What's the matter, Peanut? Thinking about that barren waste land of hell frozen over you called home?"

Logan huffed from his nose. Wade scratched behind his ear.

"You wanna... Play? Huh?"

Logans ears fucking twitched, Wade was sure, and he looked up curiously with a tilt of his head.

"That it? You wanna play, boy? Wanna jump around in the sno-" Before Wade could finish Logan was up, boots on and laced, the new winter coat Wade had bought him on and zipped up. He looks so cute, Wade thought to himself, because Logan would probably argue-

"I ain't cute, bub. Let's go."

Did he say that outloud?

"Yes," Logan growled.

"Did I say that outloud?" Wade asked, and the Wolverine couldn't help but smile, small and barely there, but it was there, and Wade saw it and it was glorious.

"Gosh, everytime a Wolverine smiles, an angel dies. Or however the saying goes." Wade droned, on and on, Logan growing impatient, huffing and tugging at Wades arm to just get him to come on already while Deadpool took his time putting on his coat and shoes.

Wade gave Mary a treat, yelled a "goodbye bitch!" to Al, grabbed his keys and let Logan drag him outside.

They walked to the park, no one was there. Wade could hear Logan sigh in relief, watched him shrug off his coat and shoes. He furrowed his non-brows and mock scowled with his hands on his hips, said "you're gonna catch a cold!", and when Logan honest to god laughed Wade nearly threw up his heart.

Logan dropped his coat, shook his head when his soft hair had a little too much snow pile up, and slowly backed up, predatory, baring his teeth at Wade while getting down to his haunches and in position, hairy toes burrowed in the snow.

Wade grinned in return, rolled his neck, and opened his arms wide. If Logan wanted to play, he'd play.

"Come and get me, Peanut. Paint the snow red with our love."

The Wolverine snarled, pounced and drove his claws into Wade, who in turn laughed and shoved him off easily. While Logan was distracted, biting at the air to try and eat each snowflake, Wade tickled his sides and Logan crumbled, falling into the snow where he was wrestled with and roughed up.

He looked so happy, all happy growls and playful nips, fingers sinking into the snow for a firm grip but faceplanting when the snow turned out to be too soft for any real leverage.

They stayed outside for hours, Wade tapping out when he got to cold and just wanted to watch Logan play. The Wolverine, ever the gentleman he was, set his coat down on a bench for Wade to sit on. The snow soaked through fast, the jacket already damp from Logans carelessness, and Wades ass was now wet, but it was so worth it to watch his boy play, smile, have fun.

The Merc let him play for hours, face half buried now in his scarf, hugging himself for warmth because his personal space heater was rolling around in the snow, his clothes were soaked, and while the Wolverine didn't seem to bothered Wade figured soaking wet jeans just couldn't be comfortable.

He whistled, got Logans attention who perked right up and bounded over to Wade, shaking his head like an overexcited puppy, the water and flakes from his hair smacking Wade in the face. He just smiled, wide and bright.

"There's my pretty boy. Did you have fun in the snow, Kujo? I know, a little less blood shed and murder than you would've liked, but you really showed those snowflakes whose boss!"

They head back home, Logan shed his clothes at the door. Wade admired Canadas ass, whistled, and followed the feral turned domestic into the bathroom.

They showered, warm and comfortable, Wade washing Logans hair while the other washed Wades body. They got out, put on their comfiest pj's consisting of plaid pants with no shirt, and Wade wearing one of his longest, softest sweaters, nothing underneath because the bottom of the sweater made it halfway down his plush thighs and covered just enough to keep Logan guessing.

Logan growled, hands on Wades rear, and pulled him into his lap where the Merc yawned and sighed with content, cheek pressed against a forest of hair, the rythmatic thumping of what Wade would call a heart beating from behind the bushes.

Mary hopped up, did a little spin, then flopped and pressed herself up against Logans thigh, a hand on her belly that made her tongue lull out of her mouth. Wade looked awful similar, the same blissed out look on his face.

"That was... Fun," Logan muttered, eyes half closed in sleep. Wade looked up at him, felt his stomach clench with the aggression he felt for Logans sweetness, and pressed a hand to his cheek. Logan leaned into the touch.

"I know, baby. We can go out and play again tomorrow, deal?"

Logan smiled, closed his eyes, and sunk further into the couch with a gentle hum and a quiet "mhm..."

Wade fell asleep, dreaming about their day, and all the new ways he could get Logan to smile again.

Playing in the snow was just the start.

[theorphicangel]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 | 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

wc: 2.2k

tags: heian era!sukuna, true form! sukuna, reader is a villager and wears a kimono, gn!reader, mentions of cannibalism (brief), eventual fluff, strangers to lovers??, threat of death, reader has a sense of humor, reader risks life for a peach (real),

synopsis: stumbling in a random field, the gods have granted you the luxury of discovering a rare peach tree and it's all yours for the takings. at least that's what you're mistaken to think before you're confronted by the king of curses himself. coming close to death, you're forbidden to ever return.

it's just a shame you're incapable of listening to rules.

part one | part three | bonus scene

Part 2: Committing the sin

“...And I told him to stick his peaches where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“And then what?!”

“Well, he was so shocked that I spoke to him in that manner and his jaw fell wide open. Then I told him that I wasn’t scared of him and informed him that the tree was public property.”

“What did he say back?” Multiple sets of eyes peer into your face with eagerness and pure excitement. 

You pause for a moment –  for dramatic effect. With a deep breath, you speak again.

“He said, ‘do you not care for your life?’

“What did you say back?! What did you tell him?!” A dark haired child rose in front of you, his eyes wide. 

“I said I wouldn’t regret dying after tasting those appetizing peaches, so if he killed me right there and  then I would nonetheless be happy and satisfied.”

The children sit in a small circle around you, some expressing their glee aloud as their faces were filled with awe of your encounter with the king of curses.

“I squared up to him, unafraid to fight and he walked away first.” You let out a laugh. “His tail was between his legs like a dog,  I doubt he’ll ever come back to that tree!”

“Does he actually have a tail?” a child asked. 

“I thought he had 6 arms.” another child spoke, curiosity filling their tone. 

“I thought he had 9?!”

“No, there was no tail. The king of curses only has 4 arms and really ugly eyes.”

“How many?”

“Four!” You reply and you giggle as the children shudder. “All the better to see you with, I think. Very scary.”

One child says, “I don’t ever want to see him!”

“He’s a monster!” Another spoke. 

“Well, you won’t ever meet the monster if you all promise to obey your parents and not misbehave?”

They nod diligently, hanging onto your every word. One by one they disperse, breaking off into their own stories about the king of curses now based on the new information you had told. 

Among them, your eyes fell upon Miko. She stood alone, waiting for the others to drift away before speaking. You’ve known her to be the shyest girl in the village, with the other kids she doesn’t seem to speak or interact. You usually find her off on her own in the corner, playing on her own in a corner. 

Recently, you’ve taken her under your wing. Whilst her parents work away in the village, you made sure that not all of her hours are spent entirely alone. Interacting with her, you take her along with you on your errands or play along with her games. Even in your company she’s still a quiet kid but you don’t mind as long as she has someone to be with. 

She waits until the majority of children have gone, their conversation too loud to overhear her question. It slips out so quietly you almost think you’ve missed it but you manage to read her lips. 

“Can you get me one?” Miko looks down at her sandals, shy and timid.

You hum, wanting to know what she’s referring to. 

“A peach.” She speaks again, her small lips moving. Again her voice is quiet and her eyes are glued to the ground. “Could you get me one?”

Your heart yearns at the sight. You knew all too well that her family doesn’t have much. They barely manage to get the bare necessities monthly, so the simple act of indulging in the taste of a sweet ripe peach wouldn’t just be a luxury but equate to rich reward for her entire family and their hard work.

Crouching, you meet her eyes. 

“If you’re not scared of the king of curses could you do it?” She mumbles. “If you’re sure that he won’t come back.”

A small part of you hesitates, maybe your exaggeration went too far. The truth of the story weighs heavy in your gut and a part of you considers confessing your dishonesty. But just one glimpse into Miko’s warm coffee eyes and you melt again. You couldn’t break her heart and say no. It would kill you.  

Your gut churns as you mull over your answer. 

There was no part in your body capable of telling her ‘no’ so the corners of your lips flip up into a smile. 

“Of course, I can.”

/

The king of curses is away at battle. For the next two weeks to be presumed. 

Him and his army traveled past the village, heading down with their carts and horses. Obviously, you weren’t present and chose to  hide away to watch from afar. Even from a large distance you couldn’t help but feel his presence, his overwhelming aura seeping into every crevice of your skin.

But at least now you had your chance.

Just one week after his departure, you gained up the courage to return to the forbidden peach tree. You’d hope no one would be present at the estate, perhaps a few servants here and there, but you doubt they would commit to the long walk to the edge of the estate for a mere peach tree.

With a large basket in hand, you set out as early as you could, the sunrise warming up your cheeks. Rays of orange and red mix in the sky, the sunlight fixing its spot in the blue summer sky. 

You retrace your steps you had previously taken a few weeks prior, straying away from the original path. Again, the grass blades tickle at your ankles. Certain that the king of curses has disappeared, you take your time through the field watching as different species of birds fly over your head and how the bees keep obedient to their flowers, collecting their sweet nectar. 

Soon the shadow of the tree comes into view. 

At first glance it seems to be unchanged, however a new difference you picked up on is the range of new peaches available. With adrenaline running, you don’t hesitate to pluck the peaches, multiple at a time. In a span of five minutes your basket is already half full, emerging from your task. You start with the peaches which are easier to reach before dealing with the dreadful task of resorting to your tippy toes.

Before you know it, your eyes are caught once upon a scarlet red peach, perfectly ripe and round. Of course you have to get it, this one would be especially for Miko you think.

The only problem which rose was that the peach was located on the highest branch, straining, it was only a few inches away from your fingertips.

“Almost—” you strain, your tongue pokes out the side of your mouth.

“Seems like insolent fools never learn.”

A rough voice echoes into the distance at the exact moment that you manage to pluck a peach from the highest branch.  At the sound of a gruff tone,  a shiver runs up your body and the peach falls from your hand, dropping to the grass and rolling away.

Just as you felt previously, a menacing aura came over you, washing over your body like a heavy tide. Your temperature drops and your mind freezes, his ever so familiar aura now hitting you like a slap to the face. 

Of course, you turn to find the king of curses standing behind you. Tall and treacherous, you cower away, dropping to your knees.

He’s back. One week earlier than expected. 

Bowing your head, your mind runs over the brutal image of his appearance. Blood stains over his body and skin, dry of course and scars litter his chest, shirtless in front of you. 

“I thought I warned you to stay away, did I not?”

You clear your throat before speaking, your voice shakes. “You did, my lord.”

“So why did you not heed my warning? Do you wish death upon yourself?”

“No my lord, I-” you cut yourself off, searching for words which fail to leave your lips. Your hesitation and silence only seems to aggravate Sukuna.

“Speak.” He orders.

“I wanted to bring peaches back for the villagers.”

Sukuna doesn’t speak again. Trembling, you keep your eyes down onto the grass. He must be eyeing your basket right now.

You were definitely going to die. This was it. You had gotten away with it before and by the gods he was not going to let you leave alive again. 

The king of curses wouldn’t make that same mistake twice. 

Suddenly you find your chin in his palm and he forces you to look up at him. His eyes are cold and deadly. No ounce of human empathy or compassion lingers in his pupils. 

“You wanted to bring some peaches back for the villagers.”

You nod, a quiet whisper leaving your lips. “Yes.”

“Pathetic.” He spat.

From then on you expected to feel some form of pain. You have heard multiple stories about his brutal killings, simply decapitating limbs of people without a single care. Some people say it’s best to be killed right away by the King of Curses rather than his cruel method of allowing his victims to bleed out and die slowly.

Your body freezes to expect a pinch of pain, a stab, a slice – anything, anything at all yet it doesn’t seem to hit you. Tilting your head upwards ever so slightly you notice a wound on the right side of his torso. . Blood, freshly red, drips down his side, staining his skin and clothes. 

“You’re injured.” It comes out as a murmur, pathetic and weak. 

Sukuna says nothing more as if he hadn’t heard you in the first place. You bow your head deeper, almost ashamed for pointing it out. Perhaps it would come across that you intercepted the King of curses as weak. A king having a deep wound is something that he wouldn’t want others to know. 

But— you could still use it as some sort of excuse. 

“It’ll get infected.” You speak again, gaining more confidence in your tone. “If you don’t clean it up soon.”

“I have taken care of it.” Sukuna speaks. “It’s just a scratch.“

You let out a scoff. “Barely, you’re bleeding out heavily.” 

“What’s it to you? It has nothing to do with you.” He snaps, his tone rising. 

“I have a speciality in helping people with wounds and illnesses. I could help you.” You raise your head slightly at your offer. You outstretch your hand towards his blood drenched clothes. 

“I do not like to be touched, I will heal myself.” 

You glance up at the king of curses, studying his face. For the first time you sense a feeling of exhaustion within Sukuna’s eyes, heavy lidded and tired. The king of curses was on the verge of passing out.

“I could help you–”

“I don’t need help from a thief.”

“A thief!?”

“The tree is on my property is it not?”

“I–”

“And this is the second time you have been caught stealing, correct?”

“My lord—”

“Correct?” His tone is rough, cutting you off with a sharpness that causes goosebumps to appear on your body. 

You say nothing, looking down at your feet. You can feel his eyes bore into you. “Pathetic human.” He mumbles.

You swallow, saying nothing more. Your hands turn into fists by your side. Just from your expression and energy Sukuna  feels your growing anger with every second that passes.

All of a sudden, the band snaps and you can’t hold in your emotions anymore. The next time you speak, you refuse to cover up your venomous tone.  

“And you’re just as pathetic as me if you can barely heal your own wound. You call yourself the king of curses for what?”

A silence comes after your words, not even the sound of rustling trees or tall grass can be heard. It takes no longer than a second for you to feel deep regret for your words. Similar to your first ever encounter with the king of curses, the fear of death looms upon you. 

If you thought he wouldn’t kill you the first time then he definitely will now. 

You await the moment for him to strike you. A pinch of pain, a slice, a beheading or even a stab to your stomach. Anything to disperse you as soon as possible. 

Instead of a violent action, he chooses to speak again with a challenging invite.

“So how would you suggest you would heal me?”

Did you hear him right?

You stammer, words failing to leave your mouth. “To heal you?”

He stares at you in contempt, “You said you knew how to take care of wounds, do you not?”

“I do.” 

“So…?” Sukuna raises a brow.

Your mind searches for a solution, malfunctioning under his venomous gaze. 

There’s a stream nearby, I could guide you to it so you can clean it.”

A pause.

“Where is this stream you think of?”

“Over there.” You point behind him.

“So be it.” He speaks in a gruff tone. “Lead the way”

You manage to get your feet whilst succumbing to a daze.

How have you managed to escape the punishment of death a second time from the King of curses?

Glancing behind you, the basket of peaches tempts you. There would be no point in taking it and running, you knew that he could kill you in an instant. The plump peaches would have to wait, for now you have to focus on surviving Sukuna.

You leave the basket behind.

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

lmk if you would like to be tagged for part three!

[mikimakiboo]

Birthday Cake

Nightmare sat in silence at the cafe's table. The shop was closed, but he had gained the right to stay after closing time some while ago. He quite liked this place, it was calm, not too bright thanks to the soft yellowish lights, which helped lessen his headaches, and the cats seemed to like him, judging by how they curled up next to him on the padded bench.

He turned the page of his book, enjoying a nice read to finish his day. Quite a calm day, for once, he had given authorization to his boys to spend their time how they wanted, and he took the day to relax. He reached down to pet the sleeping cat on his laps, smiling fondly as the little white and golden ball of furr purred happily.

A cup of hot coffee was put down on his table, followed by a plate with a piece of what seemed to be a chocolate cake in it.

- I don't remember ordering a cake ?

Nightmare asked as he looked up to the owner of the place, Ccino, who was smiling at him.

- It's on the house, don't worry.

The barista replied, turning the plate to reveal the little chocolate medallion with a little cursive inscription on it: happy birthday. Nightmare chuckled.

- How did you know ?

Nightmare asked him, as he knew he never told anyone when his birthday was.

- It wasn't that hard to guess, Ccino chuckled, Dream's birthday is known by almost everyone, and when you talk to me about him you always refer to him as your twin, I doubt it was just a figure of speech, was it ?

Nightmare laughed, amused.

- It wasn't... thank you...

- No need to thank me.. I hope you'll enjoy your cake, it's not of high quality but it was made with love... Ccino smiled.

- I think I will, Nightmare replied, smiling back at him.

Ccino nodded, a faint blush on his cheeks, before leaving Nightmare to his cake and coffee, returning to the kitchen to finish washing the dishes of the day.

Truly, this place was one of Nightmare's favorite.