#wat's in my bag

[goingpostal1980]

What's in my bag!?

[silusvesuius]

N*loth is literally prime NPD representation and that's just how it is. Dat's just how i feel . if iiiiiii hear anyhing ab him needing to be humbled or put in his place i'll just tear my hair out right here and match his look. not even trying to lift him up or defend him i'm just defending the mentally ill skajrim characters nobody wants to understand,

[iheartliquor]

[werebutch]

My eyebrow bar fell out while I was trying to sleep so I’m taking this as a sign to fully take it out.. I don’t think it’s coming back from this ⬇️ sooo it ok. I will just have to wait and get it redone.. and not stupidly change my jewelry to sucky stuff.. lol

Other pic cuz do you really wanna see my face that close.. no

[ubersaur]

Someone saw my chilchuck cosplay and asked for a pic and was like cool I'm going to send this to my friend, the person who voices chilchuck and I was like oh

[alukaforyou]

omg thinks abt how i could get cosmetic surgery for my crooked jaw but like also i am kinda scared of surgery of all kinds, including plastic surgery so nvm to all that 🤣 also save several thousands ig💰

[fuzzyunicorn]

Just received the most immediate sign from the lil Satanists: it’s a food lion grocery bag signifying the lil Satanists just read my post abt eating my shit & r STARTLED

[mainemediapopns4]

FOrkssss dayt shitss ovaaaAh MickÆ fYiÇkæ MâÎÑêMêDïä ®™💖 π knife week Peter hee panddd a few wia2nia ¯\_༼ ಥ ‿ ಥ ༽_/¯^'`'^â ½⅜¯\_(⊙_ʖ⊙)_/¯乁 ˘ o ˘ ㄏ how's dliLmermAid tahtsHeee aontsbsAve pEterss d pan at Disney world hahaha u jue done lost hoot MickÆ fYiÇkæ MâÎÑêMêDïä myNdss waLttttter sleep easy haa

“You’ve asked for the visuals. You’ve called for the Queen. But a Queen moves at her own pace. Bitch decides when she wants to give you a fucking taste. So get your fork and spoon if you got one.”

— Beyoncé

[bunny-jpeg]

in the quiet spaces between you and i

simon 'ghost' riley

tags: smut & fluff, sleepy morning sex, tender & loving, established relationship, simon is smitten by you,

rain hit harshly against the window of your bedroom. you exhaled deeply as you slowly opened your eyes. it was one of those days, you knew it was going to be raining all week. but, you didn't expect it to pour.

it was a sham because you had been having quite a sunny spell in the city. but for now, the grey skies and heavy patter of rain made you seek refuge in the arms of your much larger lover. simon. the ghost as he was known in service, but in the quiet flat you both shared. he was just simon, or si, or honey. hell, even one of the million other nicknames you had for him.

you opened your eyes a little wider and yawned loudly. simon slung an arm over your middle and you pressed your face against his built chest. you admired how strong he was. he had arms that could choke someone out and thighs that could crack a coconut. but nestled in the sanctuary of your bed. he was as gentle as a lamb. one who easily leaned into your kisses with a half-asleep smile. your short nails lightly dragged down the side of his jaw, feeling the stubble against your digits. you leaned in and kissed him tenderly, with such love.

simon was a catch, he could be terrifyingly intimidating. but, those brown eyes only grew soft when they were gazing at you. always protective. but not patronizing. he knew you inside and out, that came from years in the military. he studied you, but not the way a scientist would a bug. but, rather a man trying his best to be the partner you deserved. and if being the best meant carrying an extra umbrella in his bag because you had a habit of forgetting yours then so be it.

"love." he said in a quiet voice, "whatcha lookin' at? got drool on my face or somethin'?" his voice was like a bear growl, a rumble that made you smile. you kissed him again and his eyes remained shut as he enjoyed your kiss.

"shh, shh." you cooed when you pulled away from the kiss, "just admiring you." you giggled softly.

he smiled a little, "nothin' to admire. like lookin' at a garbage heap." he tightened his grip around you and hoisted you up onto his waist as he laid on his back. his brown eyes a little more open as he admired you with a dream-like gaze, "you on the other hand." he smiled a little more, "lookin' at you is like lookin' at art. kinda wish i could nail ya up against the wall too." then placed his hands on your hips. your softness felt nice in his rough hands.

hands that could kill and maim. he was like a wild animal, he would tear through what he could in order for some primal driven ideal of peace. instead he held the fat of your hips with such a devotion, like you were going to slip through his fingers at any moment. but you'd never leave, not with the life you built together. simon really felt like a ghost before he met you. home had no roots until you slowly planted them in the cracks of his soul.

bland food was replaced with home recipes, a single pair of work boots were replaced with many pairs of shoes along with a closet near bursting with clothes, blank walls were panted over in brighter colours and decorated with photos. simon hated having his photo taken, but he'd do it for you.

his hands trailed up and down your sides, he pushed up the large black tshirt you wore. he exposed the boxers you wore (and stole) underneath. you liked to sleep in his clothes, it made you feel closer to him. as if you weren't buried under his arm almost every night. his eyes went a little wider when you peeled the shirt off and exposed your beautiful breasts to him.

his eyes quickly darted to your face as he asked, "do.. do you want this? you can stop if you want." he never wanted to force you into any act of sexual activity. he may have his urges, but he would never force you into anything.

you nodded softly, "si, i always want you. wanting you is like wanting air, or water or cheap kebab. i can taste it on my tongue when i think about it too hard." then pulled at the waistband of the underwear you wore. simon's gaze was on you as you stripped down and when he broke himself out of his trance, he stripped down as well.

you ended up on his waist once more. his hard cock up against your soft stomach. you licked your lips. you asked him, "do you want this? are you comfortable?"

simon nodded. consent was a two-way street. it took at least two to tango this way, both parties had to be happy, even if a little sleepy. he held onto you and guided you onto his cock. he tensed up and said, "yes, yes. that's it. oh, fuck." he swallowed as you easily took him. he wasn't small by any means, but careful movements got you seated on him like it was your personal throne.

you asked, "do you like that?" the rain continued to batter against the window. but you two were dry and warm in each other's embrace. you knew today would be a lazy day in bed. maybe simon had to check a few work emails, and maybe you'd get leftovers out of the fridge for dinner. but with the weather outside, you'd be rather cozy curled up in your flat.

simon took your hands and placed them on the expanse of his chest. you could feel the tawny-blond short hairs under your finger tips. you could feel the leap in his heartbeat and you smiled softly at him. he smiled softly at you. he once said he didn't smile as much in the previous thirty years of his life compared to the two years he had known you. it was hard not to smile when it felt like the sun itself was beaming at him at all times.

he moaned a little, "yeah, sunshine. you're doin' amazin'." his expression was still a little sleepy as you moved against him. the sex was slow, but lined with passion. you always held passion for one another, a flickering flame in your heart that you carried with you. and in moments of quiet intimacy, the pair of flames met. kissed and fluttered in each other's company. you loved simon, you loved him in a way that felt like it came from a storybook. even in the hard times.

the days apart, hell, the months apart. simon's ability to emotionally close off and your ability to feel nothing but a cold of anxiety through you. but in moments of weakness you built up one another, and it bloomed into the life long intimacy you both shared. the love that went deeper than waves of the ocean.

you leaned down and kissed simon on the lips as you moved against him. you felt your love for him wrapped up in a sexual fever that climbed from your core up to your brain. it left sparks in your blood as you planted your hands firmly on his chest. your hips rolled slowly and the kiss only deepened.

he groaned against you. this was heaven. simon once believed that he had died on the battlefield and somehow weaseled his way to heaven. there he met an angel, you. and you loved him and stitched back a broken man. piece by piece. he said close to your lips, "i love you."

and you replied with no uncertain terms, "and i love you, simon riley." his name on your lips sounded like gospel. it excited him just as much as it scared him. he held onto you a little tighter and let you move against him. the pleasure coursed through both of you, the heightened heat would only lead to a orgasmic high that would make your toes curl.

it was a mutual goal as you continued to move against him. heated breaths in a quiet bedroom. outside was gloomy and cold. but the sparks of light made the room you shared inviting and comforting. this was the man of your dreams.

scarred, tattooed, many times beats and many more times broken. but wasn't that love? to pick up the pieces of another, shake them it in their face and demand that they allow themselves to be loved?

that was all you could give simon. your love, your loyalty and a future.

the two of you kissed while pleasure coursed through the both of you. your pace staggered as the want made your heart race. it felt amazing, it always did. being intimate, soft, loving. to be held by your beloved simon as you rocked against him. there were no expectations, you could not cum and you'd still feel happy. to feel loved, oh to feel loved by simon, that was worth more than orgasm after orgasm.

he groaned when you parted the kiss. he held onto you a little tighter and exhaled deeply as the pleasure properly washed over him. he said through tense words, "i'm close. baby, i'm close."

and you worked yourself harder on him. the sex between you two was electric and you felt the urge to finish come over you. you let out a sweet moan, like dessert wine. it left simon drunk off as feeling. as you came, he came as well. he leaned forward to bury his face in your soft torso as you continued to ride him through both of your climaxes.

your voice was tense as you said you loved him once more. you never said those words without meaning them. you were everything to him and he in turn was everything to you. when your pace slowed, he pulled you back down with him onto the bed.

he smothered you in his love as he feverishly kissed you in the hot after glow of sex. while it wasn't the most extreme form of love making you felt soft and warm. you felt the love in love making. simon's kisses were silent prayers to his angel as he held you close in his strong arms.

you giggled against his lips before you pulled away and held his face lovingly. you felt heat in your face and could see the heat in his. you smiled, the kind of loopy, happy smile that lovers had. he kissed you once more before you managed to get the covers over you once more.

the clothes could wait, as could breakfast. because while you had pancakes on the brain, your lover's kisses were more filling. <3

[titan-senpai]

What the hell??

A young lady who was a model lived on earth ended in a tragic way.. and ended up in hell somehow? While she cant hurt a fly..

Part 2

I woke up on the cold streets in the middle of nowhere.. " Where am i.." Holding my head trying to stand up, taking a look around, seeing creatures everywhere. " What the.." I blinked a few times not believing my eyes. I turned my head and saw a shop with mirrors and took a look at my reflection.

shocked to see my own reflection.. White with red marks on my body.. then i turned around and asked a girl "Little girl can you tell me where i am?" The little girl just laughed. " You're new around here?" She took a drink of her milkshake. I just nodded.

" Wel.. Welcome to hell! " She laughed walking away from me " Goodluck newbie" I stood there in shock.

How did I end up here? Wat.. it was that bastard.. looking at my red spots indicating wounds. It's all his fault...I felt my knees get weak as I fell down on them next to the shop.

I don't know How many hours have passed by but out of nowhere a girl walked by me taking an interest in me. "let me guess.. your new?" She said chewing her gum looking at her phone.. she's probably addicted. I nodded.

" You've got good bone structure and a taste in fashion.." She cupped my face looking at it.. " You wanna work for me?" she let go letting me stand up. I took a look at her clothing and thought it must be an influencer or something.

" Whatcha say dear... I need a yes or no." She said firmly and I nodded without saying anything. "Follow me." As she walked away I followed her.

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Walking into a building called VoxTech? Following her into the elevator as she presses the highest button and scans the card. "Names Velvette.." She checked her phone again, typing away.

"My name is Y/N." I fidgeted my hands anxiously. The elevator door opens revealing a room filled with Photos of her and 2 other guys.

"VOX VAL! get your asses here" She yelled into her phone. Dramatic much.

Seeing a spark out of a tv turn into a guy with a tv head while the other was nowhere to be found. "VAL NO JOKES!" She yelled as smoke entered the room. Turning into a man with 4 arms.

" This is the girl i was talking about.. take a look at her" she walked off sitting on the couch nearby checking her phone.

" And what do we have here.." taking a look at me while he checks me out breathing smoke into my shoulders feeling his breath giving me shivers, "your a pretty one aren't you.." feeling his breath closer to me M" Doll..." walking to his desk. "And what is your talent?" The TV headed guy asked me. "i.." Speechless as I left a shaky breath shivering.

"No time for chit chat.. I'll figure her talent out, follow me me newbie" velvette said walking to the room, opening the door revealing a whole wardrobe " FIrst let's get you dressed.. Cant have them see you with us wearing normie clothes can we.." She smirked, pushing me in the room. " Pick one.. I'll be outside." I looked at the clothes, feeling fine silky clothes. None of them caught my interest.

Looking in the mirror at the end of the room touching my clothes that I currently have on. Imagining the clothes i used to wear. and suddenly my hands start to glow. and they started to make the clothes i was thinking off. and soon I was holding them.

20 Minutes passed and I heard a knock " R you done yet dear.." I opened the door walking out in baggy jeans with a Crop top with a window revealing my cleavage a bit and a Jacket with fur. White boots to match the white bag.

" You look fabulous dear.. Where did you get these? I don't have these in my small closet.." I finally let go of her phone pointing at my clothes.

" I think i figured out my talent.." showing her my hands. " Welcome to the Vees my dear.." 

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[fisheito]

This is what 2 years of no kuya looks like

*checks clock* oh, oh ok, NOW you decide to show up,

[esouliie]

Christmas at the Romanoff’s

(natasha romanoff x reader) & (platonic!yelena belova x reader)

tags | christmas headcanon – friends to lovers, first kiss, fluff and comfort!

notes | hello, pls take this small headcanon as a thank you for reading and supporting all my fics even though i cannot keep up with demand lmao. i promise to do better in the new year. merry christmas! <3

It’s your first Christmas with Natasha, and you quickly discover that the Black Widow is… not exactly a holiday enthusiast. At least, not in the traditional sense. When you first arrived at the apartment she shares with her sister, you were greeted by Yelena’s unholy mix of holiday cheer and chaos. Mismatched ornaments hung precariously from a tree that was way too big for their living room, a plate of burnt cookies sat on the counter, and garish Christmas music blared at an almost concerning volume. Natasha, however, looked like she was about two seconds away from wrapping the excessive lights around her neck.

“I hate Christmas music,” Natasha mutters under her breath as you hang up your coat. Yelena’s halfway through yelling “All I Want for Christmas is You” with a Santa hat perched at an angle on her head. “She’s been doing this for weeks,” she adds, her voice low like it’s some covert confession. It takes you all but twenty minutes to realise that Natasha has a very complicated relationship with Christmas. She doesn’t hate it exactly—she just doesn’t really know what to do with it. With all the joy. When you try to hand her a burnt gingerbread cookie, she looks at it like it’s some kind of alien artifact. “Why would I eat a cookie shaped like a man?” She asks flatly, before breaking it in half like it personally offended her.

She then proceeded to argue how she’d be more likely to eat one of these ‘monstrosities’ if it was shaped like a woman…

But there are little moments where she tries, and it’s adorable in the most understated way. You catch her quietly fixing the crooked ornaments on the tree when she thinks no one’s looking, muttering under her breath about how “the reds need to go next to the greens.” One night, after Yelena goes to bed, you find Natasha scrolling through YouTube tutorials for how to wrap presents, muttering curses in Russian every time the tape sticks to her fingers.

And then there’s the stockings. Yelena insisted everyone have one, even though Natasha grumbled about it. But before you went to bed on Christmas Eve, you noticed that Natasha’s stocking was the most stuffed. There’s a random assortment of things crammed in there—protein bars, an extra pair of thick socks, a tiny first aid kit. You don’t have to ask to know that she filled her own stocking, long before Christmas Eve. The thought makes your heart ache in the sweetest, saddest way. She spent so many holidays alone that it just… became her normal.

Finally, it’s Christmas morning and Natasha is draped over the couch like a cat, one leg tucked under her, watching as you and Yelena clean up the mess from last night. She’s quiet, sipping a mug of tea, but you’ve learned by now that quiet Natasha doesn’t exactly mean unhappy Natasha. In fact, she looks content—eyes crinkling every time Yelena grumbles about your “lack of enthusiasm” in picking up all the decorative pillows.

What really steals the show, though, is the mountain of presents you’ve brought. You didn’t mean for it to get out of hand, but once you started, it was impossible to stop. You’d see something and think, Yelena would love this, or Natasha would smile at that, and next thing you knew, you were hauling six bags into their apartment like some sort of festive mule. When the gift exchange begins, Yelena dives into her pile like a kid on sugar overload. Her laughter is infectious as she opens each one: a set of retro pins for her jacket, a waffle maker, a framed picture of you and her after a mission (that one earns a rare hug). She’s glowing, grinning so wide it’s almost blinding. Natasha just sits there, watching her sister, her fingers loosely holding the edge of the blanket draped over her lap.

You notice she hasn’t opened her gifts yet—not even the ones with her name written in your careful handwriting. You nudge her gently, teasing, “what’s the matter, Romanoff? Afraid you’ll cry if I outdid you?” She gives you a half-smile, the kind that makes your chest ache a little because it’s soft in a way she rarely lets herself be. “Just... enjoying the show” She says, her gaze flicking back to Yelena, who is now holding up a pair of horrible light-up slippers you found at a charity shop.

When Natasha finally opens her gifts, it’s much slower, deliberate. You’re nervous, even though you know she’ll never let you see it if she doesn’t like something. But the small things you picked—a leather journal, a new cream scarf, a rare first edition of a spy novel she once mentioned—earn a quiet “thank you,” each one accompanied by that little smile. It’s the last gift, though, that gets you. It’s a snow globe. Inside, there’s a tiny replica of a mountain standing tall in the heart of Russia, the one Natasha had mentioned missing when she told you about her childhood. The one she only saw once and yet managed to comfort her throughout her life. Her fingers tighten around it, and for a moment, her expression shifts—just enough for you to catch it. Sadness, maybe, or longing.

She doesn’t say much after that. But when you look at her later, as Yelena’s dancing around in her ridiculous slippers and yelling about how she’s making everyone waffles tomorrow morning, Natasha’s looking at you like maybe you’re the best gift she’s ever gotten. And maybe she wouldn’t mind Christmas each year if you were around.

Later that night, you find her in the kitchen with a mug of hot chocolate she swore she didn’t want. The two of you stand there in the soft glow of the tree lights, listening to Yelena snore on the couch. “I don’t really get Christmas.” She admits softly, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fake fireplace video Yelena left running on the TV. “But… I think this year was nice.” And when she looks at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips, you know she means it.

Without thinking, you step closer, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her face. “It’s more than nice. I’m so happy.”

And that’s when you hear it—a distant jingle. You glance up, realising Natasha’s holding a tiny branch of mistletoe above your heads, her expression smug but her cheeks just the faintest flush of pink. “Well, would you look at that…” You murmur, before giggling at her antics. She leans in slowly, her breath warm against your skin. The kiss starts soft, hesitant, like she’s testing the waters. But when you cradle her face in your hands, she melts into it, kissing you deeper, with a tenderness that leaves you breathless.

And when you finally pull back, her forehead resting against yours, she exhales a quiet laugh. “Okay,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper, “maybe Christmas isn’t that bad.”

From the living room, Yelena’s snore breaks the silence—loud and obnoxious. Natasha groans, but you can see the affection in her expression when she shakes her head. “Don’t tell her I said that.” She adds, smirking. And just like that, the moment is gone, replaced by the familiar warmth of Natasha’s dry humor.

But later, when you catch her adding an extra blanket over Yelena on the couch, you realise that maybe, Natasha likes Christmas more than she’d like to admit. And maybe this Christmas might bring more than just holiday cheer.

[mejaemin]

헤어져 ( •̀ ᴗ •́ ) - pfu

wc: 1.5k

summary: pulling a “let’s break up” prank on bf!svt !! | pfu ver | hhu ver | vcu ver |

warnings: not proofread, breaking hearts UGH THEYRE TOO SOFT CUTIE FOR THIS I CANT, no real breakups, angst? kinda? not really? fear of breaking up, lmk if anything should fr be tagged

an: i lowkey hate how juju’s turned out … but it’s okay!!! i really wanted to get this done bc i found the req funny because just hearing the words “break up” reminds me of the kungkungdda video with atz yunho saying 헤어져… its lit been stuck in my head since the req came in

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

soonyoung

oh my love, he’d be so confused

you’re lucky the trend happens over text because if you did it in person and saw the pout on his face you’d give in right away !!!

he’s opening his phone after waking up in the morning, swiping his palm over his nose and the rest of his face before checking his notifications, when his heart drops

the first one, from you, saying “let’s talk” … quite ominous, no?

immediately he’s going to your house without asking to go and settle whatever he did right away.

you’ve already distracted yourself, staying busy with absolutely nothing while you leave your phone alone to build suspense. you nearly jump out of your socks when your front door starts wiggling, nearly falling out of the frame when it opens. turning around, you’re met with soonyoung, who’s extremely out of breath, clothes all mismatched as he stands in the doorway.

you rush over to him, “youngie, what are you-“

he cuts you off, grabbing you by your shoulders a little too roughly. his look is so intense yet anxious that he might put a dent in his forehead. “i’m really sorry. whatever i did, please forgive me. but you can’t- well you can, but- just please don’t break up with me, okay?”

immediately upon seeing his face, puffy from sleep and all wrinkled up in concern, you fold, taking him into your arms tightly. “oh soonie, i was joking, i promise.” you kiss his cheek, and his head turns so it lands on his lips. “you didn’t do anything, baby.”

he pulls his head back just enough to look in your eyes, eyebrow raised. “do you promise?”

with his cheeks between your palms you nod, pressing your lips to his forehead, holding them there to show you’re being genuine. “of course. i could never leave you, soonyoung.”

junhui

jun is always so quick to answer your text messages, leaving no time in between before answering you

clearly, when you send him a message saying “let’s break up”, his heart drops faster than it took for him to open the message.

immediately he’s sending a message, full of reassuring words.

“i’m so sorry that something happened to make you feel this way. i’ll be over shortly to talk about it, okay? hang tight, i’ll pick some stuff up on the way. just don’t give up, okay?”

you’re already regretting this at his words, feeling so much love for junhui and the way he takes you so seriously. he may be silly a lot of the time, but he handles serious moments so well. your heart genuinely hurts at the fact that he’s probably so worried right now, and all you’re doing is pranking him. when he gets here, you’ll make sure to give him relief.

there’s a knock on your door, and you rush to open it. junhui is standing there with a small bouquet of flowers and a bag with what appears to be snacks. “i know you might not be interested now, but here.. can we try fixing this?”

once you let him in he sets them down, and as soon as he turns around you’re taking his hands. immediately you’re confessing, seeing his unsure face. “juju.. i was joking. i saw people pranking on tiktok, and i-“

“ahh, i see. i was actually really scared just now.” he chuckles softly, cutting you off. “but forreal, it’s hard to tell tone over text. i’d rather you prank me like that in real life, okay?”

the anxiety fades away, and you’re both all smiles again. since he’s already with you, you sit down together for the rest of the night and spend it watching shows and eating what were supposed to be your break-up snacks.

minghao

we all know minghao’s heart is too tough for a prank as simple and common as this

of course, like anyone who’s madly on love, his heart will pick up at first, but he’s too observant!

you both established healthy methods to communicate the way you were feeling if something about the relationship made you uncomfortable, so when all these keywords and behaviors are suddenly thrown out the window his flags go up

you and him both take preserving the relationship and each other’s feelings seriously so you would never just say “i want to break up”

thus, he plays along

minghao is sitting across from you on the couch, reading a book when you call his name. he looks up, and when he hears you say you want to break up with him, an alarm goes off in his head. he closes the book and sits up straight, grabbing your hands to have a proper conversation.

“can i ask what makes you want to?” he’s so genuine, true concern in his eyes as he tries to hear you out.

you look in your lap, hiding your face while trying to keep up the theatrics. “i just.. don’t feel a spark anymore. i’m falling out of love.”

it’s that sentence that makes him realize what you’re doing. you both agreed that whenever a conversation of this scale occurs, you wouldn’t be vague about whatever you’re feeling. you’d communicate clearly, and make an effort to find a solution.

hiding his smirk, he nods, sighing heavily. “ah, okay. i understand. i’ll give you your space then.” he gets up, a solemn look on his face as he heads to your bedroom. as soon as his back is to you, he’s smirking, amused at the thought of waiting to see how long it’ll take before you crack.

clearly, it’s not long, because as soon as he shuts the door you’re up and running towards him. the door nearly breaks with how rushed you are at opening it, immediately crashing into him. “hao, oh my god, please, i was joking! don’t give me space, please, i don’t want it-“

he cuts you off, grabbing you by your chin to kiss you. “oh, i know, darling. i know every little thing about you, like what you do when you’re trying to trick me. now, let’s not do that again, okay? because i’ll gladly do it back.”

dino

just the idea of pranking chan in this way hurts your heart :(( he’s such a sweet boy !! however…

jeonghan waved quite the pretty penny in front of your face, claiming that it will be yours if you pull the prank on him.

you are very aware of chan being unable to catch a break when it comes to being pranked, but you could only pray that with this nice amount of money, he’ll understand

pulling the prank was definitely painful, though

you’re at an outing with chan and his brothers, hanging out at the porch of a getaway home with some of them. you’re by a fire, drinks in hand as you all chat. when chan notices that your cup is empty, he wordlessly takes it from you to go fill it.

as soon as he leaves, you feel a tap on your shoulder. turning your head, jeonghan is sitting next to you, waving his hand for you to lean in. “i’ll give you…” he digs into his pocket, finding nothing and then reaching into seungcheol’s, taking out a wad of cash and holding it in front of you. “this if you tell chan you want break up.”

immediately you’re looking at him with a bewildered look. why would you ever fumble the sweetest man in the world for money? he’s chuckling at your reaction, waving a hand dismissively. “all jokes, of course, but if you really get him i’ll give you all that. for real.”

jeonghan waves it in front of you once again, and you’ve seen how fat seungcheol’s wallet is. and a few of the digits on those bills were pretty large, so… chan will understand, right? maybe scaring him a little for all this will be worth it, right? you can go out together with your winnings…

you sigh, nodding your head. “fine. but if it ends bad, you’ll clean up the mess. and then i’ll kill you.” you smile, shaking his hand before turning to chan who finally returned.

he hands you your drink with a kids to your forehead before sitting down. “what were you guys talking about?” he’s smiling so sweetly at you, and it makes your heart literally hurt at what you’re about to do.

“chan, i think we should break up.” you’re almost grimacing at yourself, and at that sentence everyone around the fire stops talking. no way the couple who makes everyone believe in true love is about to split.

“um, what..? are you..” he can’t even finish his sentence, swallowing heavily as his vision almost starts shaking.

immediately, being unable to take the torture anymore, you turn to jeonghan, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously. through many complaints, whining and yelling at the elder, you grab the aforementioned money from his pocket.

triumphantly you kiss chan on the lips, pulling away and showing him your new prize. “i’m so, so sorry, channie, truly i would never break up with you, but look what he offered! please say you understand…”

immediately your boyfriend relaxes, eyes narrowing as he looks at the man behind you. “watch your back, han. seriously. that money almost went towards my funeral funds, i swear.”

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

[mochinomnoms]

hrng… trey birthday fic…

I’m not gonna lie, for awhile, I didn’t really like trey. i didn’t dislike him, mind you, but he was just kind of there. but all of a sudden, my brain was just thinkin about trey. like i’m just chillin at home, and i’m just thinking about trey. he’s just so…

and then you posted the birthday fic and godDAMN

Mochi, you are a genius. I am a buff trey truther. mans would have hella arm muscle and I will not accept any less. sorry i just keep thinking about trey now. he would have the biggest breeding kink its not even funny

anyhow, if you have more trey I would LOVE to read it especially if it’s about him being a pervert

i’m so normal i promise

as always, have a wonderful day ^^

-🦷

AAAAAA TY!!! I'm so glad that you're seeing the appeal for Trey he really is an underrated character!! I got that eldest daughter syndrome and Trey as a character feeds into that ngl.

I also had a crush on Peeta from The Hunger Games when I was a kid and I was remembering a bit where it was pointed out that as a baker, Peeta was actually hella strong (he could toss 100 lbs flour bags over his shoulder), so it would only make sense to me that Trey would be similar.

I image he would have a bit more of a sleeper build, so it's not obvious how strong he is until he's actually doing something physical (like fucking me—). None of the sprites do him justice in that regard, but this very specific panel from the manga does do things to me:

aaaaaaaaa big strong arms to hold you in~

Trey is also kinda silly in the fact that he canonically is really bad at flirting, or at the every least being suave/romantic. Poor ghost bride, getting her eyes compared to grapes...

He did say that it was cause he was put on the spot, which is partially true. I like to think that he's the type to just say something flirty or romantic without meaning to.

Think of an old married couple where one of them will casually drop a compliment like it's the most natural thing in the world. That's how Trey is, and he doesn't even realize it! It's very sweet, and it's very easy to fall for of course!

I, of course, have other thots as well tehehe~

He absolutely has the biggest breeding kink (no this isn't just copy and pasting my own kinks into my favs, wat you talking about?). He grew up with a happy family, and had a bit of a taste of what parenthood is like while taking care of his siblings.

He wants to replicate that for his own family, no doubt, but it's not exactly those reasons that he's so into breeding you. No, it's the, forgive him for the silly comparison, look of your hole absolutely stuffed like a éclair (which I've seen several people on here ask of him YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE).

The sight of you swollen, twitchy, and full hole is sooooosososososoooooo yummy, and he has the excuse that he has to make sure his seed will take to keep filling you! It's not until after when your belly is swelling with a baby that his pregnancy kink kicks in...but perhaps that's another discussion for another time.

My last thoughts for just this moment are that Trey maaaay have a slight bit of an oral fixation. He likes seeing your mouth on his dick, he likes to open your lips with his cum still resting on your tongue and running his fingers over your teeth, and he reeaaally likes to have you bite down on his neck and admire the teeth marks. Not enough to bleed, mind you, but enough that he could take a picture and then compare the marks to your actual teeth later on in fascination. It's only a little weird, indulge him won't you?

[devoutekuna]

Making flowers crowns

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

He's caught off guard as he rests on the tree, back on the hard bark as he wat ched his daughter, slowly drifting off to wake up to a few flowers dripping into his eyesight, with his daughter using his arm as a stool. "You have a really big head daddy" trying to push the crown down onto his neck only for it to get stuck around his forehead. Accidentally ripping the crown with how much force she used to get in on his head. "Oh no!" Falling onto the floor as she watched her creation fail. "Go annoy your mother" as she went to go find some more flowers to make one for you, resulting in him having to clean up by trying to fix the flower crown, smirking at her.

Nanami-

"Help daddy" walking over to his daughter who was sat underneath a tree trying to put flowers on a stray cat she found. "Leave it sweetheart" freeing the poor cat from her grasp as she watched it run away. "I need help" sitting down behind her as he put her on his lap, taking control of her hands as he helped her pick out a few daisies to make a crown. "I want to make it for mr cat" pointing over to the tiger stripped cat in the distance. "You've already named him?" Nodding in response as he worked his magic on the daisies. "Yes, and he will be the prince in my castle, that's why he needs the crown!" Ushering him to hurry up.

"Ta-da!" Throwing the crown up in the air, only to realise the stray cat wasn't there anymore. "Oh no, Mr cat left" looking up the tree for any sign of him.

Gojo-

"Awh, is this for me?" Noticing at how his son kept on staring at him as he picked out flowers only to make them into a crown shape, sat on the grass as he watched his offspring run around to find blue and white flowers. "No!" Resulting in a pout from your husband. "But it's blue and white, and those are my colours" oblivious to the fact that his son has white hair and blue eyes too. "It me" pointing to himself as walked off behind him only to return to put the flowers on his head. Eyes lighting up as he realized that, his son already running off to collect a big white tulip only for it to end up in Satoru's mouth. "Your too loud daddy" slapping his cheek.

Geto-

"Look what I made for you daddy" holding up the crown made out of daisies, a few flowers sticking out of her purple backpack. Crouching down so that he could place it on his head, "thank you baby" patting her head as he felt her rearrange it. "And I made one for mummy" grabbing another one out of her bag. "It's really pretty, I'm sure she'll love it" picking her up as she cradled onto his shoulder.

Toji-

"Daddy look!" Pushing the wheelbarrow full of flowers. "I need you to make me 15 crowns!" Dropping all the flowers next to him, surely she hadn't just picked them out of the neighbours' garden. "One for me" pointing to herself then him. "One for you, that worm, mummy, Mr snuggles, Mrs rabbit.." and so on, in summary, she wanted you to make all her soft toys a flower crown. "You want to help?" Flashing a smile so she atleast got the memo. "Nope!" Crossing her arms over her chest as she smiled proudly. "Come on, it would be quicker" shaking her head once again. "I need to help mummy!" Running off into the house.

[d1s1ntegrated]

clothes stealing is so real and true to me… freak behavior is beloved… but wat if it was kinda switched? like you wuld steal and hoard shigaraki’s shirts and garments lwlwwl… i feel lik he wuld kinda go crazy abt it since his freakiness is being reciprocated and wuld make him all the more lovey and obsessed idk…

-💊

oh yeah. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴 mode activated....heh......

paparazzi

creepy(or is this just canon?)!shigaraki x creepy!fem!reader

summary: life's more fun when you're being fucking crazy.

wc: 4035

cw: stalker behavior, gore-esque writing, mental illness, compulsions, loss of virginity, masturbation, cnc ment, crying, suicidal ideation, biting, rough, dead fucking dove. teehee!

a/n: i'm putting dead dove on here cause i know a lot of this might be a hard read but i'm in a mode that is so ferocious and unstoppable. consider this my shibuya incident part one. also this isn't fully proofread sorry!!!!!!!!

⊹˚₊‧꒰ა𓆩✧𓆪໒꒱ ‧₊˚⊹

There's blood. There's so much blood. It soaks through his shirt, his hoodie, his jeans. The smell is nauseating as he trudges into the base, breathing lamented and head spinning.

The stench of death clings heavily to the pale man as he throws himself into a barstool, flinging his hoodie and shirt to the floor with a disconcerting slap. His face is bruised and beaten- a sore loss in his eyes, regardless of the number of bodies piled high in a corner of the city.

The hideout is dead silent as everyone disbands, leaving him alone at the bar with Kurogiri. Without a word, he's poured a drink in a highball glass, taking it with one swift gulp. It does little to settle the defeat staining his chest, as he groans and retreats to his room. Maybe time for a shower, maybe time to just fucking give up. Sensei will be furious at the failure, he's sure of it, and the thought of it causes him to grit his teeth and slam an already-shaky first to the door.

You hear the noise from across the hall. As you trek into the bar, you notice the deafening silence and the pile of soiled clothes on the ground. You grab them to your chest swiftly and head back into your room, the sticky chill staining your hands.

You have a laundry basket dedicated to Tomura. It's hidden in your padlocked closet, next to all of his trash you've picked up over the past few months. When the League let you in, it was a gracious gift from God; but they left you here to do the "behind-the-scenes" work. You didn't have room in your heart to care- mostly because it meant you had more time to yourself, to sneak into Tomura's room and lay in his bed and dig through his wastebasket. They paid little mind to you, which was another blessing: they knew, with your silencing quirk, you yourself tended to be more...timid.

It's not that you didn't want to speak, it's that the more energy you spent speaking, the less energy you had to utilize your power when needed. So most of your communication was based off of hand gestures, bowing, blinking, and facial expressions. You didn't care much to learn JSL, since you liked being the quiet kid growing up. Your isolation made it that much easier to focus on your interests, hobbies, and...obsessions.

The lock opens with a click, and you grab a bag to throw the clothes into. Best not to soil the rest of the "cleaner" (aka, dry) clothes with these. You take a moment with the clothes, running your fingers over the shirt with a lazy drag, pinching the crusting hem with thumb and forefinger. It sticks to your skin, pulling away slowly, and your heart swells. Was Tomura hurt? Or was this someone else's blood staining the delicate cotton? It don't matter to you- it was Tomura's shirt, that's all that mattered now. You bring the garments close to your face, taking a deep breath into the material with a chill. The sickly sweet tang yanks at your senses, the pungency of sweat causing you to recoil a moment as you discern what exactly happened. With a grin, you shove the clothes into the baggie and toss it into your basket- you'll deal with cleaning them later.

With a shuddering breath, you head to the bathroom to wash your hands. The water runs murky as you rinse them off, the entire situation feeling very poetic to you.

Silently shuffling back to your room, you catch the brief hush of conversation coming from Tomura's closed door. You put your ear up to it and wait, the anticipation gnawing at you as you listen for his voice again.

When you don't hear it, you clench a fist and storm back to your own room. You'll listen in later; you have better things to do.

Turning the lock swiftly, you dive back for the laundry basket and yank out a pair of sweatpants and toss them to your bed. His sweatpants, unwashed and worn copiously- they were one of your favorites. The scent was intoxicating: salty and musky and sweet. You bury your face into the crotch of the pants, reaching for between your legs. The ache was too much to bare, the heat swelling inside of you from all of the excitement and frustration forcing your fingers inside yourself with a painful curl. You liked to imagine it was him, taking absolute control of you, breaking you down and hurting you, decaying you from the inside out with painful and rugged thrusts. It was a sickening pleasure to hold, the idea of your nefarious boss stretching your walls with the same animalistic rage he has on the battlefield, but it was a pleasure all the same. And what is pleasure meant to be if not indulged?

Your fingers flit at a wicked pace as you imagine him, bloody and sweating, cursing into your ear. His raspy voice so demanding and impure, the recollection of the sound was enough to drive you insane. You abused the swollen of bundled nerves with haste, letting the shaky moans and drool soak into the pilled sweatpants, leaving a lewd lip-print on the inseam.

It was almost sweet, in your mind. I mean, if he could see how devoted and loyal you are, maybe he'd pay more attention to you. You could be a genuinely impressive partner, you know this. You crave it. His validation, his love and care, it's all you wanted. Instead, you got handed the short end and wound up being his admirer from afar. Unfortunately, not everyone is meant to be the muse. Someone has to be the artist. And that, that was your bitter fate.

You ride out the sweltering orgasm with lowly cries and moans, the shame slipping into you faster than your fingers. It was wrong. It was wrong and you knew that. You had to wash and return his clothes at some point, you'd have to throw out the old used tissues and empty cans and stained rags. It was vile. And the smell battering into your nose was now revolting, the cocktail of blood, cum, sweat, spilled drinks, and other fluids was enough to make you gag.

You didn't choose to feel this way. It wasn't normal, but you just loved Tomura so much, you'd do anything to have even a sliver of him. Just a taste. This was the closest you could get. But no amount of reassurance or self-validation was enough to cure the oncoming wave of guilt.

You sat there for a moment, fingers pruned and head spinning, when an aggressive knock rapped at your locked door. You hurriedly threw the pants back into the closet and locked it, jumping to answer the knock.

Unlocking it while smoothing your hair, you suck in your teeth. Tomura, shirtless, pantsless, loomed in your doorway with an unwavering rage.

"I need clothes, all of mine are fucking missing, did you do laundry?" He shoves his way past you, rummaging through your dresser.

You shake your head and point to the unwashed laundry basket next to him. This one was "normal"- out in the open to pose as inconspicuous, a veil for your shameful fetishes.

"It stinks in here. The fuck?" his face screwed as he yanked a pair of your sweatpants out of the drawer. Droplets of water spindled down his powdery locks, and be smelled like the cheap shampoo in the bathroom. He must've showered.

You shrug and quietly murmur out an apology. He rolls his eyes and digs into his neck before looking at you, his eyes locking in on your chest.

"Why is your shirt...there's blood on your shirt." He points and your eyes widen, glancing down to where you were previously hugging his tattered clothes to you. You bite your cheeks as he pads closer.

Stupid. You were stupid and didn't notice the old blood, you were too busy getting off.

He comes dangerously close to you as he examines you. "It's not yours" he researches, "whose?"

You shake your head. Play dumb.

He thinks for a moment before pushing your door closed with his foot.

"Liar, you did grab my laundry. Where is it, it needs to get washed now." his rasp hugs your ears just as you'd fantasized mere minutes ago. He's so close, so pretty.

Your mouth is dry, but you swallow the cough down as he hovers over you. "It's already in the wash" the lie saturates your tongue bitterly, knowing that if you aren't fast enough, he'll catch on. He's not dumb by any means, and he picks up on patterns pretty easily. So you keep your chin up, and look him dead in the eyes as you lay it on thick for him. You dig into your dresser and pull out a pair of old sweatpants, to who they originally belonged you can't actually remember, and a plain black tee that fits you a little too snug for comfort.

Handing the pile of clothes to him, he clicks his tongue and begins to turn to leave, but he stops. The old floorboards creak under his weight as he turns on his heel and, before you can stop him, he starts literally sniffing the room out.

"Seriously, it smells like something died in here, and it's pissing me off." The tall man's annoyed tone presses you deep in your chest as he approaches the dingy closet door. He wiggles the handle with three lazy fingers, but it won't budge. Your eyes instinctively squeeze shut as he turns to you.

"Why is this locked? You got bodies in here we don't know about?" he keeps his fingers on the knob, tapping a finger rapidly against the old metal.

"That's just my stuff, Shigaraki". You keep your eyes locked on his hand, his other two fingers dragging dangerously close to the handle.

He turns back with a huff, clearly thinking for a moment before grabbing the knob with a full hand, and the metal turns to dust at his feet. The door swings open, revealing a very pungent and sickening image. You can't see his face, but you can feel his lead-stare on the shameful swath of clothes and memorabilia littering the interior of the musty closet.

Your first instinct is to run. Your second is to scream, to distract him, to do literally anything to peel his bloody eyes away from your guilt. But before you can do either, he re-fastens his low hanging towel wrapped around his legs- he still hasn't put on the clothes you've handed him, and now, he probably won't wear anything you give him- and he spins around to you, an indescribable expression painting his scarred face. There's nothing left for you. Your fear, mixed poorly with the sting of desire, rattles your bones as he tosses the clothes onto your bed, approaching you with the undeniable glint of amusement on his lips.

"Those are mine" his voice is a low, rasped whisper in your face, and he points back to the pile inside the closet, "those are all mine, aren't they?"

Swallowing the knot in your throat, you avert your eyes from his and nod slowly, the weight of your own head like an anvil as you force your body to move.

He backs away from you now, straightening back out from his hunched stance, cracking his neck. The room feels dark now, heavier than before, even with the unnerving scents fogging your sinuses.

He moves around you, circling you like a shark. He drags one long, crooked finger across your jaw as you clench your teeth, trying your best to accept your fate. You had fun while it lasted, right? Who's to say this wasn't the end you'd imagined anyways? You fucked up, sure, but your last terrifying moments were at least spent with the man you loved the most, touching you and breathing so close...

He snakes a freezing hand to your throat from behind, clenching you with four lanky fingers, wrapping his other arm around your torso to pull you into his chest. His towel falls to the ground, you hear the sound of heavy wet fabric hit the floor, and feel an incessant prodding against the soft flesh of your ass. Your breath hitches as you realize, wholly excited and panicked at your questionable fate. Your head spins with agony as he hugs you close, your breathing fastening as his ragged whispers taint your petulant mind further.

"You must really love me, huh?" his grip tightens, "You love me enough to steal my clothes...my garbage..."

Your eyes feel heavy. You try to nod, to respond to him. It's a strained, sad sound, as you confess your ultimate sin to him.

"Y-yes". You find yourself too scared to say anything else.

It's funny to you. Even after all the atrocities you faced, all of the blood and sweat and gore you came to, this felt...wrong. You knew, deep down, that you deserved this. That you were sick, and the best way to cure sickness was in death. But his hands, his iron grip on your soft flesh and fragile neck, the pinching and prodding and poking...it felt so wrong. Like this wasn't supposed to happen. If you had only done it differently, if you'd been normal and simple and wrote home to your mother from time to time. If you'd never set foot in the dingy bar to begin with, if you hadn't dropped out of school, if only you'd learned how to ride a bike and have friends and be a better person this wouldn't have happened to you. You didn't ask for this necessarily, but you caused it, and this was your cross to bear. Even if the cross was sodden with tears, leaving splinters in your tired hands, it was yours. At this point, you'd be nothing but ashes and dirt, it didn't matter anymore.

You let go. You let your body, shaking and sweaty, give up. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, kissing the tender spot with a scratchy lip. Your tears fall, fat and hot down your paled cheeks, unable to speak a coherent thought. "I'm sorry" you repeat, over and over, as his kisses and bites grow in intensity, and you fear for the worst.

Your mantra is interrupted by his thumbs, caressing your streaky cheeks and wiping the tears away.

He leans in close to you, pulling your chin up with his index finger, all other fingers curled into his palm.

"Did I scare you?" he pries into your mind with his ruby eyes, his face...not at all angry, or bloodthirsty, or even annoyed. Instead, his gaze is soft, curious at most. You lock in to him, allowing yourself to answer honestly- because if this is the end, you won't be a liar.

"I'm sorry. I stole it all. Your clothes, your trash, your cups and trinkets and napkins and even the blood-soaked things and I'm sorry, please" you rush out your words as if you're on a timer, and as you catch your breath, he simply listens. "I took it all, because it's as close to you as I could get. I-I'm sick, I'm rotten, and it scares me. It scares the fuck out of me, it's so dirty and disgusting and I can't stop the compulsion of wanting you and needing you in every way I can have you, even when I try. I know you hate me, I know you're going to kill me, and I'm sorry. Just know I'm sorry, and I love you, and even if that's disgusting and sick I at least deserve to be able to tell you that".

The words spill out. You don't mean for it all to happen. But it does, and it feels like vomit, and you hold back a gag before you fall to the ground, feeling defeated and empty for once in your life. It's weightless, even with the noose of guilt tight around your throat.

He sits down on the old floor with you. He pulls his towel over him, covering his lower half. He sits there with you as you sob, thick heavy cries soaking into your sleeves. The adrenaline rush wipes clean through you, the horror being the only thing left.

"You actually do love me?"

His words slice through your sobs like a sword, and you swear he sounds almost juvenile as he says it. Like a child begging you to keep a promise.

You sniffle and look up, a weak smile splayed across your puffy face. It's answer enough.

His eyes widen and he comes in closer to you. You see a part of him shatter and splinter as he takes in your words. He bites a lip back and takes a deep breath, his eyes glossing over and he stares off past you. He stands then, reaching an arm down for you to pull up on as he brings you to your feet.

He doesn't speak, but he drags the large basket out of the closet and throws his towel into it. He reaches for the sweatpants on the bed and throws them on swiftly, and with a loose grip, holds the basket and exits the room.

You pull the stained shirt off and replace it with an old sweatshirt before sitting on the bed. You bite your nails, staring at the wall. It feels numb now, like a veil of darkness was thrown over your inner psyche to protect it. You cry, but it feels shameful, because you're in the wrong here. Right?

He comes back a few minutes later, closing the door behind him and re-locking it. Without another word, he pushes you back on the bed, planting a genuine, hungry kiss to your lips. His hands tangle in your hair, and you panic before feeling the slip of polyester against your scalp. His gloves are on.

He pulls away from the kiss, his breath heavy, and you stare at him, frozen.

"Say you love me" he says, lips inches from yours.

"I do, I love you, I have for-"

He doesn't let you finish. Instead, he shoves his tongue into your mouth and drives his hips into your thigh. You tense, but not out of fear this time, as you taste the desperation and sweetness on the villain's tongue. You feel that wave of obsession build back up inside of you, and you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer, begging him for more.

He bites on your lower lip and pulls, and with one hand, begins to slide your sweater above your head. You hastily fiddle with it yourself, pulling it off and moving down to your bottoms, peeling them off your legs, unable to wait any longer. You let go, differently this time as your core heats and coils up, a silent plead for the man.

His face twists to an excited grin, his eyelids heavy as he pulls the sweatpants off. He shoves your underwear to the side, prodding at your bare beat with his throbbing tip mindlessly. He leans back down, kissing the exposed parts of your chest, your skin prickling at the contact. He nips at the flesh, pulling your bra back to expose you fully, and he gropes at you eagerly. His fingers flit over the soft buds, his own noises spilling from his pretty lips as you throw your head back.

You reach down, taking his impressive length into your hand, and guide the weight to your entrance. His eyes widen, and you realize, you've both probably never done this before. But he shakes off his virgin anxiety as he presses into you, the size stretching you and snapping you painfully. He groans out, gaining some semblance of confidence and sadism as he hears you cry out in pain.

"You love me?" He thrusts fully into you, the searing heat wiping your thoughts away for a moment. "Mhm" you respond, and he pulls out until just the tip is resting against the tight walls.

"You really love me?"

You nod, "Yes". He thrusts into you, sending another shock of pain into you.

"You really fucking love me?" His voice is louder, more rampant, more...commanding.

"Y-yes, Shigaraki" you cry out, and he thrusts into you now with a fluttering speed, unable to hold himself back any longer.

He wraps his hand back around your throat, clasping it with his fingers as he fucks you, rough and careless. "You touch yourself to the thought of me?" He asks, his teeth bared.

You nod again, and smile pathetically up at him as he ruts into you. He grasps your hand with his free arm, yanking it to between your legs where he shoves himself inside of you.

"Then do it". He says, eyes rolling back a bit as you clench around him at the sound of his domineering commands. The pressure on your throat eases for a few seconds as you adjust your fingers between the two of you, pressing into your swollen clit softly. You try to massage it slowly, but his thrusting makes it much more difficult, as he slams your fingers against your clit, forcing you to be much rougher than usual. However, the feeling of his slamming pumps, combined with the torturous pressure against your nerves, sends a brand new level of pleasure to soak into your core. You throw your head to the side, overcome with the aching of an approaching orgasm.

He removes his hand from your throat, and you take a deep breath in. He leans down, kissing your jawline and bringing himself closer so that his thrusts are that much more intense. His body, splayed against yours, sticking to you with the slight sheen of sweat, drive you incredibly mad. You tangle your free hand into his baby blue locks, pulling him to kiss you as you feel your orgasm crash over you. Your hips buck up, fulfilling the craving to feel all of him inside you, smacking your cervix, bruising your walls. He groans out into your mouth, biting down on your lip as he sputters inside of you. Your walls clench around him like a vice, squeezing every drop of cum out of him. His moans and whimpers aid in the rush of endorphins as you cry out, your eyes squeezing shut as it all hits.

You both come down fast and hard as he collapses against your chest, cock still throbbing inside of you as the aftershock washes over him. You pepper his face, forehead, with kisses, taking in the scent of him. It wasn't unfamiliar, per se, but it was much better coming from him and not a piece of dirty laundry. It was sweet, salty, and musky, like the ocean and sour apple and new leather.

You don't speak as he pulls out, laying on his back, wiping his bangs away from his forehead. He sighs, and you pull your underwear over your legs. You decide to stay quiet, not wanting to shatter the moment. You both lay there for what feels like hours, the moonlight rippling through the cracked window and ripped curtains.

He speaks after a while. It comes as a shock to your ears. "I..."

You turn to face him as he speaks. His eyes are focused, and he's clearly calculating his next few words meticulously.

"I love you too".

The words splice through the void in the pit of your stomach. The wilting, rotting feeling dissipates inside of you. If even for a few seconds, you try your damndest to preserve that feathered feeling. It feels pure. And very very real. You don't know why, but after everything you've done, everything he's done...this feels like a revival. The lustration of his acceptance, his reciprocating, heals more than death ever could.

And it feels...good. To be sick, finally. Because at least you know you aren't alone.

⊹˚₊‧꒰ა𓆩✧𓆪໒꒱ ‧₊˚⊹