#who am i to deny women their wants

[sparxdoodles]

This dude is like the third most important person in this story and I've barely drawn him until now, rip

[scionshtola]

it’s not worth it to get irritated by people’s bad takes on a show i love. but.

[tomurakii]

Bro I think I'm. A lesbian.

[professorfcknmoriarty]

Really really enjoyed the pronouns you chose to use at particular times in the K/Weugan fic. Very good trans feelings about that:)

asdfghjkl you should know that for like a month I've been having a deeply internal self-assessment over why I've been predominantly writing my K with they/them pronouns; and the conclusion I've reached is that "it's easier to write that way" is absolutely not valid enough to justify doing it. and this ask confirmed that I need to do better. so, going forward, I intend to write all my K stuff with fluctuating they/she/he pronoun usage

[deathbydarkelves]

I love and appreciate how you draw women with body hair and muscles!

thank youuuuuuuuu :>>>>> I've lived my whole life without exposure to any proper depictions of properly muscular women in media, or women who just let their bodies do the things they naturally do, so I'm fixing that RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!

[oasisr]

I just realized that I know of at least two trad guys that I've caught on here trying to talk to multiple women at once. I blocked both of them, but I see their girlfriends pop up and I feel bad for them.

[inquirenorth]

.

[chuluoyi]

the secret wife

- nanami kento x reader

follow the first years’ misadventures as they find out that apparently, the infamous 7:3 sorcerer is also a dutiful and loving husband in private!

genre/warnings: crack, fluff, the first years are simply chaotic, an attempt at humor, gojo cameo (he’s so insufferable), mentions of pregnancy, nanami being the best husband there is

note: based on an anon's suggestion, this is a spin-off to love entries' wife (so gojo is married to love entries reader naturally!) this is full chaos and crack omg so sorry and isn't proofread bc i’m kinda tired so pls forgive any mistakes and my dry humor :')

general masterlist

On one fine, sunny day, which was supposed to be a calm and relaxing afternoon...

“Hello? Yuji—”

Megumi could've sworn, they weren't usually this nosy.

“Gojo-sensei! It's urgent!”

Call it indulgence, because Nobara's curiosity just got the better of her.

“Oh? What's—”

“Does Nanamin have a wife!?”

And Yuji... well, he just needed answers, because the three of them were now in the ‘Mom and Baby’ section of department store, having just witnessed a monumental sight of their esteemed mentor, Nanami Kento—

—with a remarkably stunning woman hanging onto his arm.

“Huh?” Gojo's confusion was evident from the other line. Oh, yeah. Yuji had decided to cut to the chase and call him too, hoping for a swift clarification.

Okay, so why were the trio—plus Gojo on the speakerphone—hiding behind a pillar just to spy on Nanami and his very possible wife? Let us rewind 30 minutes before...

Yuji considers himself to have an exceptional eye and taste for women.

And 30 minutes ago, when he fell on his butt on the rough, hard asphalt in the jammed Shibuya crossing after accidentally getting shoved by the crowd, and encountered a kind, vivacious older woman—you, who extended a hand to help him up, he was even more convinced of that.

“Are you alright, Itadori-kun?” your soft voice entered his ears, catching him off-guard, and Yuji was certain of two things then.

One, that you were just like a literal angel descended from skies above, all dolled up and pretty with your flowy sundress.

“Ah, uh—” he stammered, eyes darting everywhere and anywhere at once as his palm started sweating after clasping your hand. “I-I am…”

And two, for the life of him, he had no idea who you were.

But it registered late in his mind to ask as he was busy controlling his ragged breathing and instant crush, and before Yuji knew it, you graced him with another kind smile and went on your way.

And did he feel so miserable afterwards.

. . .

“She’s sooo hella pretty, Fushiguro! And she knows me! Me!”

Megumi sighed, eyeing his friend in disgust. Truthfully, all he wanted was to return to the dorms and collapse onto his bed, and not listen to his friend’s incoherent ramblings.

"You sure you weren't imagining things?" Nobara questioned with slight irritation. "After you embarrassed us in front of Gojo-sensei's wife a while back, please think more before you act."

"I'm not, I swear! She said my name!"

"Itadori, can you please just not?" Megumi grumbled, having enough of this ruckus. "I want to walk back in peace."

And so tucking away his pout, Yuji walked in silence just as his best friend asked, and he was really going to leave it at that when suddenly he caught the sight of a familiar pristine coat and the sundress from earlier. “Oh?”

"Isn't that Nanami-san?" Nobara also spotted him, her eyes widening when she saw you, who was happily beaming as well as Nanami's light chuckle. "And wait, who is—?"

"That's her!" Yuji burst out, pointing decisively in your direction. "That's who I was talking about!"

Oh, no. Megumi dreaded it already. He could already see the utter catastrophe—

"I'm going after them!"

"Wait, Itadori! Me too!"

Too late. Before he could stop them, Nobara and Yuji had followed the pair. Reluctantly, Megumi trailed behind them too, albeit wearing a vexed scowl. Yet despite his misgivings, he couldn't deny that the things he saw over the next 30 minutes were genuinely unexpected.

Nanami consistently led you to a quieter spot away from the bustling crowd, his hand holding yours firmly. He would occasionally throw you a smile, or when you didn’t hold hands, then he’d wrap an arm around your waist. And to the trio's bewilderment, they also saw him tenderly brushing his lips against your head while on the escalator.

Soft and gentle. It was a side of Nanami Kento they had never witnessed—either with anyone else or even himself.

The two of you ventured through home appliances, visited food stalls, and eventually... the ‘Mom and Baby’ section.

"Do you want to rest for a bit?" Nanami's voice held a touch of concern as his hand settled on the small of your back, and seeing that, Nobara positively swooned.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," you responded with a reassuring smile. "Let's head over there. I'd like to see that next!"

Watching you and Nanami meticulously going through strollers and cribs like a pair of would-be parents was apparently too mind-blowing for Yuji and Nobara, leading to the decision to call Gojo right then and there. And, as they say, the rest was history.

"Last I heard, Nanami wasn't married," Gojo answered resolutely. "If he is, then it's the ultimate betrayal because he never told me!"

"But we see him with a woman! At mother and baby care section!"

Gojo hummed in thoughtful manner. "Okay, students. Now I'm tasking you to see this to the very end! Keep me on the line!"

With that, Operation: Uncover Nanami's Wife was officially underway, and frankly, the way the three of them were clumsily tailing the 7:3 sorcerer made Megumi want to facepalm. How was it that Nanami hadn't noticed their rather conspicuous attempts at all?

Now you were fawning over baby clothes, cutely trying not to squeal as you picked a little blue and yellow overalls. "Kento! Kento! Look, how cute!"

And all of them were floored once again when the expression on his face softened, as a warm smile adorned his lips. "Yeah, they are."

"Is she pregnant? She doesn't look it..." Nobara remarked, squinting and frowning, still watching the two of you like a hawk.

"Or maybe they're shopping for someone else?" Megumi suggested, earning teasing grins from Yuji and Nobara, to which he quickly rolled his eyes, as they chorused, "Looks like you're curious too!"

After a while, you moved from the clothes to sections stocked with mother's necessities. Yuji leaned against one of the racks, pressing his ear against it, with Nobara and Megumi crowding behind him, attempting to catch a snippet of your conversation with Nanami.

"I think we should get some heat packs and these pillows—"

"Oh, Kento! You're such a worrywart, I still won't need them for a few more months—"

"Wait, what?" Yuji whipped his head around in surprise, causing Nobara, who was leaning on him, to stumble and inadvertently collide with the racks.

"Eh? Huh!?"

Unfortunately, the racks weren't sturdy enough, and the force caused them to sway dangerously. Nobara, sensing her imminent fall, instinctively grabbed Yuji's arm to steady herself. However, he got tugged instead and their combined weight exacerbated the situation, leading to the racks quickly toppling over and a deafening commotion ensued—

Crash!

"Careful!" Nanami immediately pulled you behind him, a protective arm around your shoulder, sensing your shock from the sudden crash. He was on high alert, expecting some sort of attack of cursed spirits, but instead, he was met with the most astounding sight of the bickering culprits amidst the fallen racks.

"Kugisaki! What are you doing!"

"You dumbass! Why didn't you stop me from falling?!"

"Itadori-kun...?" Nanami called out in utter disbelief, his mind couldn't fathom as to why the first years were here. However, his attention quickly shifted to Megumi, who was seething and sending his friends a glare so hard it could drill a hole into them.

Then, the boy swiftly fixed himself into a low bow in front of him, ashamed, disregarding Yuji and Nobara's groans altogether. "Nanami-san, I'm very, very sorry on their behalf."

"What are the three of you doing here?" he inquired, and poor Megumi seemed at a loss, huffing as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of where to even start.

Meanwhile you were full of worry for the fallen kids. "Oh my gosh, are you alright?"

For the second time today, you tried to help Yuji to stand on his feet, and this time, he really had a good look over you.

It wasn't exactly noticeable due to how loose your dress was, but now he could see that under it, your belly was slightly rounded—an unmistakable baby bump.

Amidst his shock and pain, Yuji couldn't bring himself to take your hand as he inadvertently let this slip, "N-Nanamin! You knocked her up!"

Nanami blinked. You gaped. Megumi and Nobara went pale in sheer horror, ready to murder their friend on the spot for his extreme height of rudeness.

“Itadori-kun,” Nanami cleared his throat then, and if he was offended, then he chose not to show it. “First of all, I’m sorry for not introducing you sooner. This is Y/N, my wife, and yes,” his tone hardened slightly, “She’s carrying our first child.”

“S-so you are married!”

“Yes, that was what I—”

“What the hell?! NANAMIIII!”

Oh, the freaking phone. After his fall, Yuji’s phone ended up on the floor, and of course, Gojo did hear all of the entire madness, evident from how his voice blared from the phone.

Nanami frowned, unwittingly reaching out towards the phone. “Who—?”

“NA-NA-MI!" Gojo screeched in righteous exasperation, and the former immediately pulled away from the phone with a cringe. “How could you?! I invited you to my wedding! Are you a hermit or something—how could not tell anyone!? Didn’t you say I can officiate—”

“I said no such thing. Please refrain from saying outrageous things, it’s both annoying and misleading,” Nanami stressed, growing more irritated by the mere sound of Gojo's whining voice and feeling his patience waning rapidly.

"Aren't we friends?! How—!"

"Should I find you instigate one more of this... shenanigans with the kids, I won't hesitate to report you to Yaga and your wife," he interjected then with clear irritation, and right that second, Gojo shut himself up.

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi couldn't help drawing that one conclusion in wonder: So, that's what Gojo-sensei is afraid of.

Nanami swiftly ended the call with a flick of his finger, returning the phone to the still mystified Yuji. Turning back to the trio, Nanami's irritation simmered as he glanced at the mess of broken goods on the floor, as well as noticing the approaching clerks.

"You three..." Nanami started, his voice rising slightly, unfaltering even as the three of them flinched. "Do you realize what you've done? Are you so idle that you can ditch your assignments?"

"Kento, don't be too harsh," you rebuked, placing a hand on his arm with a frown on your face. Nanami sighed, looking over the situation once again. It was a whole rack of baby necessities destroyed; plates, glasses, and whatnot scattered across the floor.

Nobara bit her lip in anxiety. “Oh my god, who's going to pay for all this damage?” She could already imagine the staggering amount this mess would cost. This is worth millions, anyone can go bankrupt.

There was only one person who can and will. Immediately, both Nanami and Megumi turned to her with a shared resolve.

"Gojo," Megumi blurted.

"He will be charged for everything," Nanami added with spite.

Epilogue

"You just love those kids, don't you, Kento?"

That night, when both of you were ready for sleep, Nanami had one hand caressing your still growing belly, and you teased him with a chuckle.

"Huh?" your husband looked at you in mild confusion as he stopped stroking you. "What do you mean?"

You giggled again. "You said to put it on Gojo's name, but in the end, you were the one who covered the damages first."

Nanami huffed lightly. "That's because I can't get the kids in trouble. But mark my words, I'll make sure Gojo pays up later, by force if I need to." He made a face when he remembered just what a massive bill it was. "That's too much money to be spent carelessly. We have our child and our future to consider."

"You're always like that," you sighed fondly, taking his hand and placing it back to the swell of your belly. "Always on the first line of defense for the students." Your smile widened. "It makes me think... just how lucky our kid will be with you as their father."

"On the contrary, I'm counting my blessings that they'll have someone as soft as you for their mother," your husband retorted with a smile, kissing your temple. And your heart melted into a puddle by his affectionate gesture.

"That's too sweet... ah, yeah," suddenly, you were reminded of a critical thing. “Kento, have you ever considered telling everyone else that we're married? At least to people at school?”

Nanami always wanted privacy for safety reasons most of the time, and you understood that, but seeing that Gojo and the first years knew already, you thought it might be the best time to let everyone know.

"I honestly don’t see the need to, why?"

"People like Gojo are confused—"

Your husband rolled his eyes then. "Don’t worry, dear. People like Gojo exist to spread the word so we don't have to."

[communistkenobi]

if we want to talk about where trans men tend to be overrepresented in transphobic discourse, it’s in relation to scaremongering media profiles of detransitioners, framing trans men as misunderstood women with internalised misogyny who have mutilated our bodies and are now left ‘ruined’ because of HRT and surgery. This is used to argue for policies that restrict access to trans healthcare, especially for minors (notice how often we are talked about as “young girls”!) putting a ‘sympathetic’ face to transgender hysteria by talking about the “victims” of transgenderism. But this is still an incomplete picture without accounting for transmisogyny, as trans women are the “perpetrators” of this victimisation, convincing “confused young women” to cut off their breasts and take testosterone. It centres around the ‘corruption’ of femininity, as trans men forsake our ‘natural’ femaleness and trans women as ‘appropriating’ it.

This is why Matt Walsh, JKR, and other prominent transphobic figures asks the question “what is a woman?” and not “what is a man?”, it’s why Posie Parker advocates for armed cis men to go into women’s bathrooms to “protect women from men invading women’s spaces,” its why terfs are so fixated on trans women as ur-misogynists, it’s why right wing politicians like Pierre Poilievre & the Conservative Party of Canada focus their ire on blocking trans women from public spaces.

Saying this is not a denial of trans men as victims of transphobia (hello! I am a frequent one!) and its endlessly frustrating that these conversations get derailed into “well what about MY experience where XYZ horrible thing happened to me” as if the conversation about transphobia should only ever remain in the realm of interpersonal violence and victimisation. It’s very handy to stay in that arena because the only rebuttal to that tactic is to deny this random person’s experiences or “ignore their lived reality.” But I’m not talking about experience! Transphobia is a structural force in the world which means we don’t actually need to rely on individual accounts of violence to understand it. taking stock of that structure is only a “threat” to “trans masc voices” if you think structural discussions of oppression are de facto “misandrist”

[max1461]

Everybody does the exact same stupid shit. That white nationalist anon I was getting a while ago would send me story after story of some random black guy or immigrant committing a violent crime against a white person. Well, yeah, people are violent, you're gonna find those if you go looking for them. And there's a lot of racial animosity in the world, so you'll even find racially charged ones if you go looking! No shit, Sherlock. We could play this game all day. You find me a news story of a black guy killing a white guy, I find you a news story of white guy killing a black guy. This does no one any good.

TERFs are identical. News story after news story of a trans woman raping somebody. Yeah, the world is an awful place and people rape each other. I can find you a news story of a cis woman raping a teenage boy and getting three months in jail. I can find you a news story of a cis mom killing her disabled kid cause they're too much work. But I don't want to. The world sucks shit, why gorge yourself on the tragedy?

Zionists come up with news story after news story of pro-Palestinian/BDS/whatever protestors being antisemitic. Yep. A lot of people out there hate Jews. And there has been a genuine rise in antisemitism since the Oct. 7th attack, and that's awful. There are no excuses for that. Do you know what else has happened since then? The Israeli military has slaughtered tens of thousands of Palestinians, including huge numbers of innocent civilians—men, women and children.

People are often terrible to each other. Welcome to Earth. If you go looking for bad actors in a big enough group, you are guaranteed to find them. How about this. What about all the black people who didn't kill a white little girl? What about the black little girls? What about their hopes and dreams? What about their chance at life? What about all the trans women who didn't rape anybody in a bathroom? What if they just want to go about their lives, without constant public scrutiny of what genitals they have (as a cis woman, can you empathize with that? Constant public scrutiny of what you're doing with your genitals?). What about the 30,000 Palestinians who have been killed, and the 70,000 who have been displaced from their homes?

Fear has made you a monster. Fear has driven you to demand slaughter and oppression of innocent people because they look like guilty people you read about on the news, and since they look the same to you, you feel fearful—how can you tell whether these are the innocent ones or the guilty ones? Best to oppress and slaughter them preemptively just to be safe. I am here to tell you that this twisted logic of self-defense does not hold. I do not care if you feel safe—I do not care if you are safe—if the cost of your safety is innocent life. The world is a risky place. I am not going to deny that. Horrible things could happen to any of us. If we go around preemptively attacking other over it, we do not make it a bit better. And, needless to say, danger comes from everywhere, from every group of human beings, and oppressing the people who make you nervous will not, in fact, deliver you from danger. It just makes you a monster.

[tr1ppykay]

takes like these show such an immense lack of any attempt at meaningful understanding of transmasculine perspectives and experiences that it genuinely makes my head hurt. like you do realize there is a difference between not FEELING pressured to do something, and not EXPERIENCING pressure to do something, right? of course you do, but you read a few personal posts about transmascs experiencing euphoria and made a bad faith generalization on our entire social position.

sure, transmascs may feel less pressure to be attractive as personal affirmation of our masculinity. but a misogynistic society at large still continues to pressure us to be attractive and feminine. of course it is born from misogyny, but like we have been screaming for YEARS, we are still affected by misogyny.

a huge proponent of the targeted violence towards us is demonizing the effects of physical transition- about how transitioning makes us ugly (which OOP directly contributes to in this post) and ruins our value in womanhood to the potential men who want to fuck and marry and impregnate us. trans men are correctively assaulted to feminize us, largely because our oppressors see us as "deviant women who must be fixed by forcing us back into femininity, and eventually beauty." there is a literal book titled "irreversible damage" that outlines how we are "coerced into destroying our beautiful fertile bodies."

i have heard countless stories of transmascs seeking physical transition who were equally denied, because a psychiatrist deemed them as currently attractive women in their prime, who must have their value to the patriarchy preserved at all costs.

and ultimately, if despite all of this, we continue to reject white supremacist feminine beauty standards and find joy in our transition, a misogynist society that believes we have no value outside our current or potential attractiveness thinks we would be better off dead, lest we tempt other women to abandon ship.

transmascs are not your enemies! we are not experiencing wildly different things! i promise you that trans people across the spectrum will always have far more shared experiences than unique ones!

i am reaching out my hand to you, so we can stand taller and stronger against the white supremacist patriarchal pressure placed upon us both. will you reach back and grab it, or push me to the ground in an attempt to escape and save yourself?

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - ANNUAL GALA

A/N: A new smutty one-shot. I tried. I don't think it's good. But let me know what you think.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Avenger female reader

Warning: smut

My stories are written for mature audiences - 18+!

Words: 4200+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - ANNUAL GALA

Tony Stark had invited Charles Xavier and his X-men to an annual gala he held in New York. There were many reasons for that. The Avengers and X-men worked together during difficult missions and unexpected alien threats. Also, he wanted to prove to regular citizens and high-profile politicians that mutants were not the enemy. This was the perfect opportunity for both groups to strengthen their bonds and work relationships. 

That’s how Logan had found himself, in a fancy all-black tux, standing at the bar with a drink in his hand. His glare could kill anyone who rubbed him the wrong way. He wasn’t fond of these gatherings, and yet here he was. His eyes were searching for any threat, ready to fight anyone who would seem too suspicious to him.

“You didn’t have to come here, you know,” Hank chuckled when he approached Logan at the bar. “Nobody forced you to come here.”

Logan rolled his eyes and sipped on his whisky. “I know how important these things are,” he growled. “Charles wanted me to be here, so I’m here.” 

“Uh-huh,” Hank rolled his eyes. He ordered a drink. When the bartender had given him the drink with shaking hands, he had to chuckle. Some people were spooked by his blue fur and beasty look. “Isn’t it because you are waiting for a certain someone?” 

Logan sighed, defeated. Hank knew damn well that his friend had built some connection with a certain female Avenger. There was no denying he was waiting for her. “You really wanna go there, furball?” He tried to avoid the question. 

“Oh, come on, Logan. Everyone can see how you are smitten with that woman,” he chuckled. “It’s kinda nice.”

“I am not smitten,” he denied. Fuck, but even Charles constantly made comments and teased him about it. “By the way, shut your mouth, McCoy. I don’t want to hear shit from you. You’ve been eyeing that reporter from News 1.” 

That made Hank roar with laughter. He sipped his drink and turned to the crowd, watching people mingle around, talk and drink. “I’m not denying that. She’s pretty, we like to talk about science. You, on the other hand, keep denying everything. But we are not blind.”

Logan wanted to throw the drink at Hank. He would, if they’d be back in the mansion. He opened his mouth to snap back at him. But the energy shifted to the grand stairs. Logan’s eyes travelled there, wanting to know what the fuss was about.

Yelena Belova and Y/N Y/L/N walked down the stairs with linked arms. Both looked beautiful in their evening gowns and perfect hair. Yelena had a green satin dress. Y/N chose a sparkling black dress that hugged her figure perfectly, with a slit on her left thigh. 

Oh, if he could, Logan would drool like a dog. It was one thing when she wore that damn tight suit during missions, but this made him hard instantly. Fuck. Maybe this was the day he would have a heart attack. And she’d be the cause of it.

His blood started to boil when many men gave her attention. Once the women left the stairs, they were surrounded by testosterone. Yelena was a pretty lady, too. He had to admit that. Y/N was something different. She felt like a dream, a secret naughty fantasy that he wanted to come to life. 

“Close your mouth or you’ll swallow a fly,” Hank said. 

Logan drank the rest of the whisky in one go, eyes never leaving Y/N’s figure on the main floor. Hell, even her teammates danced around her. Where did this jealousy come from? 

He thought about the day they met. It was an accidental mission, where the Avengers were also present. While Charles and Captain Amerika talked after the finished mission, Logan’s eyes were focused on the woman who caught his attention. 

Their first interaction was amusing. Y/N tried to save his ass when a group of soldiers surrounded him. Logan was on the ground, guns pointed at every piece of his body when she came out of nowhere, shooting down the soldiers, snapping their necks with bare hands. Her kicks were strong, her punches were deadly. 

Once the threat was eliminated, she turned and looked down at Logan. “Are you done napping?” she asked him with a grin. 

He huffed. “I had it under control,” he huffed. He got up on his legs, the adamantium claws had already retracted back to his skin. Y/N watched it happen like a hawk but didn’t comment on it. 

“Of course. You almost got killed by ten men. Yeah, you had it under control.” 

“I can’t die, princess,” he squinted at her. “It wouldn’t be the first time a firing squad would try to kill me. In the end, it would always just tickle.���

Y/N tilted her head. A smile played on her lips. “Well, if you are done bragging, let’s move. There is still more to come and I would like to be in bed with a book in my hand by ten.” 

That was just their first interaction. And with that, something bloomed between them. Friendship? Or was it something more? Every mission became exciting. He couldn’t keep the dumb smile on his face once he saw her in the field.

Logan ordered another whisky. A grin spread on his lips when he thought back to their first meeting. He learnt her name later. First, it was just her last name. Rogers barked orders when he said it. Her first name came at a different time when they all shared the same coms for better communication. 

“She’s coming here,” Hank warned him, which brought Logan back to reality. 

With every step, he could notice more details about her. The material of the dress, how deep her cleavage was, how her breasts popped out, the red lips, the earrings, the fact that she was like a fucking angel. All she needed was wings. And, she was coming to him alone. Fucking finally. 

“Wolverine,” she purred his name. “I can’t believe you are here. Who put a gun to your head and forced you to attend this magical evening?” There was a teasing smile on her lips. 

Don’t look at her tits, he thought. Don’t look at the tits that want to spill out of that dress. Fuck!

“I heard there was an open bar,” he said. “So I decided to come and drink Stark’s liquor.” 

She licked her lips, suppressing her chuckle. “No other reason?” I raised a brow. “See your friends, swoon ladies or play pool with the boys?”

See me?

He kicked in the rest of the drink and put the glass on the bar. His eyes noticed the crowd gathering in the middle of the hall. A slow music started to play, inviting everyone to dance. Logan’s hand reached forward. It was now or never. “Or I came here to dance with ya, princess.” 

One second and her hand slipped into his. “Oh, so you dance, you say? Lead the way.” 

Logan proudly walked her into the crowd of dancing people. One hand rested on her lower back, other held her right hand. He knew what he was doing. After all, this was the first dance of his life. Y/N was impressed by that. They started to dance to the string music. 

He sniffed her sweet perfume, the shampoo she used. That woman would be the death of him, Logan was sure of it. They kept dancing, not talking. His eyes were on her, locked in a gaze. He had been close to her before but not like this. She was like a magnet, pulling him closer to her. Her lips inviting, her touch soft. 

The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to spill out what was going through his mind. “You look beautiful tonight,” he admitted. “Fuck, you look beautiful every time I see ya.”

She chuckled. “Even in my suit during a fight?” she raised a brow. 

“Hell yes,” he nodded eagerly. “Princess, when you walk to the field in that suit, fighting fearlessly, I have trouble focusing. Once you did a trick with your thighs, choking an enemy with them, I almost lost it there.” 

Y/N’s hand left his. She brushed it up his arm and rested it on his shoulder. “Oh, so that’s the effect I have on you, eh?” she teased the Canadian. “Care to say more?”

Logan’s hand joined the other on her lower back. He pressed her closer to his body. The height difference was evident between them. Even with her high heels, she was shorter than him. “Fishing for compliments?” 

“From you? Yes,” she smiled. 

He moved closer to her, leaning. In his mind, he was ready to press his lips against her. He needed to kiss her like he needed to breathe. This was his chance to taste her.

A third hand landed on Y/N’s shoulder. “Y/N, Logan,” they heard someone say their names. The moment was ruined. He wasn’t able to kiss her like he wanted. On the other hand, he wanted to slash anyone who interrupted them.

With a growl, he pushed away, eyes finding Captain Rogers, accompanied by Hank. “What?” he asked them grumpily. He didn’t care it was rude. They ruined something special. 

“We need you in the conference room,” said Steve. “We have a situation.” 

Y/N sighed, stepping away from Logan’s hold. “What’s going on?” she switched to a work mode. She gave Hank a polite smile to acknowledge his presence. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted us about Trash industries,” said Steve. “Come, we’ll show you.” 

“Charles?” Logan’s eyes shifted to Hank. 

“Already with Stark,” he said. 

All four of them walked together from the grand hall. Yelena and Sam joined them on the stairs. The blonde woman was yapping about being taken away from a cute woman and a fine drink. 

“I just fucking got here. Already some shit is happening,” she kept cursing under her nose.

Logan kept close to Y/N. He missed her body being so close to his. He hoped they'd be able to continue. The conversation was intriguing. He remained by her side while walking through the hallway and to the upper levels of the compound. 

Her fingers brushed against his hand. It wasn’t an accident. No. Her fingers purposefully stroked the top of his hand. Instantly, his fingers moved. His pinkie hooked around hers for a second. It was a mutual sign. 

The group entered the conference room, meeting the rest of the Avengers and Charles. One by one they took a seat except Logan. He stayed on his feet, a step away from Y/N’s seat. A hologram appeared in the middle of the table. 

“We got a new location on Trask Industries, but this time, these fuckers had decided to work with some Hydra scums,” Tony started to talk, showing footage they managed to get from satellites. “Or so it appears. we are not quite sure.” 

“The public wouldn’t like that,” Charles commented. “They try to present themselves as a serious robotic corporation. Why would they jeopardise their public status if they start working with a public enemy?”

“That is trying to hunt down mutants and annihilate them,” Y/N commented. “Don’t want to imagine what’s going on behind closed doors. It can’t be nice.”

“Is it really Hydra?” Natasha asked. 

“It appears,” Steve chimed in. “Or something adjacent.” 

“So what? We’re just gonna sit here and wait for more details?” Logan scoffed. “The longer we wait, the more work they get done. I say to strike and kill them all.” 

Y/N licked her lower lip and grinned under her nose.

“We need a strategy, Logan,” said Charles.

“Not everyone can get sliced and heal with a snap of fingers,” Tony added sarcastically. “Chill, wolvie. Besides, we’ve sent Vision to have a look at the place. He’s a droid, a powerful one made out of vibranium.” 

Y/N turned her head to Tony. “That doesn’t mean he’s indestructible in this world,” she frowned. “New weapons are being developed every day to destroy mutants, to stop the Avengers. I hope Wanda went with him. They are stronger together.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Of course, she’s with him. Do you think I’d be able to stop her? I’m not crazy.” 

“Trask Industries are still working on the damn sentinel program,” Hank stepped into the conversation. “With Hydra’s help, who knows what they’ll be able to create together. The thought alone is scary.” 

Tony ended the hologram. Steve took the word. “I know we are supposed to be here at the gala, but I suggest a good night's sleep and be ready. If you’d like, we have spare rooms in here for you. You can stay here for the night if we need to leave.” 

When Steve said that, Y/N gently turned her head to the side, wondering what Logan would say to that. 

“I’ll gladly accept the offer,” Hank smiled. “At least I’d get to talk to Bruce for a little while and have a look at his labs. I’ll also alert the others at school.” 

“Howlett?” Tony raised a brow. 

Logan’s eyes moved from Y/N’s exposed shoulders to Hank and then to Tony. “Sure, why not? At least I don’t have to drive from place to place.” 

“I guess we are staying,” Charles smiled. “Thank you for your accommodation.” 

The meeting ended. Natasha and Yelena went back to the gala. Y/N talked to Hank for a few more minutes while he was waiting for Bruce. Steve and Tony took Charles back to the grand hall. Logan waited outside the conference room. Because no one was present, he took a cigar out of his jacket and lit it up. Three puffs later Y/N stepped out of the conference room with Hank. 

“Already smoking?” Hank sighed. 

“So what? Got a problem with that, bub?” 

“Always the charmer,” Hank shook his head. “Nice evening, Y/N. I’ll see you later,” he said once he saw Banner approaching the group. 

The moment Logan and Y/N were alone, they faced one another. “Are you heading back to the gala?” Logan asked. 

She hummed, thinking about it. “I’m not feeling like going back there. Honestly, those fancy parties are not my cup of tea. Wanna grab a drink in our lounge room? Stark has the fanciest shit there. You’re gonna love it.” 

Logan smiled at her. “Lead the way, princess.”

. . .

The lights were dimmed in the lounge room. Logan was nursing an expensive drink Y/N poured him. He made faces, eyed the liquid, humming and nodding. “This is some good shit,” said after a while. “Wealthy people can afford stuff like this. Also, Charles prohibited any alcohol at school.” 

Y/N chuckled, sitting in an armchair with her drink. “It makes sense. It’s a school. Of course, he doesn’t want any alcohol there. Does he let you smoke?” 

He huffed. “That he ain’t gonna do shit about it. No matter how much he threatens to turn me into a six-year-old girl.” 

“Aw, that’s adorable. I’d like to see that,” she put a wide smile on her face as she sipped her drink. “Maybe I’d brush your hair, put pink ribbons in it.”

Logan kicked the drink in and stood up from the couch. His eyes noticed a few photos around the place - from parties and group shots to professional photos of the team. They were like a family. What mostly caught his attention was Y/N. She was an Avenger, part of a superhero team. He huffed. Fuck, she was a damn Avenger. 

“What?” she questioned. A second later, she was by his side, eyes on the same photo of the team. “That was after Ultron almost annihilated the whole world. We celebrated our survival. Stark puked into his helmet,” she laughed. 

“Disgusting,” he frowned. “I must say, you look like one happy family,” he commented. 

Y/N hummed. “Maybe,” she shrugged. “I love them all to death.”

“But?” he raised a brow. 

She shrugged. “Will I sound ungrateful if I say I hate being in the spotlight?” she made a face. “I can’t do photoshoots, the damn galas and shit forever. I hate attention. I’d rather be like you.”

“Me?”

She nodded. “Teaching mutant kids, living life out of the spotlight. Even though it’s not easy, in my eyes, it’s simpler. Not have to deal with this shitshow.” 

Logan’s fingers found her hair. He brushed them away from her face. His mouth opened, ready to say something - anything - but instead, he grabbed her by the neck, pulled her closer to his body and crashed his lips against her. It was like an invincible string, pulling them together. He couldn’t help it.

It wasn’t slow, gentle. Quite the opposite. Logan’s tongue explored her mouth, tasting every corner he could reach. It was hungry, possessive. One hand held her tightly around her waist while the other slipped from her neck, down her back until it reached her ass, taking as much of her cheek into his palm. 

Both arms wrapped around his neck. A moan escaped her lips when the kisses moved to her jaw and down to her exposed neck. 

“I need to have you,” Logan growled between the kisses. “Fuck, pretty baby.” 

“My room,” she sighed. “We can’t give Stark or Rogers a heart attack if we do it here. Although, it would be funny.” 

Logan pushed away, staring into her eyes. He went back for her lips, only to bite her lower lip, pulling at it. “Lead the way, princess,” he growled. “And hurry, or I will take you here, where anyone can see us.”

Y/N grabbed him by the hand, taking him away from the lounge room. Logan moved her to his side and kept a hand on her smaller back. He needed to feel her, to be sure she was real and not a damn dream.

It took them a good three minutes to get to her room on the upper levels. The moment she closed the door, her hands were on Logan’s jacket, taking it off, letting it fall on the floor. Both of them stepped on it, not caring. His lips smashed against hers, all tongue and teeth. Grunts and moans echoed around them as they moved closer to the bed. 

“I wanna rip this dress off,” he said, hands grabbing both of her covered breasts into his palms, squeezing them. 

Y/N undid his tie. “No,” she chuckled, unbuttoning his white shirt. “Too fucking expensive. Here,” her fingers quickly found the zipper on her left side. She pulled it down and the dress loosened. That was Logan’s sign to pull down on it. 

“Fuck, princess,” his eyes rolled when she stood there in nothing but a black lacy thong. Her breasts were on full display, nipples stiff, just for his eyes. “Fucking perfect.” 

Before he could latch onto her hardened nipples, she forced the white button-up down off his body, hand grabbing onto his muscles, fingers brushing over some of the hair on his chest. She stood on her tiptoes to find his lips in another hungry kiss. 

His tongue dove into her mouth, caressing hers in the process. He felt her hands moving down to his belt, unfastening it. “Impatient?” his voice hoarse.

She pushed him onto her bed. He fell with a loud thud. The adamantium bones almost broke it in the process. “Shit, sorry,” she gasped, forgetting about his weight. But instantly, she climbed on top of him. Y/N pressed her breasts onto his chest as she needed to kiss him again and again. 

Logan switched it up, rolling them so she was under his body. “Now, let me ravish you before I give you my cock,” he said, lips already trailing kissed down her chest, over her breasts. His mouth took a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it, biting it. Her other nipple was teased by his thumb and index finger. 

“Fuck, Logan,” she whimpered. 

His mouth then travelled south. His tongue left a wet trail down her stomach to the hem of her thong. He kneeled on the edge of the bed, taking her leg up in the air, kissing it from the thigh up to her ankle. “I should leave these heels on, darlin’. So fucking sexy. Fuck, and I will.” 

Y/N huffed. “Logan, please, I want your mouth on me.” 

“Ah, already begging. I love it,” he grinned. He put her leg on his shoulder. His fingers brushed down down her leg to her clothed pussy. With two fingers he brushed her over her hidden folds and clit. She practically purred. “Pretty sound.” 

“Come on, Logan, do something.” Y/N was becoming frustrated. He kept teasing her, rubbing circles over her clit. “Don’t be a fucking tease. Not now.” 

A dark laughter escaped his throat. “Patience, darlin’.” He moved the thong to the side, exposing her pussy to the cold air. He saw her clench around nothing. “What a pretty pussy, princess. So wet and ready for me.” And he buried two fingers inside her heat. 

Y/N moaned once his two thick fingers penetrated her. “Shit. Ah.” 

He pulled them out and put them straight into his mouth, tasting her. “Delicious,” hummed. “I’m gonna feast on you. Not now. Now, I need to feel you around my cock, princess.” 

Logan grabbed her thong and pulled it off her legs, leaving her completely exposed to his eyes. He made sure to leave those heels on. “Fucking gorgeous.” He stood up to get rid of his pants. 

The moment he unzipped them, she knew he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Shit, Logan, commando?” she raised a brow. His length was already hard, ready for attention. The tip of his cock was angry red, already leaking precum. 

She was ready to reach for him, take his cock into her mouth and guide it into her mouth. Logan was faster. He pushed her back on the bed, shaking his head. “No, no, darlin’. I’m gonna fuck you now. And next time, I will let you have a taste of me.” 

“Next time?” she smiled. 

Logan leaned closer, his head above hers. “You think this a one-time thing? Oh, pretty girl. No, no.” He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. 

“Good,” she gave him a bright smile. 

He pumped his length a few times before he positioned his cock to her opening. Slowly, he pushed inside until her hungry pussy took him all in. He cursed, groaned when her walls clenched around him. Once he was buried to the hilt, Y/N sank her nails into his chest, leaving red trails down to his belly button. They immediately disappeared, healed.

“Feel so good, princess. So tight,” he moaned as he started to move. At first slow, enjoying every stroke, watching her face like a hawk. He loved how her eyes rolled, how she gasped for air with each thrust or how she squeezed her breasts. She was fucking perfect. 

His thrusts fastened. He watched her breasts bounce as she kept fucking her. His grunts were louder, more vocal. Logan’s right hand found her neck. He wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing it. And that move made her clench hard around his cock. “Shit, Y/N,” he called her name. “Keep doing that and I will fucking cum inside you.”

Logan’s other hand sneaked between their bodies and found her clit. He started to rub it slowly, changing the movements. 

“P-please,” she gasped. “I need to cum, Logan.”

He smiled. “Yeah, pretty girl? Gonna cum around my cock?”

Y/N nodded, moaning and shaking under him. “Please, please,” she begged. 

“Come on, princess. Cum around my cock. Squeeze me with your sweet pussy,” he demanded. “Wanna feel you when you cum. Shit… Ah… Fuck…”

A few more flickers of his finger was what she needed to reach her peak. Her mouth formed a perfect O, her voice suddenly gone when the wave of pleasure hit her body like a train. Her back arched as he helped her through her orgasm. 

“Fuck, baby, yes,” he grunted. “Milk me dry.” 

A few more thrusts and he spilt inside her. His hot cum painted her walls. He growled like an animal, trying to prolong his climax with every movement. His body shook and then he stopped, panting. 

His eyes found hers. There was a post-orgasmic haze in them. A smile played on her lips. She was perfect, beautiful. Logan quickly leaned down and stole a kiss from her.

“Damn, princess,” he chuckled. “Such a good girl.” 

Those words made her clench around his length again. He grinned. “You like it when I call ya a good girl? Good to know.” Slowly, he pulled her semi-hard cock out of her and rolled next to her, catching his breath. 

Y/N rolled to him, resting her leg over his body. Her fingers drew patterns on his chest, moving through the hair delicately. “This was fun,” she smiled. “It’s been a while since I had a good orgasm.” 

He raised a brow. “Next time, I’ll make you cum on my fingers,” he grabbed her hand and pressed his lips on her fingers. “Then on my tongue and around my cock,” he hummed. “I will fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

She grinned. “Is that a promise?” 

“Fuck yeah, princess.” 

[chainmail-butch]

The MtF Stone Butch

This is a distillation of my thoughts on my own Stone Sexuality as a keep-the-pants-on Transfeminine Stone Butch.

All essays that I've read on Stone Sexuality come from the perspective of cisgendered or transmasculine lesbians. Each of these individuals ascribed their Stone to something uniquely emotional or physical in their lives. There was nothing so simple as,

"If I had a dick this wouldn't be an issue," but that idea remains a contributing factor throughout.

I do have a dick, so what's the issue?

The first is sensation. Since transitioning, I find that my body is awash in heightened sensation; traditional erogenous zones (genitals, nipples, hips, lips, ears) especially. However, when a partner is introduced my skin itself becomes the Stone. Sensations that were previously pleasurable become dulled or even painful. This leads to a certain touch-me-not that is almost completely divorced from body dysphoria, which is usually the given cause for such a reaction.

This sensational experience leads to the unusual scenario where an unfeeling (on paper) strap is preferred to my own dick.

This is not a bad thing.

While I don't take pleasure in being touched I do take great pleasure in touching and perceiving. Sight, taste, smell, and the tips of my fingers come to the fore.

This is the magic of Stone4Stone sex in my experience. Bringing together a person who only wants to touch and a person who only wants to be touched creates a space free of worry and discomfort. It removes the latent concern that I am somehow failing in providing my partner with something that they need or want; either by denying them outright or being an unconvincing fake.

The use of fingers and specialized tools also brings me a feeling of safety and comfort. Being equipped precisely for a femme's pleasure brings me a feeling of security. Which allows me to more thoroughly enjoy the acts of touching, hearing, and tasting.

The other factor at play is emotion. This comes primarily in two flavors, dysphoria and satisfaction.

As a Transgender Woman I experience body dysphoria and, more specifically, genital dysphoria. My penis and I are not on speaking terms.

For most women this seems to result in a relationship with the prostate. I never had the urge, despite recognizing the fact that I should have the urge and repeatedly opening a dialogue. It never really worked out. Which led to feelings of confusion, further dysphoria, and some amount of despair. After all, if every part of me felt dull or painful or foreign, how was I supposed to cum? Should I not crave orgasm? Isn't that the purpose to this whole business?

My answer is that I'm not, I don't, and it isn't.

Even before transitioning my own orgasm was a tertiary concern compared to my satisfaction at a job well done.

Multiple shaking, moaning, hair gripping orgasms from my partner are enough to keep me walking on clouds for a week. In that space my erogenous zones could not matter less. My feelings of pleasure are her feelings of pleasure. My orgasm is her orgasm. Everything that I need to feel is in her convulsing muscles and dopey smile. All stress is removed from me and replaced with the feeling of a tool properly used by the hands of a master craftsman.

I did what I came to do and I did it well. That's what I crave. That's my Stone.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Winter (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Mature language. Grief. Toddlers. Unreliable narrators. Miscommunication.

A/N: I was so excited about this chapter! These scenes are the ones I wrote first. Also, the biggest hug to anyone who is reading this. I had not expected the amount of love my first chapter got, and I am so grateful!

THERE WAS AN old northern superstition —more like an old wives’ tale, really— that said if there was snow on the wedding day, the marriage was doomed to be a cold one.

It hadn’t been snowing the day Cregan had married you, but his marriage was proving to be icier than the lands beyond the wall. You weren’t interested in spending time with him at all, and you actively tried to avoid him. He had tried to convince you to share rooms, trying to foster some intimacy, to no avail.

Cregan had hoped that if not a loving wife, he would get a caring mother to Rickon. The boy was too small to grow without one, not yet having reached his third nameday. But you hadn’t shown interest in that either. Instead, you pretended the two of them didn’t exist.

He would like to say that the days went on the same way they did before he wed you, but it would be a lie. Winterfell ran much better now there was a lady present. Cregan had been wrong about you. It seemed like you could run a keep, and you did so with ruthless efficiency.

The castle had never been warmer, the meals so well planned. Even the servants seemed happy, now that they didn’t have to follow Cregan’s too broad instructions. It seemed that asking them to clean and cook was a little too vague for their tastes.

As for you, grief still followed you around, like a too long shadow that refused to budge even in the face of Winterfell’s brightest light. Sara had befriended you, with little success. While you had been far more welcoming to her, you still looked constantly tired and sad.

The lack of sunlight had made you lose your southron tan, leaving you with a look of quiet frailty that made Cregan want to wrap you in a thousand blankets and keep you safe. He just was unsure of the execution.

You scared him. He was man enough to admit it. People were often afraid of things they didn’t understand, and Cregan was no exception. You were made of absolute ice. There was no better description. Cold, but as fragile as glass.

He was running out of ideas on how to bond with you. Invitations to tea were denied, nor did you want to ride with him to see his tenants. You seemed at ease enough around Sara, and some other northern ladies, so social interaction wasn’t what you disliked. It was him.

Never had Winterfell’s corridors been filled with so many women. The northern lords already called you Queen Alysanne’s second coming, with your all female court. The only thing missing was your husband. You didn’t have Cregan’s ear, simply because you didn’t wish to. He would support your endeavors if you asked him to. He had offered his help with your attempts to establish a charity, since the North didn’t have Septas to take care of it, but you had proudly rebuffed him.

There was no pleasing you. He was at his wits’ end. Hence, the awful choice he had made that day.

To try to force you to be in his company.

“Why are you ordering my servants around?” You complain, barging into his chambers. While usually the kitchens were the domain of the Lady of the household, Cregan didn’t know you took it so seriously. “Do you not think me capable enough?”

“I do!” Cregan sits up in his bed, bewildered. He had given the orders around lunchtime, hoping you would not find out, yet here you were, less than half a day later. Far more soon than he had expected. “I just want to throw a feast to honor you.”

“You intend to honor me by giving me more work?” You place your hands on your hips, highlighting your figure, and Cregan is but a man. He cannot help himself, his eyes lingering for a second too long, and his brain coming with no response to your statement.

You seem to take his silence for affirmation.

“Seriously? Do you at least have a guest list?”

And your tone is so haughty, your words betraying you believe Cregan to be an absolute imbecile, he cannot help but give a heated retort.

“Of course I have. Truly, I am more than capable of organizing it on my own. Arra let me do it a few times, and I was unmarried for quite a while. I am experienced enough to…”

It is the wrong thing to say. You bare your fangs then, and Cregan has a moment of absolute and utter clarity. You are not a seahorse. Such a puny creature could never hope to deliver the utter destruction that you cause with your next words.

“Yes, and your precious Arra is dead! She is gone! Why can’t you understand it?” You turn on your heel, face absolutely thunderous, and go to rush out of his chambers.

Cregan loses his head fully, then. He grabs you by the arm, hard enough to hurt, and forces you to face him. For a frightening moment, he fears himself. Fears the wolf, the one screaming for him to strike you and remind you of your place.

How dare you come in his chambers, uninvited, after rejecting all his offers of companionship, to lecture him on grief? As if he could forget Arra was dead. It wasn’t so long ago that Rickon cried for his mother still, unable to understand why he didn’t have one. It wasn’t so long ago that Sara had to take over the role of Lady of the House, and suffered mockery from it. And it wasn’t so long ago, Cregan woke with a scream choked in his throat, reliving that awful morning in every dream he had.

He still did, sometimes. Less, now that he had more urgent matters to occupy himself with. Cregan was ashamed to admit it, but before Jacaerys and your arrival here, Winterfell had been far too empty to keep the ghosts away.

Now, with the war, and the flurry of activities that seemed to follow you, Cregan had little time to dwell much in his dark thoughts. Throwing himself into his work had allowed him to begin healing a wound he wasn’t even aware existed.

And wasn’t that a terrible thought? That Cregan was a man who thrived on war and hunger? Winter was coming, after all. It wouldn’t catch him unprepared.

He had sworn a vow to protect you. As long as Jacaerys had no children, you were third in line to the Iron Throne. To think of hurting you was not only to think of staining his honor, but to think of treason.

Cregan holds you there for a second longer, curious about your reaction. His grip must be bruising on your arm, he can feel the delicate bones under your flesh shift with how hard he is holding you. Yet, you show no fear. Your hands are balled into fists.

Were he to strike, you would strike back. Your face is the very picture of anger, your body coiled and ready to tear him apart.

He throws the feast. You sit next to him in icy silence and somehow manage to speak and dance with all the guests but him.

Cregan does no longer dream of trying to hunt a seahorse. Instead, he sees the world at a much lower angle than usual, and runs for his life. Somehow, in the dream, he knows a dragon is hunting him.

OF COURSE IT is today. The only day you actually wish your Lord Husband to be in the castle, and he is not.

You had spent many of your days fervently praying for him to leave on an errand, and yet, the day he does, you cannot even enjoy it.

Because the boy has gotten sick. And look, you have visited the nursery before, it is a part of your duties. You also cannot deny that you had been curious about the tiny version of your husband that will inherit everything.

The boy is cute, you suppose. In the manner all babes are. He is well-behaved, and quiet, and takes well to his teachings, even if they involve only naming things aloud.

Had you not hardened your heart to it already, you would want one of your own. You know, though, that their only inheritance will be tears and petty squabbles over land, so it’s best they are not born at all. It had been so between your husband’s father and uncle, and it was being so between your mother and your uncle Aegon.

The only assurance a woman has in a life spent as little more than property is her children. They are to inherit their father’s lands, and that is supposed to be enough. But for the second sons, said promise is always broken.

You had never, not once, thought you would come to understand Alicent, yet here you were.

You reflect on this as you hurry to the nursery, worried the damn boy will die before you reach it. When you get there, you feel the urge to scream. There is not one, but three serving girls hovering by the door, and the Maester is mixing some herbs in a chalice.

The child sleeps peacefully, unaware the surrounding turmoil. He looks impossibly small in his bed of furs, shirt open and chest covered in strange poultices. The boy… No, Rickon, had taken ill after the first snow. Perhaps he had been spending too much time playing outside, or he lingered too much in his wet clothes. You wouldn't know. You tried to avoid him as much as you could.

After this was over, you would have a stern talk with his maids. They shouldn’t be this careless. This was your husband’s heir. Someone had to care about him.

Not you. Never you.

“Will he be alright?” You ask, as the Maester places a wet cloth on his forehead. You have never liked children, never having had the chance to be one yourself. Your mother’s constant quest for the Iron Throne and her love for Daemon had often left you in the hands of the help. And when you were old enough, you had to take the role of the mature sibling alongside Jacaerys, helping raise your brothers.

Jacaerys. You hoped that wherever he was, he was suffering. You despised this place, and he had dared plot with your mother behind your back to get you here. With your beast of a husband, and this child of a previous marriage, whose existence would forever ensure your future children would inherit nothing.

You weren’t going to have children. Despite loving children, you despise your husband too much to ever lay with him. But most of all, you are beginning to fear you will become a damn Hightower. You feared that if you had children and faced the prospect of them only being second sons, you might be tempted to start a war too.

“He will, Princess.” The Maester, unaware of your inner turmoil, places a reassuring hand on your arm. He surely believes in the gentle hearts of women, or some nonsense like that. “The fever will lower with the tea we gave him, and the cool cloth on his forehead. His lungs are strong. He will breathe normally soon.”

The boy’s chest flutters oddly. His ribs show with each inhale, depicting his trouble breathing. You cast a dubious look at the cool cloth. If this was all they could do, it was no wonder your grandfather had been rotting alive.

“Is that all you have to say? Why do his ribs show?” You do your best to channel your mother, tone imperious. “If this is truly…” Before you can insult him by calling him the worst the Citadel has to offer, a boy comes in. You let out a sigh of relief, your desire to berate the Maester subsiding. It’s the same boy you had sent to Castle Cerwyn to retrieve your husband.

“Princess!” He says, extending a hand to you. Much to your astonishment, he hands back the message you had sent to Lord Cregan. “I have grievous news. The road to Castle Cerwyn is fully blocked. I couldn’t get past the river. I cannot go over it either and avoid the forest, for it is not fully frozen.”

“This cannot be!” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. Cursed your husband, and his plans to visit the Cerwyns’ tenants today, of all days. “You have to get Lord Cregan. Send a more experienced rider.”

“My lady, I would advise not to.” The Maester says, meekly. “Even if the rider does manage to get past, it is very likely Lord Stark is in the village, snowed in.”

“Well, then send a damn search party!” You yell, uncaring your language is unbecoming of a Princess. You cannot be here while the child… While Rickon dies. The child has a parent, and it is your husband, you do not even care for him!

“It is not as simple.” The Maester cringes when you turn on him.

“Of course it isn’t. The only simple thing is the cure for the child’s malady, isn’t it?” You growl. “Do something useful, if you think a rider cannot reach my husband. Get me someone who can, and fix the boy.”

It would be easier for you if the boy died. You could have the children you so craved. The obstacle would have removed itself. Relationships between half brothers are never as strong as between full ones. At the very least, this child could cast out you and any children you birth when Lord Cregan passes. At the very worst, he might have them killed, as your mother intended with her usurper brother.

But you are not so craven as to let an innocent die. He is still a boy, no older than three namedays. He is vulnerable, and his father is not here.

You sit next to the bed, eyes fixed on his chest. Rickon will not die on your watch.

THE SOUND OF a door opening jerks you awake. Disoriented, you sit up on your chair, and check that Rickon still breathes.

He does. He has awakened with the sound of the door opening, just as you did. But unlike you, he has begun wailing. You get him. You would like to cry too.

“What is it?” You snarl at the serving girl who dared enter in such a manner. The sound of Rickon’s cries grate in your ears, shrill and loud, awakening you fully. You try to coax him into laying back down to no avail.

“Milady…” She stammers, holding a breakfast tray. The reason for her interruption becomes clear. Had it been so long already? You remembered standing vigil over Rickon until sundown, and changing the cool compress a few times after, but no further. By the Seven, you were a terrible caretaker. “I… There are…”

Rickon wails harder.

“Father! Father, want father!” He cries. He then attempts to remove the cool cloth from his forehead, and get up, escaping the furs laid over him.

The serving girl stares at the boy. You stare at her. Rickon continues to squirm. When it is clear she is expecting you to soothe him, you sigh and turn to the child.

“Rickon, you have to lay down again.”

“Father! Father!” He wails, face beginning to turn red, his breathing labored. You are unsure if it is his distress or the sickness, but it worries you nonetheless. The child cannot die. You are not prepared to deal with it.

“Shh, Rickon, I know you are hurting.” You tell him, as you pick him up. “Father is not here. He is trapped by the snow.”

At this, he cries harder. You can hear him gasping for air as he squirms in your arms and kicks at you. His snot is getting everywhere. Good Gods, what if he dies? Would your husband actually force you consummate the marriage if he loses his heir? The thought alone is enough to force you into action.

“He is not trapped. He is snowed in, just as when you cannot go out and play. Happens all the time.” You reassure him, rubbing his back. You know your words to be a lie, but the boy doesn’t. The weather has been especially rough this season. The snow storm is unusual in its fierceness. “He will be back soon.”

Rickon perks up at that.

“He will?”

“As soon as he can.” You promise, hoping it is the case. In truth, you do not know. Your husband is unaware Rickon is ill, and holds no fondness for you. You doubt he will be rushing once the road clears. In fact, you think he might be celebrating the weather and praising his northern gods for the excuse to get a respite from you.

Well, too bad. You would send men each hour to check if the storm waned and the road was accessible once more. He would have to come and tend to his child.

“Where is father?” Rickon asks you, a suspicious look in his little face. He is eerily similar to your husband. His sobs have turned more subdued.

“With Lord Cerwyn.”

“Why? Hurts! Father!” The boy demands, petulantly. He is clearly feeling better if his lungs allow him to shriek like that. You are no healer, but his agitation is worrying you. What if he has a fit because he overexerted himself and then dies?

“I want your father too.” You mutter under your breath. “You do not see me wailing.”

“I love father.” He sobs. “Want him.”

And you are not made of stone. You have never been, no matter how hard you pretend. He is still a babe, hands chubby, face round. He still smells like one, a mix of the nursery, and sweet innocence.

Without even realizing it, you have cradled him into your arms and begun rocking the two of you. He keeps wailing, so you begin singing.

“I loved a maid…” There is no need to be a good singer to soothe babies. You are unsure of what they like about it, but you know it works. It had worked for Aegon and Viserys, why not for Rickon? “As fair as summer, who had sunlight in her hair….”

You begin to rock him as you pace through the room. As his tears begin to subside, and he begins to grow curious about the soft song, you realize he is not the threat to your future children you had envisioned. Rickon is beautiful in the manner all babes are, soft and sweet. His little fists cling to your wool cloak, gray eyes meeting yours with fascination.

Charmed by him, you keep singing. Seasons of my love is enlarged and repeated ten times over, and now includes verses about northern babies who look exactly like their father.

“I loved a boy…” You hum, softly. It feels like hours have passed when Rickon’s eyes finally begin to drop. Of course he would enjoy the verses about winter the most. “As white as winter, with moonglow in his hair.”

The door opens, slowly. You hear the wood groan as it does, but Rickon takes no notice. He burrows his head next to your heart, yawning.

You turn to look at the newcomer, pleased that having put the fear of the gods into the maid who had dared enter before had proven fruitful. The pleased smile drops from your face when you realize it is your husband.

Lord Stark is drenched to the bone. His hair is stuck to his head and shoulders, dripping water onto his furs. The cloak he had worn is wet, and he is quick to remove it, leaving him in simple breeches and a jerkin. His face is the picture of worry.

“I rode as hard as I dared.” His voice is low, pleasantly so. You had never considered the northern accent he sported attractive, but when his voice is gruff, and pitched low, you might see the appeal. “How is he?”

He shouldn’t have bothered with the low tone. Rickon would recognize his voice everywhere because he perks up considerably.

“Father! Father!” Rickon claps. He attempts turning in your grip to look at your husband, which makes you fear he might fall, so you perch him on your hip so he can do so.

“The fever has broken.” You hand Rickon back to him, feeling a hint of embarrassment when his eyes linger on the way you had been holding him. “He’ll live.”

“Thank you.” And his voice is earnest and soft, and it makes you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Is it her still? Does Arra Norrey stand in this room with you, too?

The embarrassment from earlier, and the anger at the thought of your husband being soft because you remind him of her make you snap at him.

“It’s fine. I missed my siblings.” You cross your arms over your chest, awkward. Why does he keep staring at you? Is he… Oh, by the Seven, he is smiling at you? So softly? You cannot stand it. “I will send for a bath for you and Rickon, after washing myself. Less I catch a cold too.”

Look, princesses do not flee. They simply walk hurriedly. Very hurriedly.

[cutielando]

miss possessive | charles leclerc

synopsis: in which you don't even realize how possessive you can get over your handsome boyfriend

a/n: based on this request!

pairing: charles leclerc x jealous!reader

my masterlist

You weren’t jealous.

You weren’t.

It was just an observation, that’s all.

You sat at a table inside the Ferrari motorhome, absentmindedly stirring the ice in your drink with a straw as your eyes locked onto her.

Léa Bisset. The journalist.

The one who always seemed to hover around Charles just a little too much whenever she was in the paddock.

She was standing close—too close—to Charles, laughing at something he’d said. You rolled your eyes, watching as she tilted her head back dramatically, placing a hand on his forearm as she laughed.

God. Did she have to touch him?

You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to focus on literally anything else, but Pierre’s knowing chuckle from across the table made your annoyance spike.

“You’re glaring” Pierre pointed out, sipping his espresso like this was his favorite form of entertainment.

“I am not” you denied, not taking your eyes off of Charles and her.

“You are,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And you’re jealous.”

You scoffed, shaking your head disapprovingly.

“I am not jealous, Pierre”

He smirked. “Then why do you look like you’re about to go over there and tackle Léa to the ground?”

“I just don’t like her,” you muttered, turning back to your drink. “She’s always acting like Charles belongs to her.”

Pierre hummed, clearly unconvinced.

“You do realize Charles loves you, right? He barely notices her.”

“He’s noticing her now, isn't he?” you asked, clicking your tongue as you motioned towards where your boyfriend was still talking to that complete and total bitch.

Pierre exhaled a laugh, shaking his head.

“You should go over there. Mark your territory" he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes at his choice of words, but the idea of interrupting their little moment was suddenly too tempting to resist.

It was not in your nature to be acting like this, getting jealous over women talking to Charles, but she was pushing your buttons more than you cared to admit and more than any other female that had ever approached your boyfriend.

You stood abruptly, smoothing out your Ferrari team shirt with Charles' last name and number on your back, before striding across the room. Pierre let out a low whistle behind you, but you ignored him, not wanting to let anything change your mind from what you were about to do.

Charles looked up just as you reached them, his face instantly softening and his lips breaking out into a wide smile.

“Amour,” he greeted, but you didn’t give him time to say anything else.

With deliberate ease, you slid an arm around his waist, pressing yourself against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Miss me?” you asked sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes.

Charles’ lips twitched like he was trying not to smile, already having picked up on what you were trying to do.

“Of course.”

Léa raised an eyebrow, shifting slightly.

“We were just talking about the race,” she said, forcing a polite smile.

"That's nice, but now I'm going to have to steal my boyfriend away, sorry" you said, planting a very fake smile on your face as you glared at her.

Charles didn't say anything, trying his best not to start laughing at the whole situation.

"I think Charles can decide for himself, don't you?" she said, hoping that Charles would decide to talk to her more instead of following you, his girlfriend.

You hummed, glaring at her even more threateningly.

“Meh, that depends. Charles, didn’t you say you wanted to grab some food before your meetings? We kinda have to get going if you want to make it in time” you said, turning your attention to him.

"Right, yeah" he said, coughing and clearing his throat.

“Let’s go,” you said before she could say anything, you pulled him gently by the waist. “It was nice seeing you, Léa.”

You didn’t wait for a reply before walking off, Charles stumbling slightly as he let you drag him away.

Once you were out of earshot, Charles finally broke the silence, amusement laced in his voice.

“Mon amour,” he started, “was that necessary?”

You frowned, turning your attention to him.

“What?”

He stopped walking, gently tugging you back so you faced him. His green eyes sparkled with barely contained laughter.

“You were jealous, weren't you?” Charles asked, his voice laced with an undertone of teasing.

“I was not jealous” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him.

He raised an eyebrow, seeing past your flimsy attempts.

“You basically dragged me away from a conversation” he deadpanned.

“She was all over you, Charles,” you said, crossing your arms. “Touching your arm, laughing like you’re the funniest person alive-”

“I am pretty funny.”

You shot him a glare, not finding the situation funny in the slightest.

“Charles" you said, your voice dead serious.

He chuckled, hands finding your waist as he pulled you close.

“Chérie, I didn’t even notice. I was just being polite” he explained, his voice sporting a lot of understanding and patience.

This was far from the first time that he had had to calm you down from a jealousy fit, but he found it cute rather than annoying.

You sighed, feeling your resolve weaken and your anger slowly leaving your body.

“I just— I don’t like the way she looks at you” you confessed, your voice now soft and quiet.

Charles’ expression softened. He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he murmured against your skin. “You’re the only one I want, you know that”

You exhaled, tension finally easing from your shoulders.

“I do know that, but I just can't help the way I feel whenever I see a woman who thinks they can flirt with you when I'm there, acting like they don't know who I am” you explained.

Charles sighed and gave you a sympathetic smile, understanding your point of view.

"I get it, but you don't have to worry about any of them. It's part of my job to be polite to everyone, but that doesn't mean that I want any of them. You're the only one I want, and nothing is going to change that" he said, his voice soft.

You looked up into his eyes, finding nothing but sincerity and reassurance in them.

You closed your eyes and let yourself fall against his chest, feeling his lips press a kiss against the crown of your head.

After a moment, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, smirking.

“But I must say… you’re very cute when you’re jealous” he said, his voice amused.

You groaned, burying your face in his chest.

“I hate you” you murmured, your voice muffled by his shirt.

He laughed, kissing the top of your head.

“No, you don’t” he said.

You grumbled something incoherent against his shirt, making him laugh harder.

“I think I like this side of you,” he teased. “Miss possessive”

You smacked his arm, but he just grinned, pulling you even closer.

And, despite yourself, you smiled too.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

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REQUEST HERE

[arbitrarykiwi]

heyyy!!! loser namgyu lover here. this is purely self indulgent but i would LOVE to see how you’d write loser namgyu w a more innocent reader? not naïve or childish or anything weird like that, just a less experienced one. i literally die for everything you write, the banter, the plot, the smut the everything!!!! can’t wait to see what you have coming. thank u!

Introvert Meets Innocence

LOSER NAMGYU LOVER MY BELOVED!! Ugh your one ask resonated with so many people that we got multiple people requesting more loser!nam-gyu x reader 🤭🤭 and who am I to deny the people of what they want!!! I hope you guys don’t mind I combined these asks, they all came in around the same time and all craved the awkward lil loser man!! I hope you all enjoy 😩 thank you again for requesting !!!!

Warnings: smut (18+), drug usage (weed), forced proximity, oral (f receiving), porn addict/hardly touches women!Namgyu, cowgirl, squirting, creampie, probably more, read at your own risk.

You didn’t expect to end up locked in a room with Nam-Gyu tonight. You really didn’t. You came with your friend to Thanos’ studio- she was dating him.

It was normal! You’ve hung out with them multiple times, you and your friend group going over to the studio after a night out to keep the party going and mingle with Thanos’ group. You had to admit, the majority of the people in the shared group were not the usual people you hung around. You didn’t mind them but they were all very loud and excitable, often knocking back shots quicker than you can count and immediately escalating into breaking furniture. The poor coffee table in the studio has been replaced more times than you could count.

They also all seemed to enjoy the hard drugs- ones you never wished to try- you’ve seen what it’s done to the ones who do it. You stick with weed. Your friends often called you the ‘innocent’ one of the group. You wished you could defend yourself- but when compared to the other people who hung around you were innocent. Hell, half the time you couldn’t even realizes a drug deal was going down in front of you until your friend told you later on.

So anytime you hung with this group- you frequently found yourself on the small side sectional of the studio, next to Nam-Gyu. He was the most tame out of the group. Sure he was odd, awkward even, but after a couple blunts or a line of whatever substance he chose, you could potentially get a conversation out of him. He was brash, often calling you names or criticizing your blunt rolling skills- but you found yourself drawn to him. He was strange, very introverted- he only spoke if he was spoke to. Anytime you saw him out at the club he looked like he wanted to go home. Even now in the studio with at least 10 other people laugh and yelling- you can see the way his nose scrunches in annoyance.

You remember one time a couple months ago, you and him were in the same spot as you are now. You were helping him break down the weed, he looked over to you- you were wearing some sweatpants and a sweater, a drastic difference from the outfits of your friends were wearing. You were curled up into the corner of the couch, nearing falling off the edge of the sectional, like you’re trying your best not to invade his space though he had so much

He scoffs as he looks back to his rolling tray, his face mostly hidden from your view by the hood of the jacket he was wearing. “You’re fucking weird.” He states simply. You can’t help but let out a baffled laugh and look over to him with an offended look. “Ohhhkayyy..” you draw out with a grimace. Trying to decide if you’re more offended by the comment or the fact he spoke to you first. “‘S not a bad thing. You’re just…weird.” He says, like it makes it any better.

He looks back over to you and sees your uneasy and upset look. He’s cursing to himself inwardly, he guessed that didn’t exactly come out the way he intended. “I- fuck.” He groans, you can’t help but laugh, he really doesn’t know how to talk to people. “You’re sitting so far away like I’m going to bite you, you’re dressed like that when all the girls you came with dressed like…” he looks over to your friends across the room, each dressed in short skirts or small tops- all gettinf cozy with men of their own. “..Like that.” He finishes. “You’re just…interesting..I guess that’s the better word.” He mumbles, looking back down to the rolling tray to avoid your eyes.

You seem to relax more, realizing he wasn’t insulting you. “I just didn’t want to be cold, I was wearing something like that at the club. We just stopped home and I changed. Wanted to be comfy.” You shrug. “And I didn’t want to be in your space.” You say softly, fingers working against the weed to break it down, adding to the grown pile on the rolling tray you had in your lap.

“You’re not in my space.” He says, it’s a gruff tone. You smiles softly to yourself but think nothing of it, returning back to your task. You hear him sigh, almost like he’s annoyed, “That was an invitation for you to move closer. You’re practically falling off the couch.”

So now anytime you’re sitting by him helping him roll, you’re closer to him. Thighs almost touching.

Now how did you end up locked in the guest room that was upstairs in the studio!? Well that happened because your friend and Thanos seemed to think they needed to play Cupid. They had enough of the awkward slow burn of sexual tension that seemed to be brewing between you two. And it seemed like neither of you guys realized it. Thanos was tired of seeing the little to no game Nam-Gyu had- sure he would throw a ‘you look nice’ here and there or very obviously eye fuck you, yet Nam-Gyu would do nothing about it. And your friend was tired of you missing every hint Nam-Gyu seemed to throw at you- sure they were piss poor attempts at flirting and most of the times his tone seemed like he was bored with everything around him- but she saw how he stared at you, how he bit his lip harder when you came around, moving over on the couch to make room for your designated spot.

If you two were going to act like nervous awkward high schoolers- they’d play the same game. Somehow Thanos and one of your friends managed to wrangle you two upstairs, throw you two in the room and shut the door behind you guys.

Instinctively Nam-Gyu rushed over to the door, trying to pull it open but it was obvious something was placed on the other side to keep the door shut.

Nam-gyu furiously bangs on the door, “Dude what the fuck! Open the fucking door!” He shouts, pulling at the knob to no avail.

“You two are going to play 60 minutes in heaven!” Your friend calls through the door, you’re furrowing your eyebrows. “Isn’t it 7 minutes in heaven…” you mumble to yourself, confused. Nam-gyu seems to hear you because he’s muttering a ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ like you’re missing a whole part of the joke. You then realize exactly what situation you’re in, locked in a room with him and now you’re expected to be in that room for 60 minutes. You’re running over to the door as well, banging on it. “You can’t fucking keep us in here for 60 minutes!!” You call out. There’s no answer and the door still wouldn’t budge. But you still don’t seem to connect the dots, you don’t make the connection between your friend’s words and what’s going on.

You step back, your body temperature rising. This was so fucked of them to do. Knowing your attempts at opening the door are futile, you begin to walk back to the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Nam-gyu is still at the door, furiously jiggling the knob for a few more seconds before finally giving up. He’s huffing out an annoyed breath and sinking back away from the door.

He joins you on the bed, sitting a bit away from you, it seems now he’s awkwardly shrinking away like you’ll bite. His hood has fallen off of his head, allowing you to see his face. The corner of his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, his face has a slight flush to it, his leg bouncing up and down rapidly. Every movement of his leg makes the bed sheets rustle, it’s almost maddening, it’s the only sound you hear in the room.

“Are you anxious?” Your voice cuts through the silence like a knife. He’s scoffing, turning his head away from you and bringing once of his hands up to his face, biting at his thumb nail. What a fantastic fucking question, he thought. He couldn’t believe you were asking that, wasn’t it obvious? “No.” He curtly responds, his tone cold and terse. You shrink back in response, shifting away from him. “But your leg-“ you mutter out, he cuts you off, “It’s nothing. I’m not anxious.” He spits out a bit harshly.

“Okay…” you say glaring at him, fingers pulling at the fabric of the comforter. “We can probably just sit here for a bit and they’ll let us out.” You mumble, eyes trained on your feet. “They won’t.” He says… he sure knows how to swoon with his words. You’re furrowing your eyebrows and rolling your eyes.

In his mind he’s fighting multiple demons. He regrets telling Thanos you were his type. He wishes he wasn’t so fucked up the other week that he let spill he searches up porn categories that you fit. He searches for women with your hair, your eye color, your body type. He didn’t know why he let that slip to Thanos, he blamed it on the mass amount of coke in his system at the time. But ever since he said that, the purple haired rapper has been trying to get him to make a move.

He tried, as best he could, he wasn’t the best with flirting. Lingering touches on your hands as you pass the blunt, a hand laid out on your upper thigh as you talk in a group, maybe a small compliment here and there- saying your hair looked nice or commenting on a new shirt he saw you wear, hed even offer his lap for you to lay on when your head was beginning to hurt from the loud bass playing in the studio. He thought it was obvious, and maybe to someone else it was- but not to you. You’d just giggle and thank him for his compliments, even place your hand over his on his thigh and play with his rings only to go home without hardly saying bye to him. You seemed to never notice he had a thing for you.

But he knew that Thanos orchestrated this whole thing. And he knew that the rapper would not let him out of this room until something happened, until he finally made a move. “And how do you know that? They’re just pulling a dumb prank.” You say, he can hear the attitude in your voice, how you really can’t see the underlying message of what was going on.

He’s struggling, he really is. He wasn’t a virgin, but he might as well be. He’s maybe slept with three women, all one night stands where he was far too high to even remember it. He honestly hated dealing with people and that included any woman he took home for a quick fuck. He admittedly got most of his knowledge from watching porn. He spent countless nights at his desk chair, cock in his hand, chasing his third release of the night. And when he met you, his search history was flooded with key search terms that applied to your physical attributes. He was a fucking loser and Thanos expected him to make a move on you!?

“Do you really not see what’s going on here?” He’s asking looking at you with furrowed brows, his harsh tone making you shrink back from him. He’s immediately regretting the way he say it and inwardly scolding himself- he didn’t mean for it to come out that way. “60 minutes in heaven….a play on 7 minutes in heaven…” he says, drawing out his words like it would make you realize. “Yeah…so? Just a stupid change of the name I guess,” you respond shrugging.

He’s pinching his brow in disbelief. You really were so innocent. You really couldn’t see the situation your friend just forced you into.

You pout, starting to think maybe he didn’t like you at all. He was flinching away from you like you were poisonous, his face was flushed and pale like he was physically getting ill around you. “They’re not going to let us out. They locked us in here because they want us to fuck.”

His words make you gawk at him, he can’t be serious. “W-woah what?!” You say incredulously, “N-no that’s definitely not it. They’re just…” your words trail off into nothing as you begin to think of any other reason as to why your friend and Thanos threw you into a locked room with Nam-gyu.

“They’re just what?!” He asks turning back to face you fully, his pupils were blown, his eyes wide and nervous. “You’re so fucking naïve you know that?” He huffs, exasperated. He’s standing up off the bed and pacing around the room a couple times before he stands in front of you. You’re looking at him with an even more confused look, your eyebrows twisted into a look of hurt at his description of you. “I-“ your words are caught in your throat as you stare up at him from your spot on the bed.

“I ran my fucking mouth and told Thanos I wanted to fuck you. He was fed up of me talking about it and sick of nothing happening, me not doing anything about it- that he forced us in here to urge something to happen.” He’s rambling, his hands running through his hair, it looks like his world was crumbling. It’s like he genuinely thought you had no interest in him what so ever.

“Y-you want to fuck me?” You ask, like you misheard him- an uneasy, questioning tone in your voice as if you thought you made everything he said up and now you’re embarrassed you have to ask for clarification. He laughs, striding forward and planting his hands on the bed on either side of your thighs. He’s bent down, face level with yours, “Yes. I don’t know how you haven’t fucking seen it. I’ve beat my fucking dick to the thought of you for months.” He’s responding.

Your mouth drops open, you really don’t think he’s realizing what he’s saying- but to you this is all new news. You never thought he had any attraction to you so you never wanted to push yourself on him. Sure you found him attractive- fuck, he was so attractive- but you never would have thought he’d want to be with someone like you. You were tame compared to the rest of the crowd he found himself around. You figured he’d want a wild party girl. “I had no idea…” you mutter, looking at him like you’ve been bestowed the secrets of the universe.

He laughs, it’s almost mocking, “Of course you didn’t…” he’s looking over your face for any sort of reciprocation in your face but when he finds none and only finds confusion and surprise, he’s stepping back from you, realizing what he just admitted to and goes violently red. “L-look I’m sorry, just forget I s-said anything and we can just sit here until they unlock the fucking door.” He’s rambling again, thinking he royally fucked everything up. He didn’t know how to talk to girls, let alone you. You were different than any of the drugged out girls he’s fucked- and there wasn’t many.

You’re launching yourself off the bed and making your way over to him. You’re grabbing the sides of his jacket and yanking him downwards. You’re kissing him with months of pent up emotion. He’s fumbling, he’s not really sure what to do. His lips are messy against yours, his hands hovering in the air above your hips. When you release his jacket to cup his face in both of your hands- steadying him and grounding him to reality. He falls into a steadier rhythm, his hands placing themselves on your hips.

His hands are shaking on your hips, it’s endearing. He finally falls into a pattern that has your head swimming, you’re melting into him, beginning to moan softly into his mouth. The sounds you make send lightning up his spine, it’s better than he ever imagined. He’s backing you up to the bed, your knees connect with the edge of the bed and you both fall onto the plush mattress.

His hands reattach themselves to your waist, pushing up your sweater to run his hands along your skin. Your warmth against his hands makes him moan into your mouth. You can feel his erection against your stomach already. Was he really already worked up? You really had no idea how he could be. You didn’t see yourself as an overly sexual person so the idea that he was so utterly, sexually, attracted to you didn’t sit in your mind.

But you’re letting out a blissful sigh at his touch, your lips moving feverishly against his. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this.” He admits as he pulls away, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks, his hand slipping up your sweater to grope at your breasts. You watch as his eyes flutter shut, letting out a soft moan at just the feeling of the soft flesh in his hands like he’s never touched a breast in his life.

The whole thing just makes you twitch under him, arching your back into his touch. “Can’t believe you wanted this…would have made a move so much sooner..” he says in a daydreaming voice, like you’re only a figment of his imagination.

You reach up and grab his face and pull him in to kiss you again. He’s caught off guard, a gasp he lets out is swallowed by your lips. You pull back with a giggle, “You were rambling.” He shakes his head chuckling and leaning back in to kiss you again, “My bad..couldn’t help it.” He says, lips molding with yours once again.

This time the kiss is more smooth, he’s carful and kissing you with a swiftness that has your mind reeling. You’re moaning into his mouth and arching up into his hand that still works at your breast. His mouth parts, his tongue licking at your lips. You eagerly part your lips, your tongue twirling with his in a mess of mixed saliva.

When he pulls back he’s staring down at your kiss swollen lips and blissed out expression, he thinks he must of won the lottery, this right here- you- you were the jackpot. He’s quickly pushing up your sweater and pulling down your bralette. When your tits fall free of the confines, jiggling as they settle, his cock jumps in his boxers.

Your arms quickly cross over your chest, on instinct, to try and cover yourself. He chuckles at your reaction, it’s cute, so innocent, it just makes his cock strain harder in his jeans. “C’mon….lemme see.” He whines, it’s like a kid who’s pouting. “S’not fair. You’re still clothed.” You say, a pout forming on your lips.

It’s almost comical the speed at which he gets up off the bed and hastily shrugs his jacket off, pulls off his shirt and drops his pants to the ground. You’re giggling as he nearly trips over his jeans as he kicks them off, climbing back onto the bed and straddling your form. “Can I see now?” He begs, leaning down to kiss you quickly, “please…” he whispers, kissing you again. His voice has a whining lilt to it that has your arms falling away from your chest and your head turning away so you didn’t have to look at him.

“Fucking hell…” he breathes out with a soft laugh of disbelief. His hands return to their spot, one hand on each breast, but this time his movements are soft, he gently kneads your tits before brushing his thumbs lightly over your nipples, he’s fixated on the way they begin to harden into soft peaks under his touch. “Perfect set of tits…” he’s mumbling, more to himself than you before he’s lowering his head and wrapping his lips around your nipple.

You’ve had sex a couple times, but truthfully it’s been with shitty men who, as you now come to find out, didn’t pay hardly enough attention to you. You don’t think you’ve ever felt the feeling of someone’s mouth and tongue working at your breasts like they were some divine offering that’s been bestowed upon them. But that’s exactly what Nam-gyu is doing. Your back is arching off the bed, your hand coming to cradle his head to your chest.

He looks up to you while his mouth is latched onto your nipple, tongue ruthlessly flicking over the hard peak as he surveys your every reaction. The way your eyebrows furrow and upturn, the way you bit your cheek more than your lip when you’re trying to silence your moans. He realizes then that you obviously hadn’t had much experience- the little pleasure he’s giving you now already has you a mess. And he loves it.

He pulls off of your nipple with a wet ‘pop’, moving his face back to be level with yours. He connects your lips with his, kissing you with months of built up tension that you can feel he’s pouring into the kiss. It’s frenzied, it’s needy, it’s desperate. When you two break for air, his hands are playing with the waist band of your sweatpants. You can feel the way his hands nervously shake- just ever so slightly. It makes you feel a little better- he’s just as nervous as you were.

He looks to where his fingertips slip below the fabric of your sweatpants, then back up to you. You both sit there in silence for a minute, it’s awkward- but you’re both nervous, both overly excited.

“We can sto-“ He begins to speak first, you frantically cut him off by lifting your hips up off the bed and speaking “No, no! P-please, continue.” You whine desperately, finally finding your voice when the threat of this possibly ending hung in the air.

He visibly relaxes, shoulders dropping as he laughs a bit, trying to slow his heart rate. He’s leaning down and kissing you again as he begins to pull your sweatpants off your legs. You help by kicking them off your feet, both of you fumbling to get the fabric off. You’re both laughing into the kiss. Once he finally pulls the sweatpants fully off of you and tossing them into a corner to the room, he’s focusing more on the kiss.

He stops laughing, slowing the speed of the kiss down to a languid pace that allows you to feel every micro-movement of the kiss. His hands run up your bare legs, feeling your bare skin along his finger tips. He pulls away from the kiss to look down at your legs. You’re wearing a cute set of panties, they’re a light blue with little daisies spores around the fabric. Christ, just when he thought you couldn’t get any better.

He’s moving himself to be kneeling in between your legs, hands running up your legs and pulling you closer to him, letting your legs hand loosely around his hips, your cunt resting tight against the tent in his boxers. He’s observing you like any movement he could make may send you running, it’s makes you try and shrink back into the plush mattress.

You look so perfect like this, he thinks. You’re splayed out on the bed, hair spread around you like some halo, your hips lifted upwards by where he held you, and your hands were gripping the hem of your large sweatshirt to try and pull it down over your panties. You looked so innocent.

“You look good…don’t have to hide.” He hums, hands running up your thighs in a soothing motion- yet you can still feel the slight jitter in his touch. It’s endearing. You slowly drop your hands from the sweater and opt to grip the bed sheets in a white-knuckled grip instead. “I w-wanna make you feel good.” He chokes out, his voice nervously cracking.

You bite your lip and nod, “mhm..o-okay.” You say, your hips mindlessly starting to shift against his cock, dragging your warm cunt along his shaft. You watch as he grits his teeth and his grip on your hips tighten. He thinks he could have cum right there in his boxers when he felt the way your pussy wrapped around his length through your panties. You felt so dirty, you’ve never been this vulgar with anyone. Your movements were experimental, moving purely off instinct.

He’s gripping the sides of your panties, fingers pulling at the elastic, he pauses looking back up to you for some sign to continue. You nod again, “f-fuck please.” You whine out. He’s pulling your panties down and throwing them in an unknown location in the room like your pants. When he finally gets to see your bare cunt, his cock is jumping, visibly, in his boxers. “Fucking hell.” He’s mumbling, hands coming to grip at your inter thighs and push them apart. “I-“ he chokes on his words, he wasn’t nothing more than to say something suave that has you melting into his palms- but he can’t.

The sight of your glistening cunt makes his mind go blank. He really thought that maybe sometime down the line he may have got lucky and made out with you- never in his life expected to get to see your perfect pink cunt- and here we was, at a VIP seat, front and center to a show he’s been dreaming about for months.

“Stop looking at it like that…” you whine, hiding behind your hands once again. He finally realizes how hard he was staring and shakes his head with a bashful laugh. “‘M sorry I can’t help it…” he says, his hands massaging your inner thighs, pulling at the flesh to spread you open better. He sucks in a sharp breath, when he sees your pink cunt and your tight entrance clenching around nothing, the idea of sinking in your cute cunt was enough to make him nearly cum in his boxers for what felt like the 6th time in under thirty minutes.

“It’s so embarrassing…” you whine, your bottom lip catching between your teeth as your eyes are locked on him- watching in anticipation of what he’s going to do next. “S’not….” He mumbles, bending over to place a kiss on your hip. He’s glad you only see it as foreplay, because in reality he’s stalling. He knows if he fucks you right now or even touches your pussy- he’s going to cum.

The countless nights of beating his dick to the idea of you, looking up porn videos only to imagine that it was you and him reenacting the scenes that made his dick so hard- none of it compared to the real thing. He spent weeks conjuring up all the smooth things he’d whisper into your ear if he ever got the chance to fuck you. All that practice was for nothing because when he’s here, having the opportunity, and seeing the real thing- his minds blank, he’s choking on his words, he can hardly speak.

“I’ve dreamed of this…” he hums out, his eyes darting all over your body. “For months….you being in this exact position…” he adds, you’re sure he doesn’t realize how his clothed cock begins to grind hard against your pussy. Your arousal beginning to make a dark patch in his boxers. He does this for a few moments, simply just looking at you and rocking his erection against your cunt. You reach a hand out, nails raking against his abdomen. “F-fuck, please…” you whisper out a breathy voice, eyebrows upturned in a pleading expression. “Nam-Gyu I need you to touch me…p-please.”

His mind is shrouded by a lust he’s never known before. The sweet tone of your pleading voice causing his eyes to roll back. He draws in a hissing breath, opening his eyes to look down at you. He begins to move, adjusting himself. He lays flat on the bed, his hands still holding your thighs open. He levels his face with your soaking pussy, his breath fanning over your folds.

When he looks up at you from between your thighs, he sees your worried expression, almost bordering on unease. “You okay?” He asks, his voice oddly soft, his chin resting on your stomach. You nod frantically, your face flushed red. “Y-yes!” You fumbled out, trying to show that you did want this. “I just uh-“ you swallow thickly “I know I said I wasn’t a virgin…and I’m not…but I’ve never uh…” you say, your eyes looking everywhere but him.

“Don’t tell me no one’s ever eaten your cunt before.” He says, his eyes wide with surprise. You squeak and cover your face in embarrassment, “Ugh don’t say it like that!” You say bashfully. You look at him through your fingers and slowly bring your hand down, you finally nod. “Y-yes no one’s ever…eaten me out.” It sounds weird to say, it almost makes you cringe.

He looks like you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing ever, like he doesn’t believe you. But with the way you’re closing your thighs to try and shield your pussy from him and can’t even say the act yourself tells him you’re not lying. “Oh my god…” he says with bewilderment, “There’s no way no one’s ever wanted to eat your perfect pussy before…” he mutters, his hands releasing his hold on your hips to push at your knees, forcing your legs open so he can properly see you.

You want to close your legs and sink into the pillows, try to avoid his gaze but the way he looks at your cunt, pupils blown and mouth parted, you don’t, instead your arching your hips up like you’re trying to chase his mouth. “I mean really…” he muses, his hands running up your thighs, pushing them open further. His hands stop on your inner thighs, thumbs pulling at your labias and pulling you open obscenely wide. It makes you whine, embarrassed. You don’t think you’ve ever been in this vulnerable before, this exposed.

“Cute pussy like this…” he adds, his thumbs beginning to run up and down the sides of your cunt, watching as you spill even more arousal, “Better than any porn I’ve seen… better than I imagined.”

You’re sure if he wasn’t so entranced by your pussy he’d be embarrassed by what he said, openly comparing you to the porn he watches so frequently- even saying you’re better. He’s looking at your cunt like he’s a complete virgin who’s never seen a pussy in his life. It just makes you more hot.

He’s placing a kiss on your clit, his eyes rolling back and a moan falling from his lips when he feels you jolt against the bed. He pulls back, his tongue darting out of his mouth to lick his lips clean of the wetness that covered his lip.

It’s like something inside him snaps when he gets his first taste of you. He’s situating himself quickly, laying flat on the bed and his hands sliding under your thighs to wrap themselves around your plush thighs. He’s diving into your pussy, tongue spread wide as he messily laps at your folds. Your hand instantly flys to grip onto his hair, calling out a choked gasp of his name that only makes him begin to devour you faster.

He’s so fucking sloppy, there’s no real technique. You can tell he’s doing it to simply taste you, to lather his tongue in your arousal. He’s using his hands on your thighs to guide your hips to grind on his tongue like he’s coaxing more of your saccharine arousal out of your cunt. Even with the sporadic messy movements it has you writhing underneath him.

“O-oh fuck.” You cry out, eyebrows turned upwards in pleasure and your hand comes to grip at his hair. He’s moaning into your cunt, sending vibrations over your clit. “Taste so fuckin good.” He’s mumbling against your pussy. “Can’t believe I’m the first one to taste this sweet cunt.” His words make your eyes screw shut and your face flush red. The vulgarity of the words making you feel hotter than before, you never thought that such words would only cause your cunt to throb even harder.

His tongue licks a long strip up the entirety of your cunt, stopping at your clit to circle over it a couple times, he sucks it into his mouth, eyes looking up at the way your chest heaves and your eyes screw shut. It’s adorable really, the new sensation he’s introducing you to seeming like it’s almost too much for you. He’s thankful you seem to be enjoying yourself because admittedly…he’s using techniques he’s seen on the porn videos he watched. “O-oh my god…f-feel so- hah!” You’re right words are cut off by a high pitched squeal, your hips jolting against his face. “You like that? That feel good?” He mumbles against your pussy.

You nod, hand gripping tighter at his hair, “Y-yes just like that!” You’re sobbing out. His tongue is vicious, licking at your cunt like a dog lapping at spring water on a hot day. When you manage to collect yourself enough to lift your head up to look down at him another moan falls from your lips at the sight. His eyes are screwed shut in concentration, listening to every sound you let out to make sure he’s doing it right, and he’s fucking his cock into the mattress of the bed. You can see the way his hips grind into the comforter rubbing his cock along the fabric of his boxers and the bed, moaning into your pussy.

“Oh my god….holy fuck…” you say breathlessly, your head falling back to the pillows, your eyes rolling back. Your hips grind into his tongue and he lets you do whatever you need- letting you use his hair to drag you up and down your cunt. You’re blinded by pleasure, you don’t even realize you’re doing it, all you know is it feels so fucking good.

He still thinks he had to be dreaming or maybe that he was far too high because never in his life did he think he would get to devour a cunt like yours. He was eternally thankful that no one else had done this before him, no one had eaten you out- because truth be told he was nowhere near perfect at the craft. He was messy, no real technique, becoming too excited to have his face in your pussy that he was focused on tasting you rather than coaxing an orgasm out of you. But it still felt so good. He couldn’t help but to fuck his cock into the mattress, he was so hard it was painful. Every mouthful of your arousal he swallows makes the throbbing worse.

You know this was a thing that could be done during sex- but you didn’t have a long rap sheet. A few men at most who were lack luster at best- and none of them did this. None of them gave you the pleasure of having a tongue lathing over your sweet cunt. Even if his tongue was erratic and inexperienced, it still caused your back to arch heavenward and you to cry out a slurred moan of his name.

He’s pulling away from your pussy in a mess of your arousal, his tongue hanging out as he’s panting. “L-look I-“ his breath catches in his throat, words cut short by a soft whine ripping through his throat, his hips still humping the bed. “I’m gonna cum inside my f-fucking boxers if I keep eating your pussy, I-i gotta be inside you..” he’s saying, almost pleading. He’s crawling back up your dazed form and hovering over your face.

You meet his gaze, you’re inches apart- breathing in each other’s air. You can see his face glistening with your juices, his lips swollen and red- just like your cunt. He wants to kiss you, but something stops him. He’s nervous and he fucking hates it. He was just tongue fucking your pussy and now he’s nervous to kiss you?! What kind of fucking sick round about anxiety is that. It’s so weird to him…the way you look up at him with such an innocent look- like you’re not staining the sheets below you- it drives him absolutely insane.

You look up at him like a deer and headlights and bite your lip, letting out a nervous but desperate ‘mhm! mhm!”, grabbing his face and giving in to the temptation you’ve had since you seen his face covered in your arousal. You pull him into a hungry kiss. It was so filthy, unlike anything you’ve done. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue he’s moaning into your mouth in high pitched, muffled whine. The heat you feel within your lower stomach is a new powerful sensation that makes you start canting your hips upward in the air, trying to get sensation from something that isn’t there.

His hands are all over you, mapping out your body under his finger tips, groping at your body like he could never get enough- and he couldn’t. One of his hands departs from your flesh as he fumbles with his boxers. He’s pulling them down hastily and throwing them to the side. You want to pull away and give him the same treatment he gave you, but you can’t. He’s gripping your waist and flipping the two of you over, settling you on his lower thighs. You’re letting out a surprised squeak and falling forward onto his chest.

His hands smooth down the expanse of your body. Down your shoulder blades, the curve of your back, the plush of your hips, and then finally settling on your ass. His nails dig into the flesh, his head tilting back and he’s groaning. He needs to feel your ass bounce against him as you ride him- he feels like he’d die if he doesn’t get it soon. You look down at his stomach and whine when you see his thick cock.

For someone who was so…awkward and standoffish, the massive cock between his legs has your heart speeding up even more. You would think with something like that…he’d be fucking girls left and right. But he wasn’t, he was weird, and that excited you. The weird boy with a monster cock. You’re sure you haven’t ever had one this big, you’re almost nervous to take it.

You are nervous.

You experimentally shift your hips up, placing your cunt on his thick length, the warm wetness that envelops the underside of his cock makes his whole body jolt underneath you. And when you roll your hips, dragging your sweet cunt up and down his length, soft folds caressing his girth- his chest is rising and falling in heavy breaths and his hands move up from your ass to your hips, grip bruising as his head falls back into the pillows.

“I-if you keep that up I-i’ll cum before I even fuck you.” He admits through gritted teeth, his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched. Despite what he said, his hips move in motion with yours, with every grind of your hips your clit drags against the veins that run along the underside of his cock. “I-I’m not sure it will fit…” you mumble, embarrassed but telling the truth.

He stiffens and lets out a pornographic moan. You had no idea what you’re doing to him. The way you said it tells him you truly don’t know the effect those words would have on him. You said it so innocently, you weren’t even trying to tease him. He couldn’t decide if that made it worse or better because he is fighting everything in him not to cum just from your words alone like some pathetic virgin.

“F-fuck!” He growls out, canting his hips upwards so the tip of his cock head presses ever so slightly into the tight entrance of your cunt before sliding upwards to rub against your clit. “It-it’ll fit.” He nods frantically,

His hands lifting you up just the slightest bit. “Mhm…yeah you- fuck… you can take it…” he’s mumbling, and you realize he’s not even talking to you at this point- he’s talking to your pussy.

You’re whining, pulling the sweatshirt you still had on up with one hand so you could look between your legs and see the spectacle before you. You’re slowly sinking down onto him, when the fat tip of his cock pushes into you, a silent cry comes from your lips. Nam-gyu is fairing no better, when he feels your cunt begin to wrap around his cock he’s tossing his head back and letting out a moan that’s mixed with a laugh of disbelief.

You were a fucking dream. Perfect, even. He felt like he was tainting you, defiling the sweet innocence you carry. It’s an exhilarating feeling. You sink down lower on his thick cock, sucking him into your sopping cunt. “O-oh my f-fucking god.” You moan out, the stretch of your pussy around his cock sending jolts of pleasure and a burning pain up your spine. It’s a feeling that you’re immediately addicted to and want more of. “Y-you’re so g-god damn tight…” he says, you’re breath hitches at the tone, whiny- almost pathetic- like you’re cunt is squeezing the life out of his cock.

You’re lowering yourself down faster, you can see he’s only halfway in and yet it feels like he’s ripping you apart. “O-oh s-shit.” Nam-gyu growls, lifting his head up off the bed, eyebrows knitted together. His hands clutch your hips in a painful force that stops your hips from moving further down his throbbing length. “S-slow the fuck down. O-ho my f-fucking god.” He spits out between heaving breaths. You can see his stomach tense up, his nose scrunched and eyes screwed shut. He has to give himself the moment to breathe, to collect himself so he can fully enjoy what your cunt has to offer him. He does not want to cum quick…he cannot ruin this.

Your hands plant themselves on his chest, falling forward a bit. Your hips swivel in the air, grinding onto the part of his cock that’s already in you. “P-please I want to feel all of you.” You whine in a soft plea. He’s groaning, removing his hands off your hips to bring them up to his face, rubbing his palms against his flesh as he allows you to do take more of him into your tight walls. You sink down more, nails digging at the skin of his chest as he fills you. He’s moaning behind his hands, shielding his face from you as you finally take him all the way into your pussy. Your pelvis connecting with his with a soft wet ‘smack’.

Echoing moans fill the room, his hands coming to grip at your hips rapidly, holding you down like you were going to get up and leave him.

“‘S so big.”

“Fuck you’re s-so t-tight.”

You two speak at the same time in the same breathless tone. The feeling of him fully sheathed into your tight pussy is one that you could never, ever replicate. He’s reaching so deep inside you, you can feel his tip prod at your cervix. He’s splitting you open in a wicked way, ruining you. Nam-gyu opens his eyes and tilts his head to look down at where your pussy rests flush against his pelvis. Already, you’re leaking onto his skin, coating his skin in a sheen of milky-white arousal.

You lean even further forward, resting your forearms near the sides of his head on the pillow below him. You pick your hips up, the slow drag of his cock against your walls has you wincing and biting back a pathetic whine. You drop back down, the two of you moaning out in tandem. The addictive feeling of his cock completely impaling you makes you repeat the motion. Over and over and over. You’re vicious, picking up the pace with each drop of your hips. You don’t even seem to realize the effect you have on him, all you’re focused on is just how good it feels.

“F-fuck s-slow down….” Nam-Gyu is practically begging. “G-gotta savor it, y-yeah?” He tries to reason with you, but you don’t seem to oblige. You collapse forward completely, head resting in the crook of his neck. You’re shaking your head ‘no’ against him, hips driving up and down on his cock with no restraint. An obscene, wet, sloppy, slapping sound fills the room each time you slam your hips back down onto his, driving his cock deep inside your pussy.

When you disregard his plea and do exactly the opposite he swears he might have to marry you- he’d never say that openly though. His hands move to your ass, gripping the flesh until small crescents form where his nails dig into the soft skin. In his hands, he can feel the way the fat of your ass bounces, rippling underneath his palms every time you move. He’s using his hands as leverage to help lift you up and down, heightening the pleasure you’re experiencing even more.

In the minimal experience you’ve had, it’s always been painfully vanilla- always missionary. You don’t understand why you’ve never done this sooner, the way his cock dives so deep into you, reaching places no one else has reached before- it’s making you dumb. Your mind is blank, your vision hazy- all you can think about it’s reaching your climax. And every, delicious drop of your ass onto his pelvis pushes you closer and closer to that sweet release.

You two don’t even care about the fact there’s a whole group of people downstairs or even potentially listening in on what’s happening in the room. Moans, whines, and heavy breaths bounce off the walls- surely echoing throughout the studio you’re getting railed in.

“F-feels s-so g-good.” You cry out, your lips right next to his ear, each word broken up by you bouncing down on his cock. You push yourself up a bit to look at the man below you. Nam-gyu is just as fucked out as you are if not more. When he feels you sit up his eyes open, being greeted with the beautiful sight of your tits bouncing in his face with each thrust. He can’t help himself, he’s forcing his head and upper body up off the bed to latch his mouth on your chest. His teeth and tongue are working in a devious partnership against your skin, marking your flesh in blue, red and purple marks.

He pulls away from your breasts, head falling back onto the pillows, his hands tightening on your ass as he begins to fuck himself up into you. “Y-you have n-no fucking….god damn….no fucking clue how good you f-feel.” He rasps out, “riding m-me so we-well.” His voice is cracking, becoming higher pitched, he’s close. The dirty words and praise, though not spoken with a deep raspy voice, makes you lean back forward to hide your face in his neck to avoid eye contact.

You sink into his body, your back arching more. It allows your hips to snap down onto his in a barbaric way. Nam-gyu moans out your name. Hearing his name fall your lips is a nearly angelic song that has your eyes fluttering shut. He can hardly take it, he’s sure if you kept this up he was going to be ridden to tears.

He can’t hold back anymore, the tight squeeze of your cunt and the way you are coating his cock, it’s too much- he’s going to cum. “P-please let me… ohmygod… l-let me cum inside..” he’s whining into your ear, your nails dig in harder to his chest at his words. You hear him let out a strangled gasp when your cunt clenches down on him, “o-oh fuck you liked that?!” He asks breathlessly, his cock still jackhammering up into you. “You like the idea of me cumming in your pussy? Fuckin’ squeezing me so hard when i-im talking about it” He asks again, rambling in a needy tone. The words have you cringing in embarrassment- never in your life did you think the idea would turn you on- but it does.

You’re nodding into his shoulder, a weak and breathless “yes, I-inside” coming from your lips, your hair tickling his neck. “Oh my god y-yes, f-fuck thankyouthankyou.” He’s babbling out. He shifts, bending his knees and planting his feet on the bed. He begins to drill is cock up into your cunt. It’s a pace that has you crying out into his neck, jolting against his body mindlessly. His grip on your ass is bruising, he’s using the flesh as leverage to drag you down on his thick length. “Gonna feel so f-fucking good to fill you up. Fuck! Cunts’ gonna look so good with my cum spilling out.”

He’s mindlessly babbling, the feeling of your tight cunt gripping his dick like a vice has him in a dumb haze. All he can think about is cumming balls deep inside your walls. “Y-you close?” He asks, his shoulder nudging your face to get you to pull your head up to look at him. You use all your strength to sit up, looking down at him. Your hair falls down the sides of your face, shielding him in a low light that makes him look even more attractive, highlighting his sharp features and darkening his eyes even more than they were.

You nod, your hand splaying out on his sternum to keep yourself upright. You look down at him and nod, your body bouncing with watch thrust. You let out a ‘uh-huh.’ through your bit lip, your orgasm beginning to blossom from deep within you. Every time his fat cock-head bullies its way deep inside your cunt, brushing against your g-spot to kiss against your cervix, you’re letting out a wanton cry of his name.

“C-cum for me…f-fuck…need to feel you soak my cock.” One of his hands is slipping in between the two of you, his thumb rubbing against your clit, flicking against the sensitive bud in rapid motions. “F-fuck! Nam-gyu! Oh my fucking god!” You cry out, your eyebrows turning up as you feel yourself about to cum. He doesn’t let up, he’s brutally thrusting into your cunt a wet sloshing sound begins to come from your cunt.

It feels different than any orgasm you’ve had, you’ve never felt something like this. It almost feels like too much. You almost think you’re going to pee. “W-wait ‘s too much!” You’re whining out, despite your protests your hips are rutting against his fingers and slamming back into each one of his thrusts. “F-fuck are you gonna squirt??” He asks with a proud grin on his face- you really were just like his dreams.

“W-what?” You struggle to get out. Fuck you just got even better, so innocent you don’t even know what’s about to happen. He’s only seen it in porn, and he’s watched enough of it to know the signs- the way your cunt keeps getting louder and the way you’re beginning to shake violently- he knows what’s about to happen. But you don’t and it’s so fucking cute.

“Relax. L-let go, ‘s normal.” He rasps out, fingers working quicker at your clit and his cock piledriving up into your sopping hole with no remorse. You have no other option but to listen to him. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, you’re falling forward onto him and sobbing out into his neck. Your orgasm is so much harder than anyone than before, your cum gushing out of you like a fountain. Anytime he thrusts into you it splashes out of you in a lewd spray that coats the sheets below you.

The way your cunt is sucking his cock in like you’re trying to milk him and spasming violently around him sends him hurling towards his end. You can feel the way his thick load fills you, every rope painting your insides white. He lazily continues to thrust up into you, trying to drag out his orgasm and yours. You can feel his cum spill out of you and around his cock only for the next thrust to fuck it back into you.

You’re panting into his neck, soft moans falling from your lips as his softening cock grinds into you. He thinks he’s in heaven and he never wants to leave. His legs flatten out, dropping you all the way down on his lap. You whine, overstimulated. He’s running a hand up your back in a soothing motion. “I k-know..please…just want to be inside you a little longer.” He coos in a pleading voice. You don’t oppose, you just nod limply into his neck, lips placing light kisses on his skin. It was an honest innocent gesture, but when he feels your lips against his skin his cock is begging to harden inside you.

You two have been far too focused on other things to notice that when you were locked in this room- you weren’t actually locked in. Thanos and your friend only stayed to hold the door for a couple minutes, the drugs downstairs calling to them louder than the idea of keeping the door shut. The door would have been able to be opened by the time you born first sat down on the bed.

The loser!namgyu / awkward!namgyu is becoming a fave of mine. It’s so fucking fun to write!!! He’s so ummy 😩. I hope all you Loser!namgyu lovers enjoyed!!! - <3 kiwi

Queue for the next 5 upcoming requests: DeadbeadBabydaddy! Namgyu x reader smut , Namgyu x reader angst into fluff , Myung-Gi x reader x Thanos smut , Sub!Needy!Nam-gyu x reader x Thanos , Thanos x reader smut

If you don’t see your request on the queue just yet, don’t fret 🫶 I’m working my way through them and after each one is posted the queue will update to the next 5 requests that I have in my inbox. I try my best to work in the order of which they were received. Requests are still open just be aware that it will take a bit for me to get to it, but I absolutely will get to it!