#you can actually see how tense and strained his muscles are

[goongiveusnothing]

harry's new hairline vs his old hairline

[suksatoru]

004. CARNATIONS

"Oh my."

You squint at the paper in your hands and try to decipher the words Touya had written on them with a wince. The letters were jumbled up—some of them didn't even resemble anything in the alphabet. The majority of the words you were able to understand were spelt wrong, and the proportion from one letter to the next was horrific.

"We'll work on your writing skills later this week, alright? But I'm proud you could get this much down! " You say with a smile as Touya snorts

"There's only one word I know I spelt right." He smirks, proudly pointing a finger to a sentence you'd missed towards the bottom of the page

Y/n L/n is beyutiful.

You laugh quietly as his smirk quickly transforms into a scowl. His poor attempt at flirting didn't really seem to work if you were laughing at him.

"Are you talking about how you wrote my name correctly? Because its spelling is clearly displayed on my name tag, Touya."

You can only laugh more at his grimace, folding the written paper in half before tucking it into his file folder to go over later.

"And thank you I suppose. Oh, I just wanted to let you know I won't be able to go on our walk today, Touya. I have a meeting with my supervisor. Would you like me to find another doctor for you to—"

"No. And what's the meeting about?"

You shake your head softly at his defiance before smiling

"You. You are my only patient, after all."

He smiles a little bit at those words.

The conversation slowly drifted to Touya giving you small snippets of the skills he had to learn after waking up all those years ago. By the end of the conversation though, his mood had fallen quite a bit. He didn't like talking about his past. The words were bitter on his tongue, but he forced them out for you. He wanted you to understand him—he needed you to.

"I couldn't understand what happened to me. I had so much shit going for me... so much potential. Then I went and fucked it all up. You know, I blamed him for how I turned out, but I think I was messed up from the start. Can't blame that piece of shit if I was born like this. Defected. " He mutters, his eyes hard as his nails dig into his palm.

Defected. He swears under his breath when he sees the blood trickling down his arm from clenching his fist too tightly. His gaze moves towards you when he feels your fingers press a soft cloth to his hand to soak up the blood. You clear your throat before speaking

"You're no defect."

"No one is. You had these terrible expectations set for you when you were so young. You can't possibly blame yourself for what happened! So many young children struggle with their quirk, and you weren't fortunate enough to get the help you deserved. That is not your fault—"

"But I could've been better. If I worked hard enough. Fuck, it might have all been my fault from the start!" He laughs hoarsely, and his eyes have a crazed look in them as he actually considers the possibility with furrowed brows

"But—"

"Maybe if I had just—"

"Touya!"

Your voice is strained. You're trying so hard not to let him hear the tremble in your voice, but the way his shoulders slump lets you know he had caught it. He looks away, his lips set in a firm line as his eyes harden

"I don't want to talk about this." He mutters. Every muscle in his body was tense as a feeling of unease settled over him.

"I'm sorry. It's my fault. I'm being too pushy about this." You sigh, frowning as you lean back in your seat. You were his doctor, you can't be the one having an emotional crisis! You were meant to be his emotional support, and the guilt you feel gnaws at you like a parasite.

He lets out a long sigh, shifting on the bed uncomfortably as you take a deep breath

"Okay—alright, we can talk about something else. Is there anything besides this on your mind? Maybe we could—"

"Can I be alone for a bit? Can you, just, leave?"

The look on your face is like a slap to his face. He bites his tongue from saying anything he'd regret as your eyes fill with a mix of something between sadness and disappointment.

"Yes—yes of course. Uhm, would you still like to eat dinner together tonight?"

"I just need some time alone. My head hurts. It's my fault, it's never yours. Just... yeah, yeah you can come later." He mumbles, avoiding your gaze as his guilt finally settles in

"...Okay."

Your whisper is the last thing he hears before the door to his room clicks close, and when he lifts his head from his palms—he's alone.

Touya doesn't know if he'll ever be able to face his family again.

He thought he couldn't feel anything anymore. The pain he'd once felt was immeasurable, something uncontainable to the point where he'd grown numb and accustomed to it. But now he felt all sorts of things he didn't understand. You made him feel again. He wasn't sure if he should curse you out or thank you for it.

Your long awaited return came after almost two hours, his dinner tray in hand as you carefully placed the steaming rice bowl in front of him. You stand beside his bed with an awkward smile, your hands behind your back as you speak a quiet hi.

He tugs on your sleeve, pulling you down so you were seated on your chair. A quiet squeak leaves the back of your throat when he tucks a single hand under your thigh, dragging your chair closer to him easily with little effort. Your eyes are wide from the new proximity as he turns back to his food, acting like nothing had happened.

You're speechless for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat as he begins his dinner. He points to your bowl with his chopsticks, gently nudging it towards you

"You hungry?"

He had broken the ice so easily—and you both fell back into your usual routine. An unspoken 'it's ok' was what he'd said as he handed you your bowl. You blow on the hot rice with a small smile as he begins questioning you about your meeting, asking whether or not you said good things about him.

You shouldn't like this so much.

Your chin is resting on your knees, you laugh as Touya tells you tales about the League. They were a unique group—but knowing Touya wasn't completely alone during his time as 'Dabi' makes your heart feel a little lighter.

He speaks about the League as if they were still here. Fondly.

Your eyes catch onto the clock on his bedside, the block letters on them reading 11:32 PM. Your time with him had passed faster than you wished—and he watches you stretch before you stand

"Time for you to turn in for the night, mister." You smile with a yawn. He frowns a bit as he glances at the clock, watching you reach over and grab the empty bowls from dinner.

"I'll take this down to the kitchen. You wash up while I'm gone, all right?" You smile, holding the tray in your hands as Touya nods slowly, not giving you a verbal response.

When the door closes, he gets off of the bed with a quiet sigh. Even after splashing his face with freezing water—his heart still hurts.

You were making him feel a little too much.

His mind keeps trailing back to your soft giggles and the way your professional face falls with the stupidly silly stories he tells you of the League.

He wonders if they'd be happy for him.

Touya hears your approaching footsteps as he's exiting the bathroom, and quickly opens the main room door for you.

You look surprised when the door opens before you can even get your keys out. You have to crane your head up a bit to meet his eyes—which are watching you intently.

Sometimes you forget how Touya's much taller than you are. He's usually at eye level with you when he's sitting in the hospital bed—but as he stands in front of the open door, your lips part a bit from the way he looms over you.

He silently moves over a bit to give you space to enter before closing the door behind you. You send him a small smile before tilting your head towards his bed

"I'll check your heart rate before I leave tonight. That's ok with you, right?"

Your eyes are pretty. Touya thinks if he ever has a staring competition with you, he'd win for sure. He likes staring at you especially when you're unaware. There's something about just knowing you exist that calms him. He likes seeing you smile, he likes hearing you talk—he especially loves that you seem to enjoy his company. He didn't think of himself as someone enjoyable to be around, but he feels wanted around you.

Touya's never felt wanted before. You were so refreshing to simply be around—he'd be perfectly content with living the rest of his life with only you. He didn't need or want anyone else.

"Yeah. That's fine with me."

Touya waits for you on the edge of his bed, his eyes trailing on you quietly as you wrap a stethoscope around your neck. The cold metal is pressed against his chest, and he realizes you've never been this close to him before.

"Touya, your heartbeat is a little faster than it should be." You frown, leaning in closer as he stays absolutely silent—he's been holding his breath since the moment you pressed the stethoscope to his skin

He's staring at you, and his heart only beats faster when you turn to meet his gaze.

No. Your eyes are beautiful.

He abruptly flicks off the lamp on his bedside table, which was the only source of light in the dark room before immediately laying himself down on the bed—his heart was pounding now.

"I'm fine."

He can already imagine your lips forming that adorable 'O' you make when you're startled, and he rests his forearm against his eyes before letting out a steadying breath.

"Oh! Well, are you sure Touya? Your vitals this morning were fine, so—"

"Y/n."

Your silence, for once, is a welcomed thing. Touya's face was burning—every fiber of his being was. He didn't think he'd be able to go another second listening to your wonderful voice utter another damned word.

You whisper a quiet goodnight before leaving.

He stares up at the ceiling, the glowing stars almost mocking him as he sighs

"Goodnight."

You've already left the room, but he whispers the word anyway.

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

a/n~ i was listening to taylor swift on repeat while writing this... safe to say she is my fuel when it comes to writing for carnations heh. AND WOWW SO MANY ON THE TAGLIST?! u guys are now my children i've chosen to adopt you all!!! it's getting a little hard to keep track of but i got this 🫡

@kelin-is-writing

@kawaiidemoneart @porusuniverse @starrmage @lilbeatlebear @bokukenmakuroo

@bbluefllame @summercreolefanfictioner @dija200 @phtmmsqrde @sunaraii

@c-lunette @gh0stgirl333 @skullkittens @gurl-pls-evn-the-sharks-fear-me

@hawkwithsocks @suresnips @sugurusmoon @matchablossomsss @moonlitmorganite

@redr0sewrites @muimuiwisteria @sukunaspillow @marsoverthestars @starsryi

@eidolonwriter @shugs1801 @imaginationmess @lasa27 @sophiathefrog

@etaerealboy @kooromin @sourbbyxo @hvnares @ephmeraloblivion

@lost-seraphiim @quokka-ina @jesuschrist2006 @jesuschrist2006

@dabislittlemouse (i got u B!!)

[quarterlifekitty]

I love your weaknesses posts🥹✨do you have any thoughts about the guys and massages (full body, shoulders, hands, etc)? could be receiving or giving them

I personally feel like Kyle would be so into them in general, meanwhile Johnny would try to be handsy or silly with them

Machveil I hope you know that I would blow up a fucking building for you if only you would ask me to

Weaknesses part 7: massages

I think Gaz is super into anything relaxing, aromatic, therapeutic. Loves candles, baths with special scented soaps and salts, massages. Anything that inspires slow, tantric intimacy. And also I think he is the king of treating himself and self care. Generally he’s more into giving, but he likes to trade massages too. He always sets the scene for you, lighting the aforementioned candles, putting on music, dimming the lights. And he’s really good at giving them. Because of course he is.

Soap is the fucking naughty masseuse and we all know it ok. He basically gives massages the way they do in porn where it’s just an extended pretense to sex where he can feel you up. Like he does try to give you a real massage for all of 3 minutes (if I’m being generous) before it’s basically just spanking you and reaching between your thighs. And if you decide to return the favor? He’s not going to shut up about getting a happy ending. Not for the entire time.

Ghost isn’t all the comfortable giving massages because he can see the blood on his hands at the edges of his vision all the time, like a cataract born of sin and violence unbridled n stuff. But he loves receiving them! You know he’s tense as fuck back there man. Doesn’t know how to relax himself, needs someone to force him to relax. You sitting straddled on him while you rub his back does it for him.

Price likes both. Plays a little into the housewife kink. Likes you to rub his shoulders after a long day, kneading into him and just trying to help him unwind like a good, sweet, considerate girl. And in return, this man is rubbing your feet and I’m not gonna apologize for saying it. Especially if you’re pregnant. Then it’s happening like every fuckin day.

While Gaz gives very sensual massages, König is gonna give you a massage that hurts like hell but fixes your entire life. Massages are one of the few things I think he’ll actually indulge in and pay for from a professional. Dude has a lot of muscles that go through a lot of grief. I think his height and his age also make him a little more prone to aches and pains. That said, he will love whatever kind of massage you give him, but it’s more of the thought that counts, cause you’re not hardcore enough to break his back the way he usually gets it done. He will literally lay down and let you walk on him.

Nikolai also loves a massage as an act of service. Just shows you’re thinking about him and his comfort, which he finds to be very sweet. He’s partial to a hand massage— he does a lot of work that strains his grip and fine motor muscles, so it feels good to take off the gloves and have you press between his knuckles and knead the meat of his palms. The massages he gives are a bit between therapeutic and foreplay. He uses the opportunity to edge you, is what I’m saying.

[afsalovescats]

hi! I am 🏛️, so i would like to request a 18!Dazai and reader, like idk of you do smut, if not then you can ignore, i dont want yall to feel uncomfortable.

Make dazai like veryyyy Horny, and reader just appears at the wrong time (poor them)

If you can do this, thank you, if you feel uncomfortable then i am truly sorry.

Guys he is the litteral def of a slut. also u can interperate their relationship.

Anywho yk the drill, too lazy so ill add banner later, enjoyyyyyy

no but srsly i got so much motivation yaeyyyy

You walk into the living room, ready to relax after a long day. However, the scene before you makes your jaw drop. There's Dazai, sprawled out on the couch, completely naked a white button up which leaves little to the imagination. His lean physique is mostly on full display as he touches himself shamelessly, one hand stroking his impressive length while the other goes under his shirt and he tweaks a nipple.

"Fuck, name." he groans, eyes closed in ecstasy. "I've been thinking about you all day. 'Wanted to feel your tight little body wrapped around my cock." He moans out with eyes squeezed shut. Dazai is too lost in his lustful fantasies to notice your presence yet. His hips buck upwards as he works himself over, panting heavily.

"Gonna fill you up so good," he mumbles deliriously. "Paint your insides white with my cum. You'd like that, wouldn't you? To be marked as mine..." he then lets out a whine as he groans. hes an actual slut!

You stand there completely shocked and suprised as you watch with parted dry lips, trying to stutter out anything but just go red at the sight of him. Hes thinking of you so shamelessly too. Hes out in the open and….gah.

Dazai's eyes flutter open for a second and land on you standing there, mouth agape. For a moment, he seems startled, but then a wolfish grin spreads across his face. "Well hello there, Name. Fancy seeing you here," he flirts, making no move to cover himself, in fact he continues stroking himself as he eyes you.

If anything, his arousal only seems to grow at being caught in such a compromising position. His cock throbs and twitches in his hand, pre-cum beading at the tip. "Like what you see?" Dazai taunts, slowing his strokes to an agonizing pace. "Why don't you come closer and get a better look?" he hums as you glance at his red angry tip.

He spreads his legs wider in invitation, the bulge in his underwear straining obscenely. One hand reaches down to cup himself through the fabric, massaging his heavy balls. "I bet you're curious what it would feel like to wrap your lips around my dick. To taste me on your tongue as I fuck your pretty little-”

“ 'Samu!” you exclaim all red at his words. Then the realization hits, Dazai is a man of his words. He gets what he wants no matter what he has to go through. You sigh as you glance at him, hes giving you a look which you know it’ll be difficult to decline. What a slut.

Dazai's fingers dig into your hips as he thrusts into you with force, his cock stretching you deliciously. Each powerful stroke sends shock waves of pleasure rippling through your body, and you can't help but moan and yelp in ecstasy. The room is filled with the sounds of your combined passion. The slap of skin on skin, the creaking of the couch, and your constant cries of pleasure.

"That's it, Name," Dazai growls, his voice thick with lust. "Take my cock like the good little slut you are. Fuck, you feel incredible." Ironic how you called him a slut not too long before you started sucking him off.

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as his hips continue their abuse on your poor cunt.. His tongue explores your mouth, tangling with yours in a dance of raw desire. He taste’s himself on your lips and tongue, the flavor driving him crazy. (Slut.)

As Dazai ruts into you, you feel another orgasm building deep within your core. Your body tenses, muscles coiling like a spring about to snap. "Oh god, oh god, I'm gonna cum again!" you cry out as you spasm and hold onto him digging your nails on his pale skin leaving red delicious marks.

After you both are so spent, you try to communicate your exhaustion to Dazai, but he's too far gone in his lust to register your signals. His hips continue their relentless pace, plunging into you over and over again. As he does, you notice his eyes squeezing shut, his face contorted in a mix of pain and pleasure. You both are so overstimulated.

" ‘Samu," you gasp out between labored breaths. "I think we should take a break. I'm... I'm too sensitive." You pant out so so tired.

But your words fall on deaf ears as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. "Can't stop," he mumbles, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Need you so fucking bad. Gonna make you mine forever." Shit your going to die in lust with him.

[gilbertscurls]

Unraveling ➵ Chris Sturniolo

warnings: suggestive, no actual smut, mommy kink, i guess?

summary: chris thought he had the upper hand, but as the night unfolds, it becomes clear that you’re the one calling the shots, and he's more than willing to follow.

The room is quiet when you walk in, but the tension is anything but subtle. Chris is on the couch, his body sprawled out, one leg over the armrest, the other bent at the knee, and his fingers idly tapping against the back of his phone. His eyes flick up when you enter, and there’s that smirk you know all too well—cocky, playful, like he thinks he’s got everything under control.

But tonight, you have different plans.

You toss your bag to the side, the soft thud echoing through the room as you slowly approach him. There’s something in the way his gaze follows your every movement, like he’s sizing you up, but there’s an edge of uncertainty there, too. He’s trying to keep his cool, but you can see through it. You always have.

“Long day?” Chris asks, his voice low, laced with amusement, as if he’s fully prepared for whatever game you’re about to play. He shifts slightly on the couch, adjusting his posture, but it’s not as casual as he’s pretending. You can see the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his leg stills as you take another step closer.

You smile, letting the silence stretch out between you. It’s thick, loaded with unspoken words, anticipation swirling in the air. You can feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting.

When you’re close enough, you stop, crossing your arms casually, keeping your gaze on his. “You’ve been waiting,” you say, your tone soft but full of intent. There’s no question in your voice—it’s a statement, one you both know is true.

His smirk falters for just a second, barely noticeable, but it’s enough. “Maybe I have,” he replies, his voice a little rougher now, a little more strained.

You let your smile grow, knowing he’s starting to feel it—the pull, the shift in control. His bravado is slipping, no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it. You step closer, and the room feels even smaller, the distance between you shrinking as the tension crackles in the air.

He doesn’t move, but you can see the way his chest rises and falls just a little quicker, the way his fingers flex slightly on his phone. His confidence is still there, but barely, hanging by a thread that you’re ready to cut.

“You’re good at pretending,” you murmur, your voice dropping as you lean down just enough that your breath brushes against his ear. “But I can see right through you.”

Chris tenses, the light amusement in his eyes flickering into something else—something darker, something deeper. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might push back, might try to regain some semblance of control. But he doesn’t. He stays still, waiting, anticipating.

You pull back just slightly, watching the way his gaze darkens as it follows your movements. There’s something almost hypnotic about the way he’s looking at you, like he’s on the edge of losing himself, but he’s not quite there yet. Not until you decide to push him over.

“You like control,” you say softly, your voice cutting through the silence. “But you also like giving it up.”

His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t deny it. He can’t. The truth is written all over his face. He might’ve started the night thinking he was in charge, but now? Now he’s waiting for you to lead.

You lean in again, letting your lips hover just above his, close enough to feel the heat of his breath. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

His breath hitches, and you know you have him. The confidence he had when you walked in is gone, replaced by something else—something raw, vulnerable. His body is tense, every muscle tight, like he’s waiting for your next move.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, the tension between you so thick it feels like it might snap at any second. “Say it.”

He hesitates, his pride warring with his need, but you can see the shift in his eyes, the way he’s starting to give in, starting to let go. He swallows hard, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, barely more than a whisper. “Mommy.”

The word hangs in the air, heavy with meaning, and a shiver runs down your spine. You knew he’d give in, but hearing it out loud? That’s something else entirely. The power in that moment is intoxicating, and you relish the way his gaze never leaves yours, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

You smile, slow and deliberate, feeling the weight of the word settle between you. “Good boy,” you purr, watching as his pupils dilate, his breath coming faster now. He’s unraveling, his composure slipping with every passing second.

Chris shifts slightly, his body almost unconsciously leaning toward you, his hand twitching as if he wants to reach out but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. He’s waiting for your permission, for your lead, and the thought sends a thrill through you.

The night stretches out ahead of you, filled with possibilities, but for now, you’re content to watch him, to see how far he’s willing to go, how much he’s willing to give up. Because tonight, the control is yours, and Chris? Chris is ready to follow your every command.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr

[elsecrytt]

Kinktober Day 7

Sensory Deprivation | Crops/Whips | Tentacles

Summary: When Satoru Gojo was freed from the Prison Realm, he was completely catatonic. You've been taking care of him.

Warnings: gojo is traumatized, but when isn’t he? no other warnings, this is actually pretty sweet

Curled up in a ball, knees tucked all the way to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as he buries his head there – Satoru Gojo barely makes a sound.

It’s been weeks since he came out of the Prison Realm. You don’t know what it was like in there.

He won’t tell you. He won’t talk at all.

You’d managed to drag him home. After much shouting, worried tears and exclamations, even Megumi grasping him by the shoulders and shaking him; it had all left Satoru as this wilted mess. Cowering in the corner of your room.

What had he seen in there? How long had it been for him? You’d been warned the Prison Realm might have ruined him.

You’re just glad to have him alive. Everything else comes later.

He’s still in survival mode. Not eating or drinking, bodily functions suspended as he holds still in the corner, flinching away from the light.

You turn the lights off in the room, but not before you get up on a stepping stool, sticking glow-in-the-dark stars to the ceiling.

Just in case the darkness reminds him too much of his imprisonment. Not that you would know either way. He's dead silent there. Sometimes you worry if he's still breathing.

You can’t touch him. He’s got infinity on, still. It might be blocking sound, too, or perhaps he’s too catatonic to respond at all.

Whether he can see is anyone’s guess. He shudders like a wounded animal at bright lights so you make sure to keep them off always.

There’s a pumpkin spice scent plugin you find at the store. It smells like sugar and spice and everything nice, just the sort of thing he’s always loved.

You leave it plugged in on low, and soon the thought of seeing him is synonymous with the scent of fresh pumpkin bread.

You hope he likes it. You hope you make him feel a little better when you visit, but you don't know.

Every day you come into the dark room, shutting the door gently behind you so there’s no light. You can just barely see by the light of the glowing stars.

You talk to him softly, almost in a whisper, so it doesn’t overwhelm. You tell him that everyone is so glad he’s back – all his precious students, even his coworkers are relieved. And you, of course.

Satoru doesn’t look up to see your blush. If he hears your voice soften, he doesn’t react.

So you press on. Telling him about your day, how his students were doing. Asking him if he wants anything to eat or drink, and leaving a tray beside him, just in case. And you collect it with greater worry every day, as it goes untouched.

Satoru doesn’t shudder when you open the door anymore. You still don’t like to leave it open.

One day you trip, stumbling in and dropping the tray before you can close the door.

You can’t suppress a frustrated sigh, looking between the tray and Satoru, still hunched in the corner. You stand and turn to close the door, and shut out the light –

There’s a pressure on your foot, something shocking enough for you to jump away, but it’s like you’re clad in irons –

“Satoru?” You whisper instead of yell, purely out of habit.

He’s laying down on his belly, face down, eyes wincing as if he can’t bear to get light in them. But his arm reaches out, hand clutching at your ankle all the same.

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s shaking. Trembling in tight movements like a cat, muscles all tense and straining. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t respond at all, only holds himself in place.

You fall to your knees next to him. Arms around his oversized, gangly form.

Satoru stops shivering as he freezes solid in your embrace. You move to block the light from his eyes, his head tucked into your neck.

“It’s okay,” You murmur, squeezing him, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Satoru.”

A jerk. Muscles contracting all at once, something you can feel more than you can see. You can feel him, finally. You can touch him.

His mouth moves, you think, lips slipping over your neck. You don’t hear any sound. He holds you even tighter.

With one hand slipping out of the tight embrace, you stroke his hair. It’s soft, like heaven in your hands. Just familiar enough to make your heart ache.

Satoru turns his face towards yours.

You look and for the first time in a while, you see his eyes.

Terrible. A terrible, awful, beautiful thing to behold. They look like shattered sapphires, a glassy ocean surface, pupils contracted so tightly you’re almost worried for his health.

They take in every minutia, bloodshot and reddened, even though he instantly shuts them tight again.

What was he seeing? What had he seen?

You take the blindfold out, covering his eyes. There’s a sigh, then, one of relief, as you feel his shoulders drop just a little.

There’s something else you’ve brought with you, just in case he’d let you touch him today. A set of noise-cancelling headphones.

Like he’s some kind of frightened animal, you reach around and quickly slip them over his head, on his ears.

Sure enough, he does flinch again at the contact, but quickly he relaxes. Unfolding even more, spine uncurled as he sits up for the first time in a long while.

Satoru sits with his legs in front of him, leaning back with his hands on the floor, supporting him. His lips are open, face half-vacant, half-surprised. But you’re still touching him, he’s letting you.

“Satoru…?” You ask carefully, and then curse yourself, because obviously he can’t hear you.

And he can’t.

Satoru can’t hear anything, for the first time since he came back from hell only to enter a new one.

He can’t hear anything, and it’s perfect. It’s beautiful. It feels like heaven, now.

Like splinters being pulled out from his skin, like a weight lifting from his shoulders, like shade from the blinding sun.

Gone. The infernal, hellish static that made him feel like his insides were being stretched thin like that corpse-skin prison, it’s gone. Just the soft slip of cloth around his eyes, the gentle weight over his head and ears.

Everything is black and calm and perfect again, except he can feel around him. He can feel the ground, the breath in his lungs. It’s not bones and biting curses and timeless madness that feels like it’s turning his brain to mush.

His large hands grope around in the blackness, senses pivoting on every object he touches.

There’s a faint scent in the air, something sweet, and his mouth waters –

Oh. He’s hungry. He’s been hungry for so long, and it’s just hitting him now.

Flesh. Warm and living and not his own. It feels impossible, it feels like a miracle. He darts towards this body that’s not his, on hands and knees, feels a torso knocked over.

He knows this body. Knows each individual piece so intimately; the arms that used to hold him, the hands that feel so familiar cupping his cheek, the smaller legs that twine with his own.

His hands undo your shirt on muscle memory, sliding over the supple skin of your chest, your breasts, feeling the rise and fall of your ribcage in his hands.

A thumb brushes his cheekbone, just under where his eyes is. Wet, it’s wet. Is he crying?

It’s so hard to tell. Everything is warm and soft and he wants to feel more of it. He feels his heart pounding, alive, for the first time in so long. Mouth open, words rumbling from his lips.

Satoru doesn’t even know what he says. He can’t hear it. It’s perfection, pure bliss.

And it lands your lips against his so it couldn’t have been that bad.

He licks back into your mouth, the air tingling against his senses. Sweetness.

He knows this hunger, too. A scent he can barely detect with his eyes and ear closed. So many times, he’d held your underwear to his face to breathe this in. Now, it’s like it’s beckoning him.

The scent alone guides him down your body, the curve of your waist and hips.

Fingers slipping under pants and underclothes, pulling down until the smell of you hits his nose, hot and heady in his lungs.

He wants it. Oh, he wants it.

All he can feel is your hands on his back, holding him. There’s no sound, nothing to see, only the feel of you against him, soft and supple and oh so –

Sweet.

You’re wet, too, under his mouth closing on you. He knew by touch exactly where it was, where to flick his tongue to send your legs twitching at his sides, where to drive his fingers to tease at the edge of your hole.

And the taste. Oh, god! The taste!

It slips over his tongue, coating it headily. Something salty, something sweet, something heady and distinctly you.

It dances over his mouth, and he opens wide to devour more. And he can’t see, so he traces your folds by memory, tongue following the seam of your cunt until it reaches the hood of your clit.

It’s more tender than he remembered. Like this, blind and deaf, he can feel it twitching on his tongue, as eager to be lavished as he is to lavish you.

A hand threads in his hair, and it only urges him on. Closing his mouth over your clit, suckling and pursing his lips.

Stroking gently with his tongue, feeling how your body lean in and away from his presses. He urges and relents, strokes in steady movements, catches on a rhythm that you can’t help but buck into.

Satoru doesn’t hear you, but the tremor of your body is unmistakable against him.

There’s a wicked delight that spurts up in him, something playful and mischievous. He guides your grasping hand to his hair, traces up your chest to hold your throat.

Why hear your moans when he can feel them? Listening for your breaths with the arm on your chest, knowing how your pulse quickens by the fingers on your veins.

He wants to know when you’re close by the feel of you, by touch. Muscle memory awakening in his mind.

The squeeze of you around his tongue telling him to tighten and suckle against your clit, to wedge himself further so you can’t close your legs.

He thinks he likes it better this way. He could live like this forever, just your body on his, like he’s drifting endlessly in the ocean of you.

A hand on his. His name on your lips.

Maybe after a few more, he’ll take the headphones off so he can hear you scream his name.

[captain039]

PART 2 The predator grounds (Old man Logan)

Old man! Alpha! Logan x reader

Warnings: prey/predator, forced heats and ruts, sexual, smut, angst, age gap, claiming, swearing, nicknames, logan lets his feral side out, chubby reader, virgin reader(Is a slut) it works xD, harassment, sexual harassment, Logan’s a strong man babes he can throw you around 🫶🏻

Previous part <-

Has it been days? Hours? A damn week? You don’t know all you know is that either you need to get railed right away or you will possibly die. Logan’s quiet too quiet, won’t say a damn thing, won’t look at you. You can see his muscles all tensed and ready to fight his eyes narrowed on the entrance, like anyone would dare go near him. You’re at wits end you need something because frankly it’s horrible. You’re covered in sweat and your panties are drenched, your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin, your heads too hot with your hair, and the need, the fucking need is crippling. You’ve never experienced a heat like this, usually it’s moderate, you can handle it, few orgasms here and there and you’re functional, this though, you think your mouths hung open and your eyes are drooping.

“Logan” you call your voice hoarse and he grunts, just grunts like an animal.

“Fuck you” you whine already even more pissed at him than you already were, he doesn’t have the decency to answer you like a normal fucking human. You’re wondering if you could just stumble out the cave scream like a female sloth and eventually another alpha will come. You barely register his growl and you mimic a mock growl back. You look to him and he’s looking back there’s something in his eyes, dangerous, on edge than normal, his pupils are blown and his muscles are tight.

“Don’t test me” he warns, it’s a deep alpha command that makes you all gooey on the inside and makes your stomach clench. Oh testing him sounds exciting, especially right now. You roll your eyes at him, you’ve played brat plenty of times with him out of sheer pettiness to get a rise out of him but he’s always too tired or doesn’t budge, but there’s something different with his induced rut and the way he’s looking.

“I’m starting to think I’ll go out there and just wander around see if another alpha finds me” you throw out and the whole body freeze and tense and deep frown he gives makes you grin on the inside.

“I need something, I feel like I’m dying, you’re not doing anything so you won’t mind” you continue watching him get impossibly tenser and more narrowed eyed.

“It’s not like you’re my alpha anyway why would you care what I do?” that does it, he’s quick, quicker than you’ve ever seen him, one minute you’re on the ground the next your upright and pressed against a rock, hand around your neck and a very pissed alpha in front of you. He’s panting heavily, actually you are too breaths mingling in front of you. He holds you up with a hand on your hip and one around your throat, he’s not squeezing though.

“Say that again” his voice is low and gravelly, his eyes might as well be black with how blown his pupils are.

“You’re not-“ he growls cutting you off it makes you shiver he leans down to your neck his breath fanning the hot skin there.

“You live with me, you’re under my protection, I say that qualifies as being ‘your’ alpha” he grits the words out with uneven breaths like he’s straining with control.

“You have no claim on me” you bite back. You know you’re signing your death warrant but he’s finally touching you. You’re a sick freak you know, you’ve always wanted him even outside of this fucked up place, you always want to take care of him and be a good omega for him, satisfy him, but your small acts and trying to be subtle about it get you nothing so you gave up with a heavy heart. He’s overly protective of you though, he will always go to the shops with you, you practically cannot leave the smelting plant without his knowledge or his presence, he does little things too, makes sure your washing is with the pile ready to be washed so it gets washed first, makes sure you have enough blankets and pillows, makes sure you’re never sick, god forbid you accidently hurt yourself he’s over you in a blink assessing the damage and making sure it heals quickly.

He freezes suddenly and lifts his head his hand moving from your throat and hip as he backs up a guilty look in his eyes. You feel your heart shatter and silently beg him not to go as he moves back to his side of the cave. You feel like crying, you fall back to the cave floor and lean against cold rock and bite back whatever tears are welling in your eyes.

You wake up with a small jolt and startle, frowning confused and dazed before it comes back. You sigh stretching your body hurting from sleeping against a cave wall. You sip some water from your water bottle and sigh frowning when you don’t see Logan.

“Logan?” You call getting up slowly and peeking out the cave.

“Logan?” You try again you walk out and around a bit and the worse comes to mind and you begin to panic. He wouldn’t have just left you, would he? That bastard. You’re grabbed suddenly, an alpha, his arms around your shoulders and waist keeping your arms pin as he chuckles against your ear. You almost gag and cringe at his scent and the feeling of him against you, it’s all kinds of wrong.

“Let me go!” You grind out struggling but he’s too strong.

“That old bastard finally left eh?” You want to kick and punch this alpha in the face and nuts for talking about your alpha.

“I’m way younger, I’ll be able to keep you satisfied” he purrs but it’s disgusting from him, you go into a freeze mode as his tongue swipes over your neck before he nibbles against that sacred spot. Your panic sets in at an all time high and you’re in fright mode, the alpha behind you chuckle as he kisses along your neck and holds you firmly. You’re trembling in the worst way, your heart rates through the roof when suddenly the man gasps in pain and goes limp before he’s throw off. You turn around, Logan’s got him pinned to the ground stabbing him over and over again with his metal claws a loud cry leaving the man’s lips before he stops, growls and turns to you. His claws sheath and he stands, he’s got a wild look in his eyes and you panic more suddenly thinking it’s your fault for all this, but his arms go around you, tugging you to his chest and he’s hushing you gently.

“You’re alright” he says voice hoarse but it jolts something in you and you’re holding onto the older alpha with all your strength.

“I couldn’t see you, you didn’t answer my calls- he came out of no where-“ you babble out quickly as he hushes you some more gently running his hand up and down your back.

“I heard you sweetheart, I was running back, I smelt a cache nearby I was gonna get us more food and water, I shouldn’t have left you” he clenches his jaw you feel it against your head.

“Sorry I didn’t get here sooner” he mutters.

“Don’t leave me again” you whisper and he nods against you. You’re still shaking, tears have spilled from your eyes and you feel all kinds of wrong from that alphas touch.

“Jump” he says and you frown as you feel him bend slightly and hook his arm under your thighs. You jump with what you have and he holds you easily, but it makes you worried as he walks back to the cave. You keep your arms around his neck and he grunts as he sits down you in his lap. God this feels- like heaven. You bask in it, his strength, his closeness, his warmth, the musky scent of strong alpha. You bury your face in his shoulder and relax against him trying to calm your shaking and racing heart down. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his hand rubbing up and down your back soothingly his other arm around your lower waist. He moves his head a bit and breathes in a growl on his lips as he leans down more his nose pressed against your neck where that alpha had kissed and licked.

“Motherfucker” he grinds out and you tense omega pheromones going crazy trying to calm him down. He sighs when you do his arms tightening a bit around you.

“I’m sorry” he mutters and you relax as he relaxes.

“He felt wrong” you explain and you feel him tense briefly.

“Smelt wrong too” you add.

“He didn’t feel safe or warm, he felt too hot, too crowding, he smelt worse, like dead socks or something” Logan lets out a small scoff at your explanation of smell.

“He wasn’t your alpha that’s why” he states and you feel yourself tense a bit. No he wasn’t your alpha is holding you right now, but neither of you say anything about it.

Just comment if you wanna be tagged :)

Taglist:

@xxyaoi-nationxx

@jumpingjackalope

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

I'll find you always (but I'd rather go alone)

comfort came against my will - series masterlist coming soon

pairing: dick grayson x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.1k

genre: fluff, comfort

warnings: established relationship, reader finding out dick is nightwing, reader is almost mugged but nothing actually happens, dick has big feelings and doesn't know how to handle them

a/n: I have a ton more written for this couple but let's just start here

It's while you're walking home late one night that it all comes out. You sigh as you weave through a back alley, knowing that Dick would be furious if he knew that, not only were you walking home alone after dark, but you're taking shortcuts through more dangerous parts of the city. But you're tired and you'd had a long day and you couldn't stand the thought of dealing with a creepy cabbie, so you decided to walk, slipping through side streets as all your thoughts swirled around wanting to be home.

But of course, it's not that simple. Of course, you're cornered by three guys who are incredibly interested in the contents of your bag. And… of course, you grew up the way you did, in Gotham of all places. You're not scared, you're just tired and fed up and want to go home.

You don't even have a chance to move, though, before Nightwing is dropping from a nearby roof and dispatching the men in front of you. You cross your arms and huff while you lean against the brick wall. You tilt your chin up as Nightwing stalks towards you and somewhere in the back of your brain, where your sensible self-preservation instincts are buried, an alarm bell rings. Nightwing is all power and presence and danger as he stands tall before you, close enough that you can see the way his muscles strain against his suit.  

You level your gaze with his, waiting for him to make the first move as he stares back at you - you've had your fair share of run-ins with vigilantes and you know that not all of them are as friendly as Batman and his crew. So you wait, holding yourself steady until Nightwing makes the first move.

"Are you hurt?" is all he asks. You arch a brow, his voice pinging some sort of recognition in your brain as you try to place where you've heard it before.

"Pretty sure you showed up before anything had a chance to happen, hm?" you quip back and notice the way his fists ball. Okay, you think. Not in the mood for banter.

"You should be more careful," he responds, and there's a levelness to his rage that reminds you of something but you just can't place it and -

"I'm as careful as I need to be," you snap back. "There are a lot of people in this city who need a guardian angel more than I do - you should go find one of them." So much for not provoking him.

He doesn't do anything, though. He's wound up, that much is clear; he's tense and angry and frustrated and you're not completely sure why or… why you know all of that about him. 

"I found you," is what he finally offers, softness seeping into his voice in a way that makes your stomach flip.

"Hm?" you respond, worried that if you speak, you'll break through the blanket of softness that enveloped you both.

"I found you. Always - I'll always find you. I'll always be here," it's the gentleness that does it, that clicks the last piece of the puzzle into place and forces a huff of breath out of your lungs.

"Is that so?" you murmur back. His hand unclenches and looks as if it's reaching for you for a moment before it falls back to his side and he steps back.

"Of course," he clears his throat. "I always will."

"And why's that?" you press, finally knowing what you're pressing for.

"I'm going to make sure you get home safely. Come on… other people are waiting for their guardian angel," he says, stiff as a board as he closes up. You cock your head to the side.

"Go on then," you prompt. "I can get myself home."

"And I'll make sure of it. Come on."

"No," you shrug. "I'd rather go alone."

"I'm trying to keep you safe." There it is, that dangerous, angry edge seeping back into his voice. You recognize it so clearly this time around.

"And I said no," you push. "I don't need protecting, and you can't save someone that doesn't want to be saved."

"Sometimes when people refuse it is when they need it the most," he growls back, fists balling again. You scoff and cross your arms, slouching against the alley wall.

"Dick saviour complex Grayson, huh. You never let it go, do you?"

Time sort of just… stands still after that. Dick stands before you frozen and your heart melts a little, knowing how rare it is for him to be caught like this and how he must be reeling right now.

"Come on," you say gently as you push yourself off the wall and start walking down the alley. "You were gonna walk me home, right?" He doesn't respond, but you hear his footsteps ever so slightly following behind you, and wonder if he's doing it intentionally so that he doesn't spook you, or if you've done enough spooking and he's still in shock. You glance behind you, but his mask keeps so much from you. You sigh, then, halting as you wait for him to catch up.

"Hey…" you say gently when he stands in front of you, anxious in a way you've never seen him before. "You ok?"

"How long have you known?" he asks quietly.

"About… three minutes I think," you respond lightly. His eyes snap to your and he huffs out a laugh.

"Oh…" he says. "Oh, that's not so bad." you laugh and take his hand, pulling him further out of the alley.

"No, it's really not, is it? Your teasing is gentle. "Now come on, Nightwing, you promised to make sure I get home safe. We can talk about this later, okay? But - you should know… it's okay. It's all okay." He stops walking, then, pulling your arm gently so that you swing around and face him.

"Really?" he prods gently.

"Really," you assure. "I mean… if I had a problem with vigilantes I wouldn't be here, right? And I did, uh… have some suspicions that you hadn't quite retired after Robin"

"Yea," Dick laughs. "I guess that was bound to happen. But, you're right, we can talk later. Come on, now - I promised to get you home safe." you smile up at him, letting him keep your hand firmly in his as you walk side by side.

"Oh," he continues. "And don't think for a second this means I've forgotten about you being out here alone late at night. We're gonna be talking about that, too." You groan and he laughs, pulling you into him to press a kiss to your forehead.

[ramblingoak]

Kiss prompt!

Papa x Swiss

#27

Plz & thx 😜

Thank you Anon! I had a lot of fun with this one since I haven't really done much Papa x Ghoul stuff yet. I hope you like it!

Copia x Swiss with a kiss "as a suggestion"

Warnings: just a very thorough kiss hehe, maybe slightly suggestive so nsfw just in case, about 1k words and aggressively not beta read (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers!)

Swiss hated seeing Copia like this.

Tired and stressed, Papa had been working practically nonstop in preparation for the upcoming tour.  Even the black makeup around his eyes couldn’t hide the signs of strain that were there.  His wrinkles were a little more pronounced from squinting at budget sheets and the skin beneath his eyes was swollen from lack of sleep.  The man needed a good meal, a good night’s rest and as Swiss let his eyes wander over the handsome Papa’s body a few other ideas came to mind.

“Why the fuck does Dewdrop need all these guitars?”

Copia’s irritated voice broke Swiss from his thoughts and the ghoul straightened up from the couch he had been sprawled across,  “Don’t know, skill issue?”

“Skill iss–,”  Copia looked up sharply from his paperwork, his eyes narrowed as he glanced over at Swiss.  When all he saw was a pointy toothed grin Copia snorted and looked back down at his desk.  “Phantom didn’t ask for any new guitars, neither did you!  Why does Dewdrop need six?”

“Papa, can I make a suggestion?”  When he nodded, Swiss stood up and made his way over to his desk.  “Let’s leave Dewdrop behind.”

Copia grinned immediately, the big one that Swiss was pretty sure was only reserved for him.  The smile that he definitely didn’t go out of his way to try to see on a daily basis.  

“I’m on board as long as you’re the one that breaks the news.”  

Copia smiled again when Swiss made a face but it quickly faded when he focused on the paperwork in front of him again.  Well this wasn’t going to do at all, Swiss needed to up his game a bit.  He idly started to tap his claws on the dark wood of the desk, slowly walking around to the side and leaning his hip against it.

“Papa?”  Swiss stayed quiet until Copia looked up at him,  “Can I make another suggestion?”

“Uh, sì.  Certo.”

“How about we take a break?”  He could see Copia immediately stiffen and Swiss had no doubt he was about to be on the receiving end of a speech on how much work there was to do so he quickly reached out and laid a hand over Copia’s arm.  “You need to eat and get some sleep.”

“That was two suggestions.”

“Oh, really?  Well then how about I throw in a third one?”  Swiss pushed off the desk and moved around until he was standing behind Copia.  He gently laid his hands on the man’s shoulders and started to rub the tense muscles there.  “You also need a massage.”

Copia’s only answer was a deep groan and Swiss took that as permission to rub his shoulders harder.  The man was quickly putty in the ghoul’s hands, the most delightful sounds falling from his lips.  Swiss had to bite his own to keep from making any himself, right now his focus was on Copia and making him feel good.

He always enjoyed taking care of his Papa.

When Copia had mostly quieted down, the muscles that Swiss had been working on finally relaxed and loose, he slipped around the chair and hopped up to sit on the desk.

“Swiss!  Stop playing around I still have lots of wor–”

“I actually have one more suggestion.”  

“I haven’t even done the other two you asked for yet.”

“Oh I know, but this last one is something we can fit in whenever.”  Copia was looking up at him with an exasperated expression on his face but Swiss just kept smiling.  “Whenever and as often as you want.”

“Is it leaving me alone?”  Swiss could see Copia fighting a smile when he gave him an exaggerated pout.  “Fine, fine.  Let’s see, you already suggested food and rest…”

“And firing Dewdrop.”

“Sì, and firing Dewdrop.”  Copia sighed, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair and stared up at Swiss.  “I can’t think of anything else I need.”

“A kiss.”

“Un bacio?”  Swiss nodded eagerly, pleased beyond words to see a blush building on Copia’s cheeks.  “Just one?”

“To start with.”

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, both just watching the other.  Swiss was trying not to stare at his lips but he was failing miserably.  When one corner of them quirked up and Copia looked away shyly Swiss felt like letting out a whoop of triumph.

“Okie dokie.  I accept your suggestion.”  

Copia nervously began to shuffle the papers on his desk, only stopping when Swiss planted a hand right on top of them as he leaned in towards him.  The kiss was gentle, far gentler than was necessary but Swiss wanted to savor this moment.  He wanted to memorize every little detail he could.  The fullness of Copia’s bottom lip, the taste of the black makeup he wore on the top one, the sound of their teeth lightly clacking together as the kiss deepened…

Swiss was too damn big to be crawling into Copia’s lap but here he was, his legs straddling him and his fingers buried in the man’s brown hair.  Copia’s tongue flicked at Swiss’s lips, demanding entrance and easily getting it.  As Swiss raked his claws along his scalp Copia tugged at the ghoul’s shirt so he could slide his gloved hands along Swiss’s skin.  The leather was warm and soft and Swiss broke away from his lips with a deep groan.

After a handful of minutes panting into each other’s mouths Swiss finally leaned back to look over his work.  Copia’s hair was all over the place thanks to his hands and Swiss probably had more makeup on his face than Copia did at this point.  He licked his lips to get a taste of the metallic paint again, grinning when he saw Copia’s mismatched eyes tracking the movement of his tongue.

Oh yeah, there were definitely going to be more kisses.

“What do you think, Papa?  Did you like that suggestion?”

Copia nodded, his hands still idly rubbing along Swiss’s body under his shirt, “I did, sì.”  Without warning he gave a quick tug and Swiss found himself pressed tightly to his Papa’s chest, their faces barely a breath apart.  “Got any more?”

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you! Also if you'd prefer to only be tagged in my reader insert stuff that's ok! Feel free to let me know!

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

[scribeofmorpheus]

18+ short | Miguel O’Hara

"Ease into it" - Miguel O’hara x OC Althea Temple

Content Warning: 18+ VIEWER’S DISCRETION. PTA-meeting eye candy Miguel?; smut; pretty much the staple progression of foreplay to swooning (this chapter belongs to the series: Infinitely More) Words: 2.3k read on ao3 | Infinitely More

TRANSL: ¡Maldita sea! Has hecho un desastre con mi escritorio... ¿No es así? ¡Puedo saborearte en el aire!: "Dammit! You've made a mess of my desk... haven't you? I can taste you in the air!"

***

Miguel had been prepared to spend the rest of his afternoon counting down the hours until he could log off his computer, turn off all notifications to his email and distract himself with a few laps at the pool until Aly got off shift.

It had been a tiresome month for her. Her time off since the accident had rewired her clock. Sticking to routine became harder for her, and the expectation that she could simply jump right back into work as though she’d never left was a foolhardy one.

Going from doing 6k steps a day on average to busting her ass at the hospital, increasing her daily step count to 20k+ was just the start of it.

There were the late nights. The out-of-synch sleep-work schedules. Missed PTA meetings at Hope’s new school—not that Miguel minded stepping in for her, the soccer moms were easily distracted by a well-timed smile and tactfully chosen tight shirts. Hope actually preferred it when Miguel picked her up from school. They’d sometimes take scenic routes back to the apartment, sneaking ice cream before dinner, making impromptu stops at the planetarium or science museums when they both needed an excuse to put off doing their chores.

But, as much as Miguel enjoyed their new dynamic—their new apartment and calm ever-after—he also missed Aly. He missed watching cheesy reruns of her favourite TV show. He missed cooking with her. He missed date night and heavy make-out sessions on the couch when they’d have the apartment to themselves.

And, from the state of how easily riled up he was, the ache radiating through him as he stood under the gym showers, cold water steaming from the heat roiling off his tense muscles, he missed being able to satiate his baser urges.

His mind kept conjuring the contour of her waist under his grip, the shine of her hips as they snaked around his midriff, the rhythm her breasts would fall into when his thrust would grow even, her mouth parted in an O…

God! He turned the faucet to the coldest level. He was getting hard.

Not feeling like the gym showers were the most accommodating of locations, Miguel cut his shower short, conditioner still weighing his hair down as he ran the towel through his hair.

As he worked his way into his boxers, he was painstakingly aware of how much heavier he felt straining against the white cotton. Fuck. He swallowed his sweet venom and grumbled as he was instantly reminded of his late start to breakfast a few days earlier.

Aly had been on her period—a situation that made his current predicament so much worse; Aly was always more… catty when she was on her period. Easily riled. Restless through midnight. The bane to his big spoon when she’d grind against him.

To make up for it—or possibly to satiate her own desire to see him wrecked and covered in sweat—Aly had given him a toe-curling orgasm with her mouth. Her throat opening up to swallow as much as she could before his cum splattered onto her bare chest.

Maybe a run was in order.

 Just as he was about to untangle his jeans from his legs, a message popped up on his watch.

NARWHAL: HEY THERE, BANDIT! I HAVE FANTASTIC NEWS… GINA AGREED TO COVER MY SHIFT. NARWHAL: HOPE’S SLEEPING OVER AT BREA’S. WE HAVE THE APARTMENT TO OURSELVES… NARWHAL: ARE YOU ALONE?

A sudden dryness overcame his mouth as he tried to swallow the influx of sweet, sweet venom.

With a controlled breath, Miguel hastily backed his gym back, tied his shoelaces and leaned across the bench, peeking to see if there was anyone around.

Dead silence.

Heart hammering wildly, he typed: YES.

NARWHAL: GOOD…

The three dots kept dancing on his screen as he waited for her to finish the text, but then a video file loaded in the chat. The audio symbol was slashed in the top right corner. Thank fuck! No audio.

His hands were trembling when he pressed play, and then he nearly ruptured a blood vessel when he watched the video.

Aly had slipped into a dark, lacey lingerie slip dress. The camera panned from her collarbone to her nipples, lingering by the tattoo on her ribs before dipping to her bellybuttom, and then lower… zooming into the red cord that tickled her inner thigh.

He knew what that cord was attached to.

Hidden under her dress, buried inside her, were two Ben Wa balls. She’d ordered them after reading a foreplay article centred on “adjusting to size easier”.

He couldn’t tell if she stretched easier after removing them, but he knew she was always soaked. More of a friction chaser.

“Volviéndome loco.…” he cursed into the empty space, somewhat ashamed he considered working one out right then and there.  

Furiously, he typed: DON’T MOVE AN INCH. I’M ON MY WAY HOME.

He could instantly sense her in their apartment. Her body heat, her shallow panting, the way her scent permeated the air despite the scented candles she’d lit.

When he opened the door and tossed his jacket onto the couch, he could all but taste her.

“Althea…” he said her name devoutly.

“I…” she sucked in a breath, her voice quivering from inside his office. “I’ve been waiting…”

He pulled down his zipper, all but moaning when he finally got free of the rough material. Aly was poised at his desk, glasses on, legs crossed. Her panties were rumpled carelessly at the base of the desk. He could see the spot she’d soaked through from the doorway.

“I figured it’s been a while…” she pulled one strap of her dress over her shoulder, “since I wore lace for you… mi amor.”

His shirt got tangled with his elbows, his body automatically gravitating towards her until his thigh bumped the desk.

Aly laughed, placing her hands over his wrists, “Here, let me help you get free.”

“Please,” he begged, parking himself by her knees. “¡Maldita sea! Has hecho un desastre con mi escritorio... ¿No es así? ¡Puedo saborearte en el aire!”

Suddenly, Aly stopped untangling his shirt, her fingers tracing slow paths to his chest, circling his hard nipples. “You could lap it clean if you like…”

He turned wolfish. And even though she couldn’t see him grin, from the ungodly noise that escaped his throat, she was well aware he was all on board.

He ripped his shirt, freeing his hands, and then he was on his knees, prying her legs apart and drawing her flush to the edge of the desk. His suspicion had been correct. A thick ropey line traced an arc between her swollen clit and the pool of slick on his desk.

He closed his eyes as the scent grew several degrees more intense. He wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t end up seeing the back of his skull, how far back his eyes rolled as he stuck out his tongue and covered her cunt with his mouth.

His tongue was obscured from pushing past her entrance by the Ben Wa balls, but he discovered a new pro: he could bite down on the cord and pull, only slightly, denying her the stretch that she so eagerly wanted.

She fisted his hair, screaming “Yes! Fuck! Miguel… Oh, your tongue is so hot.” She egged him on, snaking her hips and digging her heels into his back.

He could barely breathe he was buried so deep, but god he wouldn’t have minded going out by suffocation. His cock jutted, reminding him he was still palpably hard. His veins dilated to bursting. His balls so full. So much of himself to give her. So much to fill her with. And not enough of the night.

As he started to rise to his feet, he kept his jaw clenched on the cord between her legs, inching out the balls from inside her. Her legs shook with each tug, her body turning to a ragdoll, limbs heavy and mewling noises too delicious to even consider keeping hushed.

The first ball was stubborn, but once it popped free, the second followed easily, pulling ropes of slick that had been unable to escape her.

No thought about it, he was back on his knees, drinking her up, lapping savagely until she begged him to make her cum. With vigour, he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked feverishly as he plunged two fingers into her cunt and started to finger fuck her. Sloppy, wet, squelching, he had to cup his own tip to keep from spilling too much of himself on the floor. She had been devious. She deserved every drop. Every. Single. Drop.

“Miguel! Miguel! Miguel! Mig—” she gasped, her thighs pressing tightly around his ears till all he could hear was the thunder of her blood rushing through her veins as she came on his face.

Her ankles unlocked after a few breaths; his hearing still entranced with her heart. Struggling to keep his breathing even, he pulled free and readjusted their position.

 He slapped his cock onto her cunt, placing his hands under her knees, and locking her ankles together until her thighs formed a nice closing around his cock.

“My turn,” he said, biting back the urge to ram forward like a mindless animal and pleasure himself on her thighs, cock rubbing against her eager opening.

“All yours,” she mooned. “Every inch. Take everything! Give me every inch of you.”

Shit! He seized his thrusts, angling his tip to her entrance. “Whatever you desire!” And then he entered her.

“It’s okay, mi vida… just like that—Yes! Mmm, I know you can stretch a little more for me… just a bit more,” he couldn’t help but let the slick of his venom pass into her through the rough kiss. He hadn’t shaved in a while, his scruff prickly, causing Aly’s body to vibrate with laughter, bucking and writhing, her thighs and lower back working in opposition. She yearned to relax as he pressed himself deeper and deeper, but she was also ticklish, despite being ravished well and good by his deft tongue. He plunged farther into her mouth as he felt his cock grow warmer inside her divine wetness. “Fuuuuuuck. Aly… so slick—Hmmgh! God, just a little more. Almost… fully… inside… you. Hhnnggg, there… look at you, so pretty, so full…” he traced his palm to her belly, felt himself strain against her there, his cock fully sheathed, balls deep. He looked down at her face, giving her an appraising smirk, this impossible sensation of holding something coveted and all his… it made him leak cum into her undulating cunt, her walls clenching down with intent. “Taking everything inside you like the good girl you are, fuck. I’ve missed you.”

She raked her fingers through the silver of his hair, rubbing deliciously at the base of his skull. “You saw me at breakfast.”

He bit down on her neck, his venom slicking her skin, making her moan, her eyes rolling back, heavy-lidded. He took the opportunity to drive her dangerously close to the edge and rutted forward, anchoring his weight on the balls of his feet, causing the bed to creak in protest, the headboard knocking against the wall.

Aly gushed. And not just in the cute way the blush of her skin would kiss her collarbone, her thighs, her belly… Sno, it didn’t stop there. A torrent of warmth meandered out of her cunt as he pulled back, entranced by the scent of their sex. Driven to absolute madness by the copper taste of her on his lips. The sound of her moaning as he slammed forward, the tip of his cock sensitive and unguarded by his foreskin as it hit her walls with slip, and that tantalising resistance of her body still adjusting to his size.

“Don’t play coy, car amia,” he commanded, secretly hoping she’d refuse to listen. “I know how to unravel you like I was the very thing that wove you together. I know how to make you beg.”

She smiled, her hand reaching between their joined bodies to grasp his throbbing cock with a menacing grip.

“Don’t pretend as though I didn’t have you whimpering into my pillow the other morning,” she swallowed loudly, licking her lips as if ravished, as if she could practically taste his cock in that instant. She began to pump her hand against him. Long, slow, firm strokes that made him eke out a strangled groan. She sighed contentedly when the sound of her hand fucking him turned lewd, precum glistening on her palm. “It seems we both know how to play coy, I’m just a better brat.”

He bit down on his lip, the pillowcase tearing as his claws inched out. Control was beginning to become a suggestion.

“Then this is the point where I punish you, isn’t it?” he cocked a brow and she shuddered. Then he lifted her off the desk and sat himself in his large leather chair, never disconnecting them. “Too bad… looks like you’ll have to fuck me.”

Aly was speechless for a second, taken aback, pouting at the responsibility of having to be the power driver of their pleasure train. Lord knows her muscles weren’t up to the task, given his inhuman endurance. But watching her face go from bratty to shocked did make him swell with pride… and other parts.

She bit back a moan as she worked her legs through the chair’s armrests, planting her weight on her toes and circling her arms around his neck for leverage.

“I’m going to make you squirm, O’Hara…” she threatened.

“I’d like to see you tr—”

She slammed down onto his cock, making him gasp. Her whole body shook, slapping against his hard one.  

Maybe his endurance wasn’t so inhuman after all.

“You were saying?” she smirked, sucking on the shell of his ear.

He threaded his fingers through her curls, unruly and thick from the humid air in the room. Using his nose to paint a line from throat to ear, he whispered: “I love you.”

***

[if you loved this, there's more on my ao3! also, I live off validation/engagement! Come say hi!]

[enormities-writes]

Is it Love or Hate? | Penelope Garcia x Gn!Reader

Summary: Reader thinks Penelope hates them. Will a Christmas party change their mind?

Warnings: 3rd POV, not proof read, kissing, Penelope doubting herself, probably ooc everyone tbh, Penelope and Spencer being the besties they are, reader is smart

Words: 3074

Masterlist

Please do not copy or translate any of my work. Thank you!

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

You started working at the BAU just a few months ago and had felt a kind, welcoming connection with everyone (even if Hotch is a bit scary). 

But Penelope always seems not to want to talk to you. Always looks the other way and finds excuses to leave the room when you enter, leaving a cold and awkward air behind her. 

At first, you thought maybe she was just stressed or nervous about a new face on the team but the more time you spent at work, the more it seemed like that wasn't the case.

It made you feel so defeated and upset because the instant you laid eyes on her, you thought she was amazing. Her hair was swooshing around her shoulders, a brightly colored plastic accessory pinned to her bangs. A cute, soft cardigan warmed her arms as an adorable dress adorned her body below it.

Gorgeous, funny, goofy, nerdy, smart, her whole personality was just warm and wholeheartedly kind. 

Except for how she acted around you. 

For some reason, she can barely stand the sight of you. At least that's what it felt like. So harboring a crush on someone who basically hates your guts doesn't feel too good, believe it or not.

“I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, JJ,” You say, groaning exasperatedly, tilting your head back to look up at the ceiling in defeat and frustration. “You’ve done nothing wrong!” Her high-pitched voice fills the air of the meeting room, a warm hand being placed on your shoulder. 

You sit up and spin in your chair once she withdraws her hand. “I must’ve done something! She's so nice to everyone but avoids me like the plague.” 

“You’re misreading the situation. She doesn't hate you.” JJ sighs as if she’s talking to a child that she just put in timeout, shaking her head, her straight honey-blonde hair swaying in the air.

“What could I possibly be misreading? Her body language is always closed off when I’m around. Crossed arms, turning away, tensed muscles. Not to mention increased heart rate, strained voice if she even decides to speak, dilated pupils, shall I go on?”

JJ sighs, her head tilting to the side as she crosses her arms. You see Reid's crisp button-up as he passes by the door, his soft brown hair bouncing as he walks. “Whoever you’re talking about, it sounds like they have a crush”

His voice is highly analytical and precise as if he were solving a complex case. “Wait, what?” You call out, sitting up straight in the office chair, pointing your body towards the door, eyebrows furrowed together as your brain races with possibilities and answers to unanswered questions.

Reid pivots on his feet, coming back into the frame to accentuate his point. “Well, increased heart rate, strained voice, and dilated pupils are all signs of attraction. Actually, The National Library of Medicine did a study on it. Physical features, such as pupil size, gaze directionality, eye color, facial symmetry, and nonverbal displays, are encoded by human minds.. Um yes, it- it sounds like they have a crush.”

Reid stops himself short of a tangent of some study about behavioral science that he surely has memorized all the words of.

You blink, shaking your head. “Ya know, usually Reid, I would thank you for being a human Google Search but there's no way Penelope is attracted to me.” You awkwardly chuckle, mind racing a mile a minute. 

Spencer goes stiff at the information that they're talking about Penelope. He tightens his fingers around his coffee mug a little tighter, his skin taking on a whiter yellow-y color. His posture a little straighter, his eyes a little wider as he gulps down the saliva in his mouth nervously. 

“Spencer? What is it?” You ask, picking up on the difference in his demeanor. 

“W-What? Oh, It’s nothing. I just didn't know w- we- we were talking about her. So it’s probably not attraction. Not- not that she hates you or anything of course! An-anyways, I have some paperwork to get to so..” He tails off, slowly but briskly leaving the doorway. 

Me and JJ stay silent for a second, staring at the doorway where Spencer once stood before slowly turning to each other.

“That was weird.” JJ's eyebrows are furrowed, her mouth open so her lips have a little gap between them, a blank and confused expression on her face.

You both get up to go to our desks, the warm lights of the stringed bulbs that are hanging in the main area shining in our eyes. The whole BAU was decorated to the nines for Christmas, with lights and tinsel every which way.

You plop down at your desk and start on a stack of paperwork. You take a pen out of your cup full of them, hearing the tink of it hitting the surface. You press the small button at the top of it to make the pen tip come out with a mechanical click as your eyes see Spencer walk out of Penelope's bat cave with an anxious and regretful look on his face.

Deciding to overthink that tad bit of information later, you get started on the migraine-inducing stack of paper.

After hours of coffee, computers, paperwork, and thinking, Hotch walks into the main area. “Go home early, everyone. The parties tomorrow.” He announces, referring to the Christmas party at Rossi's house tomorrow night and not bothering to mention the few days of work you guys have off. Without further thought, he walks back into his office and begins to clean up his desk.

Finishing up on writing the last paragraph down, JJ passes by, being seen in the peripheral of your vision. “Hey, do you wanna get some dinner?” You decide to call out, barely glancing up from the last sentence.

“I can’t, I'm too tired. I’m probably going to go home, put something in the microwave, and pass out.” She shrugs, her eyes tired and almost defeated.

“No worries, I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Bye!”

You finish your work and grab your bag, making your way to the elevator. You see the doors closing, only a foot away from each other, inching closed. “Wait, hold it please!” You shout, jogging towards the big metal doors.

A manicured hand stretches out, wedging itself between the shiny doors. They retreat from their path, sliding into the open position.

You huff, sliding into the elevator, the doors shutting seconds after you do. Penelope stands, wide-eyed, realizing who she is holding the door for.

“Oh, hi.” You swallow, trying to make the space a little less awkward with a little bit of small talk. Instead of replying, she just nods, redirecting her head to look straight forward, inwardly praying for the elevator to move as fast as possible.

You take a breath, letting the silence sit for a moment before you look over at her. Her hair is curled, pretty waves cascading over her shoulders as red and green hair accessories pin her hair back on either side.

“I love your dress.” You decide complimenting her is probably the best course of action. It might make her a bit more relaxed, more at ease. 

Instead, it only seems to make her more nervous. She bites her lip, her posture stiffening as if she is the most uncomfortable she’s ever been in her life. “Thanks” The words almost sound choked as they leave her mouth.

The second the elevator doors open, she's hurrying out of the building, speed walking as fast as she can to get out of the clear doors to the street outside.

You sigh. No matter how hard you try to be friendly and make her feel more welcome, she always seems like you're contagious or something. A ball forms at the back of your throat and you clear it as you make your way out of the building, saying goodbye to the receptionist and wishing him a happy holiday. 

The next day you take it slow, sleeping in and making easy food before starting to get ready way before the actual event, not wanting to rush anything. You know it's probably fruitful but you decide to dress your best, doing everything you can to look as good as possible.

In the back of your head, you think of scenarios where Penelope compliments you, saying you look cute. How you’d all of a sudden hit it off and you’d ask her out on a date and she’d be overjoyed at the idea, a blush highlighting her cheeks.

But at the end of the day, you also know that theres no way that would ever happen. She would never compliment you, much less talk to you on her own free volition. 

She’d most likely ignore you all night if nothing else. 

And you tried not to think about that too hard. You didn’t want to be depressed today of all days. You didn't want to feel bad about yourself. And so, you put on your very best clothes in hopes that it will make you feel better and that the party will go better than planned. You lied to yourself.

That night you made your way to Rossis, and when he opened the door for you, you were quickly welcomed into his lavish home. High ceilings, expensive furnishings and appliances, and when you followed him into his living room, one of the largest Christmas trees you’ve ever seen in your life was on display.

The team seemed happy, carefree, and relaxed. You wander over and join the lively conversation. You talk adamantly about random topics, funny stories, jokes, and past jobs. 

“Jesus, you look amazing!” JJ brings you into a tight hug, a big beautiful grin gracing her face. She squeezes you, her hand rubbing your back for a few seconds before she pulls back, looking at you, her eyes scanning your face like she was trying to see all the detail and hard work you put in tonight.

Looking to your left for a split second, you spot Penelope, looking as gorgeous as always. Her face is pulled up into a smile as she hits Morgan's arm, responding to some retort he just called out. 

She still has her coat on over the dress she's wearing but it all ties in perfectly. The way her hair is done expertly and the way her glasses frame her eyes, almost showcasing the beautiful color. 

Her cheeks lift again to laugh, adorable little creases forming around her mouth, her eyes almost closing at how hard the joy takes over her face. Her hair swooshes with the movement of the vibration of the laugh, her shoulders rocking.

“You did this for her, huh?” You snap your head back at JJ, her voice knocking you out of you staring.

Her facial expression is knowing, almost scolding as she squints her eyes at you. 

“No.” It sounds unconvincing, even to your ears. You cross your arms as JJ tilts her head with an eyebrow raised, a silent question on if you’re really trying to lie to the both of you.

“..Maybe.”

JJ shakes her head knowingly but says nothing, a quiet conversation being noted between the two of you. 

The night goes on as everyone has fun. But miraculously, every time you and Penelope are in the same conversation, she manages to slip away. Deciding to give up, you decide to head to the restroom, only to find a small queue has formed. 

Someone is in it, the door shut and locked as no one other than Penelope is waiting for it to open. You awkwardly clear your throat, deciding to lean on the wall across from her silently to wait for the bathroom.

The silence is palpable, the stench of it filling the air, making the oxygen almost thick. The blank sound lingers, a contrast to the lively music and talking faintly heard from the main part of the house.

You heave a sigh, not knowing what to do, your mind grasping at ways to ease the tension. “You look great.” You decide to give her a compliment to which she gives a halfhearted smile.

“Thanks.”

She looks away, obviously trying to not engage in conversation. The pit at the back of your throat starts forming again and maybe you’ve drank too much champagne so your next words are completely unfiltered.

“Why do you hate me?” The words come off as exasperated and almost meek, like you're grasping at straws but you couldn't care less right now. The words have always been at the back of your head but the nerve to ask such a thing has never presented itself. And if it has, you chicken out immediately.

Her head whips back to you. “What?” Her eyebrows are furrowed, and her eyes wide, surprise evident in her features.

“What have I done wrong? Is there something I can do? Is there something I need to apologize for?” 

“What? Of course not.” Her answer is immediate. Like the answer to your question was a no-brainer. You step a little closer.

“Then why do you never talk to me? Or leave the room when I enter? Or act as if I don’t even exist? Or when you do, act as if I’m contagious?” The words fly out of your mouth like word vomit. But It’s not as if you’re not telling the truth about how you feel. On how her actions affect you.

“I just-” She cuts herself off, being caught in a corner by your words.

“Just what? Why do you have such disdain for me?”

“I don’t I just-” 

“Then why?”

You pester her, wanting the answers to your questions, the conversation became slightly heated, the back and forth becoming faster.

“I don't, I just have a crush on you!” The words spill over. Her eyes go wide as she hears them slip past her lips.

There's a beat of silence, the words soaking into each of your brains.

“What?” The words are soft as they come out, confusion evident in their tone.

“Just forget I said anything. Ya know what? I’m sure Derek-” Before she can figure out a way to escape the situation, you step closer, slightly crowding her space. Her eyes frantically search down the hallway, hoping for someone to walk by or for an out to this.

“Wait no, you like me?” 

At the confrontation, she turns mousy. Her head ducks down and her voice cuts off. Both of your hearts are beating in your ears, afraid the other can hear it.

Your mouth involuntarily breaks into a small smile. There's no way she feels the same about you. Every situation from the past few months flashes in your mind. She has such a big crush that she has had to leave rooms and try to mask her flushed cheeks and flustered expression. She's been forced to look away and not talk to you, afraid you’ll pick up on her feelings.

“Jesus Christ, you really had me scared that you hated my guts. Fuck, I think you’re amazing, Penelope.” You step a little closer, both underneath the closed doorway to the bathroom. 

Her glassy eyes look up at you from their place transfixed on the floor. In those Irises hold amazement. Doubt. Shock.

“What?” Her mind's going a mile a minute. There's no way that you could like her like that. She goes through all her flaws and all her quirks. 

The fact that she plays MMORPGs, her love for fashion, the small trinkets she puts at her desk, and her personality is less than conventional. I mean, no one likes her. Right?

(for people who don’t know or don’t understand what that means: Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games. Think of things like World Of Warcraft, Runescape, Final Fantasy 14, things like that)

“Penelope, I think you're perfect. I mean, how could I not? You're smart, funny, charming, quirky, bubbly, beautiful. I’m just surprised you like me.”

It’s her turn to be bewildered. “Of course I like you” She breathes a deep breath, realizing that you don’t see her “faults”. Well you do, but you see them as good things. You see them as cute little puzzle pieces that fit together to get her.

Her eyes glance up, a tiny plant being held up by a ribbon hanging in the frame of the tall door. Your eyes follow hers, seeing a little mistletoe above your heads.

Building up the courage, your eyes travel down to her. Swallowing, you say tentatively, “Can I kiss you, Penelope.” 

Her eyes are big like a puppy, looking at you as if you're just a dream. Her head jostles as she nods a silent yes.

Your lips meet gently, the soft skin pressing to each other. The simple touch feels like it puts air into your lungs, like it’s your first time truly breathing. And when you go to pull away, your eyes open a sliver and colors seem brighter than before and sounds feel clearer.

Her head tilts towards yours and she quickly reconnects your lips, your eyelids slipping closed once more. And this time, everything fades out but her. Her soft hands reach to your jawline, her soft lips caressing yours.

Her dress is soft in your hands and you bring them up to her sides. Her perfume was in the air, wafting delightfully around her. The way she moves her lips against yours; anxious but yearning and loving. Warm.

Your brain swims with thoughts of her. As if you two were the only things that existed, before a throat clearing pulls your lips away from each other, eyes opening and looking over to the cause of the sound. 

Only to find Spencer scratching the back of his neck. “I’ll just uh, sorry.” He tensely slips between you two, speed-walking down the hallway. As you hear his footsteps recede, he pops his head back into view from the corner he turned. “Congrats.” Before he ducks his head, escaping the scene.

Penelope giggles, a hand coming up to go in front of her mouth to contain them. You turn your head her way, a laugh escaping your own lips.

With the warm feeling still in your stomach, you smile as you ask, “Penelope, would you like to go on a date with me?”

Your question is answered immediately with a bashful expression. “Yes”

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

First Date

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: none at all fr fr except idk first date jitters???

Genre: fluff central

Summary: Your first real date with your former fake boyfriend; "I'm just scared of what you think // You make me nervous so I really can't eat" ~ First Date by Blink 182

A/N: This is technically part 2 to Nervous but order is arbitrary fr

***

The following Friday Bucky is at your apartment just before 7 o'clock trying to convince himself to knock on your door. He knows he has to because you otherwise won't come out and that would be awful because even if every muscle in his body is tensing up at the thought of this actually happening he does really want to take you out. The only problem is that standing in your hallway it feels like a dream he had long given up on is coming to fruition and he's starting to wonder if maybe he's not ready for this. It's too late for that now though, he's meant to pick you up in 2 minutes and he'd rather lose his other arm than upset you by canceling last minute no matter how anxious he is.

"If she didn't want this. She wouldn't have agreed." Bucky tells himself, steeling his nerves. He raises his fist and raps on the door far more confidently than he's feeling at 6:59:37. He knows because he checked his watch. Barely a minute goes by before you swing open the door with a soft smile.

"You're right on time. Hi Bucky." You say. Bucky freezes up as he takes you in. You're wearing a crop top and faux leather pants with a matching jacket. Bucky told you casual dress was fine so you wanted something cute but practical. Bucky can feel his brain short circuit as he looks at you. Just compliment her! 

"Punctuality- matters. We should get going." He says instead of anything charming. The sentences come out chopping and strained and he almost outwardly cringes at himself.

"Alright, well lead the way James." You say, pointedly ignoring the tense undertone in his words. You're not sure what that was about but you can't imagine drawing attention to it will help. Bucky nods and walks you down to his car where he opens your door and lets you in before he jogs over to the driver seat and slides in. It only takes another moment before he's pulling out of your parking lot and cruising down the streets.

The ride there is pretty quiet, which is fine. You're trying to guess where he's taking you anyway because he refuses to tell you. It's not until you see the big neon sign as he turns into a parking lot that you finally crack it though and you can't help but chuckle quietly as he parks the car. It's been such a long time since you've been to one of these.

"Bowling?" You smile at him.

"I've heard how boring you find regular dinner dates." Bucky shrugs. It's true you much prefer activity dates, but you're curious how he'd know that already. He gets out of the car and rushes over to your side to open the door for you. The two of you head inside and get set up with a lane and a pair of bowling shoes. You both are quick to grab bowling balls and start the game. You're always down for some friendly competition and honestly, it'll be nice to do something you haven't in a while.

A few rounds in though makes you painfully aware of how little Bucky has said since picking you up and it's starting to get to you. If you get excited over a strike or point out the score he'll offer a little smile and maybe a couple of words but he's not actually conversing with you. When you commend a particularly good round on his end he just nods a 'thanks'. Not to mention he's hardly looking at you which isn't a big deal exactly but in combination with the lack of talking it feels very awkward. Especially for a first date. Who bowls in silence?! About halfway through, you stand up before Bucky takes his roll.

"I'm going to get some food. Do you want anything?" You ask him.

"Oh! Let me get it. What do you want?" Bucky puts down his bowling ball and jogs over to his jacket draped over one of the chairs.

"A slice of pizza and some lemonade." You say.

"On it." He nods dropping the jacket and walking over to the food counter. You sigh to yourself as you plop back in your seat to wait for him. You can't understand why he's being so quiet but this date really can't continue this way. When Bucky returns with your food and drink he hands them to you quickly. You barely mutter thank you before he goes back to his jacket, presumably to put his wallet back in the pocket he fished it out from.

"You know Bucky, you've barely said anything to me all night. I've been on some pretty awkward first dates before but never ones where my date avoids looking at me." You stand and walk over to where Bucky is now lining up his roll.

"I'm not avoiding looking at you." Bucky says. 

"If this has been your idea of being present with a date you are more out of touch than I thought James." You muse. Bucky sighs and turns to you, finally looking at you properly. He's silent for a moment, just looking at you before he speaks again.

"You know when you talk to people you look at them so intently. It's like you could uncover their every secret in the time it takes them to finish whatever sentence they're saying."

"Is that why you wouldn't look at me?" You ask.

"I'm already terrified of saying the wrong thing. When I look at you it feels as though you can hear my every nervous thought. As if you'll-" Bucky's words seem to get stuck in his throat as his brows knit together.

"As if I'll what?" You prompt.

"Be able to see me the way I see myself." He mutters.

"You- don't want me to see you the way you see yourself?" You frown.

"It wouldn't end well if you did." He shakes his head.

"Well, why don't you let me decide how I see you? And in the meantime, you should just- be yourself. Trust me you're way worse off if you don't speak to me the entire night than whatever you're so scared of." You tell him. "Right now your worst crime is sucking at bowling."

"Hey! I'm doin pretty well."

"I mean I'm beating you pretty bad so-" you walk back over to your seat where you'd left your pizza.

"You're distracting." He mutters.

"I'm distracting?! You've been avoiding me in all ways but physical Bucky. How could I possibly be distracting?" You ask.

"How many times are you going to make me say how nervous you make me?"

"I dunno, how many times would it take for you to stop being so nervous?"

"More than is reasonable for you to say."

"You'd be surprised how far I'm willing to go actually." You tell him, taking a bite of your pizza. "I just want you to relax Bucky." You say before you drop your pizza plate back on the chair.

"Easier said than done." He muses.

"I'm sure. I mean up until a week ago I thought you hated me- so there's a learning curve for us both. But you can't expect me to not get to know you. We're on a date I mean-"

"I know." He mutters quietly, though you can't hear him as you keep rambling.

"Dates typically involve a lot of getting to know people. You're lucky we're not complete strangers-"

"I know." He tries again but you're still going.

"Otherwise I wouldn't even bother with this I would just never see you again but I like you and I want this to go somewhere but you have to try, and sometimes that's gonna mean stepping out of your comfort zone and if you can't do that-" Bucky grabs you by your shoulders and yanks you towards him until your bodies are flush, his head tilting down and connecting your lips. Your eyes widen for a moment before closing, surrendering to his kiss. It's strong, unyielding, so much like him and finally, for the first time since you got here you get a glimpse of the man you're familiar with. When he pulls away your eyes flutter open.

"I know, y/n. You're right. I'm sorry for being so awkward." Bucky says and you shake your head.

"You don't have to apologize. I just want tonight to go well." You say softly.

"So do I! So much so that I-"

"That you're too scared to talk to me?" You chuckle.

"It- sounds silly when you put it like that." He muses.

"It's okay. As frustrating as the silence is I think it's cute that you're so..."

"Insecure?" He scoffs.

"I was going to say shy." You roll your eyes with a laugh. "I don't think it's insecure to care about what you say to a date, but I do think you worry far too much. You're not under evaluation." You say.

"I'll- try to relax." He says.

"Great, now hurry up and roll your ball so I can wipe the floor with your cute ass." You smile.

"Oh-ho-ho don't get too confident there sweetness. Relaxing means I'm definitely going to beat you." Bucky says.

"I mean you can tryyyyy but I'd keep those expectations low if I were you. I'm currently doing way better than you."

"We're barely halfway through the game, you're counting your chickens too soon." He smiles sweetly.

"You're talking a lot for someone who still hasn't finished his turn." You shrug. Bucky shoots you an incredulous look that has you laughing as he walks over to the lane to roll for his turn. Now, if you can keep him this relaxed for the rest of the night then this date is going to be every bit as amazing as you could hope for. Even on the off chance he beats you at bowling.

***

[mickittotheman]

Maybe #6 ...on a falling tear.

But maybe smut 😅

Ahem. Um. Yes.

Putting this under a read more cut for obvious reasons 😶

6. ...on a falling tear (but definitely smut)

It’s Ian’s day off, the house is empty, the vibrating anal beads they splurged on finally arrived in the mail, and they're having a great time.

It’s obvious, from the way Ian is grinning wide, eyes sparkling, laughter huffing from his lungs, that he’s enjoying this. 

Mickey’s enjoying it too, of course. It’s just that he expresses joy a bit differently than most people. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck you, fuck you, Ian, gonna fucking kill you, fuck.”

Ian laughs again, and his warm breath puffing against Mickey’s spit soaked nipple gets an interesting response, so he follows it up by pursing his lips and blowing out a long, cool stream of air.

“Fuck. Ian,” Mickey whines, voice keening and plaintive once more. 

It’s one of the many, many things Ian loves about his husband: the way his mood flips on a dime even during sex, especially during sex, how he’ll go from growling threats to pathetic pleading to blabbering praises and back again.

“So good, it’s so good, Ian, please, love you, you're so good.”

“Yeah? You like this, baby?” Ian pulls back to get a better view of Mickey’s face. It's quite the sight to behold: skin flushed and brows furrowed and mouth swollen and slick, plush lower lip bitten hard by one sharp little canine tooth. 

Mickey tips his head back against the pillow. Shakes it frantically. “No, I don’t fucking like this, I hate this, fuck, I hate you.”

“Oh? You don’t like this?” Ian hums. Rubs one big hand soothingly up and down Mickey’s heaving chest. “Hm. Maybe we oughta try a different setting, then.”

“Wait–”

Mickey’s eyes fly open just in time to see Ian grin as he presses the button on the remote.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck, Ian, Ian, please–”

“Please what? Put it higher?”

Ian presses another button without waiting for an answer. Watches in awe as Mickey’s back arches, as his muscles tense, limbs straining against the restraints, as his cock jerks untouched against his stomach, come dribbling down to join the other spatters in varying states of drying.

Ian clicks the remote again. Drops the strength to the lowest setting, switches the pulse pattern to something steady and predictable.

Mickey sobs, just once, and Ian’s grin widens. 

When Mickey cries during sex, that means Ian is doing his job really, really well. 

It’d freaked him out the first time. Made him panic. Made him think he’d hurt Mickey in a way he hadn’t intended to.

But that was years ago.

Nowadays, making Mickey cry is one of Ian’s favorite activities.

“So good, baby,” he gushes, leaning in to kiss Mickey’s forehead. “You’re doing so good. You were fucking made for this, Mickey. Made to be tied up and pleasured and used all day long.”

Ian can physically feel Mickey’s skin heat up against his lips. Can feel him shudder and shake. Can feel him nod, just a tiny, jerky little motion. 

Ian pulls back again, wanting to drink in the sight of him, wanting to see it forever and ever and ever. “Fuck, baby. I should take a fucking picture. Actually, I should just keep you like this 24/7.”

Mickey’s breath stutters, his eyes fluttering open to peer up at Ian blearily, the tiniest little noise clawing from his throat. 

Ian smiles softly at him. Brings a hand up to cup his face and swipe at his tears with his thumb. “You want that, baby? Yeah. Maybe you’re right about not needing a job. Maybe I should just keep you tied up like this all day instead, ready for me to use whenever I want. Would be a great stress relief, after a long day of work. ‘Course, some days I’d be too tired to fuck you, but that’s okay. I can just leave you like this, right?”

Mickey whines in protest. Shakes his head. 

“Shh, it’s okay, Mick. I’m just teasing,” he soothes, ducking down again to kiss the fresh tear rolling down Mickey’s cheek. “I’d never be able to leave you completely untouched. I’d have to do something. Something like this, maybe.”

He clicks the remote again, ramping the vibrations back up to level five, switching the pattern to an unyielding bzzzzzzzzzz.

“Fuck!”

Ian laughs. Palms at his own dick, just to take a bit of the pressure off. “We’re almost done, babe. Promise.”

“Yeah?” Mickey pants, melting a bit in relief even as his wrists flex against the leather cuffs fruitlessly.

“Ian! Fuck, fuck you, please please please, I need you, I love you, Ian–”

“Yeah,” Ian assures him. “Just gonna make you come one more time with these in.” He pauses. Cocks his head. “Well, and then of course I’ll have to pull these out of you, one by one, and fuck knows how many times you’ll come during that. Plus, I’m obviously going to have to fuck you at least once. Maybe twice. I’m feeling pretty worked up, y’know?”

This time, Mickey comes with a high pitched whine and a steady stream of tears.

Oh yeah. They are definitely having fun.

send me a number~

[crystalflygeo]

That's one way to alleviate cramps ft. dragon!Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: Period sex. That's... that's it, pls do not perceive me. Zhongli is a tiny dragon on this one. Chonkli. And he has a long dragon tongue bc of course. Oral sex (reader receiving) Blood I guess it's a given??? An attempt at fluff/cuteness and humor was made.

notes: @moraxsthrone Kel I want everyone to know this is 300% YOUR FAULT (this is a link ehe). Imma just post this before I think twice and then go hit my pillow I'm hungry and TIRED and delirious. Obviously.

“Hng- f-fuck… Zhongliiiii” You groan, squirming on the sheets.

You curl into a tight ball and your arms snake around your midsection, biting your lip hard as another wave of pain washes over your body. It’s sharp, muscles spasming, it leaves you sweaty and tense and whining.

“Archons why…” You mumble, letting out a rather strained sigh.

Your body relaxes a little, melting on the bed once the cramps are over, but your body still feels sore, and it’s hot, too hot, even when you’re down to your undergarments.

A very small and rather adorable dragon shifts frantically all around you, looking very much like a distressed puppy wanting to help but not knowing very well how to.

He noses at your cheek, scales cool against the heated skin, and then laps there trying to comfort you. “I apologize for not being able to help more, dearest.” The deep voice practically echoes in your head, reassuring, and definitely not matching his current cutesy appearance.

You smile softly and run your hand along his back, the scales shivering at your touch. “I-It’s okay Li… comes and goes…”

You’ve rarely ever seen Zhongli in this form, maybe two or three times actually. A miniature and… ‘chonky’… version of his regal Exuvia, with blunt horns and claws, and the size of your torso. He almost looks like a plushie, albeit a scaled one.

He’d said it was for your comfort, and honestly, you really enjoyed cuddling him on this form, playing with his tail fluff or let him ‘make biscuits’ over your skin.

And speaking of…

Once he sees you rolled over your back again, the overgrown lizard makes his way to your belly and starts pressing his small paws over your tummy, massaging. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your throat as it tickles a little.

“That’s better. I much prefer hearing your laugh, baobei.”

“Y-yeah… thank you Li.”

It goes on for a few minutes, the cramps seemingly dissipated for now as he purrs content and your body relaxes at his ministrations. It’s soothing.

But now another problem presents itself…

You groan again and slightly grimace. Your body is all sensitive, hot and sore, and he keeps insistently pressing and kneading at your pelvis, skirting the edge of your panties and so close… so close…

Archons how can you be thinking on that now? You were in pain merely moments ago! And now’s not the time to…

“Darling?” You see the small dragon sniff at the air. “Are you… aroused?”

Oh, damn his freaky dragon senses.

He has no right to sound that amused when he looks so cute either!

“N-No?! I’m- How could I-” You sputter.

His hearty chuckle invades your mind. “No need to be embarrassed, my dear. It’s quite understandable.” The dragon coos and nuzzles at your lower belly making you shiver. “In this stage of your cycle, you’re quite vulnerable and your hormones-”

“Stop. Stop talking biology to me I don’t- I don’t want to hear it!” You exclaim, face flushing. And yet you feel yourself getting needier.

And you know he knows.

“Very well.” His little paws and snout skim at your thighs and you feel the mattress shift as he settles between your legs curling there as if it was the most normal course of action. “Then, will you allow me to tend to you?” His head rests over your inner tight, staring up at you with bright rounded golden eyes.

“Li. I’m bleeding. It’s disgusting…” You mumble deadpanning.

The dragon only blinks at you “Oh, I assure you it’s not. It doesn’t bother me. And even so, beneath metallic smell of blood the scent of your arousal is rather tantalizing…”

Celestia’s sake.

You cover your face with your hands. “You perverted old lizard…f-fine…”

He only chuckles again and next thing you know you let out a shameful squeak as you feel the small dragon press his nose against your clothed core, hot and dampness mixing up together and causing funny feelings to swirl inside you.

Even in this form, Zhongli is nothing but thorough and attentive with his love as he nips and licks at your skin in smooth and carefully considered paths for a moment before starting to pull off your underwear on blunt teeth and clumsy paws.

Still a bit mortified but much hornier than you’d care to admit, you help out on the task, taking out the last piece of clothing you had on and laying back down fully naked. Well. Good thing the mattress was already protected in your paranoia to avoid stains…

The slow thoughtful drag of that thick dragon tongue over your folds has you immediately keening. You cover your face still embarrassed as he laps up the residual taste of blood and shed lining, dutifully cleaning you up.

The tang of copper and iron on his tongue makes him a bit feral and he enthusiastically dives deeper, rewarded with your moans that only spur him on. His little dragon snout rubbing against your clit as the long serpentine tongue enters you. Not as thick as usual but certainly just as skilled.

“Hah… T-That feels so good…”

“I’m glad.” The dragon hums proudly. “Pleasure and orgasms are certainly good ways to mitigate pain and allow the body to unwind.”

“A-Ah! Y-You can certainly… hng… multitask, hm? Lord of Geo?”

You feel that sinful tongue slide out of you wetly, and then lick insistently at the little bundle of nerves, pulling a high-pitched mewl out of you.    

“I’d say, the fact that you’re still able to talk means I’m not doing my job properly. Allow me, dearest.”

Pleasure builds steadily as Zhongli’s forked tongue works inside you, massaging and trusting in all the right spots, as outside, carefully blunted fangs toy with your sensitive swollen clit. He drags your climax out of you languidly and reverent and you come with a broken cry, dissolving into soft whimpers as your pussy gushes weakly. A heady mix of your juices and blood which the dragon happily cleans up with more swipes of that little tongue.

Once the job is done, the little dragon sighs and climbs up to nuzzle his head against your heaving chest and you drowsily start petting along the serpentine body, his tail curling around you, either possessive, protective or simply loving and you kiss at his snout. You stay like that for a while, both soaking up the other's presence in the sweet afterglow. Until Zhongli’s soft rumble appears back in your head.

“Not so bad after all, I take it?”

“Mm… I suppose not.” You reply, groggy and already half asleep. “Wouldn’t be opposed to… do that again…” You yawn.

“Of course, darling. Glad to help in any way I can.”

[jingooism]

breathless

panic attacks were normal. they were a part of life. or at least that's what joowon had to tell himself. 

he's been riddled with them since he was a child. it started with the yelling between his mother and his father, so loud that even behind his closed door he could hear. his small hands over his ears did nothing to shut out the harsh tones. he began to withdraw, staying quiet and to himself to avoid any confrontation, especially from his father. when his mother dies, it only gets worse. 

then came school, where joowon sat by himself in the corner of the room, quietly hoping that one day someone would sit down with him. it never came. by the time middle school came around he had the reputation of being cold and mean, but little did they know he was like that because of them. 

he graduated school at the top of his class, then college, and now he has a full-time job. given, not the one he would have wanted--if han joowon could be anything it would be a photographer. a nature photographer to be specific. nothing calms him like being near the water. 

his weekends usually consist of long drives to the coast, where he likes to sit on the sand and read by himself. the fresh air and the sounds of the waves always does him a load of good. 

he tries to picture his favorite spot, just close enough to the dunes to not be affected by the tides but still close enough to be able to dip his toes in if he decided to. he thinks of the big uneven rocks that he likes to walk on during low-tide, the small island that only reveals itself an hour a day. he wonders how peaceful life would be if he could live there, away from everyone else. nothing works, though. when he goes to run his fingers through the sand he's met with the cold marble of his bathroom floor. when he strains his ears for the sound of the ocean, all he can hear is the gasps of his own breath. 

it's the worst attack he's had in a while, all because he thought he saw his father in the crowd. his father, who wasn't even in the country, was too busy trying to make connections somewhere that wasn't korea. the gray hair was the same, the harsh line of his spine under a well-tailored suit was the same, everything was too similar. joowon barely got through the rest of his shift. 

which is why now he's here, in his own bathroom, trying to not die. and the small rational part of his brain knows that he isn't going to actually die at this moment, but he can't get past how real it feels. his hands are clammy, his heart rate is through the roof, the walls are closing in. it feels like hell. he rushes to call hyeok, the only person who had ever had success in getting his breathing under control. his best friend picks up after one ring. 

"yah! han joowon! it's been days since you last called. did you forget about me?"

"hyung," joowon gasps into the phone.

"joowon? what's going on, are you okay?" his friend's voice goes serious in an instant. "are you having a panic attack?" joowon can distantly hear the sound in the background of the call fade away, like hyeok is walking away from a crowd. 

"it's bad," joowon admits, slightly ashamed. even though hyeok is his closest friend, he still hasn't been able to beat out the instinctive shame he feels at someone seeing him in a weak moment. "i can't breathe, hyung," he forces air into his lungs and feels not a single ounce of relief. 

"let's calm your breathing down okay? breathe in for 8 counts, hold for 3, and then breathe out of your mouth for 7. like we used to do."

joowon nods like hyeok can see him, and tries. he really tries. and for a second he thinks it might be working and then a loud crash floats through the wall from the apartment next door and his muscles tense up again. 

"are you at home, joowon-ah?" hyeok is starting to sound panicked too, and joowon feels bad for making him worry. 

"yes," joowon whispers. 

"i'm calling an ambulance," hyeok says firmly. 

"hyung, no--"

"no, joowon. i'm five hours away and there's no one else to help you. i'm calling," hyeok cuts him off. joowon feels stupid for even calling him, completely forgetting that he's away on a business trip. "i'll call you right back," he hangs up before joowon can argue.

the seconds stretch into what feels like hours, joowon's heartbeat still stuttering in his chest, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his sleep pants. his vision starts to go fuzzy at the edges when hyeok calls him back. he swipes his phone across the screen to answer. 

"they're on their way," hyeok soothes. 

"okay," he replies quietly, dropping his head between his knees. "just talk to me, please."

"what to talk about," hyeok wonders out loud. "i've been rubbing elbows with annoying business men all day, joowon-ah. my social battery is depleted," he complains. 

"are you drinking?"

"if i didn't i would've went back to the hotel hours ago," hyeok laughs. 

their mindless conversation goes on until joowon finally feels something get lighter in his chest, signalling that hopefully the worst of it has passed. he hears the beep of his door code being entered and the lock turning open. 

"you gave them my code?" joowon asks. 

"it was an emergency," hyeok scoffs. "i don't wanna hear it."

"han joowon-ssi?" a voice calls into the hallway. footsteps shuffle around for a second before they come right up on the bathroom door, two knocks echoing through the space. "han joowon-ssi? this is sfd, we got a call that you weren't feeling too good."

"in here," he says weakly, fatigue seeping through his bones. attacks always make him exhausted by the end. 

the door swings open to show three paramedics, the bright orange uniform looking odd against the neutrals of his home. the older man in the middle crosses the bathroom and kneels in front of him so they're face to face. 

"han joowon-ssi? i'm lee dongsik, and that's park jeongje, and oh jihwa," he gestures to his colleagues. "we're just here to make sure you're alright, okay?" his voice was calm enough to soothe the frayed edges of joowon's nerves. he pulls out a pen and shines it into joowon's eyes, "pupils are even and reactive." he leans a bit into joowon's space, enough that joowon is forced to really look at him and realize just how handsome he is. 

lee dongsik looked older, definitely at least a decade older than him. his hair was slightly long, just past his ears, and fell in shiny black waves. if joowon wasn't mistaken there were threads of silver in it. he's got lines around his eyes and his mouth that tell joowon that lee dongsik has lived a life of happiness, one where he was obviously smiling a lot. he smelled like cheap aftershave mixed with something else that joowon couldn't put his finger on. and now his heart is beating for a whole other reason. 

"can i take your pulse?" lee dongsik asks, hand hovering over joowon's wrist, waiting for his consent. all joowon can think to do is nod.

he tries not to react at the spark he feels at the skin on skin contact, already embarrassed enough that the hottest man he's ever seen is seeing him like this. "do you normally have panic attacks?" dongsik asks, looking at the bulky black watch on his wrist. 

"i've had them in the past, yes," joowon nods. he sees dongsik nod once and place his wrist back down to his lap. joowon mourns the touch immediately and wants to kick himself for it. 

dongsik turns to his team, "looks like things are evening out. we should be fine to load the truck back up," he gestures to the equipment in their hands. they nod with a knowing look and turn around to do as he's asked. 

"do you want to go to the hospital?" dongsik looks back at joowon, gaze fully locked in on his. 

"no," joowon quickly says. "i think the worst has passed."

"let's get you up off the floor then," dongsik grins, something small and bright that shouldn't knock joowon off his ass but does anyways. the older man stands up first and reaches his hand down to joowon.

joowon only second guesses for a moment before taking the hand offered to him and allowing himself to be pulled up. lee dongsik's hands are slightly rough, calluses probably gained from long days on the job. they fit into joowon's own hands perfectly. he tries not to think of it. 

joowon doesn't even want to imagine how he looks to dongsik right now, hair probably mussed, sleep clothes in disorder. he brushes his hair down self-consciously, and doesn't miss the way dongsik's lip twitches up.

"can i have my hand back?" dongsik laughs, eyes falling to where their palms are still fitted together. joowon hadn't even realized, dropping the other man's hand and trying to fight off the blush that he felt start to spread at the base of his neck. "not that i minded, but i do need both hands to write the report," dongsik reassures. 

"not that you--" joowon clears his throat, the words that fell from the other man's lips replaying in his head. not that he minded? what does that mean? is he flirting? "no, of course, yeah that makes sense." he brushes past dongsik into the living room where he sits, still feeling tired from the attack. his heart rate wasn't fully back down and neither was his breathing, but at least it didn't feel like he was at death's door. 

in the brighter light of the living room, joowon sees all of dongsik. he's slightly shorter than joowon himself, with a build that was definitely more lean. his belt was buckled around an absurdly small waist, and his thighs filled out the black work slacks beautifully. joowon feels his ears start to ring again. just his luck that the paramedic on the scene is something straight out of his teenage wet dreams. 

there's a silence in the room that joowon desperately feels the need to fill, wanting dongsik's attention turned back to him and not the notepad he was currently writing on. which is why, like an idiot, he blurts out, "do you come here often?" as soon as the words leave his mouth he feels wracked with mortification. 

dongsik looks up at him, a smirk on his lips, the pen twirling between long fingers, "do i come to your apartment often? sadly, no, i don't." 

oh. 

oh.

"i've been to this building plenty of times, though. it's a shame we haven't run into each other till now."

joowon's head is too busy sounding like a ten-car pileup that he barely registers the words. lee dongsik was definitely flirting with him. joowon flicks his eyes down to an empty ring finger and silently thanks god for it. 

"a shame, yes," he stutters, trying to make his brain work normally. it's obviously failing because dongsik's smile just keeps spreading across his lips. 

"you live here by yourself?" dongsik questions, voice too light and airy to not have an underlying question in it. he looks back down at the notepad and clears his throat before continuing the report. 

"yes," joowon says, hopefully not too quickly. "my friend was the one that called, but he's away on a trip."

"a good friend," dongsik nods.

"only a friend," joowon announces, tongue not in his control. he's not sure where all this forwardness is coming from, but he does know that dongsik's ears are burning, which has to be a good sign. "not that you asked, but..."

"good to know," his gaze meets joowon's again. "you know, just in case we have to ever come back here." there's a mirth in his eyes that joowon finds himself reading into. maybe this almost dying thing was finally paying off. 

"of course," joowon's lips start to turn up. "you know my door code now, so."

"i'll only use it for emergencies, scout's honor," dongsik holds three fingers up and plasters a too serious look on his face. "but try not to need me, han joowon. my line of work isn't one where i want to see you every day," he laughs, showing off the deep smile lines in full force. joowon notes his perfect teeth and the crow's feet that crinkle around his eyes. they make him feel giddy. 

"i'll try," joowon nods. he stands up to reach into his work vest that's hanging nearby, pulling out his officer card with his name and department on it. "here, in case you ever find yourself in need of help," he smiles softly, inwardly cheering when dongsik takes the card and examines it before tucking it gently into his breast pocket. "though hopefully you won't."

"a man in uniform," dongsik purses his lips approvingly, nodding his head. "what precinct do you work with?"

"i'm out of headquarters," joowon answers. dongsik whistles under his breath. 

"smart and handsome? it's almost unfair," dongsik grins, getting up from the couch and closing his notepad. "is this your direct line?" he pats the pocket on his chest with the card.

"my personal and my work phone. feel free to use either," joowon blushes, sticking his hands in his pockets to hide his fidgeting. "though i prefer you use the personal."

"i think i'll prefer that too," dongsik beams. 

a voice comes through on his radio and dongsik responds, his team is being called elsewhere. 

"i have to go but," dongsik looks unsure for a second before gently grabbing joowon's hand in his own. joowon doesn't even have time to process what's going on until he feels the smooth drag of ink across his skin and looks down to see a phone number there. 

"my personal," dongsik explains, color high on his cheeks. "make sure to use it." he opens the front door again and is almost through before he turns back to joowon, who had been looking between the palm of his hand and the man, mouth ajar. "my day off is tomorrow," he winks, throwing his bag over his shoulder and finally leaving the apartment. 

joowon doesn't even have to think about it before he texts his chief that he's calling in sick. 

[highonmarvel]

Restless Heart [2] | Painkiller

♩Steve Kemp

You thought you were dark, and you are, but the charming surgeon you’re becoming addicted to is testing the extents of your morality.

} previous chapter: Tricks

content warning: this is a dark fic, and this series explores taboo topics such as abuse and assault, abduction, deteriorating mental health and mental illness, graphic depictions of gore. Think of a trigger warning: it applies to my work.

addition content warnings here!

You’re almost glad you can’t move too much without pain shooting across your back because you’re scared to see what he’s done to you. Sure, he said he didn’t take much, but that makes you angrier, like he’s expecting you to be grateful only some of you was stolen—in his eyes, he was merciful, but you know once the time comes, you’ll be anything but. In any case, you have a suspicion he didn’t give you stronger painkillers in order to make up for his supposed graciousness: how kind of him to save you from one pain and leave you with another.

You must have been out for a while because you don’t expect Steve to be back so soon. You hear the keypad accept the electronic tag and the wooden cell door slides open.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, voice low but if you didn’t know any better, you’d say there was an authenticity to his concern, if not for your well-being, more so for his curiosity.

Mustering your very little strength, you manage to worm your arms up from your sides to lay them on top of your pillow and rest your chin on your tender forearms. Your eyes sting with tears at the strain on your lower back, but you manage to stop the tears by letting out a harsh puff of breath as you drop your head and let your eyelids flutter closed.

“You’re an asshole,” you retort, slightly breathless, and he shifts to lean against the doorway, changing the shadows cast in your room—your jail—ever so slightly. You can feel his eyes on you as he speaks, very deliberately and carefully.

“You can’t trick me, alright?”

You raise your head to look over at him, your eyebrows knitted together displaying annoyance etched into your face. You try to read him, but you can’t; his tone is intentional, but you can’t tell his intentions.

“All right,” you respond, cooling your expression to match his stoicism. You both know he has the upperhand physically, but you think you can almost tell he’s not so sure it’ll be as easy for him to anticipate your intelligence, or he’s at least trying to get the idea out of your head before you try. At best, you’ll be irritating; at worst, you’ll be his killer, in one way or another.

“Good.” He gives a tight-lipped smile and leaves, and you swear he’s slammed the gate shut just a little harder than usual to really drill his cryptic message into your head.

You hadn’t realised how tense your muscles were until he’s left and you suddenly feel lighter, letting out an exasperated breath as you try to get as comfortable as you can and let yourself drift off to sleep.

♡

You wake up feeling only slightly better than whenever you fell asleep. Making a mental note to ask Steve for a clock (which you’ll doubt he’ll give to you—not yet, anyway), you place your hands under your shoulders and try to raise yourself up. A small strangled cry leaves your throat and echoes off the corridors. You bite your lip as your left elbow hits the ground painfully, but you try to ignore the shooting pain across your nerves in favour of propping yourself up enough for your other hand to steady you against the jagged brick wall.

You choke on a grunt as you slide your leg up against the cold sheets to plant your knee into the thin mattress and raise your entire upper body off the floor. Your right arm shakes as you rely on it for more support it can handle, but you just shut your eyes and pray you don’t slip and fall onto your ass, because you’re not sure if the pain from that would actually kill you.

You don’t really manage to stand straight up, back pain still hindering you, but with one hand bracing your lower back, you’re somehow able to make it to the toilet (it’s only a few metres away but that seems like a lot when you’re dealing with so much). Just as you finish up and are back to standing over the mattress, leaning against the wall, trying to figure out how to lie down again in a “comfortable” position without breaking out into sobs, a shrill scream pierces your eardrums and your hand slips. You gasp and brace for impact but thankfully your shoulder hits the wall instead, barely holding you up.

If you were smarter (or at least had more survival instinct than in this very moment) you would have figured out how to lay down before you actually fell, but the sounds of heavy footsteps coming your way and cries getting louder makes you freeze in place, looking out through the wooden bars.

Steve comes into view, holding a woman over his shoulder who’s nothing more than a torso, one leg and a head at this point, really looking like a bag of meat. Steve’s annoyance with the woman thrashing about uselessly fades when he catches your eye, and time seems to run slower, almost like slow motion.

He has a slight smirk playing on his lips you could have missed if you weren’t as mesmerised by the scene, his grip on less than half the woman is firm and steady despite her pleas for help and mercy and her incessant wriggling trying to fall from his hold.

Breath rushes back to you as soon as he steps out of sight and you gasp for air, trying not to retch, holding back vomit with so much effort the corners of your eyes prickle with tears. The final yells of a dead woman die out as a door is shut, and the actuality of Steve’s capabilities hits you so hard you nearly fall onto your knees. Finally deciding it’s probably safer for your body to lie down again, you lower yourself back onto your stomach and let out a shaky breath.

The look he gave you… it wasn’t necessarily evil or calculating, it was like some kind of simple statement, like he was almost a little excited to really show you what he’s capable of, and demonstrate him making good on his promises. You want to cry but you don’t dare feel sorry for yourself when you’re still alive and your body is virtually intact (unless Steve lied, which you really don’t want to think about right now).

You swear you can hear a drill drilling into bone as you lay your head down and try to resist sleep in fear of nightmares. But can anything be a worse nightmare than this?

♡

You’re pretty sure it’s another day, but there’s really no way of knowing. At least you’re feeling better, as in, you’re not in pain anymore, and that almost scares you, that you’re possibly healing and once the scars have vanished, there’ll be no evidence of what was robbed from you. Anger starts to build as you consider escape. Even if you do kill him, or manage to get out of this place, that’ll never heal your literal flesh, or the… heartbreak you feel. Acutely. But you push that down as you push yourself up.

You hadn’t even heard Steve’s footsteps, lost in thought, until he slides the cell door open and you suddenly jolt at the realisation of just the position you’re in.

He seems a little upbeat, but maybe that’s because he enjoyed his morning jog or something (you remember him briefly telling you why he likes running—something about turning your mind off and being in concrete nature). Other than his relaxed body language, nothing about his expression gives any indication as to what he thought of last night. And why would it? This doesn’t mean anything to him, these lives don’t mean anything to him.

You suddenly feel sick at the thought and drop your head in disgust, taking a few deep breaths to ready yourself to look up at this monster who parades as a human being.

“Hi,” he greets, and reveals a tray of breakfast, and you can’t deny it does smell good, and you really want it.

“How’s my ass?” you ask, voice a little hoarse, and you see the remark coming before the corner of his lip even lifts up into a smirk.

“Amazing,” he answers, and you let out a disgusted noise.

He sighs as he crouches and sets the tray down, his tone now serious. “Give it a couple of days before you sit,” he says, ghosting his hand over the hospital gown you’re still in, almost teasing himself, it seems. “Then you’ll be alright. It’s nothing to cry over, honey.”

You hadn’t even realised your chest was rising and falling rapidly and tears were streaming down your face. Though maybe his words are meant to be empathetic, they almost feel impatient, or indicative of a much worse hell to come.

“Brought you painkillers,” he says as he puts three pills in your hand.

You consider them for a second as hot tears splash against the medicine and a little bit of the compact powder turns to a chunky liquid and gathers on your palm.

“Thank you,” you answer, and drop them onto the tray, next to your meal.

“Take them.”

You look up at him, mouth twisted in disgust and barely suppressing a snarl despite how hard you try to appear reasonable. “After I eat,” you reply in an even tone, even though you want to grit your teeth and spit at him.

Steve sits down and crosses his legs. He picks up the plastic water bottle beside your pillow (the paranoid fuck clearly isn’t going to risk even a shard of glass to his precious body) in one hand and scoops the pills up in the other.

“Seriously.” His voice has to have dropped an octave.

You narrow your eyes but to your surprise, he’s got more of a skeptical look on his face than you do, and you know exactly why.

Both of you know he isn’t going to poison you, what with his obsession with having the “perfect” meat, and even if he drugged you to sleep, you honestly might prefer it than having to sit and think about what’s happening around you, or flip through dumb gossip magazines.

He’s seen you do this before. The first night you spent with him, when you woke up, the stack of pills in your bedside drawer was missing. Neither of you said anything about it, his demeanour and his flirtatious ways didn’t even change, but when you were dancing later than evening and tripped, he caught you.

“You could have killed yourself!” he said in a breathless laugh, and for just a split second a grave expression flashed across his features, but you didn’t have time to process it before he pulled you back up to your feet and twirled you under his raised arm, holding your hand just a little tighter than usual.

At the time, you thought maybe he had real concern for you, if only a little, but knowing what you know now, he was probably only worried your suicide would fuck up his plans for your meat (you hate the way he calls your body meat), and you wouldn’t be fresh anymore.

You snatch the medicine from him and chuck it into your mouth, quickly holding out your hand for the bottle. The pills mixed with your saliva and water leave a bitter, powdery taste on your tongue, which you wash down with more water.

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes at him, as if to say “Happy now?” and he nods in response, standing with a groan as he stretches his arms above his head and arches his back. You suddenly realise how stiff you feel and how you’d kill for a bit of yoga right now.

And maybe you will.

♡

When Steve brought you lunch, he didn’t have much to say to you, and you (naturally) didn’t have much to say to him. You had taken a nap after the meds, but still Steve insisted you take another dose every few hours so you can skip the pain altogether instead of screaming when you need him.

You sulk as you pick at your food, suddenly feeling lonely when he leaves again.

Of course you hate him, but you can’t deny it’d be nice to have someone to talk to, even if the reason you’re feeling so alone is precisely because you’re near-isolated, and he’s the one who caused that. And you can’t help but remember how you used to talk—fun conversations over dinner, serious ones after sex, casual talks as you bustled around the kitchen, and everything in between.

It’s hard to eat with the plastic utensils—again, ever the paranoiac—but it’s harder to eat with this weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. Something between rage and sadness. You feel like a fucking idiot, but you don’t want to technically victimblame; this isn’t your fault, you know that, logically, but suddenly you feel dumb for ever thinking a person like you could have a normal, nice relationship. In retrospect, maybe you should have seen that anyone who could like you was just as insane, if not more, but you thought you were doing a good job at keeping that under wraps, and that he hadn’t really caught on to anything other than maybe depression—nothing violent, at least, or psychotic.

Now here you lay on your stomach, forcing down a few bites, before ultimately giving up and pushing your practically untouched meal away from you. Maybe if you hadn’t been so restrained, maybe if you’d shown him what you’re capable of, you wouldn’t be here, he wouldn’t have tried, you’d have been too difficult of a target. But something about that, something about that doesn’t feel really true. You can’t tell if he ever had feelings for you, but you know for certain there’s something deeper to your dynamic. So, maybe he would have done this regardless, maybe it’s some weird fate, more like a destiny to be punished, if there even is such a thing.

You can just feel something about this will end in a more intense way than either of you realise.

♩

[my beloved taglist: @cowboysnbugs, @buckys-wintersoldier, @cjand10]