#<< hardly...not really....but just to be safe...!

[justalittlespore]

Flashing back to the last time I visited my dad, many years ago. He's a machinist and works full time at that but he also has a small farm that he and his partner manage. (Well, they did. He's in his 60s now and the only other people around are his parents, so it simply wasn't gonna happen anymore. So he sold it to a young couple and moved into a normal house.)

The food they got from their little farm was excellent. They had some chickens for eggs, a handful of goats for milk which they made all kinds of things out of including soap and cheese, a few horses for riding, they'd get a calf every year then send it to a slaughterhouse when it was old enough to get a year's worth of meat out of it, a small patch for vegetables, and acres and acres of hay. To feed all the animals.

The last time I visited I was in my mid-20s. Probably the best condition I'd ever be in in my life. It was summer and it was hot as fuck and as soon as I got there, on my time off work, my dad and his partner sent me to help bring in the hay, because it was going to rain the following day and we had to get it in NOW, and they really needed the extra pair of hands.

I was not strong. I could hardly lift one hay bale on my own. So my dad put me in the hayloft of the barn and tossed the bales up to me and I had to "just" stack them up.

It was backbreaking work. Within minutes I was exhausted and drenched in sweat and covered in scratches (hay is SHARP), but I had to keep going somehow, pushing myself into triggering flare-ups of my chronic joint issues, because It Had To Get Done.

Friends, I knew I was allergic to grass pollen. But this was the day I discovered just how severe my grass pollen allergies are. Because by the end of the day, when the hay was all finally put away safe from the impending rain, despite my having taken antihistamines before going out, not only was I wheezing and sneezing and sniffling, not only were my arms and legs covered in eczema, I had eczema on my fucking eyelids. A place where it is not safe to use eczema cream. I wound up having to see a doctor for specialized help a few days later when I could barely see because of it.

I was fucked up from that one afternoon of helping bale the hay for weeks afterwards. The eczema took ages to go away. My muscles were sore (in a "I fucked up" way, not in a "that was good exercise" way) and my joints all had flare-ups of pain and inflammation that lasted for ages. Just from a few hours of helping with one chore.

If I had to do subsistence farming to eat and stay alive, I would not be alive anymore.

HALT!✋😐

did you remember to express gratitude for not having to subsistence farm today?

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟏𝟎]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.3k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, light mentions of blood and injury

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. meeting your first love again sure gets awkward!!! also first consecutive turnfire update in who knows how long lol, yippee!! reblogs/interactions highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗𝗡'𝗧 𝗣𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗠𝗬 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗘

Kinich doesn’t win the Pilgrimage, and at first, you’re relieved.

It leaves him safe from the Nightwarden Wars, at least for now. It’s one less sleepless night for you, as selfish as that line of thinking might be. 

Kachina makes it, and though you’ve only interacted with her once, it makes you worried. Being born and raised in the nation of Pyro, you’re fully aware of the expectations for those with Ancient Names—participating in the Wars would be an honor for any of those warriors. But she is still a child nonetheless, and that thought leaves you wishing to take her place.

Truthfully, you hadn’t really paid attention to the group stage, operating on the assumption that Kinich would make it through, and still reeling from your prior interaction. His friends had caught up to him at the end of your last conversation, calling him away and leaving everything rather unfinished.

But really, you’d been grateful for their intervention. Even now, you’re still not sure what you would’ve said to him.

To me, you’re not just anyone. You never could be.

His words continue to echo in your mind, a memory you just can’t shake. You don’t know what to make of them, and it only makes you spiral further.

Luckily, the individual stage had been exciting enough to keep your mind away from the confusion and despair. 

There’s a certain exhilaration in observing Natlan’s best warriors. There’s no better way to learn than to watch them, and you know many others feel the same—it’s one of the reasons the Pilgrimage is so popular.

But Kinich enters his first match, and all of your previous joy instantly dissipates with the wind.

His opponent is good, that much is true, but they’re not better than him, not by a long shot. And yet, Kinich is losing.

He’s making mistakes that he never would’ve made, even back when he was younger. His stance is unsteady. Every swing is off-balance. At certain points, it seems like he can hardly lift his claymore at all.

Your eyes narrow, trying to zero in on whatever might be hindering him to this extent, and yet you just can’t put your finger on it. You’re too far away, and the roaring crowd is ringing in your ears.

You wince as he takes a final hit, hitting the ground with an audible thud.

So he loses. And then he loses again. And again.

And every time, you can’t help but notice that his eyes flicker to the audience. Searching, maybe.

It doesn’t make any sense. Nothing makes sense, you think as you make your way out of the Stadium, bumping shoulders with other audience members. They’re still excited, the electricity of battle neverending in their veins.

Kinich is strong. That has never changed, from the moment you met him until the moment you left him. He’s capable of much more than he showed today. 

But why would he hold back?

There’s only one way to find out.

Briefly, a recognizable shock of white hair stands out from the crowd, and before you can stop yourself, you’re pushing through the throng of people, getting jostled around before you just manage to grab Mualani by the shoulder. Her eyes widen as she turns, surprised that you would approach her.

“Oh, hi!”

You nod, breathless. “Sorry, have you seen Kinich?”

She doesn’t seem upset that you’d stopped her to ask about him. Instead, she presses a finger to her lips, thoughtful. 

“Hm, last I saw him he was heading out of the Stadium. Not sure where he was planning on going, sorry!”

Heading out of the Stadium.

There’s any number of places that he could go, but you doubt he’s gone far, at least for now.

“Thanks,” you tell Mualani, and she smiles. 

“You’re welcome.” Her lip snags her teeth, and she briefly glances around before continuing, “I think he’d be happy to see you right now.”

It makes you want to laugh. She’s probably just trying to make you feel better about the previous awkwardness—he hadn’t even been happy to see you the first time. If anything, you probably look hopelessly desperate to be searching for him right now. 

And yet, you can’t help but feel hopeful at her words, like maybe she knows something that you don’t.

You smile back. “Let’s hope so.”

/

Arms stretched high above your head, you realize you feel far more comfortable outside the Stadium than you do in the bustling crowds. The Pilgrimage is exciting for sure, and certain people might thrive in that energetic environment, but you tend to find the whole affair slightly draining.

I’ll take a long trip after this, you think. Maybe I’ll take a few commissions on the way.

Sparse trees dot the shallow stream, foliage still full-bodied at this time of year. You take your time peering up at each one, half-expecting Kinich to be hiding in one of them. It was a habit of his back when you were younger, rooted in the fact that he just couldn’t resist grappling everywhere he went.

You still remember the miniscule details about him, even if you don’t completely recognize the new man he’s become. 

A good distance ahead, a group of Hydro Slimes have assembled on the sand. You frown; they’re not particularly dangerous, at least for someone like you, but there’s too many people at the Stadium today to risk leaving them be. If they were caught unaware, someone could get hurt.

You dispense of them with relative ease—after all, wielding your Pyro Vision has become like second nature to you now. You’re adept with a bow and arrow now, too, and you certainly feel confident enough to hold your own. 

You only wish Kinich could see that.

You clear out one group, and then another, and by third you realize that you still haven’t seen a single sign of your friend.

“Where is this guy?” you mumble to yourself, brushing your clothes off. The sun is growing hotter with each passing second, and you vaguely consider going home and leaving your search incomplete. If Kinich doesn’t want you to find him, he’ll probably stay hidden.

A voice suddenly rings out from above. “Looking for me?”

Your heart jumps in surprise, and the gasp that you suck in is stuttering and uneven—it makes you cough wetly, patting desperately at your chest. As you stumble, a stray stone catches on your foot, sending you tumbling into the stream.

Kinich leaps down from the tree he was sitting in, hitting the ground running as he makes his way over to you. The water that he kicks up stings at your eyes, but you can’t seem to focus on that over the squeeze of your lungs.

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling you to your feet with eyes full of concern. A contrast to the cool water, his fingers are warm as they slot with yours.

You’re fine. It wasn’t that hard of a fall, you note as you stretch each of your limbs. 

But you really couldn’t be any more embarrassed if you tried. All your clothes are soaked through, and your scraped palms are blooming with crimson. You probably look like a mess.

“I’m fine,” you say, shoving him away gently. He looks unconvinced, pulling a small towel from his pocket.

“The river did more of a number on you than those slimes did.”

Carefully, he presses the towel to your face, wiping off your cheeks and forehead first. It’s an unexpected act; you stiffen up completely, and suddenly, staring at your feet seems much more appealing.

“You were just watching?” you mumble.

Although the towel is rather rough, he’s handling it so gently over your skin that you can barely feel it at all.

Kinich shrugs. “Why not? You’re strong, you had it handled.”

A flutter like a flock of birds takes off in your chest, and you have to force yourself to keep still while he finishes drying you off. As he tucks the towel back into his pocket, you take the moment to look at him again.

Truthfully, you’d always found him handsome. But he’s grown even further into his features now, to the extent that staring at him for more than a few seconds leaves you feeling flustered. You’re just about to look away when he captures your face in his grip.

With both hands, he thumbs over your chin, tilting your head up slightly so he can look into your reddening eyes. The proximity makes your skin warm, too pleasant to be normal.

“I’m fine now,” you breathe, words shaking with every syllable. Kinich hums, turning your face again so his gaze can sweep over every inch.

“Just checking,” he murmurs in reply.

His touch is so soft and grazing that you almost forget the reason you were searching for him in the first place. Shaking your head has Kinich releasing you from his grasp, stepping neatly away from you.

“I was looking for you,” you splutter, staring down at your reflection in the water. 

A half-smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Looking for me? Why?”

Mualani was right; he’s happy that you sought him out. But it doesn’t make things any clearer. If he wanted to see you, why did he pretend like he didn’t know you? Why does he act so hot-and-cold?

You start with the question that had motivated your trip here.

“What happened out there?” you probe. “At the Pilgrimage?”

It’s a touchy subject. Under your gaze, Kinich’s reflection shifts, his expression slowly hardening.

“I lost. It happens,” he replies, shrugging.

With a wince, he settles against the trunk of the tree nearby, fingers absentmindedly grasping at the grass. The action makes you frown as you sit down next to him. “You’re injured, aren’t you?” you accuse, eyes narrowed. He looks surprised at your question, and you scoff. “Anyone who has seen you fight before could tell you weren’t at your best.”

His eyes narrow as he stares down at the ground, like he’s thinking deeply about his response.

Then, without a word, he pulls up his right pant leg.

His entire ankle is bruised and swollen, and it looks fresh; you hiss in a breath at the sight. With a wound that severe, you’re surprised he can walk at all. After a moment, Kinich readjusts his clothes, hiding the injury again.

You sigh. It must’ve happened during the group competition while you weren’t watching.

“It’s no big deal,” he says quickly, tone laced with false nonchalance. “My heart wasn’t in it.”

His answer makes your expression sour. It doesn’t sound like him at all—he’s likely the most passionate person you know, despite the indifference in his disposition. You’re not sure why he’s acting like someone he’s not, especially in front of you. 

“I don’t believe that,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “You don’t do things that you don’t care about.”

You regret it as soon as you say it. It’s a deeply personal thing to say to someone you haven’t truly known in years. Even now, you’re still struggling to differentiate between the Kinich from then and the Kinich of now.

“Sorry,” you correct yourself, suddenly self-conscious, “I just meant—“

“You’re right,” he interrupts. He’s pulling up the grass now, uprooting a handful of blades and letting them go in the wind. “I was…distracted.”

The spark of hope that flares in your chest seems premature. Any number of things could’ve been on his mind, but you prefer to think it was your presence that had made the difference.

That feeling slowly morphs into irritation, because he’d gotten injured in the process. 

“You should be more careful, before you seriously hurt yourself or someone else.”

It comes out more acidic than you intended. You sound so bitter that you’re sure Kinich will take offense, but he merely shakes his head.

“Sorry. That just…wasn’t how I imagined our reunion to go.”

You can’t help the question that rushes to the tip of your tongue.

How did you imagine it, then? Did you think about it every day the way I did?

You swallow down your impatience, and instead you mumble an ‘it’s okay’. It’s not, nothing really is, not when you feel this uneasy next to the only person who has ever made you feel whole again.

The skin of your knee is slightly roughened from your fall, so you stroke at it inattentively, trying to find something to do with your fidgeting hands. Kinich catches the action out of the corner of his eye, frowning.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can bandage it for you.”

The childish thought makes you chuckle. Back when you still lived together, he was so strict about bandaging all your wounds, large and small. Truthfully, you were always better at it, but you preferred to placate him.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Kin. You can stop treating me like one.”

When you turn your head, still giggling, the stare that meets yours is wordlessly meaningful. Kinich blinks, long lashes fluttering a mere few inches from yours. 

“Neither am I.”

You swallow thickly. “Right.”

The revelation leaves you overwhelmingly aware of your proximity, of the way your fingertips are brushing at your sides, of the way your gaze is drawn to his lips. You shut your eyes preemptively, trying not to make your thoughts too obvious.

You’d be lying if you said you’d never had a romantic thought about Kinich—your previous kiss made that much relatively obvious. But you don’t think the best time to pursue something is the day after meeting him again.

Activating your Pyro Vision, warmth soaks into your wounded knee, the small cuts slowly closing until the skin is smoothed over again. Kinich looks on, surprised. You take pride in that.

“Like I said,” you sigh, “I’m not a kid anymore.”

He doesn’t fight you as you tug at the right leg of his pants, exposing his purpling ankle to the fresh air once again. Even when you place your hand gently over his injury, he doesn’t speak. 

So you heal him. And he lets you.

At the first brush of heat, Kinich’s eyes flutter shut, head falling back to rest against the tree. He looks at peace for once. It makes you deceptively happy, even if only for a moment.

His injury is more severe, so it takes a little longer, but you relish in the silence. It’s just you and him again, like old times. The birds chirp and the leaves whistle in the wind. You can almost see the river cutting through the forest next to that small house at the foot of the mountain.

Kinich hums in content. It makes you smile.

After a few more minutes of quiet, you think of the bags under his eyes again. Even now, he looks tired, like something is draining him.

“Are you worried about the Abyss?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Eyes flying open, he flinches like you’ve just delivered an electric shock. 

“What?”

You hadn’t expected such a reaction. After all, it would only be natural for him to worry about his friend going to the Wars, knowing how arduous it could be. You tilt your head at him, frowning.

“I mean, Kachina is strong. But she’s young. It makes me a little worried about her. The Wars and the Abyss are no joke.”

Anyone born and raised in Natlan would know the dangers and the constant fight between your people and the Abyss. The attacks only grow more and more frequent by the year, which only makes the Wars more important.

Kinich deflates. “Oh, Kachina. She’ll be okay, I’m sure. I know she’s been training really hard.”

Your frown deepens. 

If his reaction wasn’t about Kachina, what was it about?

“You’ve been acting weird,” you say, brows furrowing. “Is something the matter?”

Tension builds in every inch of Kinich’s body. He can’t meet your eyes—he’s being avoidant again. 

In lieu of a response, he pushes himself to his feet, brushing off his pants. At the very least, he can stand with ease; clearly, his injury isn’t bothering him anymore.

“Nothing at all.”

His voice wavers. You latch onto it immediately, because you’re the only one who would.

“You’re lying. What’s going on?”

His back stiffens, hands tightening until they’re white-knuckled again. Not another word leaves his lips.

Your heart feels like it’s being crushed.

It’s like every time you try to dig a little deeper, he shuts down. Like he’s allowing you to be near him, but only at arm’s length. 

“Alright,” you say, rising to your feet. Kinich glances back to watch you. You find that you don’t particularly care about that, at least not at the moment. “I’ll head out on my own then. Good luck with everything.”

You’re angry, and it shows in your tone no matter how much you try to mask it.

He’s running from something. He was back then, and he is now. You just don’t know what else you can say to make him see that. 

Maybe you were right to leave the first time. Maybe you should’ve stayed gone.

Something icy coils in your chest, leaving your heart cold.

The wind shifts. 

It’s that same feeling again, a flutter against your skin, a warmth like returning home after years and years.

Kinich calls your name, the yearning evident in a word said after so long. You’ve never heard his voice so soft and hesitant.

It feels like yesterday all over again. You wonder when this cycle will end for both of you—endlessly chasing each other and never quite meeting in the middle. Then, you wonder if you’d even want to stop chasing after him.

You pause mid-step. He swallows audibly. 

“If I told you that there are things I can’t tell you right now, would you trust me?”

Graying clouds fall over the sun, snuffing out the daylight above. The vulnerability lacing every word of his plea sobers you.

Things he can’t tell me right now?

There’s always been things Kinich couldn’t tell you, or maybe things he just didn’t want to tell you, but it’s never been like this. It’s like there’s physical pain in the way he holds back, unable to reach you.

Is he keeping me away from him? Or is he keeping himself away from me?

Your brain hurts, trying to make sense of the dissonance these different versions of him have created in your head, mixing and swirling and overlapping until you can’t tell one from the other.

But there’s the ones that you will always remember.

The Kinich who called out to you, ruined flower in hand. The Kinich who caught you and pulled you over the cliff. The Kinich who held you when you cried and quietly nursed you back to health. The Kinich who kissed you, tears dissipating on your tongue.

The one you fell in love with over and over and over again.

You’re not sure if the man standing in front of you is that same Kinich. Evidently, he doesn’t plan on telling you anything, divulging the details of his past that lead him to today’s secrecy. 

You’ve been burned before. Trusting someone so blindly always leads to regret. 

But he’s still Kinich, your heart cries out in answer. It’s practically the only thing you know about him at this point.

And despite yourself, you cling to those memories.

You lift your head to meet his gaze head-on, and his eyes glint in the light. For the first time in years, you feel like you’re seeing the real him. 

It’s what you’ve always known.

For you, there’s no such thing as regret when it comes to him. So, there’s no other answer except:

“I would.”

[ta3mint]

ik you saw the video of them working out at the gym and my crazy ass wants gym sex with minho now 😩 they’re both feeling some typa way tho with y/n wearing her tight fitting workout sets and minho having his arms exposed 😛😛

Whiplash

Contains: established relationship idol Minho x female reader smut

Warnings: minors do not interact!!! pet names, lots of teasing, PDA, sexual tension, soft dom Minho, cursing, Minho gets really mad/jealous/possessive, brief spanking, praising, random gym bro making y/n uncomfortable, unprotected piv sex (as always, do not do this irl), hardly any foreplay, pull out method

Word Count: 4,448

Summary: After returning home from the tour, Minho takes you on a date to the gym. Both of you are desperate for each other, and when another man tries flirting with you, jealous Minho shows you exactly how desperate he's been.

Author's note: okay okay so I tweaked this based on our several text messages "anon" LOL so I hope you like this ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°) this is the second draft after completely scrapping everything I had at first and starting over ehehe so yeah <3 likes and reblogs are appreciated if anyone feels so inclined!!

The gym's atmosphere was quiet. There wasn't a single soul to be seen inside among the racks of weights and other equipment. There wasn't even any music playing. It was only you, your boyfriend Minho, and the gym's check in desk employee who looked like she despised every second of her night shift job.

You couldn't really blame her though. It was 10:00 at night, and she had probably dealt with the usual gym rat crowd earlier in the evening. There was only so much you could do to please people like that- those big groups of guys that only cared about gains and getting laid.

Minho nudged you in the side suddenly with his elbow.

"She definitely looked at my arms, (Y/N). You should fight her. I would totally film it for you." He reached into his pocket and held up his phone in your face with an evil grin.

You scoffed. "Minho, please. I'm pretty sure she looked through you. She definitely hates her job."

He shrugged, shoving his phone back into the pocket of his black gym shorts.

"You could've been as famous as me. Oh, well."

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's antics. His fame is exactly the reason you had to go to the gym so late, when in reality you'd much rather be cuddled up with him watching TV. But he was tired of going with Jisung and had missed you desperately while he was away. So you couldn't tell him no when he asked you so nicely earlier.

Besides...his arms did look really good in his fitted black tank top. It was a win for everybody involved- at least in your book.

"Okay, Mr. Worldwide. What's the first exercise for the night?"

He scrunched up his face as if he was in deep thought, even bringing a curled finger to his chin to accentuate just how much he was pondering your options.

"I've just decided. It's leg day and we're gonna do some deadlifts. And by we I mean..." Minho trailed off before glancing down and slapping your ass just a bit too hard. "You. You're gonna do them and I'm gonna watch. You know I like this set."

Instantly, your cheeks reddened and you looked up at the girl at the front desk to see if she noticed the sound that was still echoing in the silence of the gym. Luckily, she had put her earbuds in within the last few minutes and probably didn't even remember you were there.

When you realized you were safe, you looked down where Minho's hand still rested against the curve of your ass. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Duh, I know you like it," you said quietly. "Why do you think I wore it?"

"Mmm, careful pretty girl. We're in public. Now, let's go." He pushed you away just slightly towards the weights and you bit your lip. Minho could be dangerous when he was in this type of mood. This was your first "date" since he had returned from touring, and the pent up feelings you had for each other were bound to come out sooner or later. Were you expecting it to be at the gym? No. But you weren't complaining.

And it definitely wasn't helping that you did indeed purposefully wear his favorite skin tight workout set. But that damn tank top on him was driving you wild too... You had missed him just as much as he missed you. Pictures and rushed videos were never enough when he was thousands of miles away from you.

You set your bag down next to the equipment and stretched your arms up lazily, feeling Minho's eyes burning into your arched back.

"Don't forget to stretch those legs too, princess. You wouldn't wanna pull something and not be able to walk."

Over the top of your shoulder, you glanced at him. The corner of his mouth was curled up, threatening to form another shit-eating smile.

In a last second attempt to mess with him, you turned the opposite way so that you were now facing him and bent down to stretch your thighs and calf muscles.

Minho clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes.

"Fine, fine. I still like this view too. Maybe even better."

You smiled to yourself, blushing once more.

The bell on the gym door sounded suddenly, cutting through the bubble you and Minho had formed around yourselves by being the only ones in the gym.

You stood with a sigh, having finished your stretches. Then you took a few steps forward and placed a quick kiss to Minho's cheek.

"Now you really have to behave," you giggled.

"Only because you asked so nicely, babe."

This time his smile was one of pure love rather than lust. The way he looked at you with stars in his eyes was nearly enough to knock you off your feet in a completely different context. Minho was so beautiful that it hurt sometimes.

"Will you be okay by yourself? I wanted to work on these tonight." He raised one arm and flexed it slightly.

You rolled your eyes before nodding at him and turning to grab your headphones.

"Go get 'em, hot shot. I'll just be over here. Try not to stare."

"Pfft, right back at you."

As Minho walked away, you placed your headphones over your ears and scrolled through your phone to find a good playlist to workout to. Once you clicked on one, you looked over at Minho who was already getting started on the bench press.

"Oh, fuck," you thought. "Not staring is gonna be harder than I thought."

Even from several feet away, you could see his arms flex and relax repeatedly as he brought his bar up and down. Taught muscles underneath his perfect tan skin, rippling with every movement...you nearly started drooling. It dawned on you that you didn't remember his arms being that big when he left...he must've really been working on them while he was gone with Jisung.

His eyebrows were knitted together in concentration, eyes focused on the ceiling. With every breath he took in through his nose and exhaled through his soft, pink lips in a small "o," you could feel the desperation for him build deeper and deeper within you.

"I'm so fucked."

With a quick shake of your head, you turned back to your own workout and tried to focus on your music.

~

The bar fell to the ground with a loud thud. You sighed and straightened your back, almost ripping your headphones off your ears.

Sweat was dripping down your back, soaked up by your clothing and pooling there instead. You had done several sets, probably more than you should have. But you had finally been able to make yourself focus and lose yourself in your music that you didn't realize how many lifts you had actually done until your body was on fire.

Minho was sitting up on the bench now, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone while dabbing a towel to his forehead. You decided to make your way over to him and flop down on the bench next to him.

"Hmm, looks like someone needs to work on their endurance. Were you that out of practice without me, (Y/N)?" He raised an eyebrow and tried not to laugh. "I can think of several other ways to help you with that."

You shoved his shoulder playfully.

"Save it for later," you said, trying to sound firm. But your voice came out smaller than you had intended.

"You're so cute when you're trying to pretend that you're not turned on," Minho leaned in and whispered, breath tickling your ear.

Your own breath hitched and you looked at him from the corner of your eye. Of course he could read you like a damn book.

"Let's just do one more workout so it wasn't a wasted trip, you dork."

Minho shrugged and stood up, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face and getting lost somewhere in the curves of his neck.

"You go ahead and get started. I'm gonna find the bathroom."

You reached out and tried to grab his ass in retaliation for earlier, but you missed and got the air instead. He stuck his tongue out at you before turning away and disappearing down the hall where the bathrooms were.

Taking your own advice, you decided to start another workout to continue strengthening your legs and lower body. Since you were already on the bench, you decided to use it to do some hip thrusts. Once you were settled on the ground, you reached for your headphones to put them back on. But before you could get them on all the way, you heard someone clear their throat.

Not even looking up from your phone since you assumed it was Minho, you hummed in response to see what he needed.

"Need some help?"

You didn't recognize the voice. Without moving from your spot on the floor, you clutched your phone a bit harder and glanced up.

In front of you was a younger man with a hoodie on and headphones slung lazily around his neck. His lips were drawn together in one of those awkward "smiles" pick-me men often wore when trying to get a woman's attention. Wonderful.

"Oh, no, I'm good. Thank you though." You looked back down at your phone, not really registering what you saw on the screen. You were just hoping that he would leave you alone now since you declined his offer.

"Come on, it's fun working out with other people. Pretty girls shouldn't work out alone. And hey! We even have the same headphones. What a coincidence."

A sharp pang of disappointment shot through you when you realized he was right. You had the exact same pair from the same brand, color and all.

"Yeah, I guess we do. But, um, I'm not working out alone," you said with a gulp, hearing your own voice sound more timid than you wanted. "I'm just waiting for my boyfriend in the bathroom."

Without hesitation, the man crossed his arms and looked at you questioningly. "Boyfriend, huh? He didn't look like much."

You shifted uncomfortably where you were sitting, and wondered if you should text Minho and let him know what was going on. But what if that made this guy mad? Who knows what he would do...

You swallowed thickly, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer to the question you were about to ask. "Were you watching us?"

He scoffed, uncrossing his arms and looking up and down at you like he was sizing up a piece of meat. "Just you."

Ice cold fear spread through your veins and your heartbeat went through the roof. This guy didn't seem like he was going to take no for an answer...

As discreetly as you could, you searched for the girl at the desk hoping she was still there. You wished you could remember the name on her shirt... And while she was still there physically, she definitely was not paying attention to anything but her phone. So much for being a girl's girl.

Before you could think of another escape plan, a hand grabbed your forearm harshly and pulled you to your feet, nearly ripping your shoulder out of its socket. However, relief quickly washed away the pain when you saw it was Minho.

He jerked your arm back so that you were behind him and out of view from the guy. In the quick second that you saw his face, though, you knew this creep was going to regret talking to you. Minho's nostrils were flared open, eyes blown wide, and lips pressed together in a tight line like he was trying to keep from busting his nose in the middle of a public place.

"You got a problem, man?" Minho spat, jaw setting tight.

The guy took a step back, eyes scanning Minho's face and seeing how pissed he was. He raised his hands in surrender.

"It was just a conversation, chill."

Minho stepped forward and balled his shaking hands into fists at his sides.

"It looked more like you were preying on a girl who very politely tried to tell you she wasn't interested. You were preying on my girl. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The man swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and then down.

Against your better judgement, you tentatively reached out and brushed your fingertips against Minho's arm to get his attention. At first, he stiffened so hard he nearly jumped. But then he fully turned to you and made eye contact with you, softening slowly.

His anger returned in an instant when he remembered why he was looking at you in the first place, though. He whipped back around to further press the man, but he was already gone.

Minho froze for only a second, but then bent down to pick up the stuff you had dropped when he pulled you to your feet. He handed you your cell wordlessly, but kept a death grip on the headphones. You were worried he'd burn a hole through them with how fiercely he was staring at them.

"Throw those away," you said quietly. "Buy me a new pair, baby."

Minho nodded without looking at you, secretly relieved you had told him that.

He grabbed your hand hard, leading you towards the exit. It was almost too difficult to keep up with how fast he was walking. Thankfully, he paused for a second right by the trash can on the way out to slam the headphones into it at full force. The sound of them hitting whatever plastic and metal was already in the bottom of the can ricocheted off the walls.

It was what finally caused the check in girl to look up from her phone for the first time since you got there.

~

Once you got to the car, Minho finally let go of your hand and ran his own through his still sweat-damp hair. You stood as still as you could, letting him pace a bit to relieve some anger.

"Fuck, (Y/N). I'm sorry."

"For what?"

He sighed, leaning back against the door of the car with his arms crossed and looking off to the side.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that. But..." he trailed off. Then took a deep breath before speaking again. "Why did you let him talk to you like that?"

Minho's words caused you to open and close your mouth a few times in surprise. You weren't expecting them.

"I...I didn't let him do anything. He wouldn't leave me alone."

He groaned, now dropping his face into his hands.

"And the way he looked at you...God, I wanted to knock his punk ass out."

You took a deep breath and a step closer to your boyfriend, and you could feel the hot, potent anger radiate off of him in waves.

"How did he look at me, Minho?"

His eyes locked onto yours, like they were seeing all your thoughts and desires at once.

"Like he wanted you."

The air felt electric, originally charged with white hot fury. But now...it was something else. Something more primal and physical. Something driven by need and flat out desperation.

In one swift motion, Minho pulled on your arm again, but he then turned you around at the last second, causing your back to make contact with the cool metal of the car somewhat unceremoniously. He moved closer, every move calculated and precise- much like an animal on the hunt would be.

"Only I can look at you like that. You're mine."

This time his words didn't make you freeze. They made you act.

With a noise somewhere between a moan and whimper, you slammed your lips into Minho's, grabbing onto his shoulders to pull him closer at the same time. He collided with you, mouth finding yours instantly. There was no gentleness to the way you kissed each other. No, it was desire. It was deep rooted lust that had reached a boiling point tonight after building up for what felt like an eternity.

The sounds of your mixed breaths and slick mouths echoed in your ears. His tongue met yours in a passionate dance, having immediately pushed past the confines of your already swollen lips. Teeth clashed, so fast and messy that you were sure you'd accidentally bit his lip. If you had, he either didn't notice or didn't give a shit.

Minho pulled away for just a moment, curses escaping in breathless whispers. "Fuck...you don't even know what you do to me, (Y/N)."

You tangled your fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and nestled into his shoulder. "I think I have an idea."

Minho laughed, almost bitterly, before grabbing your hips and pulling you impossibly closer to him. Against the side of your thigh, you could feel how badly he wanted you. Heat pooled into your already throbbing core, and you had to keep from rubbing your thighs together.

He began licking and nipping the delicate skin of your neck, the delicious pain immediately washed away by his lips.

"Minho...we...we should stop."

The only response was a hum against the side of your neck. Your knees began to feel weak with want for him. But you were still at the gym...still in the public parking lot where anyone could be at any time.

"Minho-"

He didn't let you finish speaking. Instead, he slotted one knee between yours and began grinding onto your thigh, his obvious bulge prodding into you multiple times.

You whimpered, your head falling back against the top of the car with a thump.

"Only I get to have you this way. Say it," Minho all but growled.

"Only you, Minho. Always," you choked out, fingers still weakly resting against his neck.

He smirked against your skin, pulling you off the side of the car so you were standing up straight in front of him.

"Good. Now get in and let's go home so I can fuck you like I've wanted to all night."

~

The car ride to your apartment passed in a blur. Minho drove faster than he should've, one hand gripping the steering wheel till his knuckles turned white, and the other gripping your knee with almost the same intensity. In any other situation, it would've been painful. But not now- not like this. Instead, it just made the wetness between your legs rapidly increase.

And then somehow, by some miracle, you made it into your apartment, despite how much you couldn't keep your hands off each other. It only took Minho three tries to get the key in the lock and successfully turn it. Then it was only a matter of stripping your clothes off, piece by piece, leaving a trail to the scene of the "crime."

Minho pushed you onto the bed, crawling over you and caging you in with his arms. His mouth was parted slightly, breath fanning over your face, which was only inches from his.

"You're mine," he repeated, softer this time. Some of the anger had dissipated from his features, and the look he gave you now was one of love and awe.

"I am," you breathed, reaching up to brush some of the hair away that had stuck to his forehead. "I love you. And I really missed you." Those words were hardly more than a whisper, and you began to feel that dull pain in your throat like you were about to cry.

"I missed you...so much," Minho said as he leaned in to kiss your forehead with surprising gentleness. "And any other time, I would show you just how much I love you, but..."

Minho trailed off, head falling into the crook of your neck and breathing in your scent.

"But I am a weak man tonight, (Y/N). I have to have you...now."

Without another word, he reached down between you and drew one finger between your folds, earning a hiss from you. He smirked once more, some of that earlier cockiness coming back with each passing second.

"Already so wet and I haven't even touched you yet. You've been waiting for me for a long time, haven't you?"

You nodded frantically, your heart threatening to beat right out of your chest. Beside you, your hands balled up, grabbing fistfuls of the soft cotton sheets of your bed. Minho's eyes met yours in an intense stare, and you had to keep from looking away.

"It's okay, you won't have to wait anymore. I'm here."

His hand wrapped around your knee and drew it upwards sharply, fully exposing your soaked heat to the air in your bedroom. Teasingly slow, he then gripped his pulsing length with his other hand, and brought it between your folds, rutting against it a few times.

Each of your lewd moans got lost in each other's, just as your bodies were below. Your need was only growing, and you could tell he was falling apart as well.

But you didn't need to ask him to do anything, you didn't need to plead. He knew you so well and knew your body like he had never left. Because within just a few seconds, he was inside of you. Slammed full into you to the hilt, stretching you open for him instantly.

You cried out, hands flying to his back and scrambling for something to hold onto. The sweet stinging sensation of him entering you so fast had your head spinning, nails clawing at him in want. He groaned at the feeling of you scratching him so harshly.

Down below where your bodies were connected, you could feel your arousal grow, dripping down the side of his cock and your thighs. Minho twitched inside of you, breath shuddering with each passing second he didn't move.

And then-

Like he read your thoughts, he started bucking his hips. Slowly at first, but then picking up the pace as you coated him more and more. Broken words tumbled from his lips, like a prayer he had been chanting in his mind before breaking and saying it out loud.

"You're mine...you're- you're all mine."

Minho's hand was still on your knee, spreading you open completely as he fucked himself into you. His other came to rest against the headboard, the skin of his knuckles feeling as if it may rip due to how hard he was holding onto it.

Stars decorated your vision, and eventually you screwed your eyes shut from over-stimulation, the only things grounding you being the sounds of his wet skin against yours and the feeling of him slamming into you. You were so drunk off of him already, all you could do was lay there for him, nails in his back and biting your kiss-swollen lips.

His scent was intoxicating, the remnants of his cologne mixing with the smell of his sweat to create something so uniquely him, it drove you wild.

"No one else can have you like this," Minho huffed, never relenting in his movements. You weren't sure if he was talking to you or himself, but it didn't matter. His voice sounded so desperate and thick with need for you, it brought you even closer to your already impending climax.

Of course, he could feel it- the way your walls fluttered around him, promising to milk him dry for everything he had if he didn't remove himself from you. His mouth formed a grin, hips stuttering for the first time tonight.

"Ah, ah. Not yet, my love," Minho began, glancing down at you through his eyelashes. "You have to tell me where you want me first before you do that. You know I won't last when you cum all over me like a good girl."

Your mouth opened to speak, but all that came out was a strangled yelp. It was so close, so painfully close, you couldn't think about anything else. The intensity of tonight was almost tangible in the air, and you felt as though you could've reached out to grab it.

"Can't even speak, pretty? That's okay. I'll make it work."

Minho relinquished his vice grip on the headboard and shoved his thumb against your clit, rubbing circles there while he thrust himself into your aching cunt. He was only able to do it once...twice...three more times, before it all fell out from underneath you.

Your orgasm hit you like an avalanche, starting small at first and then coming in wave after wave, tumbling through you in the form of wanton moans and half-moon shapes from your nails that were still in your boyfriend's back. Bright white spots blurred your line of vision, and your back arched, pushing the soft mounds of your breasts into the hardened planes of Minho's toned chest.

With a growl, he forced himself out of you, pushing you away before it was too late. He fisted himself only once before he was spilling all over your heaving stomach and breasts, thick ropes of his cum landing against you with almost inaudible splat sounds.

It was quiet now, except for the sounds of you both trying to catch your breath. Then a squeak of the bed as Minho stood, wobbling slightly, before picking up his tank top from the floor.

He came around the side of the bed where you were still laying, arm thrown over your eyes in pure exhaustion and exhilaration. He couldn't help but crack a small, crooked smile as he mopped you up lazily with his tank top.

When he was finished, he threw himself onto the bed beside you, immediately turning on his side and wrapping an arm tightly around you. After lowering your arm, you turned to face him and nuzzle into him, feeling sleep coming to take you soon.

"Um, (Y/N)?" Minho asked, almost shyly- like he hadn't just fucked your brains out after nearly fighting a guy.

"Hmm?"

"We should probably shower. And uh...change the sheets."

You groaned, hating how right he was but definitely feeling the way you stuck to him and the bed.

"Fineeee," you whined, fighting off a yawn. "Rock paper scissors for who has to change them, though."

Minho chuckled, then sat up and rubbed your head gently.

"I'll run your bath first and change the sheets, how's that? You just lay there and look pretty."

In spite of the events that had led you up to this point, you smiled to yourself. Leave it to Minho to basically give you whiplash with his words and actions...but you wouldn't have it any other way.

~

[toritofrito]

Sebastian and….Kids

A/N: So you all might be wondering, what is this? What are you reading right now? This is the mad ramblings of a 20 year old woman with nothing better to do during her summer break! After writing my headcanons for Sebastian I thought….man, my writing makes him sound awfully bleak. And while he is….I thought I should write something cute for him. If you read the headcanons i’m referring to (which you can find on my profile and also linked here) I mention he’d probably handle children fairly well despite everything. Time to expand on that!

Can’t believe I have to say this, but considering some of the strange things I have seen, I will say it. THIS IS PLATONIC! I will shake you all by your shoulders if thats what it takes. Don’t be a sicko. And this isn’t an “x reader”, I tagged it to get it to people who like to read. Its cute. Give it a chance…?

Innovation Inc. was surprisingly generous when they gave Sebastian a job. His own living quarters, a private workspace, free access to all their technology and scrap metal….safe to say he was back to doing pretty well for himself. Of course that didn’t change his goal of taking down Urbanshade. Thankfully, this goal aligned with Innovation Inc’s in a way.

Innovation Inc had recently been trying to rebuild a new core to power their headquarters which was ironically very similar to the very crystal that powered the Hadal Blacksite which harnessed Thor’s (the nordic god’s) energy. That being said, they came to Sebastian once he was hired and explained the situation and that they wanted him to build a device to help capture the crystal like the ones the Expendables were equipped with.

“Tch….you want me to rebuild that? You couldn’t have said that when I was down THERE?! WITH THE CRYSTAL IN REACH?!” Sebastian exclaimed, dragging a clawed hand across the bridge of his face. “GOD! Fine, just….give me some time. It’ll take a while. And DON’T let ANYONE come in here.” He hissed lowly at the shaken up Innovation Inc. employee who just sighed and nodded, closing the door to Sebastian’s private workspace.

The room was dark, hardly lit except for the esca that dangled from the illicium atop his head. Sebastian grunted as he slithered across the room, gathering scrap as P.AI.NTER painted the room from where he was sat upon the corner of Sebastian’s VERY large desk.

Sebastian was tired. He hadn’t slept in days, and while P.AI.NTER keeps telling him to sleep, he can never seem to bring himself to. His hair was disheveled and dark bags had long since tattooed themselves under his eyes. With a loud clatter, he set the scrap metal upon the desk and began working. P.AI.NTER stopped drawing, startled by the noise before looking over at Sebastian from where he was.

“You’re really gonna make that thing? Theres no way they’re gonna be able to get back down to the blacksite anyways, whats the point of making it?” P.AI.NTER spoke as Sebastian began to bend some of the metal with his bare hands. “Yes, well, a job’s a job….you learn that pretty fast up here. Besides, it’s not my problem if they succeed or fail at getting the crystal back. Just gotta make the damn thing. Shouldn’t be too hard, just….tedious.” Sebastian muttered.

Suddenly there was sound echoing in the halls outside Sebastian’s workspace door, what sounded like little footsteps thudding against the ground. Sebastian’s fins at the side of his head flickered and his face scrunched in a snarl as he heard the door open. “What did I JUST say about-!?” He paused in the middle of his words as he realized it was a little girl who couldn’t have been older than 6 years old who pandered inside and sloppily closed the door behind her. She seemed curious, a little confused about Sebastian’s form but not out of judgement. “Oh. It’s just a kid? How- why are you even in this place? Where is your mom? Dad? God, this isn’t even my problem. Get out kid. This isn’t a good place for you to be.” Sebastian spoke softer now, turning back to the metal on his desk but keeping an eye on the girl out of the corner of his eye.

The little girl, not deterred, slowly stepped up to Sebastian’s side and lightly touching the scales of his tail. Sebastian stiffened and he hissed. “Don’t touch-! God dammit….” He cursed under his breath. Hesitantly he picked up the little girl with his third arm, holding her on top of the crook of his elbow. “Listen. You can’t just come into places like this. I could literally squish you with my arm alone.” P.AI.NTER finally noticing the little girl lets out a little gasp and immediately stops painting. “Is that a little kid?! Oh my gosh, they’re so small! Hey little uhh….girl?” P.AI.NTER coos. The little girl quirks her head over at the computer and giggles. Sebastian groans and goes quiet for a few moments, letting P.AI.NTER coo and awe over the little girl in Sebastian’s arm. After a few moments of contemplation, he sets the little girl down onto his tail to sit down on it so he could have all of his arms free.

“You know…P.AI.NTER might be able to draw some things for you.” Sebastian suggests as the little girl stares at the sentient AI with wonder. “I CAN?! I mean- SUUUURE yes! Yes I can! Anything you want!” P.AI.NTER says with a smile, quickly putting away his painting of the room as a saved draft before opening a new canvas. The little girl seemed to think for a moment before kicking her feet off the edge of Sebastian’s tail where she was sat. “Kitty!” She babbled, her tooth gap glinting in the light of Sebastian’s esca. P.AI.NTER hesitated for a moment, trying to remember what a cat looked like since he really drew landscapes for the most part. He then quickly sketched out a small cat laying on patch of grass. The little girl clapped and laughed, her eyes sparkling with glee. The corner of Sebastian’s mouth quirked up in a little smile before returning to his project, fiddling with the metal on his desk and adding different components he had lying around.

For about 10 minutes, P.AI.NTER managed to keep the little girl entertained and distracted with each painting and drawing he could create, following her requests. But 10 minutes was just that, as she then turned her attention back to Sebastian who was trying to piece together a small motherboard. Her hands grabbed at the bottom of his worn tye-dye tshirt he haphazardly ordered off the internet. Sebastian grunted. P.AI.NTER nervously chuckled and tried to catch the little girls attention again. “Uhh- little girl! Look how I can draw a banana!” The little girl didn’t divert her attention this time and began to tug on the edge of Sebastian’s shirt once more. Sebastian put down the motherboard components and picked up the girl once again with his two upper arms this time, holding her up in the air. “What. What do you want from me?” Sebastian grumbled. The little girl stares at him for a moment, observantly before placing both her hands along Sebastian’s face and squishing at his cheeks. P.AI.NTER cackles at Sebastian’s squished face. “HAHA! You look so stupid right now.” Sebastian glares at him and before Sebastian can pry the little girl’s hands off his face with his free hand, she murmurs. “Squishy. Mister Squishy.”

Sebastian froze in place and his eyes softened looking at the little girl. He let out a little sigh and smiled strainedly. “Fine. Sure, whatever. Whatever you want kid.” He gives in, moving his third arm to instead cradle her bottom to keep her from dangling.

For the next half hour, Sebastian took a break from his work to cater to the little girl’s desires. He didn’t bother stopping her anymore, just letting her play with his hair and poke at his fins and esca. It didn’t feel terrible making an innocent kid laugh and smile. It made him feel as normal as he possibly could. Made him forget what he had become.

Footsteps came down the hall outside Sebastian’s workspace once more and a older man with graying hair opened the door, panting as though he had been running a marathon. “Have you seen a- MARY!” He stopped mid sentence as he saw the little girl placing one of her bow hairclips into the side of Sebastian’s hair to hold it back behind his fins. “You can’t just go into random rooms like this and talk to strangers! Don’t you know thats dangerous?!” The man chided. The little girl just grinned and reached her hands out to who she recognized was her father and her father then took her from Sebastian’s arms. Sebastian let out an almost inaudible sigh and a tired laugh. “Yeah, I told her that too. But kids will be kids, I guess. You brought your kid here?” The man bounced the little girl in his arms, cradling her while she wrapped her arms around his neck for support. “W-well….it was bring your kids to work day so I thought it couldn’t be too bad.” The man replied nervously. “Yes well, you were wrong. She’s a terror.“ Sebastian responded once more. “Now go, get a move on!”

The man turned to leave with his body trembling as he held Mary. It was unfortunate, but inevitable, that many employees of Innovation Inc. would be afraid of Sebastian with what they know of him. But this little girl knew no fear. She only knew… “Bye bye mister Squishy!” She spoke as she waved her hand goodbye to Sebastian from over her dad’s shoulder. Before the man could chide his daughter for the nickname she gave Sebastian, Sebastian replied, “Bye kid. Stay out of trouble from now on.”

They left without another word and the door closed behind them softly. It was quiet after they left for a few moments, Sebastian’s clawed fingers lightly touching along the pink heart hairclip that the little girl had clipped into his hair to keep it from falling into his face. “Hey mister Squishy, you look soooo stupid with that.” P.AI.NTER chirped with a smug grin. “Quit it. it’s a fashion statement.” Sebastian muttered with a small smile as he returned to his work.

A/N: Well. How’d you like it? Hopefully this was lighter compared to those headcanons of mine. And hopefully this made your day a little brighter! Or perhaps it inspired you? Either way, if you enjoyed it, please heart this post and/or repost! I love the encouragement! Thanks for reading. 💜

[frost-eyed-autumn]

@starsburned

Leaving Shirase's place, he wasn't really sure what he should be expecting. The moment he'd received that text that tipped him off that not all was well, his thoughts had scattered like a flock of startled birds being dive-bombed by an eagle, or a hungry cat, all going in different directions.

Depending on a few things, there's a risk leaving Shirase alone and without his protection, but the more he puts this off, the more likely of a possibility that can become. He knows to some decent degree just how Mori works, and he knows that if Mori plans to do anything at all, he'll do it quickly.

Mori isn't hasty, but he also professes to the philosophy that the winner is the one who strikes first.

And if he's lost all favor with Mori, then so too have the Sheep lost all guarantee of safety. He can't let either of those things happen, which means he can't leave Mori waiting.

And maybe, this is all just a little bit of a test, when he thinks about it. To see just how fast he would come running back, the moment he was called without being called. Because of course, he would never ask for days off, unless something was wrong.

Mori had acted glad he was taking care of himself, and Chuuya had been surprised he hadn't asked more questions, but maybe he was just foolish for thinking the immediate approval meant nothing more than what it looked like on surface level.

He hates, really, when his first gut reaction to what he doesn't expect turns out to be right, but his trust had always been as much of his weak point as it was his strength.

If Mori is issuing a test, he knows he has to pass it.

If Mori's not, he has to pass it anyway just to be safe, no matter what he finds when he arrives.

Being Mafia means accepting the risk that death can come at any time. It can come from a bullet, from poison, from an enemy with a powerful Ability, from the death penalty by law for being a violent criminal, or it can come down from Mori himself.

He's always believed, since fully integrating into the Mafia's culture and Mori's empire, that anyone who isn't ready to accept that reality doesn't belong. It's why, even though he's highly favored and considered to be one of the more fair-minded Executives, he's also one of the toughest on weeding out new recruits by putting them through the wringer before they're in so deep that a body bag is the only way they're leaving. Some would call that work-place abuse ; he calls it mercy. If they can't stand the heat, they don't belong in a world as violent and unforgiving as the Mafia's. Niceties can come after they've proven they can handle it.

Whatever judgment Mori has on his mind when he arrives, he'll face it without cowardice, even if a sense of dread twists so tightly in his chest he can hardly breathe.

It'll be fine. It's not like back then. Mori will be fair and listen to him.

He has to keep believing that until there's no way he can anymore, or he'll crumble.

What he's not expecting as he arrives at the top of the tower is to be blockaded by guards posted in front of the doors. Nothing that's all that unusual, really, except the fact that its him they're not letting through.

"I'm going to see the Boss. Move out of my way."

"I'm sorry, Nakahara, but you don't have the clearance."

He's silent for exactly one beat. "What the fuck do you mean, I don't have the clearance?" Even as much as his thoughts are disorganized, it doesn't take him much to connect the dots between [You can take an extended leave] and what he's being told now. "Are you saying I've been demoted?"

"I'm sorry, sir. All I have are orders that I'm not to let you through."

"Tch." His lip curls back a moment, peeved. Even as an Executive, he's powerless to defy the security personnel if they're acting on Mori's order. "Yeah well then go talk to him and get him to change his mind!" Before they can answer, he throws his hands up to stop them. "No-- you know what? Fuck it, I'll call him myself."

Yanking his phone from his pocket, he only needs to press a speed-dial number for it to go through, since Mori is the most important number he has, and he tries to keep his voice from being too noticeably frustrated when he hears the other side pick up. He only really half-succeeds.

"I'm outside your office and your guys won't let me through."

[jugglejerk]

C-:

[vaguely-concerned]

in his and davrin's banters, lucanis exhibits a certain little shit energy I don't think we see him have with anyone else other than illario and honestly I am living for this

[quietlyblooms-gone]

i'm poking my head in bc the tiktok ban officially hit and i'm sitting here like wow. this is the reality we're in huh :' )

[halfdeadwallfly]

so.. i accidentally touched a trash can which made me feel like my hand was burning so i went to go and wash it and in the process i nicked the faucet with my fingernail and i got like dirt(?) under it. which. terrifying???? anyway i started hyperventilating and my hand started burning again but worse and i was trying to figure out what to do bc i was in the bathroom of all unsafe places to be, so i like ran out to the hallway and my hands are covered in soap and water which feels unsafe enough as is, and everything is just dangerous and i feel like someone's wedged something under my fingernail and tried to pry it off me and i'm trying so hard not to scream again bc i don't want to freak my mom out and i'm still hyperventilating bc there's this unknown thing on me. so anyway. it took a bit to get it together enough to like. go back and wash my hands again. and now i'm like. completely exhausted. aaaaand i still feel like i can't breathe like an hour later :') i had lovely plans to go out this evening and maybe walk and watch the sunset but now i feel like death! point being. fuck ocd :)

[transexualizeyourself]

Too much light pollution to see the stars, AI making art while humans do the work, endless advertising, only thing in theaters are cash-grab remakes or sequels or adaptations, no third spaces, everything is an aesthetic or a -core when really it’s all the same shit in a different color pallet, “millennial grey”, etc etc etc.

has anyone noticed theyre taking away what it means to be human

[godtrauma]

the man who owns and runs the thai restaurant in my town knows me by name. he is one of the kindest and most thoughtful men i know. i started ordering from his place back in january, which was when i got my fibromyalgia diagnosis. back then i was using a walker, had limited mobility in my entire body but especially my hands, and was very visibly in pain. i always ordered the same thing: yellow curry with no meat, potatoes and carrots only (i have texture and other dietary issues). he always made it a point to make sure i could get out the door and carry the food safely. he had his workers package the food so that it was easier for me to open. as i kept coming back and i told him a little bit about my health status, he would always encourage me to keep going. he told me about how the spices he used were good for inflammation and began to edit the recipe just for me so that spices that were even better for fighting inflammation were used. he’d give me extra portions and despite the fact that i would tip every time, i realized later that he never charged my card for them. as time went on and my condition began to get better, especially with the help of a physical therapist, he would make encouraging remarks and tell me how happy he was for me. the day i came in without my walker, he practically jumped for joy, and despite my insistence, he gave me my meal for free that day. i continue to make progress with my conditions and i continue to go to the thai place. this man who does not know me personally and who i hardly know anything about is one of my favorite people. it’s interactions with humans like these that make loving life easier. and his curry really does help my chronic condition. it’s comfort food taken to the next level.

[syluses]

𝄞 bloodhound

𓍯𓂃 hybrid sylus x female reader

(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.

✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,

✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂‍↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D

With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.

By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.

In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.

You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.

And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.

Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.

Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.

I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡

Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.

Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.

That outfit from yesterday.

With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-

Sure enough, the lid is open.

✦

“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”

The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.

The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.

The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.

You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.

What an awful place, you think to yourself.

…But coming here had a purpose.

Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.

Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.

To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.

A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.

“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”

Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.

Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:

Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—

Clack, clack… Clack.

You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.

“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“

When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.

“Ma’am?” He turns.

“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.

For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.

When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.

A sharp laugh.

“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“

As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.

He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.

…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.

Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.

If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.

In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.

Thoughtfully, you blink.

As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.

Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.

It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?

And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?

“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.

“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.

“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”

Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.

“He’s…”

“Yep. Like I said-“

“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.

The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”

“-How much?”

You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.

No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.

Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.

Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.

As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.

A word relieves you of worries for naught.

“Nothing.”

…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?

“E-Excuse me?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”

Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.

“But, are you-“

“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”

And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—

“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”

A squeeze of your heart.

Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.

“When can we get him out of this cage?”

You ask without looking his way.

The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.

“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”

Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.

He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.

It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.

“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.

Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—

The ground beneath you all but gives way.

“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”

He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.

However, you do catch him shrugging.

“No clue.”

✦

A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.

You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.

This is your house.

This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.

Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?

What is he spotting in you?

Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.

Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.

But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.

But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.

You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.

He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.

Not quite.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.

The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.

Your heart stirs.

Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.

He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.

Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.

Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.

You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.

And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.

“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.

Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“

A labored sigh.

Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.

Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.

There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:

One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)

He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.

Oh, and then three—

When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.

✦

He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.

To your surprise, he lets you.

Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.

With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.

Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.

Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.

None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.

He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.

If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.

Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.

Besides…

Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.

Ahem.

It’s late.

Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.

The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.

You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.

“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.

From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.

Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.

Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—

“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”

A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.

“Sylus.”

Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.

…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.

✦

You blink and autumn is in full throttle.

You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.

Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.

You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.

Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.

Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.

Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.

Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.

At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…

Potential witnesses if he does.

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.

Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.

You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.

You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.

…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—

A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.

You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.

It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.

Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.

…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.

Then-

Tap tap tap.

Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—

You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.

By the sounds of it, he’s already close.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”

-Closer and gaining still.

Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.

You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.

“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”

No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.

You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.

You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.

As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.

Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.

“Sylus-“

You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.

Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.

Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’

You turn the corner and blanche.

Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.

And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.

The bottom falls through.

The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.

✦

“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”

With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.

The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.

“Y-You’re not my dog.”

One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-

That can’t be Sylus.

For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.

“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”

With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”

That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”

D-Dragonfruit? How does he…

The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.

…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.

“Y-You’re not-“

Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”

…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.

Not in your tiny apartment.

“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”

Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.

Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?

He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”

You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.

But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!

You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.

“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.

Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.

The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…

And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.

Sylus, it all says.

But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.

He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.

Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.

“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.

“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”

He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”

And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?

Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”

You do believe it. But it’s crazy.

He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.

Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-

“So? Do we have a deal or not?”

And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?

Or several.

✦

A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.

It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.

Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.

…As do your bones.

Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.

Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.

You gasp. “Sylus-“

You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.

He snarls.

“Quiet. I’m eating.”

Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.

He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.

‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’

“Good girl,” he practically purrs.

He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.

Not as much as you do right now.

“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.

But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.

But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—

“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.

“Just take the day off.”

Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.

“O-Okay.”

As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.

So you glance down.

He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.

He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.

Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.

That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.

You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.

…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.

Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:

Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.

Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.

“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”

He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.

“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”

You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.

And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.

His cock is somehow bigger.

Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.

Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.

Point is- he’s insatiable.

You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.

In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.

…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.

Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.

“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“

A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.

Challenging.

He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.

It’s the least he can do.

“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”

Your eyes bulge from your skull.

His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.

From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.

When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.

Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.

He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.

You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.

“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”

You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.

He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”

You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.

Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.

Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”

And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.

So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.

The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.

Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.

He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.

Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.

For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.

He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.

Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—

Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.

He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….

“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.

With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”

Void of words, you nod.

The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.

Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.

The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.

He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.

You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.

He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”

One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.

With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—

His knot pops inside with a gasp.

Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.

He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.

When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.

The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.

You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.

You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.

Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.

Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.

Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.

“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.

“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”

“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.

Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”

He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.

“It’s too big,” you cry.

“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”

As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.

There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.

“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.

And you—

(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)

Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.

Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.

“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”

Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.

With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.

His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.

You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“

“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.

“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”

Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-

“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.

“So. Did you like it..?”

“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“

He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”

Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.

“I- I guess so. Yeah.”

“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.

“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.

In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.

“When I know it’s manageable.”

If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.

“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.

“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[webism]

sugar daddy!gojo who cuts a deal with you one evening: for each orgasm he can pull from you, he'll transfer $1000 into your account. who has you on your back, sweat soaked and fucked boneless as he brings you to your eighth climax of the night.

who, instead of dirty talk, or talking you through it, he coos about all the things you'll get to buy with what you earn. "can get your nails done so pretty, oh and that bag i know you've been looking at baby," because cocky is an understatement and you're too cumdrunk to tell him to shut up even if you wanted to.

sugar daddy!gojo who pays your rent on the condition that he has his own key cut for him to use as he pleases. sometimes you'll come home to a new set of lingerie laid out on your bed. sometimes you'll open the door to flowers on the kitchen counter, other times it's diamonds.

who sometimes surprises you when you're home, too. he sneaks in as you're showering and gives you the fright of your life as he hops in with you. it's okay, though, because he makes up for the scare by dropping to his knees and eating you out with such scalding passion you barely notice the heat of the water against your skin any longer.

sugar daddy!gojo who takes you shopping with the intention of showing you off. of course people turn their heads when a pretty thing like you walks by with his hand dangerously low on your back. bags hang off his free arm full of gifts for you, who he loves spoiling more than life itself.

who can and will fuck you in the dressing room if you show him an outfit that he particularly likes. no one will notice, bar from the slightly sore gait you walk with for the rest of the day. pushes you against the full length mirror and fills you with his cum, makes you spend the rest of the day shopping with him leaking out of you.

sugar daddy!gojo who buys you a car despite always being the one to drive you around. he likes being behind the wheel with one hand inching up your thigh just a little higher at each red light. you swear he brought you your car just to show off, just to make the purchase obsolete.

who fucks you in it regardless of the fact that it never sees the road. parked in your garage it sees more movement than it ever would otherwise. he hardly fits even in the backseat, but it's worth it when his legs are splayed and you're bouncing on his cock like you have no regard for the expensive leather lined seats. not that it really matters if you mess them—he can buy another car.

sugar daddy!gojo who likes giving you your allowance in cash, just so he can have you on your knees with your lips wrapped around his cock as he lazily counts out the thousands he'll gift you. every time you make him feel particularly good, he reaches over into his safe and pulls out a few more notes to add to the pile—laughs when you moan around his cock at the sight.

[rawme-price]

A quick part three to my reader and her dog riley post :] reader scolds riley😔

(part 4 here ig)

You start bringing riley to the base more often. The boys love seeing him when they drop off papers for you, and it eases some anxiety to be able to see riley safe and happy while you correct forms and whatnot.

At some point or another a dog bed appeared in the room, like a really nice dog bed. Better than the one you have for him at home and five times more expensive. You tried asking soap about it, but he just shrugged, and said something about another dog on base. So...useless.

Either way, riley has been comfortably hanging around your little office, gladly accepting pets (and treats that you pretend not to see) from the guys. So when ghost and soap walk in, youre not shocked at all that soap hardly says hi before kneeling down to riley.

You see whats going to happen before it does.

Soap sets down a half-drank water bottle so he can properly bury his mits in rileys fur, and you stand up to warn soap but its too late. Your beloved dog, light of your life, lunges for the plastic like a man on a mission. You know from personal experience that thing will be shredded, water all over the floor, with an upset riley because he hurt his mouth on plastic.

"Riley! Drop it!" You command, voice stern.

The bottle drops to the floor with a muffled thud, followed by a much louder slap as the small pile of papers ghost was holding also drop to the ground.

You hardly notice, jumping around your desk and prying your dogs mouth open. God, you love him but hes so clueless sometimes! You need to make sure he didnt cut himself on the plastic.

"Bad dog!" You scold, voice stern but not angry "you know better, riley!"

You dont see the red flush creeping over ghosts face, visible even with the mask. You dont see him silently exit the room, and you certainly dont see the boner hes sporting.

Soap does. The scot merely grins to himself, happy that his plan worked, though it would've been better if you actually noticed ghosts reaction. Oh well, guess soap will just have to try harder next time....

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere Vlogger who gains a following by stalking you.

TW. DDNE ! MDNI ! Stalking, Implied NonCon, Voyeurism, Kidnapping

Sequel here

It started out with a few, weird videos that barely got any views.

He had a shaky camera, and he'd rarely ever talk. In fact, he didn't even show you in the beginning. It was more of videos he took walking in random places without showing his face. Honestly, it looked like he hadn't intended for anyone but himself to see the uploads, yet somehow they ended up floating across the feeds of some people.

| What is this even about lol | This is kind of strange... | What are you doing?

He was surprised to get any comments at all, but the last one especially jumped out at him. Any rational person wouldn't talk about how they'd been secretly following the love of their life to some random stranger, but he was far from rational.

Instead of replying in the comments, he made another video.

Why I Do This

" It's because I love her, and I want to make sure she's safe," he said with a shrug. The camera was propped up on a cafe table, and his face was clearly in view. Well groomed, handsome, young... he certainly didn't seem the type to be a deranged lunatic. "Besides, I like the thought that one day she'll see this and know how much I care." After he spoke, the footage was cut with a shot of his shoes slapping against pavement, wandering in some unknown location.

That one got quite a bit of views. Hundreds this time, out of seemingly nowhere.

| Woah is this guy for Real? | No way is he serious, this is probably just some project or some shit. | Lol who cares if it's real, it's kind of interesting | I wish I had a boyfriend like that | You should show us your partner lmao

The videos would come every other day or so now. There seemed to be a bit more editing involved, and the few glimpses of you that the audience got became like a fun guessing game.

"I never expected anyone to be interested in this," he admitted, this time more quietly in a library study area. " I thought people would think that this whole thing is weird, but there are, what? A thousand of you now? So strange... and here I thought I was the weird one," He chuckled and brushed his hair back gently. Just out of sight in the camera was your seated form, working diligently on an assignment. If only you knew how much he cared. Not only that, if only you knew how many people thought he was cool for loving you the way he did.

| Guys I'm starting to get kind of freaked out. Is the person getting stalked okay? | Nah, it's not real. No way. If he was for real he wouldn't be showing his face | Woah the quality has gone up so much! The sneaking into the house portion of the videos are always so creepy and realistic! Keep up the good work! | You should go into acting man | Our beloved stalker is getting pretty bold lol. I wonder how this series will end lol

Sure enough, he started having more fun making the videos. He invested in a higher quality camera, and he started to become more and more obsessed with not only following you, but documenting the whole thing. He invested in a new camera and bought new editing software. Plus, with the ad revenue he was getting from his growing viewers, he could afford to buy trackers and other things...

"Thanks to you guys, I've finally got enough to bring them home," he practically beamed as he stared into the black lens. He was hidden in a bush, the glow of your house lights illuminating his face. He held up a bundle of ropes and some cuffs. "I really couldn't have done this without your support. I'm really grateful. I might have to lay low for a while after this... but hopefully I'll be putting out some more videos about getting them settled in their new home. Again, thanks for everything."

When a missing persons alert was put out for you, hardly anyone paid any attention. His viewers didn't know your name, and he was smart enough to hide your face, so no one suspected a thing. Soon enough, you were a forgotten statistic to everyone but him.

| Woah new video! | The new set looks great! | They're acting is so realistic lol. It gives me chills. | Hey don't they kinda look like that one person...? | I'm glad to see how this series progressed lol, the stalking was getting kind of boring

"They love you," he hummed as he scrolled through the comments, the screen lighting up the darkened room. You were bound in his lap, whimpering, blindfolded and gagged as he rubbed soothing circles into your hip. "Not as much as I can, but I told you everyone was rooting for us to get together," He smiled and planted a kiss to the crown of your head.

He then stood up, carrying you in his strong arms before laying you down on his bed. He switched on the lighting and turned on the various cameras he had set up to catch your expressions from every angle. His voice was sickeningly sweet as he got you tied down and ready, his eyes flashing with barely contained obsession. "Now... some people have been asking for more... exclusive content. I think it's only fair we let them see... I wouldn't have you if it wasn't for them after all. Be good for me okay?"

[jayblades]

practice round

dick grayson x fem!reader

summary; when some guy takes an interest in you, your extremely thoughtful best friend dick convinces you that you need a little more… experience. and who better to help you practice, than himself?

warnings; 18+, manipulation, yandere-lite themes… best friends <3 nsfw, reader is inexperienced, but not a virgin, possessiveness, fem!reader, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (reader is on the pill)

author’s note; felt depraved things writing this… if you enjoy then let me know!

You’re sat on your bed, curled up near the edge where Dick is sprawled out on the floor beside you, scrolling through his phone.

He noticed a slight shift in your behaviour about ten minutes ago when you’d received a notification on your phone. He wonders if you’re going to tell him about it — he supposes it doesn’t really matter if you don’t. He’ll just look through it later, but of course he wants you to be the one to share.

You look so nervous, knees drawn up to your chest like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. It’s adorable. It’s pathetic. It makes something sharp twist in Dick’s stomach.

Finally, you blurt it out. “So… this guy asked me out.”

Dick stills, his finger hovering over his phone screen as he freezes in place. “Yeah? Who?”

You say his name like you’re embarrassed and Dick smiles, slow and easy. But inside, he’s seething. It takes a lot to keep his expression carefully neutral. He’s heard you talk about this guy before, offhandedly calling him cute. He has no idea you may have possibly been forming a crush on him.

You hug your pillow against your chest and scrunch up your nose. “He’s so… popular. You know? Good looking. Everyone’s obsessed with him, so I don’t know…”

“Sure,” Dick mumbles, pretending to focus on his Instagram feed again. “He’s been with… what, half the senior class?”

You wince. Dick thanks the universe in this moment that the guy who has taken an interest in you is basically a manwhore. It’s going to make this so much easier.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess. He’s really, uh, experienced.”

Dick turns around to face you properly. He scans your face, assessing the way you bite at your lip and look down, your gaze faraway somewhere. “Wait, you’re nervous.”

He forces himself to sound surprised, but of course he knows you’re nervous. He’s banking on it, in fact.

You nod, sighing as you lean back on your bed. “What if I’m not enough for him in… y’know, that area. He’s probably used to girls who know what they’re doing and I’ve barely even—”

“Hey, hey,” Dick cuts you off, getting up to take a seat next to you on the bed and reaching a hand out to lightly squeeze your knee. “You’re more than enough, sweetheart.”

He means that. You’re way more than that jackass deserves. Dick has heard how he’s talked about women before. Even if this guy wasn’t scum, there’s no way in hell Dick is going to let him have you. The gears in his mind are already turning and there’s a growing excitement in his lower belly that he can hardly contain.

“You just said that he’s been with so many people,” you point out, frowning at him.

Dick sighs, like it pains him to say it. “Yeah, well. Sure, he’s probably used to certain things. Stuff he’s probably expecting without even thinking about it. But that isn’t your fault.”

You stare at him, looking utterly crestfallen. He can practically hear your heart sinking and it only spurs him on as he shifts closer to you, dropping his voice into something more intimate and safe.

“Any guy would be lucky to have you. You know that right?”

“Thanks, Dick,” you mumble, trying to smile. But he’s not done.

“It’s just guys like him,” Dick continues slowly and deliberately, carefully choosing his words. “They get bored really fast. If something feels too new… too awkward…”

He trails off, allowing the implication to hang heavy between you. Dick is well aware that you’re not a virgin, but you may as well be. He’s talking bullshit, obviously. He knows that this guy would kill to have you in his bed and that your lack of experience would only make you more appealing to his sick mind. Dick would know, considering his mind is even sicker when it comes to you. The difference is that you actually mean something to Dick.

“Oh,” you whisper, dropping your gaze. You look disappointed and Dick knows exactly what to say next.

“Look, if you’re that worried,” he starts, sighing like you’ve presented him with a problem. “You could always practice.”

You blink at him, startled. “Practice?”

He smiles at you, all warm and encouraging like he’s offering you a life raft. “Yeah. To get comfortable. Figure out what you like, what feels good. What to do. So that when it matters, you’re not nervous.”

You let out a nervous laugh, hesitating. “I guess. But, with who?”

Dick shrugs, noncommittal. “Me, if you want.”

As expected, you whip your head up to gape at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “What?”

He rolls his eyes, as though what you’re saying is silly. “Don’t make it weird,” he chuckles under his breath, keeping his hand on your knee. “We’re best friends. You trust me, right?”

You open your mouth, like you’re about to argue but then you shut it. Because you do trust him — you always have. “Yeah, I do, but—”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, softening his voice even more. Every word coming out of his mouth is a lie, but they’re necessary, really. You don’t know what you want yet, which is exactly why he’s here to help. “And wouldn’t you want to practice with someone you’re comfortable with? Someone who only wants to make you feel good and confident. To teach you how to make someone happy.”

Lies, lies, lies. He has no intention of letting that happen.

Dick starts to stroke your wrist, thumb gliding lazy circles over your pulse like he’s trying to calm you down. Judging by the way it quickens, he’s doing the opposite and he has to fight to hide his grin.

Your voice cracks when you finally whisper back. “You really think it’ll help?”

“Yeah, but it’s totally up to you. You don’t have to decide right now,” he says lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and marvelling at how your gaze is tracking his every movement. “If you’re already this nervous…”

Your voice comes out impossibly small. “What would we even do?”

Dick’s mouth twitches as he tries not to smile triumphantly. He’s got you exactly where he wants and he’s elated.

“We can just kiss for now,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your lips, immediately making them part. Fuck, he’s going to have a hard time stopping if that’s all you want to do. “Whatever you want.”

After hesitating for a second and testing Dick’s patience, you finally nod. It’s shy, barely a movement of your head, but you’re smiling at him and Dick feels it go straight to his groin.

“Okay, then,” he murmurs, agreeable like you’ve coaxed him into it. “Do you want to set the pace, or should I?”

Your shoulders relax a little at the kindness in his voice and you swallow. “You… you can.”

He almost groans at your words. So submissive, so willing. You’re giving him permission to do what he wants and oh, he’s going to take it.

Dick gently positions you so that you’re facing him a little closer, sneaking his hand around to your back like he’s done a million times. Except this time, he gently lifts up your chin and offers you a reassuring smile and you can’t help returning it, albeit nervously. It’s Dick after all — your best friend in the whole world. And he’s such a good one for helping you out, right?

As if you’re getting impatient, you glance down at his lips and he decides that’s enough playing around.

Dick leans forward and brushes his lips against yours to test the waters. When you don’t move away, he presses his mouth to yours and your eyes flutter shut.

You’re a little stiff at first, hesitant and unsure as you allow Dick to lead. And he’s more than happy to show you.

He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss as his hand slips back to cradle the back of your neck. His fingers tangle in your hair, fully controlling your movements and you let out the tiniest, most helpless whimper he’s ever heard from you.

Dick nearly loses it there and then.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to speak, and his lips brush yours with every word. “You can kiss me back, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice coaxing and patient. He brushes his knuckles against your spine and swallows hard when you instinctively arch up into him. “Just… follow what I do.”

You nod, your expression dazed and faraway and when he leans in again, you press your mouth to his in a soft kiss.

Dick smiles against you, rewarding you by slanting his mouth more firmly against yours. This time he lets the kiss linger, letting you feel his warmth, the careful way he parts his lips to guide you how to breathe through it.

When you mimic him, he hums low in his throat, the noise vibrating against your lips.

“Good girl,” he whispers, barely pulling back, his voice rough with approval. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Your lips turn up, a shy smile gracing your face as you shiver slightly. “Thank you,” you mumble out, like you’re embarrassed.

Dick has manipulated you into kissing him and you’re thanking him. He’s so giddy he could burst.

Instead he settles for kissing you again, even deeper as his hands slide down to your hips where they lightly squeeze. The action makes you gasp softly against the kiss and he uses it, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip.

You stiffen, unsure and he immediately soothes you, hand against the side of your thigh. Your nerves are so cute. Almost as cute as the strawberry lipgloss that he’s tasting, which he knows is your favourite.

“Open up for me, baby,” he murmurs, voice dripping with patience. “Just a little. Let me in.”

You part your lips, all hesitant and sweet and Dick rewards you immediately by slipping his tongue in your mouth. You melt against him some more and he takes it as a sign to go further until he’s licking into your mouth, kissing you like he’s trying to eat you alive.

He’s borderline devouring you, getting hungrier when he feels you start to move with him, gasping into his mouth and making soft, pleased noises.

Dick can feel how overwhelmed you already are when you helplessly reach out to grab the fabric of his t-shirt, clutching him like a lifeline. He needs more.

Pulling back far enough to speak, he tries to control his own breathing. It’s just so hard when he’s this excited. “When a guy really likes a girl…” he says lowly. “He won’t wanna stop at just kissing. You wanna make sure you’re ready for all of that?”

You stiffen for a second and Dick decides to change his tune, gently kissing your forehead like he always does and begins to shift back a little.

“I mean, we don’t have to,” he relents, trying to sound as flippant as he possibly can when his hard on is painfully straining against his jeans. He begins to slide his hands away from your body as though he’s unaffected. As though his jaw isn’t clenched from the restraint of not touching you. “We can stop.”

“No!” Your hands shoot out to hold his own in place where they grip your waist and your eyes don’t leave his mouth for a second. Your’e panting softly, lips swollen and bitten — courtesy of Dick — and your eyes are glassy. “I— we don’t have to stop… I want to keep going. Please.”

Who is he to deny you when you ask so sweetly?

“Whatever you want,” he agrees, voice calm as ever. But his blood is hot and he’s trying so hard not to rip off your clothes and fuck you into the mattress until your bed is broken in half. All in good time, he tells himself as he guides you further back. “Lie down for me?”

You rest your head against your pillows obediently and Dick runs his hands up your sides, slowly and teasingly. “I’m going to take off your shirt now.”

Nodding, you lift up your arms when he begins to peel away your oversized t-shirt, shrugging it over your head to toss it to the ground. Dick’s eyes don’t leave your chest and it’s like he’s a man possessed when he immediately leans down to drop kisses to your neck and down your chest, grazing the swell of your breasts.

“So, so pretty,” he mumbles against your skin, his hands sliding behind your back to fumble with your bra clasp. You don’t stiffen this time and he takes it as permission to unclasp it before sliding your straps down your arms and leaning back to stare at you. “Fuck���”

You shrink under his gaze, trying to place your hands over your chest when he doesn’t move, and the action snaps him out of it.

“Don’t cover up,” he instructs, impatiently brushing your hands away before looking directly into your eyes. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

A little laugh leaves you, like you don’t believe him and he decides it’s high time to convince you. Ducking his head down, Dick immediately swipes his tongue across your hardened nipple and you hiss, hand flying up to muffle your gasps as he starts to suck. Everywhere. He’s biting and licking at your chest, purposely leaving marks. If you try and do this with anyone else, they’ll know he was here first with all the blossoming bruises he’s sucking onto your skin.

Your gasps are coming out too quietly for his liking.

“No, don’t cover your mouth,” he says firmly, circling your wrists with his much larger hands to guide them away and pin them to your sides. “Guys like it when you’re noisy.”

Translation: Dick wants to hear you scream.

He returns his mouth to your body, this time venturing lower as he peppers kisses to your stomach. Lower and lower until he’s at the waistband of your shorts. He kisses around your belly button, nipping at your skin to distract you from your nerves as he slides the shorts down your legs.

You’re not even protesting anymore. In fact, you’re eager as you kick the item of clothing off your body. Dick huffs out a laugh against your belly when he sees your pink cherry-print panties. He recognises them from all the times he’s rifled through your underwear draw — it’s his favourite pair.

“Stop laughing,” you say breathlessly as you playfully tug on a strand of Dick’s hair. “It’s laundry day.”

“No, it’s cute,” he says, completely serious as you roll your eyes. The attitude you give him makes him want to fuck it out of you and so he swipes his thumb across the centre of your panties, right where your clit is, pulling a breathless sound from you. “So, so cute.”

You’re already soaked through the pink and red fabric, your wetness forming a damp spot visible through your panties and he grins. Shit, he’s barely touched you.

Dick props up your legs for better access and tugs at your panties, sliding them down to your ankles and then he groans.

He sounds like you’ve just sucker-punched him and before you have the time to process it, Dick sinks a finger into you easily and without any friction.

You’re so wet that it slides right in and the sounds that leave your lips make Dick’s mouth water. You’re gasping on choked breaths as he moves in and out of you, dragging his digit against your walls.

“So responsive,” he exhales, keeping a slow pace as not to overwhelm you. It only lasts a second though, as he can’t help wondering what other noises he can get out of you. His other hand comes up to start circling at your clit and your hand flys up to grab at his inky black locks.

“Oh, sh…shit. Dick, oh my God,” you whimper as the double stimulation makes your body twitch. You’re so consumed by pleasure that you probably don’t realise how hard you’re pulling on his hair — it’s a good thing he likes it. “Oh, please…”

He thinks he could die right now, hearing you beg him. For what, you don’t sound sure, but he obliges you with something. That something being a second finger which slides in almost as easily as the first.

The whine that leaves you is music to his ears and he pumps his fingers in and out, stretching you open in preparation. “Good?”

His question is teasing, since he can tell from the way your eyes are screwed shut that you do think it’s good. You nod nonetheless, whimpering out a “Yeah, so good. S-so good, Dick.”

Dick hums, increasing his pace absentmindedly as his erection brushes against your sheets. He’s practically humping your duvet, it’s pathetic. But he can’t bring himself to feel shameful about it when you’re looking so fucked out before him and he’s barely even done anything.

Fuck, he’s nearly drooling and so he decides the only thing to do is remove his hand from your clit. Your eyes flutter open at the loss of contact, despite his fingers still moving inside of you.

“Wait, what are you— Nngh.”

Dick flattens his tongue against your cunt and drags it up over your clit. You cry out, tangling your fingers further in his hair and keeping his head between your legs. Not that you need to when he’s eating you out like a man starved.

His tongue is moving against you like you’re his last meal while his fingers curl upwards into your pussy, making your eyes prick with tears. The second he starts sucking at your clit, you arch off the bed and helplessly grind against his face, covering his chin in your slick.

Dick moans into your cunt, pulling away a little to ask you in between licks. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

When he doesn’t hear an answer, his fingers pause in their movements and he lifts his head up to look at you.

“I— I don’t know,” you whisper, breathing heavily. “I’ve never… y’know, I haven’t—”

You’ve never had an orgasm

It feels like Dick’s luckiest day alive, he thinks to himself and he can’t help the wicked grin that splits across his face. His slides his fingers out of you, making you whine and his grin widens as he climbs over you, swiping a hand over his mouth before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he says soothingly, starting to pepper kisses over your cheek and jaw. “We still have more practicing. You’re going to cum on my cock for the first time, okay?”

“Okay.” Your response is almost immediate and he huffs out a laugh at how willing you are now. Any hesitation has since left you and Dick doesn’t have to convince you to do anything.

Not when you’re tugging at his shirt to take it off, which he happily obliges, reaching behind his back with one hand to shrug it over his head.

You exhale shakily, reaching out tentatively to trail your fingers over the sculpted lines of his chest, the hard ridges of muscle and the soft scattering of dark hair trailing down to disappear into his jeans.

“You’re beautiful too,” you say under your breath with a shy smile and he lets out a broken laugh, rough and shaky, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss at your pulse point.

He’s going to absolutely ruin you.

When your hand drags down his abdomen and further down to his waistband, Dick shudders — a harsh tremor wracking through his body.

“Fuck,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “Take off my jeans.”

Your fingers fumble to unbutton them and before he knows it, he’s tugging them off and you’re looking down at his cock straining impossibly hard against his boxers.

Dick doesn’t need to instruct you this time, and you’re hastily undressing him, allowing his achingly hard cock to spring free. You let out a breath at the sight of him, his leaking tip practically sore from neglect.

Your hands come up to hesitantly wrap around him, dragging his precum down his length to better stroke him. You do it painfully slow and he hisses through gritted teeth, jerking his hips into your hand which is so, so tiny compared to him.

“Am I doing this right?”

Your quizzical voice nearly makes him buckle, and he decides he’s had enough of not being inside of you.

“You’re perfect,” he promises, sliding a hand up the expanse of your thigh to squeeze your ass. “You’re more than perfect, but if you keep going, I’m going to cum all over your hand and that’s not what we’re practising today.”

You give him a sheepish smile, removing your warm hand and letting it rest by your side while he hovers over you.

Dick glances over your naked frame and nearly sighs aloud at the sight, leaning down to kiss your temple. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” you say, nodding at him to continue.

Dick brings his length to your cunt and drags it up and down once to cover the tip in your slick, marvelling at the natural lubricant. He’s not going to need anything else to slip right in and when your body twitches at the feeling of his head dragging against your clit, he smirks.

And then he slips the tip right into you, slowly working you through the delicious burn as you gasp. In the back of his mind, he’s a little bit concerned that you haven’t bothered to ask him to wear a condom (not that he was going to — he knows exactly what birth control you’re on, it’s fine), but your compliance is so naive. He’s glad it’s just for him.

“Ohhh, fuck. You’re doing so well, you can take it,” he grunts out, trying to go further in as slow as possible. His hands are clenched around your sheets as he slowly pushes and pushes deeper into you. “You were made for this, weren’t you? Huh? You gonna take all of me?”

“Yes, please, please, please,” you mutter, voice hoarse and nearly inaudible.

“Please what?” Dick stills, not moving another inch as he freezes halfway inside of you. “What do you want me to do, baby? Use your words.”

“Dick,” you rasp out, trying to buck your hips up for more, but Dick grabs your waist and pins you down. You can’t move an inch when he does this. “Please, please, I want more!”

He leans down to chuckle in your ear before he buries himself into you, sinking all the way down to the hilt.

He only gives you a few seconds to adjust before he’s pulling out and slamming back into you. The cry that leaves you is so beautiful and Dick wants to hear it again and again and so, all of a sudden, he’s driving his hips right into you with a desperation.

His cock is stretching you out more than his fingers ever could and you’re so wonderfully tight that Dick can feel every last inch of your velvety walls wrapped around him, sucking him in like something vicious and needy.

You’re practically incoherent now, the whimpers that leave you are basically sobs as Dick fucks into you hard and fast.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he grits out, sweaty curls falling into his eyes as he doesn’t falter in his thrusts. He leans down to press his body against yours as he continues to pound your hot, weeping cunt. “You’re a fucking natural, you know that? You don’t need the practice, you’re perfect. He doesn’t even deserve you. Fuck, he doesn’t deserve to look at you, let alone fuck you.”

Dick’s control and flippant attitude is slipping as he mumbles the words against your skin, but what else can you expect when you’re scraping your nails down his back and pressing your tits against his chest? He doesn’t even care about fucking you under the guise of practice anymore and instead he’s whispering cruelly into your ear.

“You’re so fucking gone for my cock, I bet you can’t even remember his name,” he chuckles against the shell of your ear and you let out another sob, shaking your head frantically. “What is it, baby? What’s his name?”

“I don’t…” you trail off, jaw going slack and eyes rolling back into your head when Dick lifts up your leg to position it over his shoulder, hitting a brand new angle that makes your whole body tense and writhe. He repeats the question and you whine, arching your back even more as you clutch his bicep. “Fuck! I— I don’t know, oh my God, I don’t remember. Oh, Dick, please, it’s so good! You’re so fucking good, I can’t—”

Dick smirks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he pants. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

He leans back and brings your other leg over his other shoulder to drive his length into you impossibly deep and you scream his name so loudly that there’s no way your neighbours could miss it.

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours are so obscene in the otherwise quiet of your bedroom that he wishes he could record it to listen to the audio later. He makes a mental note for next time.

As soon as Dick feels your cunt begin to clench around him, he knows you’re close and fuck if he isn’t too. Sweat is coating his back and he feels out of control — you don’t look any better as there are tears of pleasure running down your cheeks, your tits bouncing with every thrust, the sheen of sweat over them catching in the light.

Fuck, he groans out a guttural noise as he picks up the pace to piston into you like a fucking machine. Reaching over in between your legs, he starts to rub quick circles into your clit with his thumb, leaning down to spit on it.

He watches with awe as his thumb rubs his spit into your cunt and the more he circles your clit, the harder he slams into you. Soon, you’re coming so hard that your body trembles with a high pitched whine and your nails are drawing blood down Dick’s back.

The way your cunt is clutching his cock through your orgasm makes him follow quickly and he’s as much of a wreck as you are, burying his face in your neck and sliding his arms under you to pull you close to him as his hips begin to falter. Before he knows it, Dick is shooting hot ropes of cum all over your walls with a choked groan.

It feels never ending, the way you’re milking him for all he’s worth and he decides he never wants to separate from you, keeping himself buried inside of you as he collapses onto you.

He leans most of his weight on his arms beside you, but he’s close enough to feel your racing heartbeat against his chest as you catch your breath.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he pants, one of his hands coming over to rest on your belly where he traces his fingers. “So fucking good…”

Your lips curve up into a smile and although it’s tired, he can tell you’re pleased.

He presses soft kisses into your temple, still buried deep inside of you. Your legs stay wrapped around him and your arms encircle his broadness in a bear hug, not eager to let go any time soon.

Dick is such a good best friend, after all.