#and pebble doesn't like knuckles

[technically-human]

Team Sonic can hear Pebble and Egg?? Please what are they saying to them 😭

Nothing good

ko-fi

[theorist-fox]

Simon breaks your fever

Because I can't stop thinking about this

18+

CW: you're sick (fever, high body temp), fluff, established relationship, smut (clit rubbing, unprotected p in v sex, premature ejaculation). you're so hot (literally) that simon busts a nut

Masterlist 🦊

Your fever hasn’t gone down.

Despite you telling Simon that it’s okay, that it’s just seasonal flu and pretty much half of your colleagues have had it, that man can’t stop fussing.

On day two, you heard him grumble over the phone that he had to take some days off for family matters. And while it was cute to listen to him refer to you as family, this whole thing was an overreaction.

You had a cold and a mild fever; you weren’t on your deathbed.

But then he came into the bedroom straight after ending the call, holding a cuppa in one hand and your pills in the other. Left them on the nightstand before pressing his lips to your forehead to check if you were still warm—grumbled something about you heating up the room when he pulled back with a frown.

And then he helped you sit up, fluffed the pillow behind your head, and smoothed away the hair sticking to your forehead. Made sure you took your pills, made sure you were comfortable and cared for and—

—and oh, isn’t your heart melting into a puddle.

You decide that being sick can’t be that bad, when he makes it feels this good—even if you’re cranky and feverish.

And so, you start offering bright smiles when he presses cold, wet towels to your cheeks. Brush kisses on his knuckles when his palm comes to feel your forehead. Whisper thank yous when he insists you eat in bed, your bowl of soup carefully placed on a wooden bed tray.

And when he gets in bed at night, seemingly unafraid of catching your same bug, you press your back to his chest and fit in his arms. Simon’s already a walking furnace on his own, and your fever doesn't help with the uncomfortable stickiness that grows between your bodies through the night.

Simon doesn’t care, especially on day three, when you decide that a reward is on schedule. Poor man’s been at your beck and call ever since your early symptoms have appeared, so why not give him a reward of sorts.

You press your ass against his crotch, rolling slow circles that rouse him from his slumber.

Simon’s first instinct, however, is to stop you. A big hand flattens on your belly, fingers twitching to resist the urge to curve around your waist and grasp until he dimples the fat there.

A hum leaves him. “What are you doing?”

You nuzzle the pillow and act all innocent, even if he can’t see it in the pitch-dark room.

“Nothing,” you tell him. “Can't sleep. Feel a little restless, with the fever and all.”

“Restless,” he echoes with humour, already catching on. “Need me to wear you down?”

You turn your head until his nose bumps with your cheek. He presses a kiss there.

“Mmh,” you hum with a smile. “Maybe."

His hand rises slowly, and you’re delighted to feel the pads of his fingers reach your chest. He cups your breast through your shirt and thumbs your nipple, already pebbled and stiff. 

Hard like his cock pressing against you.

Your skin is unbearably sensitive due to your fever, and the slightest touch could easily turn into stinging pain. That’s why as soon as he skims over your nipple your body goes haywire and you jolt, grinding the swell of your ass against him. 

Simon presses forward, meeting your inadvertent movement. 

There’s a moan coming from both sides. Yours is more cracked, a wonderful cocktail of relief and soreness—though you’re liking this more than you should, probably. You’re never one to say no to a bit of pain now, are you?

Simon, on the other hand… oh, Simon. His voice is low—gravel against the road. A groan that sounds like it’s coming from a dry throat, strikingly possessive when paired with the gentleness with which he’s holding you.

“Lemme take care of you then, yeah?” He whispers, leaning closer to your ear. 

He tucks his arm under your neck, letting you nestle your cheek in the crook of his elbow. You’re sure he must be running hot too, but you’re sporting a whopping 100.4 body temperature, making his skin feel like an ice pack. 

You sigh beautifully at the slight relief he provides.

Simon takes care of you first, like he's so kindly offered, and you don’t fight against him.

You don’t fight against his hand snaking under the waistband of your sweats. Don’t fight against the pads of his fingers drawing slow eights on your clit. 

What you do instead is bury your face in his forearm, as he presses soft kisses to the exposed skin on your neck.

You get wet embarrassingly easily. He collects it with his middle finger before returning to the tight knot of your clit, circling gently—no rush whatsoever.

He checks in every once in a while, whispering soft questions to your skin as he explores it with his lips.

Are you okay?, and a kiss. You hurtin'?, and another kiss, right under your ear. He waits for you to reply each time, before finally giving in and nuzzling the nape of your neck through your hair. 

He goes on, murmuring sweet nothings when you whine and he can’t pinpoint if it’s from pleasure or your body aches.

“That's it, love,” he whispers, coaxing moans from your lips as his fingers guide you closer and closer to the edge. Steadfast on your clit, he keeps a rhythm he knows will crack through you—break the mould of stiff muscles and sore skin.

Your orgasm catches the breath in your throat. It almost stings, burning through you in waves that stem from your sex and ripple in all directions.

Until your body undulates with it, pressing back into his. Until your voice follows suit too, cracking gently as you bite into the thickness of his forearm to keep quiet.

Simon’s panting against your shoulder like he came as well. It’s impossible not to notice the girth of his cock indenting the fat of your ass, how deliciously hard he is just because he’s touched you so thoroughly.

It gets you drunk on power to know how little it takes for you to do that to him.

His lips are pursed in a kiss ardently left to the crook of your neck. You feel the wetness of it, the heat seeping through your much hotter skin. His fingers slow down, until soft circles turn into mere flicks on your clit that gently drag your consciousness back into your body, back into his arms.

“Alrigh'?” He murmurs to the skin of your neck, as he huffs from his nose to balance his breathing.

“Mhmh,” you reply absentmindedly, still foggy and dipped in a dreamy state.

Gingerly, the hand buried in your knickers travels to your waist, leaving a wet trail that slowly dries up—from the curls on your pelvis all the way to your hip. He pinches you softly.

“Can I fuck you?” He asks.

In response, you press your ass to where he’s waiting for you.

“Yes, please—yes.” You say, not bothering to veil your willingness. 

If your bones weren’t aching, you’d let him fold you like cheap paper. Knees to your ears and all.

Simon’s fingers tug down your pants and knickers at the same time, exposing the burning skin of your ass to the air. Even under the duvet and pressed against him, everything feels so unbelievably fresh—it’s utter relief that has you softening against his chest. 

Relief that ratchets up when you feel the head of his cock glide seamlessly through your slit, causing you to grind your hips backwards each time it catches your swollen clit.

His tongue lavishes the skin of your neck, distracting you from the pleasurable pain of the stretch as he comfortably slides in. You feel your muscles tighten around him, as your nails dig into his arm wrapped around your waist.

But Simon’s the one who seems most out of his element, for once.

“Jesus fucking Christ, love.” He breathes heavily to your shoulders. His voice doesn’t even sound like him.

The hand around your waist grabs a handful of your clothes, fabric bulging within the grooves of his fingers, while the one extended under your neck fists the pillow until his knuckles paint white.

“F-fuck—you’re burnin’ up.” He croaks, burying his face against the back of your head. “Bloody hell—fuckin’ melting me down ‘ere.”

He tries to move but his voice cracks in a moan before he stops completely. More muted curses leave him.

“Fuckin’ hell you feel good.” He pants, voice so breathy you can barely hear him, and you wonder if he’s talking to you at all. “S’ so fuckin’ hot.”

He stays stock still inside of you, hips flush to your ass. 

But you’re as cheeky as they come, and he should know that already.

Which is why you move, canting your hips until you can feel him slide out of you, and then back in.

“Fuck, no—sto—"

Simon grunts. Chokes on it. 

One flick of your ass has him unravel. He cums inside of you with a quick snap of his hips to meet yours, and the slap of flesh against flesh would be loud if it weren’t for how strong his groan is. 

For how much he’s filling you up, buried to the hilt until you swear you can almost feel him throbbing in your stomach.

Simon hides in the crook of your neck, holding on tight with a stiff arm curled around your belly. You can feel his heartbeat thunder against yours, as if merging together—erratic and unsteady.

It takes him a while to recover, to catch his breath. You coax him out of his bubble gently, threading your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp until you feel him deflate behind you with a sigh.

“Bit of a cunt move, that.” He mumbles, but there’s no bite in his voice.

You smile. Somehow the aches in your body soften up, and you feel like floating on a cloud.

“Well, I'd say you didn't mind much,” you say innocently.

He snorts.

A hand lands blindly on your face, and he gives it a good scramble until you’re chuckling in his palm. You easily recognize that as his way to sneakily check for your temperature, while masking it as a playful jab.

“Sorry,” you feel compelled to say, though your voice is muffled by his hand.

And then he nuzzles your shoulder, planting a fat kiss on your neck. 

“S’alrigh’,” he says softly. “Saved us from a third-degree burn, after all. Gotta thank you for tha'."

You burst into a laugh that he catches with his mouth—his fingers already curled around your jaw, turning your head his way before you can utter another word.

Your laughter seeps through your lips onto his, vibrating until his cheeks curl into a smile of his own.

Infectious, like your stupid flu.

Because the next morning, Simon wakes up with a terrible sore throat, though he doesn’t feel as annoyed as he thought he'd be.

In fact, he decides being sick can't be that bad, when you make it feel this good.

Even if now you're both cranky, feverish, and all.

[phantasm-ae]

cw: afab reader x ghost, suggestive writing, short fluff

HEADCANON: Part 2 of getting Simon the bunny. Bastard’s got a name now too >:(((

PAIRING: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

The following weeks are a slow blur of adjustment.

Bruises fading. Bite marks healing, and a very pissed off rabbit slowly claiming corners of the apartment like it's been owed to him in blood. Yep, definitely Simon

Simon doesn’t talk much about it. Doesn't really complain or comment.

Not about the mess the big fluffy bloke was leaving behind.

Not the gnawing.

Not the new holes in all the corners of your slippers. Fuck! Were those your birks?!

Not the constant pebbled poop littered about. Especially since you know that the rabbit was house-trained!

Making a mess of things, solely, to probably just get a rise out of you.

And yet. Not a word from Simon.

He’d just track the carnage with those dark, unreadable eyes, crouch down when he thought no one was watching, and wordlessly shift the rabbit away from electrical cords like he wasn’t two seconds from catching your apartment on fire. Not a complaint. Not even a grunt.

You’d caught him once -- mid-mission, apparently -- in the middle of the night with his mask pulled up a bit. A sliver of his skin showing underneath the soft glow of the lamps across the living room. The ambience almost poetic with these two stoic, brooding, hulking, and massive bastards bonding. Simon cradling the weighty bugger like a rugby ball while muttering “You’re a menace, you know that?” under his breath.

And the bunny?

for his part, looked smug. Motherfucker

Like he'd won.

Which, to be fair, he had.

It wasn't even a week later that you spotted one of Simon’s old t-shirts folded into a corner like a makeshift nest -- threadbare and ragged in that way only years of war and trauma could wear a thing down. You didn’t put it there.

Neither did you suggest the low tray of water under the radiator. Or the small stack of carrots in the fridge that didn’t match your last grocery run. Okay... you definitely did not put it there.

It was like living with two ghosts.

One flesh and blood, the other fur and malice.

Both annoyingly territorial.

And the kicker? Simon still refused to call him anything but Bunny.

You’d asked him once -- half-joking, half-pleading -- “You seriously couldn’t come up with anything else? Like, I don’t know... Tank? Goblin? Chairman Mao?”

Simon just stared at you over his mug. “Name’s fine.”

“You named your old German shepherd Riley, Si.”

He shrugged. “And this one’s Bunny.”

You groaned. “You are the most unimaginative, emotionally stunted--”

“Oi,” he cut in, scruffing you by the neck. Palm heavy and grip tight.

Squeezing just enough that your breath hitches and you pause. All the words immediately dying in your throat at that. Core pulsing instinctively.

“Know I don’t like it when you talk back to me like that birdie”, he drawls out softly. Voice taunting. Testing. Baiting you to bite.

You don’t.

Made docile you were by him and him alone

“‘sides. He looks like a Bunny. You said so yourself.”, he continues after letting you go

Which, okay, fine. You did. But that didn’t mean you expected both your houseguests to respond with the same eerie stillness and side-eye whenever you raised your voice. Only difference is that the other is too short to keep you in your place like Simon would.

It’s dumb. Basic. Incredibly on brand.

A few more days pass and you try — you really don’t— not to bring it up again, but it bubbles out anyway. “You really named the bunny ‘Bunny?’”

Simon grunts, more unbothered now. Likes it better when you ask rather than bite. Good girl you were after all. “Could’ve been worse.”

So you really shouldn’t be surprised.

Still, you let out a soft giggle into your cup of tea another morning watching Simon -- with all his skull hoodies and combat boots and scarred knuckles --bend down just enough to offer "Bunny" a piece of apple like he’s feeding a war criminal on house arrest.

“You’re really sticking with Bunny?”

Simon doesn’t even look up. Bored.

Tired

Annoyed that you kept bringing his naming-skills up. “He’s got a name. He comes when I call it. You want a fuckin' certificate?”

You smirk, biting into your toast. “I want to see you explain that to your team.”

He snorts, dry and unimpressed. “They don’t ask about my personal life.”

And thank god for that, because if they did, he’d have to explain why there’s a muscle-rat of a rabbit sitting smugly between his thighs on the couch, demanding attention like a fuzzy little demon spawn.

Simon reaches out absently, running a hand down the rabbit’s back in a surprisingly tender stroke.

“Good lad, Bunny,�� he murmurs.

And for a moment -- just a moment -- you think maybe it’s not such a stupid name after all.

Sometimes, you’d swear they were communicating telepathically. Bonded by the same quiet rage and history of chewing through whatever got too close.

God help you.

Yep. You were living with two Simons

Only difference is that one of them shits in a box and the other shits on your peace of mind.

<3 001

masterlist

[himasgod]

HIII I SAW YOU HAVE REQUESTS OPEN AND I WANTED TO REQUEST :>>

idon't know if your comfortable with this but can i request twst 2nd years (replace kalim with leona) and what they do if their s/o is gone?

their s/o is dead so i wonder how they would mourn, how they take care of their s/o's grave, and how they cope without them?

i don't know if you accept requests like these but if you do then THANK YOU SO SO SOOO MUCH IN ADVANCE 🙏💕

SECOND YEARS + LEONA X READER

Where you died

How the boys would live the mourning process, how they take care of your grave, and how they cope without your death, with a live without you

Warning: This is hard angst. If you're a very perceptive person who visualizes a lot or empathizes with what you read, be prepared for a bit of a tear.

Leona acts like he doesn’t care. At first. But deep down, he’s unraveled. He doesn’t cry in front of anyone. He shuts down. He sleeps even more, not out of laziness— because he can only see you in dreams now. There’s a rawness behind his eyes when your name is mentioned, but he covers it with silence. He avoids people because he hates how they look at him—with pity, like they expect him to break. He already did. Just not where anyone could see it.

Leona visits your grave late at night, always when no one's around. He doesn’t bring flowers. Instead, he sits in silence, talking to you about the mundane. “Ruggie got on my case again. Jack pissed me off.” Things like that. Sometimes, he brings pebbles from Savannaclaw and stacks them on your grave. Small tokens that only he would understand. He leaves when the sun starts to rise. Always before anyone can catch him there.

Leona tells himself it’s better this way—that he was only going to ruin you in the end. That you were too good for him. But that doesn’t stop the grief from choking him. He keeps something small of yours—a ring, a scarf, maybe a notebook with your handwriting. On bad days, he holds it so tightly his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t move on. He just becomes colder, harsher. Your loss is the scar he never lets heal.

Riddle shuts down entirely. He doesn't cry—not at first. He goes numb. Rules become his lifeline. Structure. Order. Anything but feeling. But when he finds the last gift you gave him, tucked in a drawer, unopened—he collapses. He screams into his pillow. Breaks a teacup in his hands. Grief terrifies him because it's messy—and Riddle was taught to fear mess.

Riddle brings roses. Red, white, and blue—each carefully arranged. He memorizes the upkeep schedule of your grave, ensuring it’s spotless at all times. He even files complaints if the groundskeepers neglect it. When he visits, he reads aloud to you—poetry, or books you once loved. His voice is quiet. On your birthday, he always brings your favorite tea and pours a cup beside your grave. He doesn’t drink. Just… waits, in case you’re still listening.

Riddle reverts into old habits—strict routines, harsh punishments, stricter rules. But Trey knows. He sees the way Riddle’s hands shake. Eventually, Riddle softens—just a little. He keeps your photo on his desk, and he sometimes writes letters addressed to you, even though he never sends them. He studies healing magic obsessively. Not because he wants to bring you back—he knows he can’t. But because he never wants to lose someone like that again. You were his exception. His rebellion. His first real love. And he never quite recovers.

Floyd doesn’t react the way people expect. He laughs when he hears the news—but it’s not happy. It’s empty. Then he gets violent. He wrecks an entire hallway, shattering windows and breaking anything that reminds him of you. Then… he’s just gone. He withdraws so deeply into himself that not even Jade or Azul can reach him. He stops showing up to class. Stops smiling. The spark in his eyes is just gone. He mutters your name to himself like a lullaby.

Floyd doesn’t go often. When he does, it’s erratic. One day he’s calm, sitting by your grave with seashells and pearls he found. The next, he’s yelling at the sky, sobbing, asking why you left him alone. He presses his forehead to your headstone sometimes and just stays there for hours. Then he leaves, mood unreadable, but always more exhausted than before.

Floyd changes. He becomes moodier, but not in his usual way. He loses interest in his usual chaos. You were the one who made the world interesting, after all. He keeps something of yours in his jacket—maybe your old hairpin or bracelet—and clutches it when he’s angry or lost. When people ask about you, he snaps: “Don’t talk about them. Ever.” Sometimes, though, he swears he hears your laughter. And for a fleeting second, he smiles like he used to.

Silver is devastated, and it shows. He’s always been calm and emotionally steady, but your death shakes him to his core. He loses his rhythm—his duty falters, his naps grow deeper and longer. He wakes up crying from dreams where you’re still alive, only to remember you’re gone. His voice is softer now, as if anything louder might shatter him. He carries guilt. “Why couldn’t I protect you?” is a question that haunts him endlessly.

Silver visits your grave with quiet reverence. He brushes fallen leaves off the headstone with his hands, tends to the flowers, and replaces them often with lilies or whatever blooms you once loved. He kneels when he speaks to you, as if he still guards you even in death. He reads aloud fairytales you liked, letting the wind carry his words to wherever you might be. Silver doesn't rush. He stays until the stars come out. And sometimes he sleeps there. It's the closest he'll ever get to falling asleep cuddled up with you again.

Silver keeps a locket with your photo, tucked inside his shirt near his heart. He often touches it absentmindedly when lost in thought. Lilia, Sebek and Malleus worry about him, and while he remains gentle with them, there’s a sadness behind his smile. Silver believes you’re watching over him—so he tries to live a life you’d be proud of. It hurts. But that belief keeps him moving, one step at a time.

Ruggie pretends he’s okay. He makes jokes, forces a grin, but those who know him well notice the cracks—he laughs less, steals less, works more. He throws himself into being useful cause if he stops moving, the grief catches up. The first time he’s alone after your funeral, he breaks down hard. Punches a wall. Screams into his jacket. It’s the only time he lets himself fall apart.

Ruggie doesn’t visit often at first—not because he doesn’t care, but because it hurts too much. When he does, he always brings something: your favorite snack, some charm from the Sunset Savanna, a scrap of cloth from a hoodie you loved. He never stays long. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, voice low: “Hey… bet you’re still yelling at me from wherever you are. I can hear it.… I miss it.”

Ruggie becomes fiercely protective of the few people he has left. He values life more now, but laughs a little less. He keeps your last voice message in Magicam saved and listens to it sometimes under the covers at night. When he sees something you would’ve loved at the market, he stops and stares for a moment—then keeps walking. The pain never really fades. But he carries it like everything else: close to his chest, never letting it show unless he’s completely alone.

Azul is shattered, but he tries to intellectualize it. He tries to convince himself that grief can be processed in logical steps, denial, anger, bargaining. But that doesn’t stop him from breaking down in private, clutching the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn blue, trying to breathe through the panic of a world without you. He continues running the Mostro Lounge like nothing’s wrong. His smile is still polished. But behind the scenes? Azul can’t look at your favorite seat in the lounge without feeling like he’s drowning.

Azul dresses impeccably every time he visits your grave. It becomes a ritual He brings white roses, and small trinkets he made with his own hands. He kneels, brushing dust from your name. Sometimes his voice breaks. Sometimes he just sits in silence and lets the tears fall.

Azul spirals into overwork. He tries to fill the void you left with achievements, contracts—anything. But nothing is enough. He keeps your photo in the drawer of his desk, opens it during long nights, and murmurs to it like you’re still there. Jade and Floyd know. They say nothing, but keep a close eye on him. Azul never quite recovers. He simply learns how to live with a heart that echoes where your voice used to be.

Jamil becomes frighteningly quiet. His grief is organized, sharp, disciplined—he doesn’t lash out, but everything about him becomes colder. Internally, he’s drowning in guilt. He feels responsible somehow. He replays everything over and over, looking for what he missed. He doesn’t cry in front of others. But late at night, he folds your old letters and clothes, tears soaking into his palms.

Jamil treats your grave like a shrine. Every week, he brings fresh desert roses, cleans the stone, and places small food offerings from his own cooking—your favorites, made exactly the way you liked them. He never talks to you there. Instead, he meditates in silence beside the grave. Maybe he believes the words are already in his heart, or maybe it just hurts too much to speak them aloud.

Jamil becomes obsessed with control—over his routine, his environment, his emotions. He starts studying harder, sleeping less, doing more. But it’s all a way to avoid facing the pain. He wears a bracelet you once gave him and never takes it off. On the anniversary of your death, he disappears from everyone for a full day. Only Kalim knows where he goes—and he never asks questions. Jamil's grief is silent, disciplined, and buried deep. But it never leaves him.

Kalim doesn't understand it at first. He smiles, thinking you'll come through the door like always, calling his name. The reality doesn't hit until days later—when your laugh no longer echoes, when your perfume fades from his robes. Then he breaks. Not in fury, in grief so raw it silences even him. He curls up in bed, weeping into your favorite pillow, begging for it to be a dream

Kalim visits every week, rain or shine. He brings lavish flower arrangements, little handmade crafts, and occasionally food—things he learned to cook because you liked them. He talks a lot while sitting by your grave. Sometimes he cries. Other times, he smiles while telling stories, like he’s making sure your spirit is still included in his life.

Kalim throws himself into making others smile. If he can’t be happy, at least someone else can be. But deep down, there’s a hollowness. He wears a ring you once gave him—tells people it’s “for luck,” but it’s really a promise he’s trying to keep: To never forget you. Jamil ends up watching over him more carefully than ever. Kalim still laughs, still shines, but there’s a sadness behind it that never quite goes away

Jade’s grief is clinical, almost surgical in how neatly he tucks it away from others. No one sees him cry. No one sees him falter. He mourns in silence, in isolation. He’ll continue his duties, serve in the Lounge, smile with those sharp teeth—but inside, he’s completely quietly broken. His calm becomes eerie because there’s no balance anymore. Not without you.

Jade visits your grave with ritualistic precision. Once a month, on the same day, at the same time. He brings rare mushrooms, a flower you loved... He speaks rarely, if at all. He stays until nightfall, then vanishes like he was never there.

Jade becomes more elusive. Even Floyd can’t always read him. Jade starts going into deeper and more dangerous places, almost like he’s looking for something he lost. He keeps your memory alive through action—keeping what you loved alive in the world. But he never talks about you unless someone dares to ask… and if they do, he just smiles. A sad, secret smile. “You wouldn’t understand.”

[saphiccarma]

I want to request 1 and 6 from smut prompt list no. 3 for AgathaxReader

Maybe the mirror is on the ceiling and Agatha at some point of the marathon uses an enchanted strap

funsies :P

A shudder runs through your body as your hands strain against the rope tying you to the headboard. Mouth parted to let little gasps and moans out, you maintain eye contact with yourself. Agatha's fingers work in and out of your cunt, teasing you at a torturous pace.

You look away from the mirror on the ceiling and she stops.

It gives you a bird’s eye view of yourself, spread out on the bed. Sweat slicks your hair back, making it cling to your forehead and cheeks. Your chest heaves up and down, nipples pebbled from the cool air and the occasional brush of Agatha's mouth.

There's a dozen marks left along your chest, already blossoming purple and sticking out against your skin - a result of her lips and teeth. The trail spreads outwards all the to your jaw and past your tummy, stopping at your thighs.

Curling her fingers inside you, Agatha tilts your chin up when you start to glance at her, "Eyes on yourself baby," She stills her fingers, a reminder of what happened if you didn't listen, "Look at how pretty you are when I fuck you."

You manage a shaky nod, brain turned to mush for how long you'd been going. It'd been forever, or at least it felt like it, since the two of you started. Since Agatha had tied you up, her deft fingers wrapping the soft rope around your wrists.

"Good girl," she praises, starting to move once again. You see white flash in front of your eyes as she shoves her fingers nice and deep inside of you, knuckles slapping against your dripping folds. You look like a wreck as you keep your eyes locked onto the mirror.

You'd been teetering on the edge for a while, so close to falling over but she keeps you torturously balanced. The pad of her thumb circles your clit faster than she'd gone before and a ragged moan falls from your lips. Rocking your hips to match her pace you feel another orgasm approaching, desperately hoping it doesn't get ruined.

The brink of pleasure is approaching rapidly and Agatha still doesn't pull away. You take that as silent permission to come, back arching as your hands strain against their binds and you writhe against her fingers. Agatha lets out a low groan, her fingers working you through your orgasm with the same quick pace.

She doesn't stop until you're whining and begging for her to, incoherent pleas spilling from your lips. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror and you look pathetic, eyes dazed with sweat dripping down your face as you heave.

"You look so pretty," Agatha murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, "I bet you'd look even better on my cock."

Her fingers slip out of you, making you whimper softly, but she snaps the slender digits. Purple mist evaporates from her hips and your eyes widen at the sight of what's appeared. A wide, girthy strap, probably the biggest you'd ever taken before.

She smirks at your reaction and cups your chin so that you look her in the eyes, "I've enchanted it. Gonna feel everything, just like you."

A fresh wave of arousal crashes over you as she taps the tip to your entrance, the..toy? Whatever it was, was leaking with precum, mixing with the sticky strands of your arousal. Just the slightest bit of her cock slides into you and you gasp sharply.

"Aggie," the words are a plea, "It's gonna be too big."

She taps your chin, forcing you to look up at the mirror again.

"You can take it."

Her hips snap forward, burying herself to the hilt, fingers digging into your hips. Just like before, a brutal pace is set as she pounds into you. The two of you moan in tandem, small gasps and obscene sounds filling the room.

The ridges of her strap grind along your walls with each stroke. With a bruising grip on your jerking hips, Agatha keeps you pinned to the bed, "Look at the mirror," she growls, "See how fucking beautiful you look wrapped around my cock."

You hadn't even realized your eyes were shut until you force them open, staring up at the glassy reflection. It's a struggle to keep your eyes there as your orgasm approaches rapidly, faster than the one before and you can feel the pressure building in your stomach.

"You feel so good," Agatha moans, her head tossing back, "Fuck baby girl."

The words have you whimpering, and that's all you need to tip over the edge, coming all over her toy. She scoffs at how quickly you came and doesn't let up on her pace, instead quickening even more, desperate to orgasm herself.

With a few more deep thrusts, Agatha's groaning loudly as her fingernails dig into your skin. You can feel her cum filling you up, leaking out of the toy like it was real. A warm feeling settles low in your stomach as you look away from the mirror, away from your blissed out face.

"Round three?" Agatha grins widely, not looking even the slightest bit tired.

[delicrieux]

…TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS ! ⋆｡°✩

⋆⭒˚.⋆ chapter summary. spending a week taking care of fushiguro... how bad could that be?

pairing. gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader warnings for this chapter. swearing wc. 5.2k author’s note. in this story, we use first names in text when reader feels emotionally connected to the person xoxo and that's on stylistics

ੈ ✩‧₊˚

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CHAPTER 10: fushiguro megumi's week-long suspension

“i can’t believe it has come to this…” you utter, squint, and try seeing past the unrelenting glare of the july sun. gojo, always nearby, kicks a pebble, looking much more like an elementary kid rather than the one you are going to pick up.

moody, blushing, shoulders slouched and head hung; he says nothing because he tried saying something five minutes ago when you repeated yourself, but a sharp look and a displeased pinch of your lips made him promptly shut up. where was this deference when he was making your life a living hell while you begged him to leave you alone? at this point, you might tell him to jump and he’d land on pluto, if only you weren’t glaring at him anymore.

you shake your head and tut, “absolutely unbelievable.”

“oh god, please, spare me,” he grumbles, shoving a hand out of his pocket only to offer it to you.

you examine it. unappealing, “sweaty.”

the way he instantly scowls at you could be adorable, if you weren’t so irked. your bingo list for the summer, or ever, really, didn’t include attending a parent-teacher conference about an unruly seven year old that’s not even yours. fushiguro megumi keeps breaking toys and beating up his classmates – detention, teacher’s notes (which gojo did not read), extra homework, and a one on one with the parent (which gojo did not attend) did not work. a public trial is all that’s left, and even this would have slipped through gojo’s fingers. the notice arrived a week ago, but gojo neglected to check his email, and he missed the whole of 5 calls before yaga-sensei was informed of his outstanding failure as fushiguro’s legal guardian.

you shake your head again, almost closing your eyes – it’s too bright and too hot, and you think you hear the sidewalk sizzling, and maybe this is one of those days you shouldn’t be outside at all, “still can’t believe it…”

you wouldn’t be doing your duty as a concerned citizen if you weren’t even attempting to guilt-trip him into oblivion. you had plans today anyway, namely melting into your mattress or heaving by the conditioner, but he has ruined them all by asking you to come along. why didn’t you just say no? maybe because he looked especially miserable.

maybe because…

*

"here, give me that," your fingers curl over his tie, straightening the knot and smoothing it out. the inside of fushiguro’s school is thankfully cool, "is this really necessary though?"

"how do i look?"

"well...good?" your answer doesn't satisfy him much because he reaches for his hair and runs a hand, as if that will do him any favors. it doesn't. you wince and adjust the strands.

"like a respectable adult?" he is still wearing his shades, a necessary evil in the afternoon sun, even within these pale walls.

"that's a stretch."

he frowns, "not helping. the hell, i dressed nicely and everything,"

"not sure how a tie and an untucked shirt is 'nice' exactly, but okay,"

"you are so bossy," gojo has a small, pitiable expression on his face, and he's got it bad. he'd better; there's a ton of disgruntled parents lining the corridor of the conference room, and though this doesn't involve you in the least, they stare a little too hard as if you're the problem. you find you can't meet anyone's gaze directly.

"anyway," you squeeze his forearm, which feels nice – soft, his muscles yielding under the fabric – "keep it together,"

he doesn't, really, "this blows.”

"will you keep it together?"

"you're going in with me," his knuckles rap a rapid, anxious beat over his knee. he is seated and not happy, and you can't help noticing how big he is compared to the other men milling in the room, but most of all, how stupid and incompetent. it makes your heart patter in your chest.

"didn't agree to that. why do i have to?"

"because," he glares, "i'll tell them you're the mom."

he's lost it. your arms cross and your brow flattens. you take a few seconds to regard him before giving your answer.

"satoru, don’t they know you're, like, a step-dad?"

"i'm the dad that stepped up."

"seriously?"

"technicality."

"you pay the utility bills," you whisper back, annoyed.

"i'll tell them it's your biological child if you don't go in with me," he threatens.

the tips of his ears have turned a telltale pink, and even he notices, ducking his head and leaning further against the wall. when his leg won't stop bobbing, and he keeps the nervous tapping going, your heart sinks, "satoru," he really has you hook, line, and sinker, because you falter faced with his obvious distress. you didn't expect him to be this nervous, since he's always so carefree, "you..." he looks so very uncomfortable and unhappy in his white button up, which is a bit crumped, mind you, "oh, what the hell. fine."

"thank god."

the faculty makes an appearance, but not one person recognizes him. a brief discussion and introductions later, the room is emptied save the offended parents, the teacher, you, and gojo.

adults can be scary, but your job involves cursed spirits, and those are much scarier than a disgruntled salaryman will ever be.

what is more terrifying than a cursed spirit or a perturbed father trying to lynch gojo with his glare is a scorned mother. you try to not shrink into yourself as she points an accusing finger, as if you've committed the crime alongside fushiguro, "explain yourselves! what kind of parenting is this!?"

if you were sweating before, well, now you're really sweating. you and gojo share a quick, worried glance before the faculty intervenes to give an account of fushiguro. she must have some kind of hearing impairment because she yells, "young parents these days, treating their children so dismissively!"

it would be highly unadvisable and probably a very bad idea to mention the circumstances by which gojo is legally fushiguro's ward, or the fact that he's neither your biological son nor your son at all, and luckily, gojo is smart enough not to disclose any of that. no, what he says is so much worse, "i can assure you that we provide all the attention and care in the world for our son!"

it takes your mind a second to fully comprehend that, yes, he has, in fact, said 'we' and 'son' in the same sentence, and then his hand comes to clutch and yank you painfully over so that you're sitting half on the edge of his chair, "tell her!"

and the room falls deadly quiet for a few moments, which you use wisely to consider: first, kicking gojo right where it counts, and second, bolting for the nearest exit.

the silence is stifling, "err... yes, we take care of him."

"are you even out of college?!" the woman is flaring red with anger.

this isn't exactly your proudest moment, or his, and you can feel your legs shake, and how is it possible that gojo's arm, slung around your waist, is steady and strong, "we're not, but we're, we’re doing the best we can."

when the hell did you become so willing to dive into danger for a man? you'd never met such a troublemaker, and yet, here you are, listening to gojo tell the concerned parent in a voice far more confident than it had been just seconds ago, "you need not concern yourself, ma'am. we take care of megumi every single day and provide a nurturing, homey, and responsible environment for him. and we also love him very much. he and his sister. which we love. right, dear?"

and that’s your cue, “yes. my children. very well behaved.”

"he broke my son's nose!"

"did he deserve it?" gojo quips.

"no!"

he sighs. you eye the door longingly.

"i'll pay the medical bills."

*

the heat's less severe when you leave. a suspension.

with fushiguro safe and collected from his classes, the three of you stroll back to jujutsu technical. gojo lets him lead and you lag, half embarrassed, a third disinterested, and two thirds disheartened that you're now seriously involved with someone like gojo satoru, that this is your life. god, that whole experience was so bad, and his word vomit was the cherry on the shittiest cake you've had in a long time.

you are still, quite frankly, mortified. you know that gojo was talking out of his ass because explaining the real situation would actually make it look even worse than a case of young and stupid parents, but it somehow unnerved you greatly.

this is none of your concern. or it shouldn't be, at the very least. but it's making you consider the distant future and wrangle with the question of – do you want to get married? do you want to have children? such a line of thinking is unacceptable for many reasons, namely that you don't, and you're young, and you'd rather not die with any false hopes in place, because it's likely you'll never reach past your mid-20s and be with someone you actually would want to start a family with.

the city is hazy and humid, the people around appear sluggish. a vendor sells a bunch of sweet watermelons by the street. gojo stops to buy some slices for the three of you, and fushiguro accepts his reluctantly.

then, he marches onward, gloomy as always.

"megumiiiin," and gojo is right on his tail, wiggling his fingers in what's supposed to be an invitation, "let's hold hands."

"no."

"come on, i got you a week-long vacation," he insists.

"it's a suspension!" you hiss, chewing.

gojo glances back. shrugs, "eh."

fushiguro drags his feet, his chin tucked into the front of his uniform's collar, black bangs shifting messily and sticking over his eyes, "m'not apologizing."

"don't, you got good aim," gojo says wisely.

fushiguro offers gojo nothing else to say. the awkward and mortifying experience is, for him, nonexistent. he doesn't know what happened behind those doors, and he shouldn't to preserve his innocence.

for the remainder of the walk, he trudges forward without uttering another word, or without once turning back. the way he's sulking and putting distance between you, however, makes the unpleasant feeling linger a bit longer than it should, though there's really nothing you can do.

once he's already making his way to his temporary lodging, you call out, "ne, megumi," and his footsteps cease immediately. he turns about and stares expectantly, "do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

"...no."

gojo watches you with sharp interest as you try not to bend under the pressure of both of their gazes, "well," you try, sounding a bit shy, "in that case, would you like to go shopping with me? i could use the company."

silence. the awkwardness from the earlier meeting hangs heavy, until fushiguro seems to recover and crosses his arms, mouth set a little firmly, "i have to finish my homework."

what a horrible excuse.

"we could visit the arcade and get slushies," you say, feeling a bit more confident since he seems to be cracking.

he narrows his eyes, considering his options. then, with a very pronounced scowl, "is he going?"

gojo perks, having been slouching listlessly with a grimace, "oh! me? sure, i'll be there," he even beams, the prick, while fushiguro gives him a deadpan stare.

"oh, no no," you try to rectify quickly, "satoru isn't going," and you jab your elbow into his side, sunny smile and all, "you're busy tomorrow, remember?"

gojo frowns. then he pouts. then, he looks annoyed. but finally, he looks away and says, "yeah, right. i am. totally forgot. so busy."

"figured," fushiguro hums, shrugs a little and says, "sure."

"awesome," you grin, feeling somehow very lucky, "it's a date!"

"not a date!" gojo declares.

fushiguro stomps through the door, his entire demeanor shifting entirely from apathetic to downright irritated, muttering, "you two are weird."

and then he's gone. the door creaks shut behind his small frame.

"it's a date?" gojo parrots, giving you a look.

"oh, don't be mad. it's just fun teasing him," you smile a little sheepishly, tugging him along to the direction of your dorm room.

he matches your pace, steps becoming slower. his arm is warm around your back.

*

“you don’t offer to hang out often,” coming from fushiguro, it sounds less of an observation and more like a thinly veiled accusation. you give pause.

true to your word, you have taken him to get slushies and some light shopping after a stop at the aquarium, which he enjoyed the most because it was quiet and the room felt never-ending.

for a kid, fushiguro is too perceptive, too grumpy, too. you hadn't expected that your presence could be missed, or even desired, since it was so rare to see him when he wasn’t on college grounds. with his sister still at summer camp, he doesn’t have anywhere else to stay. the two of them living alone with semi-regular visits from gojo is already wildly weird and unsafe, and leaving him by himself in the apartment was out of the question.

maybe you should have invited him earlier. he must be so lonely.

"mm. s'always busy with jujutsu studies," you tell him a bit shamefully.

a tic twitches underneath his eye. he finishes his cherry-red drink in two long gulps before taking you up the escalator to his favorite candy store.

you hold his palm. he grips tight but releases hastily as though embarrassed the second the mom and pops duo in their late fifties make a aaaw sound at you two. you almost throw your electric blue slushie at them – the workup to this very moment had been nothing short of arduous. the old man and woman look absolutely infatuated.

you will have to try to sneakily hold his hand again, under the pretenses of safety or whatever, even if you’re fairly certain fushiguro would beat up a kidnapper if it ever came down to it.

he dives straight for the large jar that has the 'bullet gums' printed on the container. he holds it up, and somehow, he's more of a little kid than the angry gremlin he usually is in gojo's presence. you have to battle with yourself to not fish out your phone and snap a million pictures.

"so cute..." you mutter under your breath.

you don't think it reaches his ears until his forehead wrinkles into an offended scowl, but he doesn't say anything as he goes on picking and tossing the good ones in his basket.

"how much money do you have?" fushiguro looks at your purse suspiciously.

you’re a bit affronted – maybe he and gojo do have a lot more in common than anyone would suspect, because this child has just called you poor.

"ehh, don't worry,” maybe you should be worried for the future generation and their manners, “satoru gave me his card, so you can buy anything you want.”

fushiguro scowls. he sets down the bulging bag on the floor beside him, and looks away from you, "...i don't want anything."

you blink and peer at the selection of items. it will likely be a hefty sum, but nothing too egregious. fushiguro picked his candy with care, and you note that it’s mostly sour things.

“but it looks tasty,” you say, and you mean it, even if you prefer sugar on sugar atop liquid sugar.

“no.”

you ponder for a second what might have made him so upset so suddenly. you hum. time for some mathematics. fushiguro hates gojo, gojo is sponsoring this outing, which, maybe, somehow equals fushiguro wanting to spend time with gojo, hence, fushiguro is grumpy and probably wants to go home.

you feel like 2 + 2 = 5 since you’ve uncovered one more piece of information.

well, this is a problem. you raise an eyebrow. how does one deal with an upset seven year old? you think you’ve been doing good so far, but it’s only because fushiguro was in a good mood and somehow tolerable of your presence. suppose you'll have to play by his rules. suppose you can do that, or at the very least try.

slowly, you take the bag. then, you extend your hand to him, "we could try maxing out satoru's card – doesn't that sound fun?"

he furrows his brow and looks like he's having a bad idea. slowly, hesitantly, his tiny palm comes to land in yours, fingers slotting, and then you are both making your way to the counter.

the next spot you visit is a bookstore.

"do you like reading?" you inquire curiously.

a shrug. you assume he's shy, so you let it pass, instead picking up a few manga. they seem popular these days, and maybe you’ll actually have some free time to read it before missions swamp you and you’re off to battle curses in the muggy heat.

meanwhile, fushiguro chooses a coloring book and a plethora of new, shiny markers.

"looks cool," you say.

"yeah," he agrees, and he seems happy. you would really like to take a picture right about now, but you swipe gojo’s credit card instead. you and fushiguro share a pleased look.

when you visit the food court, it’s already buzzing.

"let's get something to eat," you suggest. he nods, "pizza?"

"yes please."

you notice him getting a bit anxious when a large group of people move in front of the two of you, and without a word, your push him closer to your body as you shield him. he stiffens, but doesn't ask you to let go, and leans his head into the comfort.

that's sweet. too sweet. you resist the urge to melt down. god, this kid is growing on you like fungus. you can't believe how happy you are to be spending time with him. that this is actually happening, and you're not imagining any of it. you almost regret not doing this sooner. you feel stupid for being scared and skipping out before.

you might even, and this you find startling, put yourself through the whole ordeal with the parent-teacher conference again. only this time, you might be the one screaming and pointing fingers. what a cute kid.

when the person in front of you finally vacates a table, you squeeze into the tight space, but not before flagging down the server.

"is it just me, or does today feel like a celebration?" you ask him in the attempt of stirring conversation.

his bored eyes wander around, perhaps not finding the occasion anything special or remarkable. but then, with a nod, he says, "i guess."

that's as much enthusiasm as he's going to allow himself to show, and that is completely fine, you decide. you don't need him to pretend for the sake of pleasing you. you're just happy to be here, and you can't wait to tell gojo all about this in great detail. he'll be so jealous.

*

yes, gojo can get any michelin star meal delivered within the hour if he’s persistent and snooty enough. he might also be able to import something from korea in the timeframe it took you to decide on what to eat if fushiguro so much as implored he wanted anything. the real problem is that fushiguro does not want to eat anything touched by gojo’s hands or credit card – the outing being the only exception, as that was done with malicious intent to scam gojo out of more money than was necessary – and you think it’s not healthy to have a growing kid survive on the instant noodles and snacks you purchase from the convenience store.

the cafeteria food is alright, but it, too, lacks the nutrition needed for strong bones and a healthy immune system. you also were unable to find the allergens or a basic ingredients list on the food served there, and the cooks you inquired were suspiciously tight-lipped about it, which only left you pondering about what exactly you have been eating for the past three years.

that, and fushiguro seems to be missing his sister lately, who, apparently, made him food, or made food alongside him, but your newfound big sister instincts send you into a frenzy even imagining this child next to a sharp knife. he is way too independent. when you think of yourself being his age, you think your childhood was much more carefree.

a homecooked meal it is. only problem is that you’re not a great cook, and whatever you made you could only serve yourself because it was just mediocre enough to teeter on the scale of enjoyment, if it could be called that.

still, you were wrestled into an apron by a pest named gojo satoru, who dons a matching one but avoids the pots and pans and stays by the television with fushiguro, as he was made aware that whatever he touches will be promptly thrown into the trash.

you chop, and stir, and haughtily avoid the counter where you were propped up to be devoured by the same man throwing his head back and cackling at some painfully unfunny late night tv show. you catch your reflection in the sharp blade of a knife and pause for a moment.

so this is my life now, huh?

as expected, neither the presentation nor the actual food is up to fushiguro’s standards. it’s evident by the way he skeptically pokes the mess on his plate with his fork. the noodles are too crisp, the broccoli – burned. you might’ve gone overboard with the seasoning, and yes, you can wrangle a curse into submission, but you cannot prepare a decent dinner.

you wait for the verdict with your hands curled into your apron, like some maid about to be scolded by a temperamental prince.

when a minute passes of just examination, you thread carefully, “ne,” fix your best smile, tilt your head to the side even – this is beyond humiliating. nothing gojo has put you through could ever amount to the small curl of queasiness on fushiguro’s mouth, “how about we order food in?”

“i’ll pay!” comes gojo’s enthusiastic agreement. he even waves the remote around, like it’ll summon something delicious on the coffee table just like that.

fushiguro, faced with this unprecedented cheerfulness, stabs his dinner and eats without a word spared.

you stare. no, this can’t be good, you might give him food poisoning, “no, really. let’s order something edible.”

fushiguro chews thoughtfully before he answers, “…it’s edible.”

“liar!” gojo accuses.

“shut up!”

well. it doesn't go too badly, and after a while, gojo puts on a nature documentary as a peace offering, while you wash the dirty dishes and keep sending worried glances to a now placid fushiguro who dutifully finished his meal and has moved on to polishing the bowl clean.

and you can't help the sudden onslaught of fondness that fills you up as the warm water from the sink hits your fingers. this is oddly nice and comforting. it reminds you of the dinners you had back home, only they never were this late and you always pouted when having to wash your plate and utensils.

"eh," you almost drop the soapy spatula; your head ticks to the entrance of the dorm kitchen, and you see shoko leaning by the doorway before the smell of cigarette smoke reaches you. her eyes jump from your apron, to gojo sprawled on the couch, to fushiguro neatly folding a small towel, "feeling a bit left out. what's going on here?"

oh no. you feel your face heat all the way to your forehead. how incriminating, how do you even begin to explain this strange and off-putting development of your relationship with gojo?

maybe you should have told her as soon as it happened, but you didn't know how.

you wanted to, though. each time you meet shoko’s gaze, you had the overwhelming urge to come clean. you can’t phantom how criminals can lie to the police with a straight face, because you’re having significant trouble. what’s worse, it always felt like shoko knew anyway, somehow; that that information breached the kawakami-gojo bubble and bled into the common knowledge pool.

shoko always seemed so suspicious, and in this case, for good reason. now, suppose you don't have to explain anything at all.

gojo points at you with this thumb, "she can't cook for shit, you know that?"

"oh, yes," shoko hums, pleased, "know it too well. i won't need to use reverse on you, will i?"

"nah," he drawls, "think i'd eat that drivel? i'm not suicidal."

"hey!" you bristle.

fushiguro frowns and glares at the tuff of white hair peaking over the back of the couch, "it wasn't so bad."

and your anger vanishes, just like that. your honor has been defended by an seven year old, and now it's just a matter of having to bear with shoko's probing look and the telltale curve in her smile.

"ah, well, if megumi vouches for you, then maybe you've improved," shoko says sagely.

gojo snorts in clear disagreement. fushiguro scrunches his brow and purses his lips.

*

there’s definitely something somewhere written about proper bedtime, but being with fushiguro has made you sentimental about your childhood, and you recalled sneaking around at night to watch tv and having too much energy to sleep, even when you were tucked into your favorite blanket with your favorite stuffed toy under your armpit and read your favorite story.

so you take him to a pastry shop at near closing time, and smile particularly sweetly at the disgruntled cashier who just finished cleaning up. you feel a bit bad, but alas – a tasty treat is a tasty treat, and what is more, everything’s on discount, so you spend a generous amount to make sure fushiguro and you have enough to snack on all the way back to jujutsu tech and then some.

you also got some for gojo, despite how brattish he can be. the only reason he didn’t follow you here is because fushiguro had forbidden it, but even now, you’re not sure if you aren’t being monitored.

fushiguro bites into his colorful fish cookie and chews. the sky is already dimming, but there’s still plenty of people out and about, enjoying their summer. he keeps close, but doesn’t reach for your hand. you hadn’t been able to achieve your initial victory at the start of the week, but maybe you still have some time.

“you’re leaving for a mission,” he says after a pleasant silence, blunt as always. you try remembering if you were this honest when you were his age. certainly, you must’ve been more tactful. when your gaze flits to fushiguro, you find him disgruntled, an expression reminiscent of gojo when he doesn’t get something he wants.

it’s starkly similar, actually. a father that stepped up…

“it’s only for a few days,” you tell him, keeping your voice light in an effort to appease him, “i’ll be back before you know it. with souvenirs, too.”

a tic creases his brow as he seems to give the offer some serious contemplation. a couple of moments pass before, with a sharp huff, he mumbles a sour, "do as you like."

you manage a patient, "look forward to the present, hm?"

he is very stubborn and says nothing but chews with a little more fervor.

"maybe you want something specific? or would surprise be best?"

you hear a short sound of exasperation at that, and a shake of his head.

"no... you can choose, nee-san."

you nearly collapse. fushiguro, no, megumi, megumi hasn't ever been so malleable before; the things this boy has been doing to your heart must be against the law. it’s too precious, and so sweet it makes the glazed cinnamon bun grasped so tightly between your fingers taste bland. how could you ever recover? is it even worth bringing it up? just how much does megumi truly care about you to call you something so tender?

you have to swallow a disgusting ball of coo for the sake of everyone, namely megumi, who seems especially irritated, “…how about a plushy? or a phone accessory? satoru said he bought you a nice new model.”

your efforts do not go unnoticed. there is a gleam in his eyes, and his cheeks flush in pleasure.

"can..." his tone lowers, quiet, almost timid, "can i choose when you're back?"

there isn't a bone in your body strong enough to decline that.

"of course," you smile, "tell me when i should come back and i will."

a pair of small fingers come to grip your sleeve, hesitantly, shyly.

"the sooner, the better," he mumbles, glaring at the sidewalk, "so... be quick."

*

“’s stupid,” gojo grumbles, making himself comfortable on your bed instead of helping you pack your suitcase, “why you needa go, anyway?”

not him, too. christ, why are they ganging up on you?

you sigh, folding a sweater. it’ll likely be too warm to wear it, but you’ll take it just in case, “cuz yaga-sensei told me to?”

“coulda said no,” he answers stubbornly. you pause to stare him down.

if not for the sunglasses, he would be giving you the same look as megumi; a bit less angry, more passive aggressive.

he presses, the smirk fading, a sharp edge to his voice, not quite biting, not yet, "wanna stay and fuck a bit instead?"

god. the word makes your spine crawl with something familiar, or rather, a mix of emotions that is indescribable and difficult to disentangle; something close to exasperated fondness, perhaps.

but you shake your head, the weak protests die out on your lips, and he rolls over, sated, like a cat that had gotten its cream, "...you sure?"

"stop trying to seduce me," you snort, ignoring the lingering glance directed at your back.

"then you'd really miss your train."

"satoru."

"right, right..."

"go be annoying somewhere else."

a heavy exhale. you don't dare to turn because you hear the mattress creak and his footsteps drawing nearer.

the warmth envelops you easily, his hold is lazy, his mouth is by your ear, hot breath sending a shiver up your nape, "mean. and here i am, all ready and eager."

but his fingers linger on the waist of your shorts, just above the material. it's a small touch. noninvasive. you can feel him holding himself back.

"...'s gonna be too cold," gojo continues, quietly. he isn't helping, his nose nudging your hair, a soft kiss pressed below your earlobe, "in bed without you. who will i cuddle now?"

oh, damn him and the things he does and says. and that honey sweet voice of his, teasing you.

but you won't fall for his tricks, "well, it won't be forever. you won't even notice i'm gone."

and he laughs. like he's telling himself not to show his irritation at you dismissing him so easily, "always notice," he mumbles, or maybe he doesn't, because he kisses your cheek one more time before he disentangles and plops down onto the mattress again, "anyway, megumi wants to escort you to the train station, so expect an entourage."

you ponder who would be more clingy: gojo or megumi.

*

it's gojo.

tags (couldn’t tag in bold!). @shokosbunny , @jotarohat , @alygator77 , @fortunatelyfurrygiver , @finnydraws , @mastermasterlist1p1 , @eolivy , @letsmyy , @staruus , @k0z3me , @damnshorty , @kaeyakaikai , @n4melesspers0n , @midnightwriter21 , @sillymercury , @byakuya61085 , @stillnotherapy , @mydearchoso , @plutoisaghoul , @byerno6 , @bqvz , @harryzcherry , @noira-l ,

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

{♢Dulcer♢}

《Warnings: Genderbend Akane, possible yandere. The story is for fun, more warnings to add later.》

-

《Def: Pleasant to the ear; melodious.》

-♢-

Akane eyes the crosswalk, phone held to his side his bag of snacks smack against his thigh.

'I'm tired...'

Glancing away from the road as he walks. Expression indefferent as the rain poured down his matted hair as trudges along the bridge. Pausing as he turn to the handle bars, gripping them tightly as his knuckles become a lighter color.

"Augh..." A small groan catches his attention, pausing at the odd noise until he sees a hunched figure standing near one of the lightposts.

Blinking in curiousity, he takes a small step forward. Reaching out a hand to their shoulder..

"Um..-"

But retreats when hearing his phone ring with a notifcation.

The figure whips their head to his direction immediately!

"A-ah..! E-..ehm.." Tripping over his words, he places his hands up. "S-sorry! I-I-"

The person grabs hold of his shirt sleeve. Their once lowered head rised up to him.

Out of breath, sweat dripping on the (s/c) skin as the lights gleamed in their eyes.

"D-..DO YOU KNOW HOW TO GET TO THE TRAIN STATION!" They heave out, chest rising and falling as the blue haired male watchted their hand fall to their knees. Inhaling the city air like it was their last breath. "Sweat... Sweat-y...." The mumble, fanning themselves without a care as they whine.

...

"...I- I can show you!"

Akane eyes widen at his own words.

The strangers eyes gaze at him, as if in awe.

Greatful.

No... Something else.. What was it-?

The expression caught him off gaurd. His heart hammering in his chest as he starts to lead the way. While you waddle behind him as close as you could.

"Auh...Uff...!"

Spitting up, you continue forward while Akane took peeks at your expressions. In quiet awe at the resilance in your eyes as he watches you speed up..!

Yet trip over air as you fall flat faced on the ground. More soaked than he was as you spit out rain water.

".. A-Are you okay!?" He gapes in horror, kneeling down, trying to help you up.

You slowly sit up, small pebbles sticking to your slicked skin as you wobbly stand. Breathing out through your nose as Akane slowly gets up.

"I.. I can't be late!"

You spat out determinedly, shakily wiping away the pebbles as you continue. Your pace becoming quicker as you run with all your might. Not fast in the slightest..

Feeling his face warm up with color, the actor soon follows in pursuit.

He.. He wanted to catch up with you...

Reminding himself he was supposed to be leading YOU!

"Y-your going the wrong way!" He calls out.

-♢-

"Ne~? Akane? You seem distracted." Mem-Cho says slyly as she glances at his phone.

"Ah-!"

"Oh-Ho~?" The influncer says slyly, grinning teasingly. "So... You two seem close.." She places both her hands together as male face flushes in color.

Aqau sneaks a glance at the photo, then raised a brow.

"...That's your type.. Huh.." He spook coolly as Kurokawa slams his phone down quickly on the desk. Aqua ignores the reaction as he watches the actor defend himself. Knowing it would only catch more intrest

"T-They're a friend! Honest-!" He cries, sighing in dismay as he watches Mem-Cho go discuss her findings to the other cast members.

Aqua observed his friend in intrest, seeing him fiddle with his fingers as he doesn't dare pick up the phone once again.

The blonde haired boy recalled when the actor had conversed about.. "(Y/N)": is what Akane had called them.

Often bringing them up to Aqua when out together. Going on and on, as if a song on loop.

"Hey, breaks over."

Akane stops his fidgeting, taking a deep breath, his eyes shinning as he grins toothily. Getting out of his chair with a coy pout.

"Aw... Too bad.~��"

-♢-

"Hey... (Y/N)? What's your type?"

Sitting on your couch with Kurokawa, you turn away from the dating show. Gazing at him dumbly, pondering the question.

"Huh..."

You recalled back in the manga Akane was a "Genius Method Actor", taking a characters role and becoming the perfect copycat. You didn't doubt his abilites at all! You were just... Unsure.

"I never thought about it." You smile, shrugging. "But I guess I could think about it.." You state, nodding.

"A-Actually.." He pipes up, sitting closer. "I'd rather you tell me when your ready! Ha..." He smiles, waving it off as he goes back to watching the screen.

'Because... I'll find out first.. Then maybe.. It'd be easier for me to tell you the truth of how I feel about you.'

-

[Ta-Da! Ive decided since its my birthday week! Imma post fics ivw been wanting to write! Also reblogs and comments are super loved!!]

[imaginedreamwrite]

Werewolf gaz finally gets his cute neighbor into bed and he can’t stop leaving bites on her thighs please please please

Kyle's eyes burn into your own as he grins at you wolfishly, his fingers hold your thighs apart, keeping you steady. He's got you pinned to the bed, at his mercy as he trails his mouth up and down the inside of your thighs. He's got an appetite for you, a hunger that burns right through his fingertips as he clutches you.

"Don't try and run from me, sweetheart." He's got you where he wants you, in a position where he can see your pretty chest rising and falling with every rapid breath. Your nipples harden from the feeling of his fingers being slowly pushed into you, the depths of his knuckles being sucked in by your sweet walls.

"Oh, you thought I wasn't gonna snatch you up?" Gaz feels like the wolf he is, through and through, he has the little human he's wanted in his bed for months. And you've got his marks up and down your plush and soft thighs, little trophies that of his that prove his claim.

"Kyle please-" your back arches when he returns his lips to that little nub above your core, that hard little button that makes your mind go fuzzy.

Oh you are so responsive, just as he knew you would be.

The werewolf who has played the long game finally has his sweet little honeypot dripping onto his fingers, that hot slick coating his finger like the most addictive sugar. He's going to stretch you with his fingers first, he has to because if he tries to take you now it will cause you unnecessary pain. Gaz might be a beast but the last thing he wants to do is hurt his little human, not when you're so responsive to his every touch.

"This isn't ending after you cum once, sweetheart." Kyle sucks on your clit, he uses his tongue to flick the hard little nub and grins like a madman when you suck in air desperately trying to reason with yourself. "Oh no, we have all night. I've been waiting a long time for this, babe."

He can feel you trying to fight him, trying to close your thighs when it becomes too real, when it starts to feel far too good. You're trying to put an end to the pleasure because you don't think you can take it.

Kyle leans in and presses his nose to your skin, he breathes you in. He opens his mouth and draws his tongue across your flesh, feeling the ridges of every little bite he's laid on you. Your skin pebbles with the goosebumps from pleasure, your thighs quake when Kyle adds another finger. He hears you whine, he hears you whimper and then there's tension that builds in your body, it makes your hands dig into the sheets.

"Come on baby, come on baby, come on..." Gaz angles his fingers to hit that spongy part of you, the one that has you making a mess on him. He doesn't waste the opportunity, he latches onto you with his tongue pressed flat against you. When your orgasm hits, Gaz's growl is muffled against your pussy lips. He takes it all, he swallows all that you have to give him, knowing that this is only the beginning.

When he leans back after tasting, feasting on your cum, he admires his handiwork, the marks that line your thighs and make you his. This is all he has wanted, this is all he has ever wanted, you as his pinned to his bed while he makes you cum over and over on his tongue and his cock.

[werewolfghoul]

i saw your disorder post with the papas and the ghouls and was wondering if you could do a disability or chronic illness ver. luv ur headcanons

hi tysm!!! you are too kind hehehe... ANYWAY YES I SHALL! was tempted to do phys disabilities in the og post but felt like it would get too cluttered so I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED!

NIHIL: Hard of hearing, arthritis, asthma

PRIMO: Reactive arthritis, partial blindness, epilepsy

SECONDO: Multiple sclerosis, partially blind (cataracts)

TERZO: Permanent limp (left leg), hard of hearing, RGB color blind

COPIA: Blind in one eye, leg length discrepancy (left leg is longer than right), POTS

PERPETUA: Unrefined motor skills, legal blindness (needs glasses but doesn't wear them)

ALPHA: Arthritis, anosmia

OMEGA: Diabetes Type I, hard of hearing, low vision

CHAIN: Chronic pain (neck/shoulder region), B&W colorblind

BIG EARTH: Rheumatoid arthritis, deaf in right ear

LAKE: Underdeveloped lungs, epilepsy, aguesmia

AERO: POTS, asthma, diabetes type I

IVY: Double jointed, ehlers danlos syndrome

RIVER: Unrefined motor skills, poor balance

DELTA: Arthritis, POTS, chronic pain (hands/knuckles), elemental disability (lacks quintessential powers)

COWBELL: Muscular dystrophy, partially blind (cataracts)

MIST: Chronic pain (arms/shoulders), diabetes type II

IFRIT: Low vision, reactive arthritis

AETHER: Hypermobile, hard of hearing

DEWDROP: Hypermobile, double jointed, chronic pain (joints), elemental disability (struggles with fire summoning)

ZEPHYR: Chronic pain (back), POTS

PEBBLE: Dwarfism (for a ghoul), asthma, low vision, hard of hearing

MOUNTAIN: Permanent limp (right leg), chronic pain (feet/ankles)

CUMULUS: Arthritis, RGB colorblind

CIRRUS: POTS, hard of hearing, cystic fibrosis 

SWISS: Hypermobile, chronic pain (neck/spine), low vision, epilepsy

RAIN: B&W colorblind, hard of hearing, elemental disability (unable to manipulate large bodies of water)

SUNSHINE: Anosmia, muscular dystrophy

AURORA: Unrefined motor skills, reactive arthritis

PHANTOM: Birth defect (facial region), blind in left eye, hard of hearing in left ear, poor balance

HAZE: Asthma, brittle bones disease, chronic pain (back/spine)

PHIL: Epilepsy, rheumatoid arthritis 

[jinwoowoo]

Flames

Male reader x Aespa Winter

Length: 5564 words

TW: smut

Perfection is a word you rarely use, if not, have not used it at all, believing that everything has its own flaws and weaknesses. It is almost like a mantra of your life, an excuse to let every mistake in your life have a reason why it happens, but that stubborn way of thinking changed after you met Kim Minjeong.

Minjeong, who prefers to be called by her friends as Winter, has an exceptional beauty comparable to a fine winter morning. Her beautiful eyes shine like sparkling snow reflecting the sunshine. Her nose is so small it looks like a fawn resting peacefully inside its hole, protected against the layer of the cold snow. Most of all, her cold glare and attitude against strangers fit her name, that's why they wonder how a tacky, not-so-cool-looking guy like you managed to melt her ice-cold heart.

Though you see Minjeong as a perfection, a pearl among a sea of pebbles, she sees herself differently. She loves how you cherish and worship her like a lover, respecting her for who and what she is, but she still can't help but compare herself to others. Society has this image of what they define as a sexy, alluring woman; marvelous bust, tiny waist, and round hips. Minjeong fits on all of it except the first category.

Even if she has a smaller, sexier hip and waist compared to other women in her same frame, Minjeong’s breasts are too small to be considered a woman’s. Because of her tight, teenager-like body, Minjeong has frequently become a target of malicious unwitty slanders on Instagram; that a chopping board has more curves than her breasts and kissing them will let you know what kissing a man’s chest feels like.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” you ask Minjeong during your cozy cuddle, sensing her sudden gloom as you spoon her on the couch. Today is one of the rare days when both of you are out of work. Every time you two are free, Minjeong invites herself over to your house to hang out, sometimes arranging a dinner date in advance to enjoy sweet moments together.

“Oh, it is nothing, oppa. Don’t worry about it.” Minjeong replies, dispirited.

You take a peek over Minjeong’s shoulder to see what she’s been doing, and you witness something that breaks your heart. Hands trembling as she tries to control both anger and sadness breaking her heart, Minjeong scrolls through her latest Instagram post, reporting every malicious comment about her.

Minjeong senses the fiery anger fuming out of your nose touching her skin, scrolling downward to refresh the app quickly. She knows and is aware of what you have done to help her against her haters, reporting and filing cases against some of them, and she doesn’t want to bring this more in front of you, more than today you two are supposed to be chilling out and getting cozy.

You reach over Minjeong’s body and shut her phone screen off. Setting her device on the coffee table in front of her, you hold your girlfriend by her shoulders, spinning her body to face you.

Meeting you eye to eye, Minjeong cannot suppress her feelings anymore. She breaks down, wailing against your chest heavily. Your blood boils in an instant, filled with rage as you see a fragile kind girl like Minjeong crying and hurting over some trolls behind their monitor who doesn't care how much they hurt the person they are criticizing. Your fists clench until your knuckles turn white. You want to punch someone, you truly are, but you suppress your anger as Minjeong needs you right now. Grabbing some tissues on the coffee table, you wipe Minjeong’s tears, rubbing her back to calm her down.

“Oppa… Do I look hideous?” Minjeong asks while sobbing, stifling between her words.

“Of course, not! Why are you asking that? You are the prettiest girl I have ever seen, Minjeong. The most beautiful woman I fell in and will love forever”

“But the comments on my Instagram account. They said I look ugly. Maybe I-"

As you don’t want to hear Minjeong doubt herself and assure her she isn't as ugly, you lean forward and shut her lips with a kiss. Minjeong gasps, startled by the sudden kiss. Her hands grasp your shirt, toes are curling when you deepen the kiss.

“You are not ugly, Minjeong. People who call you ugly don't know the real definition of beauty, let alone know you personally. Please don't doubt about your looks." Patting her head, Minjeong slowly nods her head, now blushing and burying her face on your chest again for a different reason.

Feeling Minjeong relaxing, your chest feels a lot lighter now. You hold her chin with your thumb and index finger, lifting her head to face you again. With eyes sparkling like stars, lips quivering as they touch, puckering and parting away, it is Minjeong’s turn to catch you off guard, leaning forward and surprise you with a kiss.

You kiss her back and up the notch, licking her lips for an entrance that she didn’t hesitate to provide. The simple soft soothing kiss to calm down Minjeong slowly turned into a making out, her hands wrapping around your neck to pull you on a deeper kiss. The sound of your lips smooching and smacking, followed by soft groans and wet sucking of each other’s tongues broke the silence of the quiet morning.

Your body heats up in excitement, and you can feel Minjeong feel the same when your hand slides under her shirt, rubbing the skin of her back. Her legs are rubbing against each other, seldomly hitting your leg with her knee as the heat reaches her core. Getting needy as she is, your other hand reached for Minjeong’s top leg, lifting it so you can slide in your thigh between her legs. Your girlfriend slowly slides her crotch on your thigh, her body grinding against your torso.

Minjeong is having the best feeling of her life completely forgotten the malicious comments about her on her Instagram, now that the one that truly cares for her worships and loves her back. She grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging and begging for you to take them off. You smirk between the kiss and pull away, staring at your girlfriend's eyes who's aroused right now.

“W-why, oppa?” she asks, stuttering as her lips quiver, already missing the taste of your lips. “Why did you stop?”

“Because this isn’t the place to treat you with love, my princess. Let’s go back to our love nest.” Smiling, almost a smirk, you answer Minjeong with a wink.

Minjeong was still flabbergasted when you rolled and stood out of the couch. She yelps when you scoop her body, easily lifting her body and carrying her to the bedroom. Slowly, you put Minjeong down on the bed, letting her sit on the edge as you take your shirt and pants off, leaving you in your boxer. Putting your hand over Minjeong’s shoulder, you gently push her down until she's lying on her back, you hovering on top of her. Your hand that holds her shoulder now reaches upward to cup her cheek, the other rests beside her head to keep your body supported.

“You are so beautiful, Minjeong. I can’t help myself but fall for you even more.” You told her the sweetest yet sexily as you could.

“Hmph. Flatterer.” Minjeong huffs, looking away from your melting gaze.

You chuckle and hold your girlfriend by her cheek, turning her head to face you. Her blushing cheeks and welling eyes are the most adorable you have seen, a stare hitting your heart directly and calling out for your love. Losing your control already, you dived in and captured Minjeong’s lips with yours, continuing the making out you two hadn't finished on the couch.

Minjeong gasps, feeling the fiery heat of your love surging in the kiss. Her hands reach forward and rest on your chest, but you immediately take them on each of your hands and pin them beside her head. Her fingers entangle with yours, nails digging on your skin as your hungry wet kisses trail down from her lips down to her jawline.

“O-oppa~ mhhh~” Minjeong groans a throaty moan, fueling your lust further.

You don’t stop kissing her neck until you leave hickeys all over her soft skin, marking her as yours. You keep going further south until you face the hem of her shirt, quickly biting on the fabric and pulling it up to her chest using your teeth to reveal her sexy tummy. With no hesitation, you dwell down, and French kisses her belly button, tongue sweeping the sweet tiny hole.

Minjeong groans from the sudden surge of pleasure, her hands slip out of your hold and immediately grabs the pillow sheets above her head. She didn’t have the chance to process the delectation she feels as you raise her shirt higher, taking her bra up along the way to expose her perky boobs.

The tingling feeling suppressed Minjeong’s urge to hold her moan as your fingers played with her nipples, trapping each inverted nub between your ring and middle finger while the rest pressed and played against her teats.

Squirming hard and lively underneath you, the way Minjeong’s body moves shakes the cage of the wolf inside you. You want to be an unleashed beast, to become feral and feast on the poor gentle fawn beneath you, but you always remind yourself that you must take care of Minjeong’s needs first.

You stop kissing your girlfriend’s sexy midriff and capture one of her teats in your mouth, suckling on it with your tongue rolling on the hardened bean. The sweet taste of her perfect size boobs fills your buds, your glands activating to salivate and savor every flavor you could get. Your free hand roams on the side of her body, tracing the outline of her slim alluring waist until it goes down to her pubic, reaching down to discover her heating core.

Minjeong closes her legs in a snap, trapping your hand to stop your advancement but you still prevail and push her soaked panty aside. Your digits are immediately coated with her slick juice that she squirts after you sucked her breast a bit harder. Wasting no time, you plunge your middle finger inside Minjeong, sliding in and out leisurely while using your thumb and pinky finger to spread her thighs apart.

“Oppa~ ahh~ more please~” Minjeong pants heavily, her neediness shown in every word.

“More of what, Mindeongie? You should tell oppa more clearly” you tease, earning you an unsatisfied grunt from your cute girlfriend.

“P-put more inside me, please~ I need yo-mhhhp! ~" You abrupt Minjeong’s words mid-sentence by putting your index and ring fingers in,

Minjeong’s back arches, pushing forward against your chest as your additional fingers inside her descend deeper into her dripping cavern, each thick digit curling and pressing hard against her warm walls. Her love honey squirts out, wetting the back of your hand as it keeps pumping her.

You stop devouring your girlfriend’s boobs to watch her squirm in pleasure. Her eyes are shut tight, lips parted with tongue sticking out, trying to elicit a moan but can't as she finds herself choking on pleasure.

As you keep giving Minjeong the care she needs, your fingers feel a sudden tightness around them; your hand is soaked and dripping. Her moans are getting high-pitched, breathing turns erratic as she trashes her head around. Knowing that she is already at her limit, you decide to level up your game. You lay down beside Minjeong and tuck her hair behind her ear, blowing hot moist air on her neck.

“Don’t’ hold it, Mindeongie. Oppa wants to feel his baby squirt~” you whisper in Minjeong’s ears, stimulating her mind just as you do her body.

“No! ~ Nghh ~ You are so unfair, oppa~” she wince, still fighting her urge not to cum

Growing impatient, you pump your fingers harder, intentionally making loud, lewd. and wet noises. You then whisper in Minjeong’s ears how much naughty she is for being so wet right now, that her little coochie makes not-so-innocent sounds. You position the base of your palm above her slit, finding her swollen clit effortlessly, and rub it in circles.

Minjeong feels her defense crumbling, slowly succumbing to the pleasure and urge to climax. Having you near her neck, sucking her pulse point, and licking the back of her ear doesn't help either. With a suppressed squeal, each muscle of her body tensing, Minjeong finally let go and orgasms hard against your hand. Her pussy clamps vice around your fingers, thighs trapping your arm as her warm juice floods your hand. Her breathing hitches for a while, mind shuts down due to overstimulation.

“Oppa… I really hate you… You perv…” she pants between her words, eyes still trying to focus.

“Awww~ I love you too, Minjeongie. But I’m sorry. Oppa is still not done with you yet.”

You pat Minjeong’s head and give her a sweet peck before reaching for her clothes. Minjeong groans as she tries to move her tired body, helping the much as she can while you undress her. Now that she’s fully naked, you remove your boxer from your hips, finally unleashing your penis that's been begging for Minjeong’s touch.

“Babe, can you help me with here please?” you beg cutely, earning a chuckle from your girlfriend.

You grab Minjeong’s small hand and wrap her fingers around your veiny shaft, forming a knuckle with a hole to slide your penis on. Minjeong giggles as you give her puppy eyes, which she always says doesn't suit you, yet always falls for it. She slowly moves her hand back and forward, stroking your penis delicately while pulling it closer to her at the same time. You just follow her tugs until you are kneeling beside her head, your bulbous glans reaching close to her face.

“Do I have to suck it? It looks dirty" Minjeong teases, making you pout. "I’m just kidding, babe. Kneel in front of me"

You follow Minjeong's command and straddle her chest, hips hovering above her so you won’t crush her body with your weight. Your girlfriend smirks and parts her lips, attempting to catch and put your dick inside her mouth without the help of her hands. Her futile attempts only cause your dick to grind all over her beauty. Sometimes you make your dick twitch once it aligns with her lips so she has to try capturing it again.

Annoyed and needy, Minjeong surrenders to putting your dick into her mouth using only her lips and finally uses both hands, stroking it hard and rough as a little petty revenge for your teasing, before putting it inside her mouth.

The pleasure your cute girlfriend's small lips give makes you groan sexily. Her soft yet rough tongue flicks on the slit of the tip, harvesting the oozing precum as if your glans is a tap that releases precious sap. You look down and watch Minjeong giggle while sucking your dick, not sure if she finds her actions funny or she’s enjoying having your dick in her mouth; nonetheless, she looks so cute and innocent.

Your hips thrust slowly, carefully fucking Minjeong’s mouth to the back of her throat. She hates it when she gags, complaining that your penis is too big for her throat. You once tried to teach your girlfriend how to deepthroat you, but her uvula immediately contracts and pushes your dick away, an unpleasant feeling for both of you.

Though you dream to have Minjeong suck your dick all day, that plan should be done next time. You retreat your hips, pulling your drool-lubed dick out of her wet lips. Minjeong tries to chase your dick back, looking like a puppy chasing for her treat, but she pouts at you when you rest your whole length on her face instead.

"Appetizer's over, baby~ time for the main course." You coo, putting your hand on Minjeong’s cheek where she grinds over it.

You go out of bed and position yourself in front of Minjeong. Slowly, you crawl your way up starting from her feet, kissing her soles and calves. You then fold her knees and point them to the ceiling, pushing her heels closer to her cute ass. Getting closer to her thighs, your girlfriend tries to kick her legs and straighten out of impulse, feeling ticklish as your tongue and warm breath touch her rosy skin.

You hold Minjeong’s legs firmly, spread them apart, and invite yourself to have a taste of her body. The juices she squirted still linger on her thighs, adding exquisite flavor to her soft skin. You purposely make loud and lewd licking sounds, telling Minjeong how much you enjoy her taste that words can’t convey.

Minjeong curses under her breath as she feels your warm breath teasing her shaven pussy. Her toned legs are trying to close but your body blocks her attempt. Even if you want to taste her more, you teased Minjeong enough and can’t contain your excitement any further.

You trail your perverted tongue from her sexy tummy up to her jawline, hastily capturing her lips and making out with her.

Minjeong’s body squirms underneath you. Her craves for your touch, the lingering feeling of your body against her skin that keeps her warm, are expressed by each slight movement of her body. Her hands slide from your shoulders down to your chest, and one continues to go south until she holds your dick and aims the head in front of her entrance.

You stop kissing Minjeong and look her in the eyes. Minjeong stares back, gulping hard when she feels your warm heavy breath blowing on her face, and nods slowly. She strokes your penis a few more times before pushing the head inside her, letting you do the rest.

“Fuck…” you and Minjeong moan lowly in unison.

Minjeong embraces your body tightly, gasping as you keep pushing and putting your whole penis inside her vagina. Her walls immediately contract around your dick, recognizing its owner and welcoming it with a warm hug. You move your hips slowly, allowing your girlfriend to adjust to your size.

Your leisurely slow pace continues, letting Minjeong enjoy the pleasure your dick gives her. She moans softly as you push in, grinding your dick against her sensitives, but whines adorably when you retreat your hips and pull some of your lengths out. Her fingers are digging into your skin, scratching and wounding up the old wounds she dealt on your back.

“Shit, baby… Why do you look so cute even while having sex?” you groan on Minjeong’s face.

With her eyes half-lid, welling up with cheeks reddened in a rosy hue, Minjeong’s lips parted as she pants, her red tongue sticking out and looking like a puppy. You release a raspy growl, feeling the lust residing deep inside you unleash.

With one arm wrapped around Minjeong’s shoulders, you pull your girl closer to your body, capturing her lips and harshly making out with her. Your thrust increases its pace, pistoning Minjeong’s slick pussy roughly.

Minjeong’s hug on you tightens, embracing her body to accept your wild relentless thrusts. Your sudden roughness sends her to her climax, cumming around your thick and have her juices splashing as your hips collide. Her moans and air in her lungs are being sucked by you, taking her breath away during her orgasm

Feeling her body being less active, her grip around your pussy tightens as she cums, you let Minjeong catch her breath for a while, unlatching your lips from hers and attacking her neck instead.

“Mhhh~ daddy slow down~” Minjeong whines thoughtlessly, gasping for air.

Minjeong’s words sink in both of your minds in a second, and you realize what she just called you. Lifting your head, eyes wide open out of shock but with lips curving upward while trying to suppress your laughter, you and Minjeong slowly turn your heads to look at each other, too sync that it is almost comical.

Mijeong’s whole face turns red, her ears fuming imaginary steam when she looks at your teasing gaze. Never once in the history of making love with you she calls you daddy, saying it was too cliché and hates being treated like a baby now that she’s an adult, yet here she is right now, uttering such an embarrassing word unknowingly in the middle of sex.

 "What did you just call me, babe?" you ask with a chuckle, breaking the awkward silence between you and her.

“I-I didn’t say anything! It is just your imagination.” Minjeong huffs and turns her head, looking to her side to avoid your teasing gaze.

“Yes, you are. You just called me daddy,” you say back, “can you please call me daddy one more time?”

Taking her hands away from your back, Minjeong crosses her arms and huffs again. “I don’t want to! Hmph. I’m already done. I lost the mood.” Pouting, Minjeong puts her hands on your chest, trying to push you away

“Wait, wait! Okay fine. I’m sorry babe. I won’t insist on it anymore.”

Trying to bring her mood back, you pepper Minjeong with kisses, alternating between wet lewd kisses with ticklish ones. Her stern angry look crumbles easily with your ticklish lips, can’t resist when you are giving her puppy eyes and sincere care. You lean and peck her pouting lips, hand pats her now ruffled hair. Minjeong sighs and wraps her arms around your neck, keeping her eye contact with you.

“You promise? It was just a spur of the moment, okay? I don’t why I called you daddy. Don’t make me say it again, it is embarrassing” Minjeong explains softly, speaking with her lips open as tight as possible.

You nod and peck her lips, your forehead leaning against hers. “Of course, baby. I won’t insist you to call me daddy unless you want to”

The kiss to seal your promise turns into a messy making-out. Minjeong closes her eyes and kisses back, her fingers sliding against the frame of your broad shoulder. Your lips never left hers as you start moving your hips again, slowly picking up the pace with thoughts of not breaking her.

Your hand leaves her head to knead her boobs, pushing the supple flesh with the base of your palm. As Minjeong breaks the kiss to catch her breath, moaning in pleasure, you lower your kisses down to her neck and chest, capturing her unattended breast between the pair and suckling on her nipples.

Minjeong’s whiny moans feel like music to your ears, her body writhing and dancing to the symphony of making love. Her pussy is now slicker and easier to thrust in, walls are contracting around your shaft and massaging it. Wanting to feel you deeper inside her, Minjeong spreads her legs wider, her feet barely standing on their toes, almost leaving the drenched sheets.

The monotonous thrusting, though you enjoy being on top of your girlfriend and giving her the climaxes she needs, tires your body easily. You feel that your orgasm is near, but exhaustion slowly chases on you, and might even finish you first before you get your pent-up release. Noticing that your pace becomes sluggish, Minjeong smiles and leans closer, kissing your lips and wiping the sweat on your forehead.

“You look tired already, Daddy. Let Mindeongie ride you this time”

Minjeong’s words shock you especially when she spoke in a sweet cute voice and have the thought of her hating calling you daddy. She seizes the chance while you are flabbergasted and flips your bodies over, being the one on top this time. The sweet and caring Minjeong you know has changed, flipping her personality and now letting you be the receiving end.

Your girlfriend leans down and captures your lips with hers, sucking the air and soul out of your lungs and body during the kiss. Your hands instinctively reach for her waist to hug them, but she intercepts you midway and pins your hands on each side of your head. Just like how you do her, Minjeong kisses your jawline and neck, slowly positioning herself to sit upright with your dick impaling her pussy.

Moving her hips up and down, groaning as your whole shaft slides against her velvety walls in a new yet familiar way, Minjeong moves her body sexily on her desired state. Her eyes are half-lidded, pupils rolling to the back of her head, her cheeks flushed and drunk in pleasure, even drooling and biting her bottom lip to suppress her sultry moans; you are on a treat with Minjeong’s sexy show while she’s riding you.

Her grip on your hands is slowly getting weaker, allowing you to unpin your hands from the space beside your head. You place Minjeong’s hands over your shoulder, freeing yours so you can hold her by the waist.

After a few minutes of riding you, bouncing herself on your lap and having countless orgasms, Minjeong reaches her limit and falls on top of your body. You peck and kiss Minjeong’s forehead, combing her hair to the back of her head to thank her for a wonderful ride. Gaining bits of your strength back after Minjeong’s ride, you flip your bodies over, hovering on top of your girlfriend again and fucking her to chase your orgasm.

Minjeong whines and complains as she is still sensitive, triggering a cluster of orgasms that sends her nerves haywire. Her pussy holds and tightens around you, sucking your penis deeper as if it wants you to penetrate even her womb.

As the tightness in your groin grows stronger, breathing gets heavier with some blood on your brain sending down to the other head for additional backup, you lose your control over your lust and reach your peak, cumming hard inside Minjeong. Ropes and ropes of your semen shoot out of your penis, filling up Minjeong’s heated womb to the brim, even leaking some of it to the crevices of your connection.

After the intense orgasm, exhaustion hitting you like a truck sending you to a parallel universe, your dick grows sensitive and limp, slipping out of your girlfriend’s swollen gaping hole. You pull Minjeong and hug her tight, keeping her convulsing body to post orgasm warm in your embrace.

You roll to your side and snuggle her, burying her face to your chest. She once said that your heavy panting and warm breath blowing on her hair helps her to calm down, so you are doing your best to keep your bodies tangled together after sex. Gaining her senses back, nerves calming, Minjeong looks up from your chest, slapping your pecs playfully.

“You meanie… I told you to slow down…” Minjeong whines, looking like a child in your arms

“Sorry, babe. You are just irresistible”

Mustering the rest of your strength, you pull Minjeong to the side of the bed, wrapping her with the dirty sheets and carry her to the bathroom princess style. She complains a bit, worried that you might turn her into a cute “sushi roll” by fucking her while she’s wrapped up like a sushi, but you promise that you just want to clean her up.

You unwrap Minjeong and let the warm water soak her body, sweat, and other bodily fluids being washed away while the heat of the water calms her muscles down. You go back to the bedroom and clean up all the mess, wiping fluids from the floor and airing the scent of sex out. After cleaning and changing the sheets, you went back to Minjeong and saw her staring at the bathroom mirror.

“What’s wrong, Minjeong? You seem to be deep in your thoughts." Hugging her from behind, you kiss her shoulder and ask.

“Nothing is wrong, oppa.” Minjeong shakes her head, but she knows you are not convinced by mere words. Sighing dispirited, she turns around and faces you, putting her hands on your waist. “I’m just thinking of some things. May I ask you something, oppa?”

“Of course, Minjeong. I am your boyfriend; you are free to share your thoughts with me if they bother you.”

You hug and carry Minjeong by her butt, where she instantly wraps her legs around your waist and brings her back to the shower. It became your habit to keep a small plastic stool on the shower for moments like this, letting Minjeong sit on the small chair while you lather her body with soapy water.

“Do I bore you? Most guys prefer busty women with nice hips and tiny waists, but here I am, chest flatter than a teenager” Minjeong rants while behaving like a puppy getting bathed by her owner

“Most guys just admire something big, Minjeong. Others love big butts, some love huge breasts because they look like their mom’s when they were being nurtured,” you answer, making Minjeong tilt her head back and look at you. “But that doesn’t mean all guys are the same. I love you, Minjeong, everything about you. I don't love you for your looks alone. You just came to my boring life and made everything perfect. And I want to be like that to yours. I will do everything that will make you happy. So Minjeong, will-”

“Stop being cheesy, idiot. Don’t say something like a marriage proposal while we are in the showers.” Minjeong hushes you quickly, blushing and turning small right after.

You chuckle and raise your hands, retreating and stopping being flirty with Minjeong. You pool a huge amount of water on the basin and rinse your girlfriend in an instant. After cleaning yourself up and drying up your body with Minjeong, you carry her back to the bedroom and tuck her under the newly replaced sheets, cuddling her in a spooning position.

“You still didn’t answer my question, oppa. Do I bore you?” Minjeong asks once more while scrolling through her Instagram feed.

“Me? Getting bored of you? Of course not. You turn everything around me exciting and I even feel sad that we have to sleep than having fun together.” You cheekily reply.

“Gosh… stop being cheesy. You know how hard I fall for your corny antics. But no jokes, oppa, Do I bore you?” Minjeong asks for the third tike

“Never, Minjeong. I sincerely don’t find you boring. Why do you ask though?”

Minjeong smiles excitedly and scrolls more through her feed until she finds one of her close friend's accounts. She taps on the username to view the full profile, along with some of her pinned posts.

“This is my friend, Jimin, but I sometimes call her Karina. She has beautiful breasts and a plump ass. I was wondering if you would agree to have a threesome with us." Minjeong explains excitedly, keeping her finger on her phone to scroll and show more of her friend’s photos.

The girl in the subject is indeed one hell of a beauty. Her boobs are enormous and a bit saggy, bouncing on even slight movement she does. She has a taut midriff and defined abs as well, lean arms and toned thighs that tell you she works out a lot. You are a bit concerned though as her face looks like a video game character, that she might be using some filters to hide her real beauty. Nonetheless, your mind goes back to Minjeong’s words.

"A threesome? Where did that thought come from? I didn't know you were up to something kinky."

"D-don't call me kinky! I'm just feeling guilty that I can't give you much of what other men feel during sex time with their partner. Karina unnie is bi and has experience in handling both genders on the same bed, so I was wondering if we could bring her to a threesome the next time we have sex."

Minjeong’s explanation gave you a sudden spurt of lust, turning you on in an instant. "Okay we will do it, but I want you to be the mediator over us. If you feel jealous or insecure, we will stop immediately after that."

Minjeong nods fast and with excitement. The thought of a threesome never came to your mind as you are contented with Minjeong, but right now, your heart won’t stop beating fast knowing that two best friends are willing to share the same bed and get naughty with you. Your dick got hard immediately after imagining them moaning your name. Out of instinct, more of a habit, you hold Minjeong by her waist and push back inside her pussy, flipping your body over until she’s on her stomach while you are on top of her.

“Eh?! I thought you were already tired, oppa” Minjeong gasps as she feels you penetrating her again.

“I know, baby. I know… Just one more time, please?”

You hug Minjeong’s body, trapping her arms along with your embrace and start fucking her like a rabbit in heat. Little did you know, this is just the start of a new chapter of your love story with Minjeong, where the smoldering heat of love your girlfriend provides to you will grow stronger, melding with the scorching, roaring fire her best friend will bring to your life.

[nixoon-again]

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, the full moon taking its place in the new night sky as stars twinkled like a blanket of diamonds overhead. The campfire crackles and pops, its flames enough to both cook dinner to fill their bellies before they call it a night and to keep them warm in the slightly chilly air. The calm of the night is accompanied by crickets singing their song in the distance, hiding somewhere among the greens of the forest.

Sonic takes in a deep breath, the scent of the forest's damp moss and decaying leaves bring a sense of tranquillity to him that no city can. He looks into the pot he has skillfully placed over the campfire in a makeshift holder and takes a wooden spoon to stir the chilli cooking inside, its delectable aroma filling the air as it tickles his nostrils and makes his mouth water.

Little feet patter towards him. Sonic doesn't need to look back to know who it is.

A small hand reaches out and gently touches his shoulder.

“Hm?” Is the only acknowledgement Sonic gives to the little fox cub standing behind him, his eyes still on the pot to make sure he gets the chilli perfectly cooked.

“Sonic…?” Tails calls, there's a strange hint of nervousness in his voice that, Sonic thinks, doesn't really go with the peaceful nature of the night. 

Sensing something wrong, the hedgehog looks over his shoulder. Green meets blue but blue doesn't return the gesture. 

Tails is picking the fur on the tip of his namesakes again. He does this a lot, Sonic has learnt. He's no expert himself but the four year old before him has some habits that he thinks no four year olds are supposed to have. Sonic isn't going to dive deep into that yet, some other day maybe but for now he just softly taps the kit's forehead with his knuckles to bring him back to reality.

Tails looks at him. There are tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

He looks scared.

Sonic immediately gets off the log he's been sitting on, the wooden spoon abandoned in the grass as his quills bristle. He grabs Tails by his upper arm and looks over him, wondering if he's hurt.

Tails is quick to shake his head and tell him he's fine. Sonic looks at him dumbfoundedly, his eyes alone asking, “What is it then?”

Tails kicks a stray pebble, scuffs his shoe on the ground.

Sonic has to tap his forehead again to get an answer out of him.

“It's just that… Um, I was wondering, when you…”

Sonic isn't known for his patience, Tails knows that. So before Sonic taps his forehead again, Tails words his worries.

“When will you throw me out?”

The words don't hit him as much as the sincerely behind them does.

Sonic doesn't know what form of shock appears on his face but whatever it is, it makes Tails fumble over his words as he anxiously flaps his hands and tries to explain what he just said, “I-I mean, it's been three months now and you— you've been very nice a-and, I'm— I'm, I've been eating your food and using your supplies a-and no one has kept me for long without—”

Sonic doesn't like the way fat tears roll down his muzzle, he doesn't like the way Tails cuts himself off mid sentence as if he's scared to say more, he doesn't like the way Tails thinks he needs to be abandoned for some reason. Sonic likes Tails; the little guy is smart and keeps up with him without asking him to slow down. Despite not having had a home and being bullied by other kids, he's still more well-mannered than Sonic is. Not to mention, Sonic likes Tails just for the sake of it. No one wants this kit. Sonic does. 

So naturally, Sonic gently wipes away Tails’ tears. He points towards his own chest and then pokes Tails’ with his index finger before signing, “Together.”

Me and you; together.

Then Sonic holds his index finger up with his gloves palm back and draws a few large circles to sign with a promise, “Always.”

They will always be together and Sonic will never leave the little cub before him alone.

Tails will never have to feel alone again. Not when Sonic is here

_____

Sonic is tired.

It's been a long day.

He heaves a sigh when he takes a step closer to Tails’ Mystic Ruins workshop. The lights are on, he's glad to know Tails is here. He found him purely by chance today, he didn't have to run into multiple labs scattered around the world to find him which is good because he's already late. The night has fallen. The moon isn't visible under all the clouds, Sonic can't see a single star.

He thought he'd visit his own.

He ignores the way his hand shakes when he reaches out for the doorknob. It's rather cold tonight. It won't be long before it starts snowing. 

Tails likes playing in the snow.

Maybe they'll make a snowman.

He opens the door and steps inside. His vision gets a little awry for a second as the interior of the live-in workshop spins but that's okay, Sonic closes his eyes and gives himself a minute. It's okay. He's okay. 

He just wants to see Tails.

He steps inside, a little dizzy. He looks around the place in search of familiar golden fur. He doesn't find it right away so he walks in further. Briefly, he wonders if Tails is working late again and if he will have to drag him to his bed and tuck him in again. 

He's not against the idea.

It might be a bit selfish, but for time's sake, he'd like that.

Tails has grown up on him so fast.

He remembers when the little four year old first asked to be tucked in. He was so shy, so unsure, so terrified of asking to be loved.

Sonic loves Tails.

That's his little brother. He raised Tails. He took him in when no one else would — and quite frankly, whoever refused to give the kit a home missed out because Tails is amazing. He's everything and more. His little star, his sunshine. He loves him more than anything in this world.

He frowns.

Sonic doesn't remember the last time he told Tails that.

He doesn't remember the last, “I love you.”

He knows he doesn't say it often. He never felt like it was something that needed to be worded. Not saying it didn't mean Sonic didn't feel it. That's just been the way they go about their lives. There are many unworded things between them, not any less stronger than the ones that have been voiced.

Yet, Sonic feels a strange pang of guilt.

What if Tails doesn't know?

His little brother's self-esteem is always lingering in the negatives. What if he thinks Sonic doesn't love him because Sonic says it like once every two years during his most vulnerable moments? Sonic doesn't like that, Sonic doesn't want Tails to feel unloved because that's just simply not true.

He should've said it more often.

“Sonic?”

The hedgehog smiles at the voice. Tails has found him.

Emerald eyes slowly shift towards him. The fox is wearing a knitted baby blue cardigan, standing on the staircase. His eyes are on Sonic's left hand that rests just above the hedgehog's hip, stained red.

It's really cold, huh?

“H-Hey, bud…” He greets weakly, his smile ever-present.

Tails looks horrified, he gasps, “Sonic.”

Sonic doesn't reply. Not right away. Not when his voice fails him. He didn't come here to worry his little brother, no. He just came here to see him.

He reaches out his free hand towards Tails, takes a step forward but he ends up unable to maintain his balance. 

He sways.

Tails catches him before he falls.

“Sonic!”

The fox bands his arms around the teen’s torso to support him, his breath hitches as he struggles to grasp what he's seeing. A million questions running through his head. How did this happen? Who was Sonic fighting? Why didn't he call him? Why didn't Tails go with him? Why didn't Tails know? Why didn't the hedgehog's communicator record his vitals and ping Tails? Where is Sonic's communicator? What's he doing here? How much blood has he lost? What should Tails do—

Tails feels Sonic's hand cradle the back of his head, the hedgehog removes his bloody hand from his wound to loop it around Tails’ back and pull him in a hug, staining the cardigan before he rests his face on top of Tails’ head, nuzzling in his soft fur.

Tails is so much warmer.

“S-Sonic,” Tails feels the panic slowly bubbling up in his chest, “Sonic, what happened—”

“Shh…” Sonic hushes, “Don't worry about me.”

“Shut up.” Tails lets out a humourless chuckle, “If you don't want me to worry then don't walk in bleeding out like that.”

“Sorry, lil bro.” Sonic mumbles. Then quieter, “Couldn't really control it this time.”

“Sit down, let me check the wou—”

“No…” Sonic slurs. Tails feels his blood run cold when the hedgehog tightens his grip on him, and doesn't let him go, “No. Just… Just let me…”

He didn't come here to be treated. He didn't come all the way here to worry Tails. He knows coming here light-headed from blood loss is going to worry Tails whether or not he wanted to, if he didn't want to worry his little brother then he shouldn't have come.

But he can't help it.

He doesn't want to leave without seeing him one last time.

“Sonic?” Tails calls but the hedgehog remains quiet, still in his hold. So Tails calls again, “Sonic?” 

And he doesn't know why his voice sounds smaller, why he sounds scared. Is he terrified? What of? They get hurt all the time. It comes with their line of work. Sonic has been hurt before, so has Tails and they both recovered. Now isn't any different, is it?

It shouldn't be.

Sonic promised.

Always; he said always. He promised. They're supposed to be together forever. 

Sonic is supposed to be fine, then why is he scared?

The hand on the back of his head slowly slides down, the weight of Sonic's body increases on him.

They tumble to the floor but Sonic wraps his arms around him tightly as soon as they do, not wanting to let go any time soon.

Sonic pulls Tails closer. The kit's chest undoubtedly tainted red by now. Sonic's still glad, at least it's his own blood in the fox and not Tails’. He buries Tails’ face in his chest, he gently pets him and lays a soft kiss on the top of his head. Tails wraps his namesakes around him in return, hugging Sonic like his life depends on it. The younger doesn't like the implications of it all as Sonic starts brushing his fingers through the fur on Tails’ back but Sonic doesn't seem to care.

He's content.

But with only one regret.

“Tails…?”

“Yes, Sonic?”

Sonic wants to say he loves him, more than he can ever imagine. Sonic wants to make up for every time he didn't say it, he wants Tails to know.

His words fail him and he ends up with, “I'm sorry… I promised to go on that trip to Chun-nan with you. I don't think I can anymore.”

“That's okay… We'll go when you're better, won't we? It can wait.”

Sonic just hugs him tighter, “I-I don't think I can, bud.”

His voice cracks and Tails tries to escape his hold to most likely give him a very painful dumbfounded look. 

Tries, because Sonic doesn't let him.

“Why?” Tails asks. The teen feels his tears on his chest, “Why?”

Sonic smiles even though Tails can't see it.

“Hey, now… Don't be sad, okay?”

“No.” Tails shakes his head, “No, stop talking like that you… You promised. You promised.”

He knows that. He has promised Tails so many things. He's afraid he could only fulfil a few.

At least there's one thing he can do before going.

He doesn't say it often so naturally, it takes him longer to find the words, “You know I love you, right?”

“Sonic, please—”

“It's okay. It's gonna be okay.” He hushes him, scratches the back of his ear to calm him down. 

They sit like that for a while. It can't be more than a few minutes but its feels like year pass until Sonic's starts feeling more and more sluggish, until he can't get his fingers to move enough to pet Tails, to brush his soft fur. His hold on his little brother gradually gets weaker. 

With the last of his strength, Sonic separate himself from Tails.

The kit looks up at him, ocean eyes filled with tears.

Sonic looks into those eyes for a minute before pressing his forehead onto Tails’.

And at last, he says,

“I love you.”

(Tails doesn't move, he doesn't know how long he holds onto his brother till Amy visits — and when she does, he finds himself unable to cry anymore.)

[inactivewattpadauthor]

Kung Lao x Reader: Do Not The Cat

Context: After a small mission in the Netherrealm, you make it back home with Kung Lao with a secret in your bag. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Returning to your room with your Shaolin boyfriend, you were joyous to relive the familiar scent yet another day. The mission to hell was pretty simple, but still there were a few close calls. Bombarded by starving, scorching devils and nearly tripping over embers into lava. It was quite embarrassing until Lao, who was laughing at you, almost did the same thing, tripping over pebbles and almost eating up karma.

"Today was boring. I wished we done more." Lao huffs, taking off his weapon and laying back in your bed. All you did was roll your eyes, thankful that the dark thunder god didn't command you two to something more reckless.

"Want to make tonight different?" Your man sits up with a mischievous gleam on his face. Boy, was he always like this.

"We just got back!" You retort with some sort of amusement. "Like, can I shower first at least? Damn." You murmur under your breath, but he could still hear.

"So, is that a no or yes? After a shower?"

Scoffing and shaking your head from his silly idiocy, you turn away to take off all your protective gear and weapons. Lao smirks, always finding it funny when he annoys you. In his peripheral vision, he sees some movement from your duffel bag, making his attention go to it.

At first, he thought his mind was playing with him, but he clearly sees and hears something shuffling in there. "Y/n! There's something in your bag!" He calls out, standing from the bed and grabbing his hat defensively.

Oh! How could I forget?? You walk out your bathroom and to your bag with no concern like Lao's. Unzipping it fully open, something leapt into your arms. One look of it screamed out that it's from the Netherrealm.

"By the Gods! What is that?!" Lao's face held fright, pointing his sharpened hat at the hellish creature snuggling in your arms. Studying it more, it seems like a resembled cat, but instead of normal fur, it was made with rocks with small lava flows between the faults. It was somewhat unique, the lava flows portraying the stripes of a tabby cat. But either way, Lao needs to know what that demonic creature was doing in your bag and why it's snuggling in your arms like a normal house pet.

"He was brushing up against my leg when we were about to leave the Netherrealm. I couldn't leave him in such a dreadful place." You fake a pout, gently rocking the cat in your arms like a baby.

"Raiden let you bring it with you?!" The absurd question makes you furrow your eyebrows. "Hell no! That's why I snuck him in my bag. I don't want that tyrant around my child."

"Your child?!" Lao looks at you like the crazy person you are.

"Our child. My bad."

Kung Lao wants to cry inside now. Many questions were raiding him, but he doesn't even know what to say. So, he just stands flabbergasted, watching you play with the cat.

"You know what? I think I'll name you Magmastar. Because I bet you can lead a whole clan of strong cats! Yes, you can!" You coo at Magmastar, whom just purrs roughly, nuzzling against you. You turn to see Lao's judging look, one that makes you feel patronized. "It's a reference to a book series I used to read when I was younger. Don't give me that look."

"Right. What do you think Lord Raiden would say if he sees it?" The monk grimaced at the thought, biting his knuckle.

"He won't, because it's not like I'm gonna do a show and tell, and for as long as he has that stupid amulet, he's not allowed in my home." Your tone is grave. "And I trust you won't rat me out to him." Your eyes looked into his with plea. Is Lao's heart faithful to you, or the red lord, someone who doesn't even treat him nearly as well as Liu Kang?

"Of course I wouldn't, my love." Lao sighs. He can't fathom getting you in trouble with someone dangerous. You smile gratefully at him, walking to him and holding Magmastar out. "He's very nice, I promise."

Setting down his weapon again, he softly smiles back at you. He's nervous, but he trusts your word. He takes the cat gently from you, holding it with cautiousness. It definitely feels rocky just like it looks, and is especially warm. Other than that, the average friendly cat, not wanting to claw your eyes out unlike most Earth cats or anything from hell.

"Wow. This... isn't bad." He holds the fiery feline with more ease and comfort.

....

And after a shower, you walk out in a towel seeing Kung Lao asleep with your Magmastar curled up on his stomach. Cute! ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Today, I say the science will not science because the very flammable cat - made of burning rocks with a few lava stripes - doesn't hurt if you cuddle/pet it!

[grimsonandclover]

Naked

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. Tashi x Reader

Everything right after her injury feels like it passed by in a blur. Art had left right before her match started to convince Patrick to come, leaving you in the stands when she fell.

You were there to cradle Tashi's head when she cried for everything, there in the medic tent when she screamed as they put a brace over her broken knee, there when she banished the two out of her life indefinately, effectively breaking up with Patrick.

She'd pushed you away at first but you were always there. You knew Tashi couldn't be alone, not like this.

Tashi first kissed you between tears and laughing under a sunset in your car. It was the night she'd finally accepted that tennis was over. Tennis was gone. Point penalty Duncan, advantage knee. Whatever.

That kiss changed everything for you two. It was so sudden, so unexpected. One moment you're talking your mouth off about opportunity and how things never really end, she'll find something, she'll get back up, and then the next she's kissing you. Maybe it was to shut you up, maybe it was because she'd been staring at your lips all day.

You were always there.

That was five years ago. You've stayed there.

She did move on, find something bigger, and it was with coaching. Art and Patrick were eventually forgiven and now they're her stars. Tashi would never admit it, but you all see how she plays through them, lives through them.

It was your job to bring her back from that painful place at the end of a long, stressful match when she'd congratulate her player and then sit in silence on the car ride home or to the hotel. Your hand on her hand on her knee, the other on the wheel. A thumb rubs across her knuckles. You're there.

The bed, wherever it is, is your designated haven. You forbid any tennis talk unless you allow it. You'll lie her down, run fingers through her soft hair as kisses are peppered across her face and clothes come off. Clothes hold all the memories and stress of the day, they just have to go.

You'll shower eventually. Right now, she just needs to be here.

Tashi doesn't talk much about what she likes, but she knows she likes when you're skin to skin. The anxious thinking starts to fizzle a little when she feels you soft against her. Legs intertwine under the blanket to bring you closer, then, you pepper more kisses to her shoulder.

You'll lay in the quiet for a bit, wordless, listening to her breathing or her heartbeat. Your hands slide up and down from her chest to her stomach in slow movements, fingers grazing pebbled nipples and pubic bone. Sometimes you'll whisper into her hair your secrets of the day.

"Forgot I had a pack of gum in my pocket at the store, swear I didn't mean to steal it." You giggle, next to her ear. Her fingers squeeze your forearm as she laughs, looking at you with an amused expression. "Of course you managed to accidentally steal something. Could you accidentally rob a bank for us next? That'd be nice."

"I felt so bad, Tash! Ran in and gave it back and then paid double for it."

"You're such a coward. I would've just stolen it-- well, actually, I wouldn't have forgotten about it in the first place."

"Yeah, yeah."

A hand comes up to rest against her cheek. A kiss to her nose, a kiss to her forehead, a kiss to her chin. It's your routine. To tell her you're always here. She's always going to be here, too.

[dabisair]

toska

Dabi x gn!reader

Warnings: soft Dabi, reader is a bit rude to Dabi in the beginning, discussions of love and how it's supposed to feel (both explanations are negative), indecisive reader, unambitious reader, talk of body hatred, and oh my god if you feel the way this reader feels I am so so so SO sorry and I hope that one day you and I can heal ; _ ; (I tried to keep Reader's body type unspecified)

toska - (roughly) a dul ache of the soul, a sick pining, a spiritual anguish; also, "Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness".

Unbeta'd I ride at dawn--- this started somewhere and then ended somewhere else entirely and I'm sorry.

A flame-bitten finger traces along imperfect skin - skin that shivers beneath the touch, goosebumps pebbling in the wake.

The sensation worsens when that burning hand plucks petals from a nearby flower, all blues and purples with a splash of white, and traps the supple material between a hot palm and a cool arm.

Blue eyes flicker with interest, a flash of white heat singing the petals and the near invisible hairs on your forearm. A stream of smoke rises up from beneath his palm, long fingers wrapping around your arm when you try to jerk the appendage away on reflex.

Dabi thinks your scowl is funny - he must, given that he chuckles when you narrow your eyes at him. You don’t waste your time trying to pull your arm out of his grasp. You’ve come to know that it is better for you to accept whatever new burn you’re going to have when he finally decides to let you go than fight with him and have him tighten his grasp.

“Just because you have dead pain receptors doesn't mean I do.”

The small smile on his face is whisked away by a neutral line, his grip on your arm loosening enough for you to yank it back to your person. All that meets your gaze when you inspect your skin is a red blotch, earning Dabi a sigh. You brace your hand against the stone beneath where you sit, staring listlessly toward the city below. He’d insisted that you come up to this roof with him nearly an hour ago.

He sets his hand on your thigh, ripped up flower petals fluttering around as he repeats the action, this time with the petals, and the fabric as a barrier between the brutal flash of his quirk and your flesh. You poke gently at the skin between his knuckles, tentatively touching the staples. Your fingers twitch away from the metal, scorching hot just from the small puffs of flame he let out from his palms.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like running through the snow and jumping in a hot tub.”

Dabi snorts, shaking his head while he rubs his hand slowly up and down your thigh, “right.”

“So hot that it feels cold, like leaving my hand in cold water and then putting it in a bowl of hot water. It stings and makes me think my skin is melting off my bones, at the same time as it feels like my skin is freezing and becoming brittle.”

He nods his head, his hand lifting from your thigh to touch your chest, “that’s not what I’m askin’. What does it feel like?”

“What does what feel like, fire boy?”

“Being in love.”

You peer at him closely, trying to gauge why he’s asking - or, furthermore, why he thinks that you’re in love. You’ve always wondered if you say ‘I love you’ to people because you mean it, or because they said it to you first.

But, at the same time, you can’t be sure that you don’t feel love. You don’t know what it really feels like - at least, not in the way that it's been shown in television or movies or described in books and poems.

“It feels empty.”

Dabi’s stare is weighted, resting heavily on your body.

“It feels like a dull ache, like there’s a hole in my chest that nothing will fill. It feels like losing someone important, wishing you could have them back but knowing that it’s not possible. There’s an anguish there, so deep that I can’t do anything about it, so yeah. It feels empty. It doesn’t feel real. It’s painful.”

Part of you is not surprised when Dabi pulls his hand away from you, but it dawns on you, as your heart sinks into your stomach, that he must have been asking because he thought you were in love with him.

“... what does it feel like to you?”

“Like I wanna’ hurt you. I don’t understand it, can’t comprehend it, and I want to hurt you. It’s an itch I can’t get rid of, a disgusting insect in the back of my head gnawing away at my thoughts and I despise it, and I want it to stop,” his hand returns to your thigh, and he scoots closer, one leg dangling over the edge you’re both sitting on, “can I hurt you?”

“No.”

His huff is so incredulous it causes a puff of laughter to escape you.

“That was so fuckin’ instantaneous.”

“I don’t enjoy pain.”

“What if I let you hurt me too?”

“But you can’t really feel pain anymore, D, and that means that I could potentially really hurt you and neither of us would be aware.”

“But it would be fair. I get to hurt you because I loathe how you make me feel, and you get to fill your emptiness with pain.”

“I don’t follow your logic, but I appreciate that you’re trying.”

“Unless you wanna’ fill your emptiness with somethin’ less painful?” he mutters, leaning toward you.

You go rigid, shoulders bunching up. His lips - uneven and unnatural - scrape along your neck, sending a violent shiver down your spine as your body jumps beneath the affection. He sighs through his nose, the rush of warm air eliciting a similar reaction.

“Do you like that?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” he scoffs, moving closer despite his indignation. You have half a mind to slap his hand off your thigh.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to react,” you turn your head to the side when Dabi decides to bury his face in your neck, tongue and teeth moving over your skin. It makes you uncomfortable. It makes you anxious. You can’t be sure the butterflies are actually a good thing as they flutter their wings throughout your stomach and chest.

It feels foreign and unnatural and you’re not sure why he insists on kissing your neck the way he is.

At the same time, you don’t do anything to stop him. Part of you hopes you can just breathe through it. Maybe…

Your anxiety grows when his strong fingers dig into your thigh, pulling at your flesh.

It takes a moment for you to work up the courage to discourage Dabi from continuing, his curious mouth moving up your neck toward your cheek. He leans back, expression unreadable save for the irritated twitch in his lip.

“You know I’m impatient,” his voice is low. Dejected. His frustration digs bruises into your thigh, and despite the pain, and the fact that you told him you don’t enjoy pain, you let him. It is better than reminding him that he’s a villain and if he’s going to be so impatient, then he should just take what he wants from you.

Dabi has always seemed to want you to be willing, rather than despondent.

“Nothing to say to that?”

You shrug, your leg jerking under his hand when he digs his fingers into it again. Words escape you until Dabi moves his hand off your leg and sighs heavily.

“This is never gonna’ go anywhere, is it?”

“No.”

“And I thought I was the villain.”

“In label only, D. You also deserve someone who knows what they want - both in life and a relationship. I can’t give you either of those things,” you shrug, the lights of the city blurring together, “unlike you, I have no ambitions. I have no purpose. I simply exist. I don’t know what I want, and haven’t known for years.”

He fishes his cigarettes out of the pocket of your sweatshirt and lights one up with a blue flicker, his movements harsh.

“So you used to know.”

“Yeah. I used to think I wanted a relationship. I used to be pretty enough to be in one.”

Dabi grumbles something under his breath, glaring at you. You tilt your head to the side, sighing through your nose, “you’re prettier than me, D.”

“Yeah? Tell me how that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” you mutter, surprised that he’s stayed as close to you as he has. He’s been surprisingly patient with you, “but I’ve stopped trying to make sense of it, y’know? It’s all fine and dandy until I remember I’m part of the equation. Everything about me is ugly, especially my body. I wouldn’t like it even if I was thinner - or bigger. It’s me, so it’s ugly.”

“But you think other people who share your attributes are beautiful, doll,” Dabi leans his forehead against your shoulder, “why can’t you think that about yourself?”

You suck in your cheeks, looking at him sheepishly when he raises his head.

“... you were gonna’ say that phrase, weren’t you?”

“Uh huh.”

“And you didn’t because…?”

“Because I think I’ve said it enough for one night, and you’re probably sick of hearing it. So. Um. Reasons.”

“Mm-hm. Reasons?”

“Yeah. The best. Logical. Make perfect sense reasons - definitely not illogical, or contradictory reasons!”

And to your surprise, Dabi chuckles, shaking his head as he inclines it to your shoulder again. Maybe it is nice for him to hear you try to be funny about something that is objectively not funny - or maybe he appreciates that you are already aware that your reasoning is illogical.

“Next time we should talk about something else.”

“But what if talking to me about how much you hate yourself makes y’feel better?” he counters softly, lifting his head from your shoulder to toss his cigarette away. You glance at his lips only to quickly look away when you realize he caught you.

“Isn’t that too much weight for you?” you ask just as softly. Thankfully, he knows what you mean: by comparison, your body is fine. Your body is normal.

His no longer is.

“But I understand - don’t argue with me.”

“Okay.”

“Saw you lookin’.”

You hum.

“So do it.”

You glance at him again, brows narrowing back, and your stare drifts to his lips, then back up to his eyes. He nods his head a little in encouragement.

All you can muster is to kiss him on the corner of his mouth. You let it linger, let yourself feel it, and then you pull away. Dabi brings your head to his collar, though, making you lean against him

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You laugh airily, closing your eyes.

“It wasn’t.”

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Hurt/very, very little comfort. Like barely a hint, and I might be imaginating it by reading too much into my own work. Delta is doing bad, the ghouls are a mess.

If Alpha hadn't been distracted by his own thought, he would have noticed much sooner the tense silence smothering anyone stepping foot in the common room sooner.

As it is, it takes Mist loudly clearing her throat to snap him out of his own head. His shoulders immediately stiffen as the atmosphere finally registers.

Ifrit, crossed-legged on the rug, looks devastated, eyes red and puffy, elbows on the coffee table, gripping his hair with enough strenght to turn his knuckles white. Zephyr is sitting on the couch behind him, lips drawn in a thin line, frown knitting his eyebrows, shoulders slouching. Mist...she throws Alpha a look that almost has him stumbling in shock : helplessness is written all across her face as she paces nervously, whole body tense as a bowstring, ready to snap. Alpha never saw her like this. It makes his stomach roll uneasily.

Then his eyes land on Omega, and it's like being punched in the guts. The quint is unusually quiet, curled in on himself despite still standing, like he's trying to make himself as small as possible, ears flat against his skull, tail tucked between his legs. Before Alpha can reach him, smooth a hand along his back and enquire what's wrong, a shuffling draws his attention toward Pebble and Ivy.

And oh, Alpha is starting to understand the pattern. Pebble looks positively furious. Snarling silently, glaring at Omega like he believes looks can kill, the only reason he hasn't drawn blood yet seems to be Ivy's arms coiled tightly around him, refusing to let him go in spite of sharp elbows being thrown at his ribs or feet stomping on his.

There is only one reason Pebble could look so ready to maul Omega, someone he, despite what the past few years made transpire between them, respects very much ; something happened to Delta.

That certainty settles in Alpha's bones like ice, chilling him to his core, and not even his internal fire can thaw such a realisation.

Given the situation, Alpha turns to the person most likely to give him a straight answer.

"Zeph ?"

Zephyr lifts heavy, tired eyes toward him.

"Delta...something happened. He collapsed in the middle of the hallway...he's stable now, but very weak. Aether is watching over him."

So it's getting worse again. Alpha's stomach churn. Delta barely pulled through the last time he had such a crisis, not long after the Papas' murder. So now...

"I should go check on..."

"You won't get anywhere near him, you hear me ?!"

Omega's weak offer gets cut off by Pebble's venemous growl, straining against Ivy with renewed energy, fangs bared. Omega seems to shrivel under the earth ghoul's scalding anger.

"He needs-"

Pebble nearly manages to jostle himself free, sending both himself and Ivy sprawling onthe floor, from which he keeps spitting his rage at Omega's face.

"Aether's with him, he certainly doesn't need you. You're the one who fucked up his transition so bad-"

"I did my best, water and quint are such unstable elements-"

"-had him repatching himself on a molecular fucking level-"

"-was the first ever attempted, I didn't know that would happen, he begged me to-"

"-and now Delta's half dead on a hospital bed, and it's all because of you, are you proud, Omega-"

The room disolves in chaos, between Pebble's accusation becoming more and more frantic, Omega attempting to defend himself while slowly crumbling, Ivy begging them to stop, Ifrit breaking down again, sobs raking his whole body while Zephyr does their best comforting and shushing him, Mist seemingly hesitating between knocking someone out or banging her head against the wall.

Alpha's head is pounding, the image of Delta laying lifelessly on white sheets barely paler than him bounces inside of it, a spike of nausea-inducing panic nearly has him retching, and that's just it.

The second Pebble manages to wiggle his way out of Ivy's grasp, lunging claws first toward Omega, Alpha's instinct kicks up. He tackles the earth ghoul, one arm around his waist, the other around his middle, trapping Pebble's arms against his body. Uncaring of the thrashing, Alpha holds on tight.

"Let it all out. Come on, give me everything, give it to me, i can take it."

And Pebble does. Kicks, yells, spits curses, snaps his jaws, even sinks his fangs in Alpha's shoulder, but the fire ghoul doesn't budge, kneeling on the worn carpet, arms unyielding around him even as he calls him every names under the sun and then more.

After a while, the earth ghoul slumps, and Alpha knows he's crying silently of his shoulder, can feel the dampness through his shirt, the occasional twinge of salt on the fresh bite mark there. It speaks volume on Pebble's emotional state, that he let himself cry on Alpha of all people ; any other day, the fire ghoul would get disembowled if he had the unfortune of seeing Pebble with even the slightest hint of tears in his eyes.

"Alright. You're alright."

A shaky exhale, a shudder. Pebble doesn't look at anyone when Alpha releases him, making a beeline for the door, no doubt heading for the infirmary, but he pauses at the threshold. Hand lingering on the handle. He doesn't look back, but the hesitation is there. A heartbeat later, he's gone.

Alpha shares a look with Mist, who's helping Ivy get to the couch next to where Ifrit curled against Zephyr in distress. She jerks her chin toward Omega, then sticks her thumb in the direction of the huddled mass of ghouls on the couch.

You deal with him, I deal with them.

Smart girl.

Alpha glances at where Omega slid down against the wall, knees to his chest, eyes staring unseeingly. With a heavy heart, the fire ghoul reads the pain clear as day on the quint's pinched features.

There will be many more tears to drytonight.

[fullofbees]

Week 5: Asmodeus x F!Reader - Wax Play

CW: Wax Play, Anal Fingering, Prostate Milking, Seduction Magic

Liquid pours from the teacup in your hand, translucent and fragrant, as it spills onto Asmodeus's chest. He gasps as the wax trickles and pebbles against his skin, followed by a soft sigh while you set the cup to the side. Whimpers melt into moans, just as the wax melts under the warmth of your hands, breaking down into a luscious body butter that helps to soothe the sting.

"Isn't it just the neatest thing?" You ask with a teasing lilt, "When I saw the price, I just knew we had to have it." The lotion allows your fingers to effortlessly glide along his body, circling his nipples until they're hard under your touch.

Pink eyes meet yours, then drop to your lips, the demon humming, "You know just how to spoil me, hon," while you grind your body against the underside of his cock. The demon's nails dig into your nude figure, guiding your hips so you can feel every inch he slides through your slick lips.

Asmo huffs when you tell him to, "Turn over." Still, he's obedient, positioning himself on his stomach while he pouts.

"I've told you before, dear," you playfully scold, "Your magic doesn't work on me."

"I know~" He giggles, "Can't blame a demon for trying!"

You adjust to straddle his thighs, running your hands down the length of his back. It's so cute how Asmodeus hums while you ease the tension out of his body. When your hands slide down to cup his rear, he glances at you through half-lidded lashes.

Now that you have his full attention, you're quick to spread him apart and spit into his hole. He sharply gasps, surprised at the boldness you're displaying, "Fuck... you're so hot like this--," He interrupts himself with a drawn-out moan as you sink your finger into him. Slipping down to the knuckle, Asmodeus clenches around your finger, thighs tensing below you. You know his toes are curling by the way he grips the sheets.

He bites his lip when your pace increases, and eventually, you add another finger, pumping the digits into his trembling body without restraint. You feel proud, having reduced the Avatar of Lust to a whimpering mess; your practice of seduction magic for class is obviously paying off.

"I'm so close," Asmodeus mumbles, his cock twitching as his orgasm begins to overcome him.

Numerous study sessions have taught you just how to make him come undone. Adjusting yourself lower, you reach between his legs and begin to stroke his shaft. He's so hard and sensitive in your hand as you smear cum along his length, his tip still leaking as you practically milk him. His spend coats the back of his thighs, dripping towards the mattress.

You grant him a slight reprieve when you remove your hands from his trembling body. He's gone silent as he regains his breath, sweat cooling on his skin. The bond between you hums, and you swear it's a tune you've heard from him before. The pact is a doorway into the other, and you wonder if this is how Asmodeus always experiences Lust.

It's a primordial melody sung long before your existence and as eternal as time itself. Asmo's musical musings stand out amongst the chorus of disembodied voices whose harmonies unnaturally soothe you. Though you've experienced his power when wielding it as your own, this is a sharp contrast to the metallic taste of bloodlust that his strength usually invokes. Is that rose you're smelling?

It's gone as quickly as it came, fading into silence just as Asmodeus's eyes open, peering up at you with a knowing smile.

And that concludes this years Kinktober! I hope you enjoyed <3

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