#cw: scalding

[puppygirltreats]

If a pot boils in the forest and no one is around to watch it, does it really boil?

[toadlett]

Hourlies part 3!

the reveal on why if I'd left my hourlies to draw today they would not get done: my wrist still hurty

[naughtybg3confessions]

Karlach could do pretty much anything to me and i would enthusiastically consent.

if she wanted to pee on me id be down. im not usually into that but with her, yeah, im interested.

[ratherchili]

𖹭 cw: suggestive, edgy, mdni

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

Unfortunately for you, your big brother's friend sukuna can be surprisingly light on his feet for someone so large. It seems that startling the living hell out of you is his new favorite pasttime. And he's around all the time now. He shows up unannounced and lets himself in. When you ask Toji why he has a key, he just laughs and says, "He doesn't. He wants in. He gets in."

Okay? That's cryptic and annoying, but you'd rather feign indifference than ask questions. Why overcomplicate things?

Mostly, he just sneaks up behind you and shouts, "Hey, brat!" In his stupid, booming voice as he claps all four of his large hands down on your shoulders. You count it as a victory when you detect his smokey scent first and actually manage not to jump out of your skin. Although you still break out in goosebumps at his touch, he doesn't seem to notice, judging by the satisfying look of dissappointment on his face. Your satisfaction is short-lived, however.

The sound of the two men crashing through the front door in the wee hours of the next morning startles you awake. You flick the bedside lamp on just in time to see sukuna crash through your bedroom door. Of course, you scream and clutch the pink duvet to your bare chest. "Oops," he says, with a shit-eating grin. "Wrong room." Toji drags him out with some half-assed muttered apology about drinking too much. You're not so sure that's a pertinent excuse. The smug look he shoots you before the door slams shut seems pretty much par for the course, at this point.

Sadly, that was not the end of early morning encounters with the monster. Now he has you caged in against the counter, nearly breaking your back in an effort to lean away from him. Evidently, he had seen fit to creep up behind you and you between the kitchen counter and his mountain range of a body. And you wee only trying to steam milk for your latte. What the fuck is his problem, anyway? Can't a girl make her morning coffee in peace? Your protests remain lodged in your throat, however, along with your racing heart.

He's so large and so close you have no choice but to look at him, which, to your horror, still renders you temporarily speechless. Being so close to him reminds you a little of the first time you ever saw a tiger at the zoo. The animal was so unlike anything you had ever seen before, so deadly and beautiful, that you could hardly believe it was real. Could hardly believe that it was roaring and pacing close enough that you could reach out and sink your fingers into its thick coat if not for the bars. The bars kept you safe, then. What is keeping you safe, now?

It is unsettling, the way his upper set of eyes remain locked on yours while the lower set look down at the hand scalded by your spilt coffee. "What's the matter brat? Hurt yourself?" He mocks as you clutch the injured hand to your chest. You hardly notice that one of his hands has left the counter, but somehow you don't flinch when he lifts it to your cheek to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. "Did I scare you?"

The gentle gesture alongside his mocking words is so disconcerting that you remain a quivering-lipped mute as seconds crawl by at a snails pace. You wonder if the action was subconscious on his part. Seems the only viable explanation.

You don't find your voice again until Toji's breaks whatever hypnosis the monster has you under. "Let's go," he says, and, just like that, Sukuna pulls away and you are finally able to pull air into your lungs again. "Gonna be gone for a couple of days-" Toji begins, addressing you.

"Please tell me you're taking it with you," you interject, stabbing an index finger in Sukuna's direction.

"Yeah," he says. And sukuna gives you one last smug, spider-eyed glare before he disappears through the door.

You're so relieved that it doesn't occur to you how quickly a couple of days can pass. Or that, when they do, your brother might not be the first to return. Relieved, not only to be free of Sukuna's bullying for a time, but also because what you feel is not truly fear. It's more like awe, if you really had to put a name to it. But you make a point not to think about it too much, or at all if you can help it.

part one | two | three | four | five ‹soon›

taglist ‹ age in your bio to be added ›

@orikixx ; @scorpiosugar ; @just-lilita ; @shesabeeler

[moonstruckme]

could i please request best friend sirius x reader with no boundaries? <3

Hi anon! You didn't respond to this post, so I went ahead and used it for the Who's That Girl au, hope you still like it <3

cw: nonsexual nudity

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

The shower in your flat is finicky. There’s a very precise balance to be struck between the two faucets to ensure the water is neither glacial nor magmatic, and having only just dragged yourself out of bed, you’re nearly falling asleep as you fuss with them. By the time you step under the perfectly-warm spray, it makes you let out a blissful sigh. 

You get approximately two minutes of that before it suddenly turns scalding hot. 

You make a wounded yelping sound, pressing yourself against the wall. “What the hell?” 

“So’rry,” comes a garbled voice from beyond the curtain. 

Instinctively, your arms wrap around your chest. You’re so shocked it takes you a second to relocate your voice. 

“Sirius?” 

“Hm?” 

“What are you doing in here?” 

“M jus’ bru’in my tee’,” your flatmate replies in the same unruffled tone. You translate this to I’m just brushing my teeth, which explains why it sounds like he’s currently talking through a mouthful of foam. 

You stare at your audience of various shower products in bewilderment. The water hitting your knees has returned to a withstandable temperature, but you stay cowering against the far wall. It doesn’t feel like you can simply resume your shower with Sirius just on the other side of the curtain. 

“Do you have to do it right now?” 

“We’, I have to ge’ to ma’beh in tir’ty min’us to mee’ ma’ee, so whe’ else ‘m I s’pos to use my own ba’room?”

“What?” 

This time, you hear the bathroom door open. “He said,” James explains helpfully, “that he has to meet our friend Marlene at Mackbear—that’s a coffee shop in Whitechapel—in half an hour, so he doesn’t know when else he’s supposed to get in here.” 

“Oh.” You cup your slippery boobs in both hands, feeling vulnerable. “Um, thanks James.” 

Sirius also makes a toothpaste-y noise of gratitude. 

“Anytime.” 

Tentatively, you begin shampooing your hair again. You hear Sirius spit in the sink. 

“Step out of the stream,” James warns. You obey, and you hear the sink’s faucet squeak just before your water turns hot again. A few moments later it’s back to normal. “We have one of those showers that freaks out whenever someone uses the sink. Remus explained it one time—something about the flat not having pressure balancing? I don’t get it, but it’ll happen when the toilet goes too, so be careful.” 

“Thanks,” you say again, hoping with all your heart that no one ever uses the toilet while you’re in the shower. Is this a guy thing, or a Brit thing? It’s your first time living with both, so it seems plausible it could be either one. 

“I’m not convinced Rem actually knows what he’s talking about,” says Sirius, his voice now clear. “Fairly sure he just looked it up online and now pretends to be an expert. Hey, doll, I think I left my face wash in there last night. Pass it to me?” 

“Uhh.” You look at the shelf of products. “The blue tube?” 

“That’s the one.” 

“Just a second.” You rinse the rest of the shampoo from your hair, grabbing the shower curtain to ensure you’re covered before reaching out with the face wash in hand. “Here you go.” 

“Thanks.” Sirius steps away from the sink, taking it from you. 

You narrow your eyes. “Is that my shirt?” 

“Hm?” He glances down to the grey top he has on, just short enough on him to show a cheeky slice of abdomen. “Oh, yeah.” 

You wait for an apology or a do you mind?, but Sirius only goes back to his station in front of the sink. James seems similarly unphased. 

“Turning the water on again,” Sirius says, hardly giving you any warning before twisting the faucet. This time, the water hitting your bum is icy cold. 

You jolt and press closer to the curtain to escape it, nearly tripping out of the shower just as Remus comes in. 

“Oh.” His steps falter as his eyes catch on you, your torso held so tightly against the shower curtain it’s likely making an impression. He blinks and quickly moves his gaze away. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was…what are we all doing in here?” 

“Getting ready, obviously,” Sirius says, patting his face with a towel. 

“I’m waiting for the shower,” says James. “Hey, y/n, would you mind if I peed really quickly?” 

You’re too appalled for politeness. “Yes.”

James seems bemused by this, but he shrugs. “Alright. I can wait.” 

Remus is looking between the three of you, a notch forming between his brows. “Did you tell them they could come in?” he asks you, seeming to already have guessed at the answer. 

You shake your head mutely. 

He levels James with an admonishing look. “What are you two thinking? Get out of here, let’s go.” 

“What?” Sirius looks affronted. “Why?” 

“Because y/n is trying to shower.” 

“I have to be in Whitechapel in—” Sirius glances at his phone “—twenty-five minutes. She can shower just as well while I fix my hair.” 

“I don’t really need to explain this to you.” Remus temples his hands against his forehead. “You’re invading her privacy. We all are, right now.” 

“But, Moony,” James looks genuinely perplexed, “there’s only one bathroom. We share all the time.” 

“This is different.” 

“What, because she’s a girl?” Sirius shoots him an unimpressed look. “That’s sexist. You’re discriminating against her.” 

“Jar,” Remus says sternly. “Five quid.” 

“What? I’m only telling the truth! Y/n” —Sirius turns to you— “don’t you feel discriminated against?” 

What you feel is very, very warm. You probably could just turn the shower faucet to cold at this point and not worry about it. “By Remus?” you ask to be sure. “No.” 

“Do you feel invaded?” James asks curiously. 

“I mean…” You shrink. “A little?” 

He looks contrite. 

“Let’s go,” says Remus, waving them out. James goes first, Sirius following more slowly seemingly just for spite. “Sorry,” Remus mumbles, looking everywhere but at you as he shuts the bathroom door. 

Even when they’re out in the hallway, you can still hear Sirius’ grumbling. “If she’s not being discriminated against, I certainly am. I pay rent for that bathroom!” 

“That’s ten quid in the wanker jar. Now.”

[mihii-i]

with or without you.

Pairings: rumi x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, demon reader, brief angst, slight nudity mentioned, uh ohhh a naked lady oh no call the police, manipulation, the saja boys being monkeys, rumi is ofc the main focus of this fic, reader is old as shit (200+ years) I changed the way reader got found out sorry, self hatred, mind break, reader’s ‘sins’ left up to interpretation, mild jealousy, reader lowk pining for rumi like a loser lmao, woman wearing male clothes idk why this is a warning, lazy writing at the end if there’s any cultural inconsistencies I apologize, not proofread.

A/N: now playing — bad desire by enhypen. yes I know that they asked for rumi because I clarified with them elsewhere mimimimi BUT that being said YALL ARE THIRSTYYYY for rumi holy fuck (not that I blame anyone..) but anyway I AM FIXATED on kpdh rn and I’m obsessed with this movie hope yall enjoy this cause this request is beautiful. I had fun writing this but I apologize if it didn’t turn out good akskdkod @theshadowsden 🕯️

“No worries. Just one more performance…”

Your damp hands stuck glued to the dripping tile of the shower wall as washes of warm water dribbled down your aching skin, gaze absentmindedly wandering down to the clear puddles pooled at your feet. The words continued to loop in your head like a broken record to brand the idea into your skull, make sure that you never forget it and carry it on to your final performance for good.

Keeping said mindset was in fact crucial to your performance. Just one performance was all it took to seal the Honmoon gold—and for good. It didn’t matter what were to happen to you, whether you were chained to Gwi Ma, or set free of your raging misery, you were sure that whatever fate awaited you to consume you whole was merely what you deserved. Eyes twitching, you brought yourself to hesitantly shift your gaze to the violet cracks seeping up your arms, traversing throughout your body to engulf your face in the infamous demonic patterns as well.

A constant reminder of your shame. A shame that lingered on your body to amplify the screeching ring in your head that mouthed its distaste for you over and over until you groveled to your knees, succumbing to the insanity that awaited you. For that was all you were, Gwi Ma’s prisoner through and through. For hundreds of years you have been, and you will be for hundreds of years to come. The woman whose sins were mocked and ridiculed by the very being that kept you on his leash of flames.

Despite the scalding heat the shower water was turned up to, your reddening back blooming from the burns was met with trails of goosebumps crawling up your skin accompanied by nerve wracking chills that tightened at your muscles. Almost as if the physical nerves you felt heavily played into your mental state as well. Though, you certainly wouldn’t doubt if it was in fact him who kept tugging at your body, puppeteering you in his effort to block any possibility of a golden Honmoon.

“(Name)! Are you coming yet? You’ve been in there forever!”

Your head snapped over as you stood upright, directly beneath the spray of water at Zoey’s voice cutting through your train of thought. Mira followed not too long after, calling out in a slightly harsher reprimand of you taking quite a bit of time under the water.

“Quit taking your sweet time in there and get back out! Besides I need to shower too don’t use up all the hot water!”

Drawing in a deep breath, your eyes raked down your marked body once more, exhaling as you wallowed in your hatred momentarily.

“Sorry, I wasn’t feeling very clean earlier! I swear I’ll be out soon!” you replied, immediately reaching out to grip the shower handle as you cranked it back off, watching as the drips of water slowly faded away from each little opening of the head.

“Finish up before I come in myself!”

“Don’t you dare. I’m still undressed.”

Hell. Despite the playful response you gave Mira of being indecent, you’d presumably be cut to shreds before you could explain yourself in seconds if they even saw a shred of the purple streaks branched up your frame. Which is something you certainly wouldn’t dare to even risk. Sure, you were close with all three of them…but as their sworn duty—no, as your sworn duty as well, you wouldn’t be an exception of what must be destroyed by their hand.

You pressed open the fogged glass clouding up the shower door, staring off into the blurred reflection in the mirror before you as well as drips of stray droplets dripped down your nude body. Hastily, you curled your fingers around the bundles of cloth that adorned your towels hanging freshly off of the steel bar gripped against the wall, wrapping the white cloth over your breasts to cover yourself. Both to hide your marks and to appear a bit more…decent let’s say.

Slowly, the earthy, violet streaks shrunk in to blend into your skin, fading away alongside the bright gold and shrunken pupils of your eyes reverting a more humanlike color which complimented each feature lining your face. Reaching out, your palm rubbed over the foggy mirror to clear off some of the humid streaks masking the details of your face, while also grasping at a smaller squared towel to drape over your soaked hair clinging to your cheek.

Good. They were gone.

You cautiously tilted your head back, swiveled it side to side and inspected beneath your jaw. Every visible crevice that could be seen on your upper half, you ran your fingers over, creasing your taut skin as you leaned forward to get a closer look at the shadow of the person you once were. Soulless. The patterns were thankfully successfully masked by your human-like shell, molded over the lavender skin that was your truth—and your lies. All in one.

The sudden, clunky knock on the bathroom door smacked your chest in turn, your anxiety bubbling to the surface and crawling its way up your throat. To which your tongue poked down in a sharp sting prodding along the warm muscle resting between your teeth.

Oh. Crap. You’d forgotten to take care of your fangs.

Quickly clasping your palm over your mouth, your free hand clutched desperately at the towel hugging your body glancing over at the wooden barrier seperating you from the other girls.

“I said I’m naked right now!”

“I know that, (Name). I just wanted to check on you to see if you were good in there.”

Ah. It was Rumi.

You cleared your throat, hitching up the towel as you could feel every bristle poking out brush up against you in the attempt to calm yourself & the slight quaver in your voice.

“I-I’m fine. Just give me a moment. I just need to get dressed is all.” you coughed out, glancing over at the mirror parallel to you as you eyed your fangs, subtly trying to retract them back into straightened human teeth.

As if some strange spell was cast upon you, you oddly felt at ease with Rumi around. Not to say you didn’t appreciate the others, but she was certainly the one to calm your spirits and understand every part of you, the only one who came the closest to even the ugliest corners of your heart and corrupted soul. Her presence alone assuaged the storm of your frayed nerves burning within you, and her touch alone warmed the cold, dark pit of hate that raged through towards Gwi Ma.

Sure, some would call you crazy for thinking you saw what you did. Yet you swore that a night that you laid beside her, you noticed a streak of purple light stemming up from her chest, cracking up from the neckline of her hoodie on a particular night she slept beside you. You merely brushed it off as a silly thought or a hallucination. She couldn’t possibly be a demon, or else Gwi Ma would’ve had her in his clutches much like you were.

If anything, you should worry more about the two of you being a little too close for comfort to be honest. Zoey constantly tries to play cupid between you two, and you insistently bridge off her words with the “friendly behavior” bullshit. Though..let’s be honest. Sleeping beside one another and being huddled next to one another without a gap in sight isn’t very platonic. But oh well. Whether it was or wasn’t didn’t necessarily matter.

For a demon’s ability to love is caged to oneself. All you get to do is feel, and never express it outwardly. You get to play the heartless creature who preys on souls to feed Gwi Ma in this story, when all you do is live with your aching suffering.

Enough wasting time you useless fool. You pinched at the neatly folded stack of clothing laying on the counter, slipping into the comfort of the hoodie and sweatpants rubbing against you in heaps of warm cotton. Freshly ironed as well. Atleast you’d be left alone with your thoughts in your own room for some time, especially with the excuse that you were supposedly tired and drained today. Considering the fact that the four of you had rehearsed for the upcoming idol awards earlier today, it would make a pretty convincing point.

Once you swung open the door, you almost fell back at the sight of Mira standing directly in front of the doorway like a statue, arms folded. Your expression scrunched up, perplexed at the way she’d just…stood there. Was she waiting there the whole time?

“What the hell, Mira-?”

“Calm down, I just got here.”

“Still— why were you just standing in front of the doorway?? I could’ve smacked you!”

“Yeah, yeah I get it. But seriously, the hell were you doing in there for so long? We have things to do you know.”

“That’s..none of your business..I was just showering.”

“Right..taking almost 45 minutes for a shower. Were you busy fantasizing about Rumi in there or somethi—?”

“God- what?! No! Do I look like a pervert to you?”

She sighed, her expression rather scrutinizing rather than joking.

“I’m just trying to get something out of you. It feels like you’ve been more detached from us recently, you know?”

You didn’t exactly have anything in response to that, so all you could do was drag your bottom lip between your teeth, and refuse to meet Mira’s eyes.

“I’m fine. Really. Just tired.”

Her skeptical gaze only grew more apparent, signifying that she didn’t believe you. Yet she decided not to press on the issue, stepping forward into the bathroom with her fresh clothing tucked between her arm and her ribs.

“Alright. But if there’s anything you need to tell us we won’t hold it against you.”

Rather than reassure you, Mira’s words only further struck at the guilt that sank itself into your mind, calling at the demonic rouse that stirred within you and slowly ate you alive. Bringing a hand up to flex against your warning forehead, you padded toward your room, vision doubling and blurred as your disoriented and wobbly steps nearly buckled your knees inward as the bright gold light dimming from the living room seared the corner of your eye. Further seeping into your headache.

Clicking the door shut behind you, your back wasted no time in hitting the cushions enveloping you deeper as you sunk into the mattress, eyes glued onto the ceiling weakly as your grip curled into the fluffed blankets situated below the cloud like pillows fluffed in their angled position resting along the headboard. What could possibly be your outcome by now? Gwi Ma surely wouldn’t let you escape his clutches, and the hate and suffering you’d be imprisoned with at his feet would roar endlessly in a bellowing screech tearing your mind apart rather than the voices that already chew away at your remaining sanity and spirit.

“Did you honestly think you could run away?”

Stop.

Not again.

Your fingers threaded through your unkempt locks, tangling themselves into the silky strands to dig into your scalp. As if you were unsuccessfully attempting to apply enough pressure in hopes to drive his repeated voice out through your ears. Shoulders hunched, your shallow breaths rapidly expelled out your feverish lips, chest heaving as you curled over to knock your knuckles against your head. Pathetically thinking just caving into yourself would push him away miraculously, yet your attempts crumbling in vain to no avail.

“You’re nothing, (Name). Don’t forget it. Have you forgotten your atrocious acts 240 years ago?”

“I..”

“That’s all you are. Trash that can’t save herself or those she cares for. Worthless. All you’re good for is serving me, understood.”

Gwi Ma’s booming voice echoed like an empty cave in the hollow shell that was your body, dragging you down as the pull on your side weighed down past the bed in the erupting ring of magenta flame piercing you through your own covers.

…

Hard stone collided with your shoulder, digging deep into the plush of your arm as your cheek lay flat against the rocks caressing you in the heat tickling you. Alongside the cool blisters of heat contrastingly wavering beneath your top, hitching up the cotton to expose a sliver of your stomach as the air dragging you down to the depths of the demon realm subsided seconds later. Was this truly what you deserve? His voice bellowing in your ear every waking moment of the day, monitoring in tandem with every breath you take? Dragging his trail of fire in your path of regret on a mistake that you’d never escape, his tactics of ensuring your hatred tearing apart your flesh from the inside out.

You thought you’d recieve nothing but a harsh reprimand from Gwi Ma, perhaps even a bit of his good old psychological torture tricks he’d worn his way into your head with. Nothing you weren’t used to, he’d done it for all 240 years of your suffering at his side, slaving away for his own greed reaping souls of the living past the Honmoon. A greed that couldn’t be quenched, and a punishment inflicted unto you for your own momentary greed that overtook your judgement. The single act of your past that sunk its teeth into you from behind, and chewed away mercilessly.

Though, upon glancing down your eyes widened in horror as you caught sight of those familiar violet patterns swallowing up your skin all over. Without wasting a moment, you swiftly tugged your hoodie down over the exposed sliver of skin, examining your hands front and back as the familar darkened claws stuck out in place of your blunt nails. Your hands and—your skin all over tainted a dull lavender hue with the purple streaks running rampant all over you.

You whipped your head over to Gwi Ma, chest rising and falling with each drawn out breath once more as you stood before the crackling pink flames flaring before you, mountainous and towering in his angry flicker.

“If you insist on blocking me out by helping seal the Honmoon for good, then…how about I remind you that I have control over every part of you. How about I tell your precious friends about what you really are?”

Silence remained heavy in the air between you and Gwi Ma, your fangs baring together through your pursed lips as you swallowed back the hatred that coursed in your veins for him, coupled with the fear that made you flinch at the presence of his name alone. Evidently so, he grew quite frustrated with your silence, the flames of his form quirking up to catch your attention.

“Fine. Be that way. I let you be with them, but you’re showing me I made a mistake, (Name). Let me give you what you deserve.” he spat bitterly, glaring down at you as your felt your weight shift and tumble over once more, wrenching you back through the floor once more.

—

Bright floods of light poured into your retinas in a blaring invasion that pressed at your headache under the intensity reflective in your eyes. You had no idea how long you’d been out for. If you hadn’t known better you would’ve assumed that decades had passed from the void of pitch black you aimlessly floated within unconsciously. Once delicately moisturized skin now bruised and reverting into its monstrous, sickly purple as you rolled over onto your back.

Good, you were still at the penthouse, safe in your bed.

All you had to do was find a way to get back into your human skin and—

“(Name)..?”

Fuck.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look over your shoulder, hands shaky as they burrowed into the blankets, gripping bundles of fluff in fistfuls when you turned your head to conveniently see Mira and Zoey frozen at the door of your room. Gwi Ma truly knew what he was doing when he schemed suddenly to crumble everything you knew before your eyes in the span of seconds, considering he had kept you knocked out intentionally for long enough in your demon form until the others stumbled upon you.

“I can…wait..I can explain-“

“You were hiding this from us for how long..?”

Any word you were about to defend yourself with caught up in your throat the moment you saw that sweep of purple hair follow up to accompany the other two staring over at you in awe. No. No, no no no.

Anyone but Rumi. You didn’t care if the whole world saw the horror of what you truly were, whether they were to rip you limb for limb. Just not her.

Are you happy now, Gwi Ma? Allowing them to find out wasn’t enough, you had to remind me how love is out of my damn reach.

Hot, quivering breaths shallowed out of your parted lips, your fuzzy vision struggling to meet the others only staring at you. His chuckle once more assaulted your ears, burning away at the pages of your mind from their off white brand into its blackening fade that disentigrated its way down to the floor.

“I told you. But don’t worry. You’re nothing to them.”

You hissed through your teeth at the pain that lugged at your muscles with each word he breathed out into your ear, his grasp making its way to firing what he wants you to see. Which only resulted in the sight of Rumi, Mira, and Zoey raising their respective weapons toward you, inching closer and closer with the slowed perception of time as you scrambled away hopelessly. You knew it was an illusion, clearly so by the doubles of everyone that wavered in and out of consciousness—alongside Bobby’s voice in the background trying to find the ruckus around.

Although you’d only be able to conclude that despite the falsely portrayed illusions of your friends on the verge of slicing your throat, he was right regardless. You were in fact a demon, a stray that deserved to be kicked to the side from everyone else. A liar that was good for nothing as she drowned in blood and wrought hell upon the lives of others. Even those she claims to love. How long would it take before they kill you for sure?

You were a demon without a doubt. A demon with no feelings that doesn’t deserve to live.

Huntrix would surely benefit without you. The golden Honmoon would be just in their hands, and the problem that barred them from it was you. The impurity that tainted their lives and goal, the impurity that was in fact you and your muddied, hollow gape of a soul that Gwi Ma kept with him.

Without sparing even a split second, you turned your attention to the stars arrayed out in the skies of nightfall darkened before you peeking past the balcony, sprinting away from the others, refusing to even look back. Contrary to what your mind perceived, nobody even moved a muscle toward you, and all were simply frozen in shock near the doorway. Your agile leaps down into the streets most definitely confirmed your identity of the monster you were, the frigid air caressing your skin with each hurried rush while you darted behind the towering buildings.

The shadows of Gwi Ma’s echo resumed their onslaught of whispering shattering hatred, to which you squeezed the cusps of your hands over your ears, as if it would help you block out his voice at all.

“I told you. You can’t escape what you really are, (Name). Why can’t you just help break through the Honmoon? Sealing it doesn’t benefit you in any way.”

Your eyes screwed shut with his bellowing voice continuing to pressure you into coming to his aid, the signs above and rigid concrete sidewalks blurring together with your sanity draining itself to his voice as the vaccum.

“…don’t think you’re doing a good thing by helping Huntrix. You’re not a noble soul, you’re just filth. A demon, you can’t escape that no matter how hard you try to repent. Your soul will always have my mark on it, understood?”

It was as if you could feel the flames creeping close near your ear, even if he wasn’t really there, the voice of his he implanted in your head tormenting you like the illusion of his constant presence tailing you. Thoroughly perusing your actions and stripping you of your own autonomy. He wouldn’t leave you. It was eternal, and escape was nothing but a far fetched dream.

Simple. Your mind was too far gone. The mirror that you glanced upon within shattered at what you’d seen, there was no demon with a human reflection in that mental mirror you worked so hard to maintain the facade with. Touching the glass sprawled out in ungodly screeches sliding on the voided floor that was your cage would only slice through your hands to reveal the faux scarlet that clung to your last bits of humanity. It was impossible to fathom what you were even thinking of—that is, if you could think for yourself right now.

That miniscule part of you would stop fighting, for your purpose was irrelevant. Whether it was helonf Huntrix or Gwi Ma, you didn’t belong anywhere.

“How about a deal?”

You weren’t even listening. Only mindlessly nodding like the remains of what you were. Serves you right.

“I’ll still give you a chance, carry out the purpose you hold forever. Serve me, your aid wouldn’t be so bad, and I’d hate to dispose of you without putting you to any use. Aid the Saja Boys, in compiling all those souls and ripping open the Honmoon why don’t you?”

Of course you would. It’s not like you were good for anything else anyway.

—

“Do you think she’s okay?”

“Quiet. She’s probably still out of it. Gwi Ma’s voice probably drove her past a point.”

Blinking open your eyes, you groggily elevated your back off of the makeshift cot resting beside a nearby convenience store alley. A fairly obscured spot holed away in the untouched corners of Seoul, something you’d normally be sketched out by if you just woke up in a cot with the Saja boys knelt before you.

Wait, the Saja boys?

You had no clue how you even got here, maybe Gwi Ma pulling his stupid tricks as per usual to put you to his use. Not that you’d deny, you were knelt at his side and bowing like an abused servant the moment you lost yourself and submitted to him. Without questioning it, you gratefully accepted the cold soft drink slipped in your hand by Jinu, who knelt down to meet your gaze face to face.

“How are you feeling, (Name)?”

“I don’t even know..” you groaned, gripping at your scalp once more, working your fingers against the creases of your forehead to ease your headache.

Gwi Ma’s voice had subsided…for now. Your sights remained fixed on Jinu, however. Strangely, he was one who beheld that gleam of empathy you could sense without even digging further. All demons heard his voice, and all basked in their suffering as well. Yet very few try to keep their humanity intact at all, with only a handful even trying to grip at their humanity and live with their mistakes.

Jinu’s hand pressed your chest back down onto the springy flat of the cot, his stern gaze searing into you as the flicker of yellow shone past the deep brown he masked his form with.

“Don’t. You need rest.” he asserted, reaching up to swipe away a shred of his own hair falling over his view. You only responded with a wide yawn, ignoring his hand against your chest as you lazily removed it from your chest. Jinu only shook his head in response, sighing.

“You know I’ll understand. I hear his voice all the time too.”

“Don’t we all, Jinu?”

“(Name). I know that you don’t want to succumb to him but we have no choice. This is all we are. So, what you can do is help us at the idol awards tomorrow, and—“

“No need to talk me into it. I already agreed, and I’ll serve Gwi Ma the way I’m supposed to.”

But you didn’t want to. The very thought of surrendering to his control and allowing yourself to succumb to him on that flaming chain around your throat, it made you sick to your stomach. And despite all that, you were in no position to refuse his orders, nor turn against him. Your best bet would be to carry out what he wants if you didn’t want to subject yourself to any more torture, he’d broken you down far enough.

Jinu shook his head, watching you crack open the can of soda and bring the fizzy drink to touch your lower lip. Wait, wasn’t this the guy you saw getting a bit too close with Rumi the time you fought off those water demons at the bathhouse? You instinctively furrowed your brows, examining his face before keeping your gaze up on him as you sipped the drink. It couldn’t be helped, you obviously couldn’t suppress the faint pang of jealousy that struck you, knowing that Rumi could’ve been huddled up to another demon that wasn’t you.

Alas, it was merely your insecurities speaking on your behalf internally. Yet it was hard not to give Jinu your nasty glare from the side, enough to spark a rather apprehensive reaction from him as his hands idly dusted the white collared shirt left open to shift his attention elsewhere.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get Gwi Ma to erase your memory as well if you’d like.”

Yet you stayed unresponsive. Similar to that of a lifeless statue. Not too far off considering that you were in fact nearly lifeless, as the pit inside you was all that was left of your humanity. Everything else had surrendered to Gwi Ma. Mind, body, and soul.

—

You were gone entirely, body moving on its own & trudging through the dimmed lights gleaming in a off glow illuminating the stage brightly. Ensured that you were basically on autopilot for the remainder of the performance, and all you had to wait for was for Jinu to carry out said plan to deceive Rumi and hold the performance post idol awards. Everything would go accordingly if you were stuck in the dark shadows of your mind, nowhere to be found except in a tiny crack that spilled out a bit of light within. Your body wasn’t yours, it moved on instinct, what Gwi Ma wanted you to be. His puppet on a quest to feed his strength.

So why did the disbelief on your friends’—former friends’ faces hurt so bad to look at, even if you thought you were numb to any sort of jab to your chest? Quickly, you swung your head forward, muscles taut as your eyes were fixated forward to follow the Saja boys, clad in matching clothing with the dark button up that subtly traced the demon markings. But fuck, did the knife twist in its sadistic mark when you caught a glimpse of Rumi’s face, alongside something in her eyes you couldn’t exactly put your finger on.

Disappointment? Sadness? Hatred?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t positive. However, you weren’t strong enough to free yourself from your clamped shackles, the burn that sank its claws into you in the wallows of loathesome darkness. Consumed whole by what you were forced to be—your own sins. The announcement of the emcee only wrung out high pitched cheers and cries from the crowd for both groups, with another little thing you picked up on…

“And for today, the Saja boys will have a special guest joining them as well!”

You.

They were talking about you.

—

“Are you sure we should dress her in the jeogori and baji? It’s supposed to be for men typically, isn’t it?”

“It’ll be less suspicious. We don’t want her standing out too much.”

It wasn’t long before the final performance, every one of the Saja boys comfortably fitted into their clothing that they’d reveal themselves to the audience for, considering the fans knew nothing of demons or the demon realm. Just some special effects and unique body paint perhaps? A design choice if you will.

You experimentally shook your hand to loosen yourself for the soulless performance you were about to put on, without knowledge of the moves you’d perform and just letting your body go through the motions as if you were some preprogrammed machine. Well, you did have to admit however, the fine silks and fabrics woven into the loose fitting black hanbok draped over your body, cut over the lower end of your palms, paired with the gat atop your head was quite stylish. Despite being male clothing, you sure looked good in it.

Perhaps you could pray that small part of you still clinging on for dear life, huddling a piece of your sanity close would wake up. The chances weren’t looking great, but you could simply hope you wake up.

Even if you could, what would be the point?

Your single mistake had turned you into the embodiment of your fault.

—

Performative steps and your shoes clacking against the floor to match their movements, the truth of you finally falling under an unmatched spell of sorts you couldn’t break. Your arms and legs throbbed from the forced contortion of your body to keep up, convinced that you were just made to dance to your death. The Saja boys’ vocals were nothing but white noise to you, a foreign chime of melodic, yet irrelevant noises. In fact, you couldn’t even tell if they were singing any longer.

Likely so, you truly thought you had lost it. You were so far gone, mentally cracked down like a worn out monument to the point where you thought you were hallucinating Rumi and her voice.

…were you?

Her voice pierced through the daze you were trapped under, your heavy lidded eyes snapping open to see the spills of fans rushing foward as Gwi Ma’s crackling form of fire erupted behind you, casting a cool magenta onto the crowd and brightening their faces of joyful awe the further they rushed forward. Kneeling foward, you ran your palm over your eyes, jaw nearly going slack at the sight of Rumi slowly approaching forward, the purple cracks of demon patterns spanning across her whole. Not excluding the singular gold eye that marked that of a demon.

So…you weren’t just seeing things. She really was a demon..the night you slept beside her, cuddled up at her chest to catch a glimpse of her patterns.

Your eyes locked with Rumi’s for what seemed like time ceasing between the two of you, relishing in the beauty of her gaze fixed on yours. Never leaving your eyes as if you were all she needed forever, her intense stare burning into the charred hollows of your lost soul. As the other half you craved and needed. Rumi couldn’t bring herself to tear her eyes away from you, your body instinctively gravitating toward her as you remained utterly transfixed on the patterns across her body.

Except..you felt different about these. And your own. They weren’t your shame, nor your sins marked upon you. No. The patterns on both yours and Rumi’s body marked a deeper connection than that. One of which drew you together, tied together in a bind that not even the gods could seperate, your soul intertwined with hers with no words needing to be spoken. But rather, the pull that led you both to each other, blood that mingled with one another even without touch, and a desire to hold onto her and never let go.

Not necessarily something you could put into words, yet the desire to give a piece of yourself to her and be hers. Across all lives. You wanted to be the girl of your dreams, and the way she looked at you proved how that was what she sought as well, more than power, more than gold.

—

“Wait, so your dad was a demon?”

Crisp sweeps of air caressed your exposed skin under the raw air cooling you down from the sweat and excessive heat that built up inside you as your head weighed down on your hand, body weight sinking you into the plush mattress. Of course, side by side with Rumi, your eyes locking with hers as her hand ran along your arm, tracing your own patterns the same way you touched hers. She nodded in response to your question, savoring your velvety touch gently working up her own skin which she was once so insecure in, now comfortable with in your presence.

“Mhm. So I’m only half.”

Rumi paused, her eyes refusing to meet yours as she stared down, her hand resting along your forearm as well.

“I didn’t think this would be the case. In fact, I expected something else…and I didn’t think I deserved basking in this, especially considering how I wouldn’t wanna be apart from you—well, ever.” she whispered, her pained expression reliving each moment Celine had put her through in the discomfort of her own skin.

“That makes two of us, doesn’t it?” you replied, finger outlining her patterns before leaning over to press your lips to her shoulder, planting a kiss before you could even process what you did against the wake of violet you adored oh so much. Yet Rumi didn’t seem to protest, her eyes only growing heavy as she thumbed at your shoulder as well in soothing circles, your head leaning against her chest. Burying yourself into her shoulder, your initial hatred had given way to an indescribable affection you wanted to bask in forever, muttering out a muffled response to follow up your words.

“It’s two sides. I’m everything with you, and I feel like I’m drowning without you. I can survive with or without you, but I can’t live without you.”

Rumi wordlessly dug her fingers into your back as she hemmed her arms around you, holding you close to her without any space harbored between your bodies. Both of you could finally understand the beauty of a demon, a beauty not kissed by Gwi Ma, but rather the universe own intention. Rumi spoke first, breaking the silence.

“I can survive without you, but I wouldn’t want to. It’s not with or without you for me, I only want it to be you.”

A/N: WHEEEEWWW I wanted to finish this in one sitting but it took FOREVER omg but I like how it turned out despite a few parts being a little lazy and rushed so forgive me for any inconsisties in the writing style

And with any cultural things I messed up like the clothing names or anything pls educate me I don’t wanna be a fuckass hooligan or a koreaboo LMAOO

But I had so much fun writing this and I hope yall enjoy this as well if anyone says it’s cringe suck me and cry me a river anyway love ALL of u and thank u for the support ❣️

[gojoidyll]

WILL IT FIT? CAN'T FIT. DOESN'T FIT. ft. dante, nero, & vergil. (separate obv.)

when things get hot and heavy with your half-demon bf, you come across one issue - their dick won't fit.

cw ; p in v , oral (f receiving) , fingering , +18 , smut , nsfw , mdni , etc.

Dante sits back and has to take a pause. His breath was heavy, his chest rising up and down rapidly as he was trying to get his bearings. His heavy dick resting against your wet entrance.

He stretched you out a lot, at least he thought he did. You came so prettily around his fingers, tongue, and mouth. Multiple times, in fact, so feeling as how he couldn't even push his fat, angry tip past your clenched hole.

"Sweet'rt you gotta," he groaned as he adjusted himself. His tip sliding up and catching your clit making his body shudder as you bucked your hips up at the feeling. Your moans echoing off the walls, "you gotta relax," his words slurred as he tried to focus.

When it becomes obvious that he can't push anymore, he's already hiking your legs up and onto his shoulders and shoving his tongue deep into your walls. His appendage was scaling hot as you felt the wet muscle scrape against every crevice and soft spot, making you buck against his face as tears gathered at the corners of your eyes.

Doesn't fit? Hurts?

Don't worry about a thing, he's give his mouth or his fingers easily. (Even if it takes him a hot minute to understand what's going on.)

Nero is messy. And he can't seem to put his dick in you at all and doesn't stop to the point where he is uselessly humping his wet, cum-slick dick against your folds like a dog in heat.

He's hunched over you, caging you down to the bed with his weight just pressing hard against you. It was hot, it was sweaty, but it was yours. His mouth was feverish, biting, and licking, and trying to press his spit covered mouth to yours in desperate kisses as he thrusts and rolls his hips against you, your pelvic bone grinding against his crotch as his dick kept sliding between your folds, his mushroom tip catching against your tight, puckered hole and then to your puffy, abused clit.

"S'rry, mm s'rry," his words were hot and muffled against your mouth as he tried to apologize, knowing full well that he wasn't fucking into you, and couldn't stop himself for a few seconds to actually align and slip his dick in.

And when you cum on his dick, he is cumming with you in whimpers and choked out moans as his cum spurts in white, scalding hot streams on your pussy lips and dripping down the crevice of your ass and onto the bedsheets. The feeling making you whine as you arch your back and press your bare tits to his chest making him hastily squeeze your hips.

"Again. This time, I actually feel you around me."

The words, will it fit, it won't fit, can't fit, or it doesn't fit never reach Vergil. The words foreign upon his ears as when he has you on your back and two fingers plunged into your tight cunt, he could already tell that you would need to be worked open more before you could take his dick. Which was nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. All bodies were different. And sometimes it didn't matter how aroused one was or how wet their cunt is. Sometimes a pussy just needs that extra attention to it so it'll feel good for both parties.

And Vergil was more than happy to give that comfortable feeling to you, because before he even unbuckles his belt, pulls down his pants, and takes his dick out - you will be well stretched out so a cry of "it hurts" or "it doesn’t fit" never escapes your precious mouth.

"Patience."

The word echoes from his lips for a third time that night when he presses his thumb to your clit and presses down hard.

He enjoys the way you whither in his hold. His eyes raked up your sweat covered body as he denied you an orgasm seven times now.

It wasn't until your world flipped and you found yourself straddling Vergil's lap did your patience finally come through.

Vergil, always taking the time to work you open, sometimes did this. Allowed you on top as he laid back, his pants pushed down and belt undone.

"Take what you want."

You have never been on top before. Not with Vergil. But with how he worked you open and how you lined his tip with your fluttering hole, you were surprised at how easily he pushed in as you rolled your hips. A shaky gasp leaving your lips as Vergil gave you that knowing look he always seemed to have.

Yeah, with Vergil, fear of it hurting or not fitting was never a fear you ever had or will have.

[sai-int]

inspired by this

cw: ghost, smut

it had always been like this. you and ghost—locked in orbit since the day you crash landed on the task force. no insults, no cheap shots. just a constant hum beneath your skin. unspoken tension. coiled pressure.

every run, every drill, every breach, you moved in sync. trained that way—always matched. always parallel. the others noticed. joked about it sometimes. called it healthy competition.

—until it wasn’t

not after this last op—surgical clean, the two of you barely a blip on the radar. smooth in-and-out.

but then that moment; one target, one heartbeat, two shots. yours and his. one kill.

you glanced across the clearing, and met his eyes—or at least the dark voids his stupid plastic skull mask made to shade them. you offered him no nod, no smirk. just that look. flat, unreadable. but something behind his eyes cracked.

and now, here you are.

in the back of a humming humvee, inky darkness pressing up against the windows, night wind curling around the scalding metal frame. price and soap are already on the road ahead. you and ghost were left to follow behind

—“cleanup duty,” if anyone asked.

and he’s on you.

his gloves still streaked with blood as they fist your tac vest, dragging it off your shoulders. your shirt goes with it, teeth flashing under the half-lifted edge of his mask as he devours the curve of your throat, your ribs, the soft flesh just above your waistband.

it’s not gentle.

it’s not sweet.

it’s earned, though

no words pass between you—they hardly ever do. this is no exception.

but you gasp, spine arching as he forces your pants and underwear around your knees, mouth dragging heat down your abdomen. he licks a stripe along your hipbone like he’s tasting victory—like you’re his prize.

he grips your thighs with both hands and presses them to your chest, clothed calves in the air as he exposes your dripping cunt to him. he steadies you like a weapon in his palms. and then—without so much as a glance—he presses his blood-slick glove between your lips.

pushes his fingers in until your mouth parts for him, obedient.

“quiet.”

first word. rough and low. and you swear it sparks something in your chest.

you moan around the roughened threads, eyes fluttering. his breath is hot against your thigh as he growls, bites down hard enough to bloom red under your skin. the seat underneath you is cold, but you’d let him take you on ice if it meant he’d stay in this close.

he lines himself up with no warning. no prep. but he knows you’re ready—slick and aching from the way he’s touched you, looked at you. and when he pushes in your whole body pulses.

“fuck—” he exhales into your neck, voice worn ragged. “tight as i knew you’d be. always fuckin’ got t’one-up me, yeah?”

you try to respond but you can’t. he’s so achingly deep and there’s no room for anything else but him.

he drives into you, pace brutal, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the back of the truck like thunder in a tin roofed chapel.

the humvee rocks.

his mask stays on. of course it does. only just high enough to bare his mouth, the cut of his jaw. and even now, his teeth graze across your chest like a warning—like a mark.

you writhe and you whimper, but you take him.

and when your release hits you, it does so like a wave crashing to shore. your whole body pulls tight around him and he gasps, doesn’t even try to hold back the broken sound in his throat.

he mutters it then—half-shattered, like the words surprised him too.

“fuck, you win.”

and then he’s coming, hard, buried deep inside, hips stuttering before he finally stills.

silence. for a moment.

he stays there. doesn’t move. just breathes—chest rising, falling. then he leans down, rests his temple against yours, voice low and spent, chapped lips on the crest of your ear.

“next time, try not t’shoot my fucking kill.”

you huff a laugh and take the sodden gloves out of your mouth, lips swollen.

“next time, move faster.”

[nottswitch]

sisters bf!theo would so stick his fingers in your mouth while doing doggy to shut you up bc you tried suggesting that you two should stop hooking up when he’s literally pounding into you

꒰ sister’s bf!theo shuts you up when you suggest ending your situationship ꒱

cw: 18+ mdni, cheating, p in v, fingers in the mouth, slight gagging, spanking, mentions of blood, degradation, cursing

a/n: haven’t written in more than two weeks, so forgive me is this is a little rusty, but !!! i missed sister’s bf!theo so much, and my hands have been itching to write some more for the bastard

⋆˚꩜｡

it always came in waves, like a tsunami that the coast guard failed to warn about – the scalding hot shame, the guilt you felt whenever you sister’s boyfriend’s cock stretched you out in ways you’d never have imagined if it wasn’t for him. it was wild, the things theo did to your body, making it crave him more and more after every stolen encounter in your room, when your sister wasn’t around – or even if she was, to be honest; in her room, busy with her college homework, or in the shower, unaware of what was happening on the other side of the wall.

but tonight, you were in luck – she went out on a girl’s night with her friends, and theo wasted no time. the second he texted her an ‘i love you, baby, take care’, he was out of the door, in his car, and then, ten minutes later – in your bed. you were on your hands and knees before you knew it, but your face wasn’t pushed into the pillows this time – no, when your sister wasn’t around, theo wanted to hear you. he needed to know how fucked out you were, how good he was making you feel. at the back of your mind, you were aware it wasn’t really about your pleasure, it was much more about stroking his ego, but… you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when his cock was sliding in and out, making you drip all over your thighs and the sheets, making you–

fuck. why did theo have to leave his phone on the bed, right next to you? did he do that on purpose? you wouldn’t even put it past him. the screen lit up with a notification. a text from your sister, a ‘love you too’, and there it was again – the guilt, the shame, everything all at once, crushing down. theo didn’t even look – he was too busy watching your ass bounce with each of his thrusts, and the screen dimmed in a few moments, untouched and ignored.

"we–" no, you couldn’t string a coherent sentence together, you felt too fucking amazing to think. theo barely heard a word somewhere between your shameless moans, but didn’t pay attention. his hand came down on your asscheek with a sharp slap as he was enjoying the freedom of being as noisy as he wanted. plus, the spanking always made a good job of shutting you up, and he didn’t want you to talk right now – he only wanted the moans and the whimpers.

but for some reason, you just couldn’t let it go. maybe it was because for the first time, you saw the evidence of your sister’s love for theo while he was balls deep inside of you. maybe you’ve just been suppressing it for too long. but when theo’s cock hit your cervix and a jolt of pained pleasure shot through your body, you managed to breathe out: “weshouldn’tbedoingthis.”

“what?”

theo had absolutely no idea what you had just said, because your pussy clenched around him at the same exact moment, squeezing his cock to the point he nearly came on the spot. but he managed to hold off, his hand digging into your ass to steady himself. "the fuck you just said, piccola? why are you even talking?” he muttered in-between breathless pants, his hips snapping to your body with increased speed.

"we shouldn’t–” god, it was hard, talking while you were being railed mindless by a man whose purpose was to stop you from talking. "we shouldn’t be doing… this…” somehow, the words finally came out, followed by another string of lewd, loud sounds from your mouth.

you could hear theo sigh behind you. or maybe it was just a gasp of pleasure, because his thrusts became sloppier, signalling his approaching orgasm. however, just a split second later, your mouth was filled; theo’s fingers were plunged almost to your throat, making you gag – why the hell were they so long, anyway?

"dumb, dumb, dumb.” each word was punctuated by a rough thrust and a slap on your ass. you were tempted to bite his fingers off, but only managed to scrape the skin a little bit. it seemed to turn theo on even more. "can’t believe i hit the dumbest duo in the world. one has no idea i’m fucking her sister right under her nose, and the other thinks i care.”

even his cock rearranging your guts couldn’t stop you from finally sinking your teeth into his index and middle fingers in silent retaliation. theo hissed, but didn’t pull out, even when a metallic tang of blood hit your tongue. you felt a strange sense of satisfaction, knowing you ripped through his skin – at least this way, you managed to get under it.

"you’re just asking for it, aren’t you, piccola?” theo muttered in frustration, realizing he’d have to teach you a lesson and therefore, hold back on finishing. "you’re gonna get it. you’re gonna fucking get it.”

in one fluid motion of his, you were manhandled onto your back, and your legs were flipped over his shoulders. he was clearly enraged, and the previous shame and guilt squeezing your chest were quickly replaced by a sick kind of excitement. you did it.

"let’s fucking pray she doesn’t come back early.”

au. more.

[phantasm-ae]

cw: smut, afab reader x ghost, p in v, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, slight angst

HEADCANON: Simon coming home to his little bird. Making up for all the lost time

PAIRING: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

You're in his shirt. Oversized. Threadbare. Dull and rough. Too teared. Too weared. The material too coarse for your skin.

You're barefoot. Bored. Sulking.

Telly droning in the background -- monotonous. static. a subliminal at this point. forgettable.

A pot simmers on the stove. a half-assed recipe you don't even remember brewing. fuck that. you weren't hungry anyway. you just needed to do something.

you bite your lip before you do it. palming your phone by your side and grasping the hunky and blinking metal in your hands before sliding the lockscreen open. tapping away through apps you keep to feel occupied. Useful. Hopeful. Almost as if your very existence wasn't solely based on him.

Fuck. You were done for, weren't you?

But of course. Every scroll. Swipe. Post. Somehow circles back to Simon.

You catch yourself lingering too long on some shitty video. A military edit. Some faceless bloke moving across their living room just like he usually did when he took over your apartment. Calm. Brooding. Silent. Space and breadth too big to accommodate the mass of him in your tiny living space. Suffocating and claiming. But you never did complain. Never could. Never wanted too.

And suddenly. The kitchen's too quiet. The air is too still. The pot on the stupid stove bubbles like another warning and fuck fuck fuck do you feel it. Sharp. Restless. Tugging. Gnawing. An ache between your ribs and chest.

"only be gone for a couple o'days birdie. don't worry yeah?", he'd said -- like that ever meant anything. Like your body hadn't memorize the precise ache only his presence and absence fills you.

"i know that. doesn't make it hurt any less", you whisper back softly. the breath of your voice tickling his bare chest as you lay there in his arms. Spent. Sated. A few moments of solitude between the two of you after he practically made you boneless and aching after several rounds of trying to make up for what would be lost time again.

Simon scoffed at your words. Hands calloused. Careful. Grip tightening slightly at your hip. He didn't answer. Just lets out another quiet hum like he usually does when he wants to bare something but doesn't quite know how. Emotionally constipated arse of your boyfriend

The memory stings you like a scalding poker through and through. Ache. Ached. Aching. You don't bother stirring anymore after. Letting your phone shut itself off as you stare mindlessly at your reflection in the dark screen. Eyes rimmed red. Fuck were you crying?

And then --

Like summoned --

The door clicks.

Not slams. Doesn't burst open like some grand declaration of returned war. Just... clicks.

Soft.

Deliberate.

Heavy.

Your breathe catches

There's a beat. Two even.

The door creaks open and familiar boots. Muddy. Slow. Tattered and torn. The shoes you constantly made fun of him for moves across the space. Calculating. Hulking. A sigh you'd recognize in the dark. And that scent -- gunpowder. Sweat. Leather. And the faint ghost of whatever godforsaken soap his military base supplies.

You don't move. Don't need to. Never do with him because he was already there. In the doorway to the kitchen. Leaning. Watching with you an almost predatory stupor.

Masked gone. Hair overgrown and messy. Beard thicker. Face almost gaunt. Shoulders tense like he was still carrying the war on his back. But his eyes -- Eyes are only on you. Always was. Always will be.

You blink. Breathless. Drowning

"Thought you said a couple of days", you manage. Voice small. Slightly shaky in what you can't exactly comprehend. Relief. Excitement. Longing? Anticipation?

His lips twitch. Not exactly a smile. Not quite not.

"Couldn't stay away from you birdie"

And then he's striding forward. No warning. No permission. No words.

Tattered fingers and rough hands cupping your jaw. Thumb rough and harsh against your soft cheek. The kiss he drags you in is all teeth and desperation. Hot. Claiming. Not giving you another moment to breath as he slips his tongue in and dominates your mouth. Taking advantage of your gasp and the slight hitch in your breath to devour every bit of your taste and sounds. A promise and an apology all at once.

Only pulling back when he deems it sufficient enough to speak. Not wanting to hear his voice either. Not wanting to show how fucking vulnerable he suddenly feels as he get to quench the initial thirst and ache his mind and body felt for you in weeks.

Breath ragged. Eyes dark.

"Missed you birdie"

Your hand fists in the front of his vest. Grounding yourself. Lip wobbling a bit at that

"You look like hell"

He laughs. Low. Frayed. But... genuine. Something real. Something authentic. Something only ever meant for the sweet little bird he has at home. For you.

"You should see the other guy"

And suddenly -- your kitchen isn't a kitchen anymore.

The floors that he installed, now just tiles and marble beneath your feet. And his hands on your waist. Grip tight. Anticipating. Waiting. Gnawing at you to give him permission. Wraps around you like an unbearable anchor. Pulling, Taut. Reminding you of the need that's been building since the second he left.

You whisper it before you can stop yourself. A plea.

A challenge.

A confession.

Madonna at the edge.

"Use me. I can take it"

You needn't say anything more as the words slip from your tongue. Simon, immediately hoisting you on the counter at that. Wood biting into your skin. Dropping you unceremoniously as the weight of your body rattles the table and makes bits of cutlery and dining ware shake and fall to the ground. Porcelain and glass breaking as he presses into you without another warning.

Nose brushing against yours. Voice dark and raw:

"Came all this way to ruin you. Came all this way to come back to this cunt"

He grinds into you. Once. Hard. A start. A promise of things to come. The pace between the heavy material of his cargos brushing at the soft fabric of your sleep shorts enough to knock the air from your lungs. Core pulsing. Core tightening. Wet between your thighs at that. Pooling. Drawing in. The scent, breath, and touch of him instinctively making you docile and warm. Trained. Invited. Saved for him and him alone.

But then... he stills

A low breath leaves him. Long and ragged. Reining something in. Like he might break you if he doesn't. The pause making you tense up in surprise and confusion as well. Looking up at him in shock and awe. Wondering. Silent. Waiting. The sight of Simon so... vulnerable feels so foreign and obtuse.

His forehead presses to yours as you blink up at him. Doe-eyed. Glossy but coherent. Mouth slightly parted in worry. Grounding. But you can feel it. His pulse thudding under his jaw. The tremble in his hands where they grip your thighs. Legs parting as his hands move to you thighs and then to your waist. Bordering on control. Aching. Tightening but holding back. Wanting to be gentle. But too loose to ever be cruel to his little bird.

"You sure?" he rasps. Voice cracked and wrecked. Almost like he needs to hear it from you again. Starving and parched and you're the only thing keeping him from mauling into a meal like a prayer.

A saint taunting and toying. God birdie just give him the words

"Simon", you whisper. Thighs only tightening around his hips further. Nails finding the meat of his shoulders. "You already knew the answer"

He exhales hard through his nose. A bitter little laugh that tastes like disbelief. Then he kisses you again. Slower this time. Deeper. Tongue sliding past your lips with reverence now. Less like a claim -- more like communion. A way to ground himself. To remember you.

Map you all over again.

You whimper into his mouth, the heat between your legs already too much. His pace, his patience, it’s killing you. Every inch of contact feels deliberate. Worshipful. The drag of his rough fingers under his shirt, up your ribcage, over every bit of skin he missed while he was gone.

Like he’s starving.

Like he’s trying not to inhale you all at once.

And then he’s sinking to his knees.

Wordless.

Controlled.

You barely have time to breathe before he’s mouthing at your inner thigh, teeth grazing just enough to make your hips twitch forward. You gasp, hand fisting in his hair, feeling how damp it is from sweat. He groans like that did something to him. Like he’s the one being touched.

His tongue -- slow, thorough, reverent -- starts to toy through your panties. The fabric dampening in both arousal and his saliva. The hint of his tongue. Moist. Controlled. Slides through your folds. Teasing. Taunting.

His dessert on legs and he's savoring every fucking bite

You choke on a soft whine when his nose nudges against your clothed clit. The friction maddening -- too soft to satisfy, too pointed to ignore.

His palms slide up the backs of your thighs, rough thumbs digging into your flesh just enough to keep you open for him, spread for him, vulnerable. Owned.

"Fuckin’ hell," he mutters, voice half-muffled against the soaked fabric. “You always this sweet when I’m gone, birdie huh?”

You don’t get the chance to answer. He presses a long, open-mouthed kiss directly over your cunt -- wet and unrelenting -- and you jerk, gasping. Eyes wide and glazed, a high-pitched whine crawling out of your throat.

"Didn’t think so," he breathes.

Then he’s hooking his fingers into the hem of your underwear and rips, dragging the ruined and drenched scrap of cotton to the floor. Torn and done for. Just like you will be. The exposure makes you twitch. His eyes flash up to meet yours -- dark, unreadable, devout. And then he’s feasting.

No more teasing. No more mercy.

The first lick is obscene. Broad and slow, flat of his tongue from base to tip, dragging a cry out of you that echoes off the kitchen walls.

He moans into you -- guttural, filthy, like you’ve just given him salvation. Like your taste is the only thing anchoring him back to earth.

And then he does it again. And again. And again.

Your head falls back against the table, eyes rolling, lips parted in a silent plea. Thighs trembling as he works you open, tongue curling and flicking over your clit with clinical precision. He’s not rushing. He’s dismantling. Unmaking you like muscle memory.

“Simon -- nghh oh my god -- Si,” you gasp, fingers digging harder into his scalp.

He groans in response, then sucks -- hard -- right over your clit, and your body jolts like it’s been struck by lightning.

“Fuck please -- don’t stop -- please don’t stop,” you’re babbling now, frantic and breathless.

He doesn't.

He never does.

He flattens his tongue, lets it glide over you like worship, like he’s praying at the altar of your pleasure. His grip tightens on your thighs when you start to shake, hips stuttering as the coil in your gut winds tighter and tighter, on the cusp of snapping --

And then he speaks. Low. Gravelled. The sound inside you as much as it is outside.

“Come on, birdie. Let me taste it. Let me have it all.”

The words shatter something in you.

You come with a cry at that, body seizing, legs clamping around his head. He holds you through it, relentless in his rhythm, sucking and licking until your orgasm crests and crashes, and you're left wrecked on your dining table -- gasping, twitching, drenched.

But he doesn't stop.

He wants the overstimulation. Wants the twitch in your thighs and the desperate tremble in your voice when you try to push him away, only for his hands to clutch you closer. Holding. Clawing. Unrelenting and mean.

"Too much -- too much, Si -- "

"You said you could take it."

His voice is calm. Dangerous. Almost tender.

And then -- he starts again.

Latching onto your pulsing and engorged clit like he’s got all the time in the world to make you come undone again and again. No teasing again this time though. No preamble. Just Simon -- your Simon -- devouring you like he needs the taste to keep going. Doesn't care if fat tears fall from your cheeks and you try to squirm away from his grip.

Doesn’t care that your thighs tremble violently around his ears, or that your fingernails rake through his scalp in desperate protest -- your body a livewire, every nerve screaming -- but he just groans, deep and filthy, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth. Like he’d live here if you let him.

“Stay still,” he growls against your soaked cunt. A warning. Tongue never missing a beat, and it’s so mean, so commanding that your hips jerk toward him instead of away. Obeying. Because of course you do. Because there’s no version of you that doesn’t listen when he speaks like that.

His hands tighten like iron around your thighs, pinning you open like you’re something sacred, something feral. The burn of it all -- the scrape of stubble, the relentless drag of his tongue, the pressure building again despite the ache -- you can't breathe, can’t think, can’t be.

You sob his name.

Not even a plea this time. Just raw sound. A broken thing.

“Simon -- ”

He lifts his eyes then, dark and molten, lashes damp, lips slick and glistening with you.

"You’ll give me another," he rasps, voice so low it rumbles through your bones. “Won’t stop till you're fuckin' ruined for anyone else.”

And then he moans -- like he’s the one overwhelmed -- burying his face between your legs again, tongue stroking, flicking, curling until you feel yourself spiraling.

The edge hits harder this time.

It’s brutal.

Unforgiving.

It doesn’t creep up on you, it slams -- crashing into you like a wave made of heat and white light, and you scream scream scream, legs trembling violently, body writhing in his grip as he holds you down and makes you feel it.

Orgasm tears through you like punishment. Or mercy. Or both.

You’re sobbing now, barely able to breathe, wrecked and open and shaking -- and still he doesn’t stop. His mouth only gentles slightly, dragging your climax out till it feels like it’ll never end.

It’s not until your whole body slumps, twitching and boneless, that he finally pulls back.

Breathless.

Lips red. Chin soaked.

He stands slowly, towering, looming, and you feel small under the weight of him. He leans down, brushing his forehead to yours, voice ragged and reverent.

“Good girl,” he breathes, so soft it barely exists -- just a puff of air against your skin, but it lands like a brand. “Took it all, didn’t you? Gave me everything.”

Your eyes flutter, half-lidded and glazed, mouth parted in a silent moan. You can’t even nod. Your body’s gone -- wrecked and pliant, molded to the heat of his touch, the weight of his words.

His fingers trail down your jaw, calloused pads tracing the trembling line of your throat, your collarbone, until they settle -- possessive -- against your pulse point. He watches it beat. Watches you breathe. Like he’s making sure you’re still here. Still his.

Then, slowly -- almost reverently -- he gathers you into his arms. Lifts you off the table like you’re weightless. Precious.

You sag into him, limp and slick and dazed. Your face pressed against his neck, where sweat and salt and Simon all live. You breathe him in like medicine. Like air.

He murmurs something you can’t quite catch. Something low. Fragile. A confession meant for no one but the shell of your ear. But the way his grip tightens around you -- how his whole body clenches like he's the one barely holding on -- tells you everything you need to know.

You’re not the only one ruined.

But he wears it differently.

Masks it in control.

The shift is sudden.

Your back hits the wall with a thud -- not painful, but jarring. He pins you there, rough hands beneath your thighs, holding you up like it’s nothing. Like you’re nothing but weight for him to wield and use. The air is knocked from your lungs, more from the look in his eyes than the impact.

Dark. Possessive. Starved.

He cages you in -- arms locked, hips pressing flush to yours, the hard line of him undeniable through his gear. Still dressed. Still in uniform. You gasp, the cool of the wall behind you clashing with the heat of his body in front.

“Look at you,” he growls, low and biting, nose brushing your cheek as he presses in closer. “You let me ruin you on the fuckin’ table and now you’re trembling like a good little thing. You like that? Letting me use you like this?”

You can’t speak. Just moan, nodding weakly, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist like your body’s made to be held here. By him. Only him.

His hands slide under your thighs, rough and firm, hoisting you higher against the wall until your back arches, chest pressing into his. You feel every inch of him, steel and heat, rigid through the fabric that separates you -- and he hasn’t even bothered to take anything off. Not yet.

“You don’t even know what you look like right now,” he mutters, voice thick, almost reverent. “Drunk on it. On me.”

He rolls his hips up once -- slow, brutal -- and it knocks a cry out of you. The friction, the pressure, the weight of him. So so sensitive that the coarse fabric of his cargos meeting your overstimulated cunt ache ache ache … it’s maddening.

You whimper -- high and broken -- head falling forward against his shoulder. Fuck he was relentless. Grinding into you like he knows exactly where it hurts the most, where it makes you come alive again despite the wreckage.

"That’s it, birdie,” he snarls into your hair, breath hot. “Cry for it. I want those sweet little noises every time I move.”

Your fingers claw at the thick collar of his gear, desperate for something to anchor you, to remind you this is real -- this impossible friction, this overstimulation that’s bordering on unbearable.

And still, he doesn’t stop. He likes it like this. Likes the ache. The stretch. The mess.

“You feel that?” he grits, as he pushes his shirt higher above you to reveal your sopping and dripping cunt. Hole pulsing open and close on instinct as the tip of his fingers slowly inches there way in.

His breath shudders out when he looks down and sees it. Pupils dilating at the ravenous and erotic scene at the tip of his fingertips -- the way your cunt clenches around nothing, fluttering and desperate just for the teasing brush of his fingers.

“Fuckin’ hell baby,” he growls, almost to himself. “Look at you. Beggin' without even saying a word.”

He drags the pad of his thumb over your swollen clit -- slow, brutal -- and you jerk, another soft sob ripping out of you.

"Sensitive, yeah?" he mocks, but it’s low, almost affectionate. One thick finger presses in, breaching you just enough to feel the molten heat inside -- and you mewl, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Christ, birdie, you’re fuckin’ dripping,” he mutters, sounding wrecked, sinking the finger in deeper, to the knuckle. You squeeze around him so tight it punches a groan out of his chest.

"You’re gonna take me so good," he rasps, eyes locked to the sight of his finger fucking into you, your slick gushing around him. He adds another without warning -- a thick stretch, a sharp delicious ache -- and your head bangs softly back against the wall as you keen.

“That’s it," he hisses, scissoring them open, slow and punishing. "Stretching you nice and wide for my cock."

You can’t think. Can’t breathe. His fingers fill you, fuck into you with devastating precision, finding that gooey spot inside that makes your whole body seize and buck against him.

"Simon — fuck hic nghhh— I—" you cry, incoherent, and he smiles — cruel and sweet.

"You’ll take it, yeah?," he says, voice a razor across silk. "Every last fuckin' inch baby."

And then -- he pulls his fingers out, slow and filthy, strings of slick clinging to them. He smears it over the head of his cock as he finally frees it from his cargos -- thick, heavy, angry red -- and you sob at the sight, hips chasing him mindlessly.

"Yeah," he grunts, lining himself up. "You’re ready."

He doesn’t push in right away. Just holds you there -- suspended between the wall and the full, raw weight of him. The head of his cock resting against your entrance, twitching, aching.

His gaze stays locked on yours, as if trying to memorize this exact moment. Your blown-out pupils. The flush of your cheeks. The way you tremble even as your arms wrap tighter around his shoulders. Fuck look at that. What a sight you were. All the more reason his fingers ache with the need to kill.

To be brutal. To be mean. To tarnish and maul at his skin with the blood of a fresh kill.

All that. All this. All everything just for the taste and sight of you.

“Ready,” you repeat his words, voice barely there. A confession more than a word. A surrender.

Simon exhales, sharp through his nose like it hurts to hold back. His hands flex on your thighs, grounding himself.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, forehead pressing to yours. “I know baby. I know.”

Then, slowly -- so slowly you feel it in every breath, every nerve ending -- he begins to push forward. Not just his body, but everything. The distance. The ache. The time. All of it crashes into you in that single, intimate act of him coming home to you.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders. You feel the tremor in him. Hear the way his breath shudders out as he starts to bury himself inside you. The girth and familiar width making you softly whine again at the stretch. Rarely ever used to it. To him. To his cock pushing inside of your tiny little cunt like its where it belongs. Where it has always belonged. Where it will always belong.

It’s overwhelming. Not just the stretch or the pressure -- but the intimacy of it. The gravity of being held like this. Claimed like this.

Every inch is a promise: I missed you. I’m back. I’m yours.

When he’s finally seated deep, buried to the hilt, he doesn’t move. Just holds you there, wrapped around him, trembling and gasping, your forehead still pressed together like he’s anchoring the both of you with it.

His thumb brushes under your eye, catching the silent tear that had slipped out from the overwhelming feeling.

"Shhh shhh I know baby. I know", he coos. Mocking. Soft. But with fervor and just as desperate. Jaw clenching as you involuntarily clench again as he subtly shifts to hold you closer against him.

He cradles your face like it’s something sacred, like the salt of your tears means more to him than anything he’s ever earned in blood or bone. His other arm tightens around your waist, steady and unyielding, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“I’ve got you, birdie. Got you yeah?,” he whispers, voice thick and breaking at the edges. “Not going anywhere.”

You nod, or try to. It’s more like a quiver. Because he’s right -- it’s too much. Not just the fullness of him, not just the way your body’s stretched and shaking around him, but him. The weight of what he’s giving you, of what he’s asking without words.

Stay. Hold me. Let me stay.

He pulls back just a little, hips rolling slow, testing, and you shudder as he grits his teeth and whispers a soft fuck -- gasps tangled in each other's mouths. He watches your face, like he’s chasing every shift, every stutter of breath, every half-sob. You feel bare like this -- not naked, but seen. All of you. The need, the ache, the softness you save just for him.

You wrap your arms tighter around his neck and whisper it against his jaw, breath catching:

“I missed you. So much, Si -- ”

He groans like it rips something open inside him, burying his face into the curve of your neck. You feel the heat of his breath, the way his body trembles with restraint -- and then he starts to quicken the pace. Trying to stay slow. Still reverent. But deeper. Purposeful. Like every thrust is a vow:

I’ll make it up to you. I’ll never leave you empty again.

"Bloody hell baby. So tight for me. How are you still so tight for me?"

He grits the words out like they hurt -- like the feeling of you wrapped around him is almost too much, like it’s pulling him apart thread by thread.

His forehead presses against yours again, sweat-slicked and shaking. His breath stutters against your mouth as he rocks into you, quicker now and brutal, dragging every inch of himself through your walls like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you all over again.

Legs dangling at his forearms. Caged. Spread open like velvet on his cock.

You moan something helpless, wrecked, and his hand fists against the wall beside your head as he feels you tighten against him. Your spongy walls hugging his dick tighter like it doesn't want to let him go.

“You’re all mine,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Fuck -- always been mine.”

You nod, gasping, eyes glassy. “Yours, Simon -- always, always yours.”

Something breaks behind his eyes.

He groans like it’s too much, too tight, too perfect, and then he slams his hips up into you with more force that knocks the air from your lungs. Once. Twice. A rhythm that’s no longer careful -- it’s desperate. Relentless. You feel it in your spine, in your ribs, in the heat curling low and fast in your belly. Pushing all the way to the hilt until he feels himself punch his way into a deeper part of you.

The tip of his hard cock hitting your cervix. The sudden and surprising intrusion making you gasp and scream. Nails unconsciously clawing at his arms, back, and chest. Quivering at the sensation as you whine. Eyes rolling at the back of your head at the almost painful feeling.

But that sight. God that sight and feel of you makes him growl and grow even quicker. Unmerciful. Mean. Brutish. Unable to stop as he thrusts again and again into your cervix at a bruising pace. Not caring if your mouth remains half-open in a silent scream at the overwhelming and paralyzing feeling.

The wet slide of him inside you, the sound of skin on skin, his name -- gasped, choked — on your lips over and over like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You feel that?” he growls, one hand gripping your ass, the other splayed over your lower back, holding you in place while he fucks you up higher against the wall. Legs stretched wider in his arms to the point that it aches your thighs. Using your hole like it was nothing more than a fleshlight. “Feel how deep I am? How perfect you are for me, birdie?”

You whimper, head falling back against the wall, letting him take, letting him have.

And still, somehow, it feels like giving.

He grunts, the sound guttural, vibrating against your skin as he drives deeper, harder, chasing something feral between your bodies. His cock drags against every sensitive nerve inside you, thick and hot and relentless -- and you can’t think, can’t breathe -- there’s only Simon, only the rough rhythm of him pounding into you, the overwhelming fullness, the heat building tighter and tighter until you’re right there again, on the knife’s edge.

He feels it -- the way your body clenches around him, desperate and fluttering -- and he snarls, fucking you harder against the wall, like he’s trying to carve his name into your very bones. Punching deeper and deeper into your womb like there was any more space left for him to worm his way into.

“Shhhh I know baby. I know -- fuck -- That’s it, baby -- take it, take all of me,” he pants, forehead pressed hard to yours, sweat dripping from his temples. “You were made for me. Fuckin’ made for me.”

Your legs quake around his hips, nails raking down the broad span of his back, and you sob his name, high and broken, as your orgasm tears through you -- blinding, brutal, endless.

You’re still coming when he continues to thrust again -- deep, possessive -- pulling another cry from your lips that’s more instinct than sound. Groaning lowly as you whimper at the overstimulated feeling.

“Si -- I can’t -- I just -- ”

But he’s already shaking his head, mouth brushing your cheek, your jaw, your lips.

“Yes you can,” he breathes, voice ragged. “You will. Gonna give me everything, birdie. fuck fuck yeah like that -- Every fuckin’ time.”

And he keeps moving, hips grinding into the heat of you, wet and pulsing and too much -- but not enough. Not for him.

Your whole body trembles, wrecked and overstimulated, your fingers digging into his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing left. And maybe they are. Maybe he is.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growls, forehead pressed to yours again, eyes wild and wide. “You squeeze me like you don’t wanna let go. Like you can’t.”

You sob, raw and breathless, head falling back -- and he chases it, kisses your throat like a man starving.

“I’m not stopping,” he whispers against your skin. “Not ‘til I know you feel it. Every part of you. Every breath. Every fuckin’ heartbeat — mine.”

You can only whine, tears starting to fall down your cheeks in both pain and pleasure. Bordering on hurt and the aching feeling to please and feel all of him after so long

"Said you can take it didn't you birdie? -- Yeah fuck -- So you will yeah?"

masterlist

[actyl]

cw. they make out.

her face was still flushed from the argument. it wasn’t the first one—god knew it wouldn’t be the last one—but for some reason, this one had just gone too far.

heat roared beneath her skin in a way that made her head pound. sweat clung to her hairline, beads threatening to slide down the back of her neck. she could feel it steaming off her skin as her anger burned hotter, searing through her veins, setting in her bones.

her scowl twisted deeper, muscles pulling taut until her jaw ached and cheeks throbbed from the strain. every breath felt like stroking a first: sharp, shallow, scalding. her chest heaved as she took in breath after breath, but it still wasn’t enough to cool the fury coiled inside her, something nearly suffocating.

“you should go,” her voice was low and tight.

“you’re not serious.” he scoffed, taking a step back in disbelief. “you’re gonna throw me out just ‘cause i proved you were wrong?”

“this isn’t about that.” she shot back, arms crossed in defense, completely guarded.

“it’s about you being completely impossible. always picking a fight, always pushing like you’re trying to pick a fight.”

“well,” his voice was smooth, the smile on his face dangerous. “you just make it so easy—”

“god, you’re so insufferable.”

“i know.” yet his smile, sharp and triumphant, never disappeared. she was used to his cocky demeanor, the teasing that lived permanently on his lips. but his eyes were different—something darker, something warmer—something that made her stomach churn. every hair on her body stood up, like she knew danger was coming.

“you just love to show up like you know everything—like you’re just waiting for me to fail so you can swoop in and prove you’re better.” she snapped.

he chuckled, an exhale more than a sound, stepping closer.

“please,” his voice was sharp. “i don’t need to wait for you to fail, you make that part pretty easy all on your own.”

she clenched her fists at her side, breaths shallow as hos words stung deeper than she’d like to admit. his smirk only added salt to her wounds, the way he stood, so effortlessly self-assured. she was used to this, his arrogance, but she’d never seen him push her buttons so purposefully.

“is that what you think?” her voice trembled with a mix of frustration, irritation, and something she couldn’t quite place.

his head tilted, smirk growing wider as he took a step closer. he could feel the heat radiating off her, her skin just a few inches away from his own. there was something in the way he looked at her, a knowing glint in his eyes that made her blood run hot in ways she’s always hated.

“i don’t think you want me to show you up,” he clarified, voice barely above a whisper. “but we both know you wouldn’t mind if i did.”

her eyes narrowed. “you love to think you’re better than me, don’t you? like you’ve got everything figured out, like you’ve got nothing better to do than look down on me.”

he met her glare, unflinching, the tension between them palpable. for a moment, they just stood there, her words hanging heavy between them before he broke the silence.

“it is pretty amusing seeing you like this. but don’t lie—deep down, you like this. you like the challenge.”

his gaze was intense, she took a step back and he took another step forward, maintaining the distance. “we’ve been at each other’s throats for so long, you’d probably miss it if i wasn’t here.”

her breath caught in her throat, the air felt thick, a knife wouldn’t be enough to cut the tension between the two. heat built up with every word; she wanted to scream at him, but he was right. she would miss it, and some part deep inside her knew she would miss him, as insufferable as he was.

“we’re supposed to hate each other.”

“supposed to.” she was suddenly aware of how close he was, too close. his presence felt overwhelming, and she struggled to maintain her composure even as her pulse quickened. his cologne tickled her nose, clinging to the air—something sharp and clean. it made her head spin.

she wanted to step back, to create some distance, but her feet felt rooted to the floor. the way he looked at her, the maddening intensity of his gaze made the world disappear.

“i don’t think either of us know what we’re supposed to do anymore,” he murmured, his voice soft, filled with a quiet challenge daring her to admit what they both knew.

she swallowed hard, she could hear her heartbeat as her heart threatened to jump out of her chest. she opened her mouth to say something, anything—to push him away, but any words she could muster up caught in her throat.

instead, she stood there, staring at him, her mind a chaotic swirl of what they were, and what they weren’t supposed to be.

she didn’t expect it—didn’t know how it happened—but suddenly, his mouth was on hers, hard and demanding. it was messy and heated and too much; it was all teeth and heat, clashing of frustrated breaths, as if neither of them could hold back any longer. she gasped against him, the intensity of the kiss stealing the air from her lungs, making her knees weak beneath her.

his hands were on her, one on her waist, one threading through her hair, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him. the way he kissed her felt desperate, almost angry—as if he was trying to prove something to her, or perhaps to himself.

it was like fighting and surrender all at once—like neither of them could decide if they were given in or trying to win.

their lips found a steady rhythm, molding into each other. his grip on her waist was firm, fingers digging deep enough to leave her dizzy, like he was grounding her and setting her on fire all at once. her hands fisted in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan into her mouth—a low sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

his hand slid from her waist to her back, she was sure if they pressed against each other any closer they’d become one. it felt as if they couldn’t get enough of each other—like every sharp word, every bitter stare they’d shared had all been building to this.

“i hate you.” she gasped between kisses, breathless and burning.

“i know,” he murmured, “i hate you, too.”

“you’re impossible.”

she could feel his grin against her lips as he kissed her again—deeper, slower kiss, like he knew exactly how much it would unravel her.

“you love it.”

mikey sano, takashi mitsuya, shinichiro sano, KISAKI TETTA, rindou haitani, RAN HAITANI / yuji terushima, TETSURO KUROO, tooru oikawa, hajime iwaizumi, akaashi keiji / EDWARD ELRIC, roy mustang / tomura shigaraki, TOUYA TODOROKI, KEIGO TAKAMI / JASON TODD, tim drake, damian wayne, DICK GRAYSON / shin asakura, YOICHI NAGUMO / EREN YAEGER, jean kirstien, armin arlert

actyl -> do not copy or repost my works

[venus-in-roses]

OUT OF THE FIRE | jayce x fem!reader - PART I

───────── ⑅ ♡ ⑅ ─────────

♡ ⑅ you're thirsting over jayce as he works on the forge.

♡ ⑅ word count: 600 ~ quick little drabble

♡ ⑅ cw: dom!jayce, suggestive language, nudity, no actual explicit smut (FOR NOW), sweaty sweet sweat, reader wants to seduce him in the forge. thats it that's literally it

───────── ⑅ ♡ ⑅ ─────────

Say the words I long to hear

Pinch bite kiss suck lick and sear

In a pyromantic way I'm her slave

Living for her to ignite

─ type o negative - pyretta blaze

The heat of the forge engulfed the ample room in a suffocating atmosphere. Each flame danced manically to the rhythmical sound of iron pounding against iron.

Tink tink tink

The heat scalded your face, evoking a thick layer of sweat from your pores. The agony, the fear of fire, the coal embers, the soot and the sweat – all of it melted your bones as you watched him work.

Tink tink tink

Unbeknownst to him, you stood there silently, studying him from afar. Despite feeling your face burning and your body steaming under the cloak, you endured. 

The Forge was ample and ancient enough to be oppressing – the undying fire, the soot stained walls and particles of ashes dancing in the air. Your eyes hurt watching him against the fire, hammering his unknown creation on the anvil with focus. Staring at his back, his skin gleamed with sweat that dripped with every move of his wide back and strong arms, speckled with soot.

His hair was dishevelled, sweat dripping from his strands and his furrowed brows as he pulled molten metal from the fire. You still hadn’t seen what he was forging, but that clearly wasn’t what your eyes wanted to see.

Moving to another workstation, the man stretched his arms up and pulled on a chain of heavy links. You could see every muscle moving perfectly, highlighted by the layer of sweat and punctuated by his groans. His face contorted with the amount of strength he was applying, white teeth grinding as his eyelids squeezed together.

The movements of his body were toxically seductive, making your head spin and your lower stomach burn as your mind wandered – how would his arms feel? How hard can he hold you? How salty is his sweat? How hard would he thr–

“I can feel you staring. Your eyes are burning me more than the fire.”

Jayce’s low tone reverberated over the stone walls, jolting you back to reality. Gods, how long did he see you staring? Before the embarrassment betrayed you, you slipped the hood off your head, a sly smile on your face.

You had rehearsed this in your head so many times. But it was still nerve wracking.

One booted foot after the other, you stepped cattily towards him, staring right into his eyes. The corner of his lips turned upwards in a discreet smirk, and he crossed his huge arms on his chest, purposefully making himself bigger before you.

The closer you got to the heart of the forge, the hotter you felt. Touching the edge of the anvil to test the temperature, you looked up to Jayce as a drop of sweat ran down your forehead.

“You’ll overheat in this cloak, sweetheart.”

The anvil was still too warm, but you wanted to keep your act. Supporting yourself on your hands, you sat right beside his tools on top of the anvil, feeling the heat on your ass and the back of your thighs.

When you stretched out a foot to teasingly touch his leg, his eyes didn’t miss how the slit of your cloak revealed a naked knee. The heavy fabric clung slightly to your damp skin, making the man before you stare at your covered body with attention. Your face flushed under his blazing gaze, but you kept to your confident act.

With a smirk, he uncrossed his arms and gently brought his calloused hand to the clasp of your cloak. The golden brooch quickly opened up with a delicate touch of his fingers, and you laid back on your arms as the heavy damp fabric unrolled over your sweaty naked body. You stared straight at him, chest heaving slightly in anticipation.

He lowered himself closer to your face and firmly clasped a strong hand around your neck, making your breath hitch in surprise.

“Don’t disturb my work.”

♡

edit: part II already posted!

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 15

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, smut (piv, fingering, double penetration, cock warming) violence, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: guys i think hes trying. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

You don't know how many times you and Daemon walked around the fountain. Truth be told, as the seconds bled into minutes, you began to fear he would get impatient with you and ask you to stop your walk before you were ready to. It didn't help that every time you looked to examine his demeanor, he was already looking at you. His gaze was scalding. You could not keep it for more than a second.

You could not help but pick at the flower in your hand until all its petals were scattered on the floor. You felt uneasy around him.

At some point, you became too restless walking around with him that you opted to sit down and be done with it. "Very well," you mutter, sitting on the wide ledge of the stone fountain, "I shall tell you."

Daemon sits next to you, brows furrowing at the way your breath hitches.

You suck in a deep breath, "our children are-"

"You need not speak of them this instant," he takes your hand, squeezing it, "not if it is unbearable."

You look at his hand. You look at him. You see the softness of his gaze. You feel nothing. You mutter his name.

He mutters your back in response, reaching for your cheek.

You pull away, both your head and your hand.

He gulps, watching you scoot back. He retreats and digs his nails into his lap.

"If I do not tell you now," you shake your head, looking over your shoulder, "I do not know when next I will be willing."

Daemon watches you watch the water trickle. He shifts, "I do not mind."

"I do," you whip your head back, "I do not want to keep you waiting."

He watches your dark hair flow with the wind. He so badly wants to brush it out of your face. He shakes his head, "you have waited enough for me."

You chuckle dryly, "you misunderstand," you look away and reach for the flower drifting over. You grunt as you stretch your arm out, "you make me uneasy."

Daemon's face twitches. Poison spreads through his thorax and an invisible noose tightens around his neck. He opens his mouth, but only a shudder leaves him. You say this so casually too... what horror.

You manage to reach the flower and relax back in your spot after grabbing it. You stare at the rose before turning to your husband. He looked so unlike what he did the day he left you. His hair, which was once nearly the length of yours, now couldn't cover his ears. And his eyes... they were uncharacteristically soft. You lower your gaze, "there was once a time I put a flower in your hair... do you recall it?"

He knits his brows.

You brush your rose petals.

He does not recall. "I recall the day you littered your brother and your ward with blossoms you picked from the field."

You chuckle as you fidget with your rose, "pity."

Daemon swallows a thick lump in his throat, "would you help me recall it?"

"Twas the same day," you smile, looking up at him.

He is winded, "I-"

"I pity you, I really do."

Deep lines form on his face. He shakes his head as his voice breaks, "I... do not mean to forget."

You chuckle again, though there was no trace of amusement in your chest, only tightness, "I know you don't," you tentatively raise the flower and take a deep breath. It takes a few moments for you to gather the nerve to secure the rose by his ear.

Daemon stills as you do so, then helps you put the flower in place.

You pull away, looking at him and his rose. You noticed the way his breathing grew heavy, how his eyes glistened with tears that threatened to fall. You sigh and shrug, "I remember placing a bud in your hair and thinking you-" you stop to chuckle. Youu shrug and shake your head, "-were devastatingly handsome I could not help but stare."

His lips part and his nostrils twitch.

You wait for him to react.

He does not.

"Do you not recall this either?" you raise your brows, "those were your own words."

He knits his brows, sheepish over how you were seemingly teasing him so suddenly for his vanity.

"You came from the City Watch," you clarified, "I did not know it yet, but you had razed King's Landing and executed criminals in the streets—"

His jaw slacks, "ah."

"—you were covered in blood. I stared because I was concerned and that," you point to nowhere, "was what you told me."

He shakes his head, "a poor jest of a man who thinks himself funny," he turns to the bushes, "forget the memory."

You knit your brows, "I do not want to forget."

He looks back at you.

"I did agree," you mutter, "though instead of devastatingly handsome, I would have called you beautiful."

Daemon wanted to speak, but then the flower in his hair was being blown off by the wind. He keeps it in its place, forfeiting the moment to respond.

"It must be terrible to have only the capacity to recall things that cause you rage or suffering."

A wind blows between you and the air in his lung is pulled along with it. Daemon shivers when you reach a hand out to him. He looks at your outstretched palm before taking it in both of his. His heat causes your skin to prick with goosebumps. His hand felt as hot as dragon fire.

"I recall your scent and the feel of your skin," Daemon scoots forward, "I recall your tenderness and your fire. I-"

"You must understand," you cut him off, placing your other hand atop his, "I do not ask you to recall merely to reminisce," you take a few deep breaths, "I do this to explain I no longer feel that way."

His stomach drops. He realizes then this stoic countenance you held was not that but indifference to him. He whimpers and lowers his head, "no, please-"

"I feel nothing for your sadness," you mutter, "I cannot lend you any more of my pity, for where I once saw beauty, I now see only grief..."

Tears stain his cheeks.

"And loss," you pull away to wipe his face, "my babes looked so much like you."

He presses his hands atop yours and pushes them into his cheeks so that you would not let him go.

"Our babes," you correct yourself.

He whimpers. He screws his eyes shut, trying to recall their names. He cannot.

"I did not write about them for I knew you took many lengths to avoid having children with me."

His eyes are suddenly wide open. He is blindsided.

"I, myself, could not believe it when the maester told me I was with child. He explained to me that it is possible to conceive with premature ejaculation."

Daemon's hold on your hands loosen. You knew what he was doing all along? You pull away.

"I was deeply afraid you would doubt me, doubt their parentage because you never spilled inside of me, but... you should know that my tw— our twins both had silver hair," you sniffle, "and violet eyes."

You begin to weep as the punishing memory plays in your head. He feels helpless to see you this like this, twice over because he knows if he touches you, you will retreat.

You whimper and shake your head, "many bore witness to my... miscarriage."

The thought horrifies him.

"Your brother being one."

Daemon's face is aghast.

"You can go to him if you ever wish to accuse me of infidelity."

"You think the worst of me," he groans.

You stare at him for a moment then burst into dry laughter, "I do not. You attacked my guards for something you misheard me mutter in my sleep— I think exactly what I know of you."

He makes a sound, "but I-"

You wait for him to continue.

There is nothing left for him to say.

"You must," you sigh, "understand... I am only trying to make you understand. Where you yearn presently I yearned for three years."

"But I don't understand," he shakes his head, "had I not returned today, would you have still written to me?"

You inhale deeply, "I would."

"Then why don't you want me?"

"Because, Daemon!" you come to a stand, "had you not returned today, you still would have ignored me!"

He looks up at you.

"And my children would remain unburied!"

His jaw drops, "w-what?"

"I did not have them buried!" you point to the side, "I had them kept rotting in a box so that they would be acknowledged once by their father and be sent off in the traditions of their house."

Daemon slowly rises to his feet. He gulps, raising a hand.

You step back, "do you understand?"

He clenches his fists, then relaxes. He nods, "what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to prepare the funeral rites for my children and I want their bodies honored tomorrow."

He stares at you for a moment before nodding again. He mutters under his breath, "eminna ziry gaomagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." I will have it done, my love.

"Ȳdra daor yne brōzā bona." Don't call me that.

He is taken off-guard, forgetting that you now speak his mother tongue.

You wipe your face and smoothen out your robe, "I nightly have supper with my sister and nephew."

He watches you shake your head. Something happens to his heart as he imagines how you've lived without him.

"You are more than welcome to join us, so long as you promise to keep your manners."

He perks.

"But you ought to know I normally invite whichever ward is keeping me guard to dine with us."

His eye twitches. He aimlessly examines the sky, "I..."

You watch his expression closely.

"I do not think I can stomach being around your wards, let alone dine with one."

"But I've explained that-"

He raises a hand. You clench your teeth, watching him shake his head. He releases a deep breath, "it is not my desire that you resent me more than you already do."

You watch him reach a hand out to you.

"Let me walk you at least?"

You stare at his hand for a moment. When you take it, you feel your stomach drop and Daemon feels his spirit lifted.

The walk you take is silent. When you arrive to the solar you dined at, Daemon rubs your hand before pulling away. You watch him fade down the hall and you feel conflicted to see him go.

He walks off to gods know where and aimlessly continues to do so until he hears someone call his name. When he turns, he sees his brother's face.

Viserys had been smiling, up until he got close enough to see Daemon's face. The king's brows furrow. He places a hand on his brother's arm, watching tears stream from his face, "skoros iksis pirta?" What is wrong?"

"I could not ask her... but she said you saw them," he mutters, gripping Viserys by the arms. His lips wobble and his brows tighten, "vestas ao ūndan ñuha riñar." She said you saw my children.

Viserys tenses when Daemon's grip tightens, out of aggression or desperation, he was not sure. To his brother, sometimes the two were one in the same. He places his hands on Daemon's shoulders and tries to calm him down.

Daemon shudders, "what did they look like?"

It hits him. He thinks of the moon you left for Oldtown after Daemon left for the Stepstones and how Alicent worried that it would cause conflict between in your marriage. A sourness spreads in the king's mouth as he recalls Alicent worriedly relaying her sister's worries to him— that Daemon would accuse her of fleeing to Oldtown because she had strayed. Viserys clenches his jaw, "they're your children, brother."

Daemon's brows furrow, "w-what?"

"They're Valyrian— silver hair, violet eyes-"

The prince shakes him, "you misunderstand me." He shakes his head, a whimper leaving his lips, "what did they look like?"

Viserys watches Daemon's eyes water all over again.

"Did they look like me? Did they look like her? Did they have her nose? Her lips? Her brows? Or mine?" He shudders, "were they beautiful?"

Viserys feels his lungs tighten when his brother sobs into his chest. His own eyes water and he throws his arms around Daemon. He leans into him as his brother's arms tighten around him. Viserys does not recall the last time Daemon's wept in his arms.

"Shijetra nyke. Nyke shifang aōha ōdres sir," Daemon says through tears. It forces tears to fall from Viserys's eyes. Forgive me. I understand your pain now.

Viserys holds him a little tighter, "ñuha valonqar." My (younger) brother.

The two remain this way until Daemon was calm enough to part from the embrace.

After supper, you make your way back to your chambers, frowning to see it empty. You take a candle and light it, heading out of your room to look for your husband. In truth, you did not know why you were doing so, for all you knew, he was out in Fleabottom, reliving the early days of your marriage. Still... here you were.

You pad quietly down the halls and ask the occasional servant you pass if they had seen Daemon. The response was the same between them all: no, princess. You nod and bid them good night each time before walking off.

You realize soon your feet were silently leading you somewhere, which is why you stop when you reach the hall to the Kingsguards' quarters. You find your eyes falling to the door that lead to the shared room of the Cargyll brothers. You momentarily recall the rather cold dismissal you gave them, which was so unlike you. Your heart calls for you to check on them. The next thing you know, you're knocking on their door.

You watch the light on your candle flicker as you wait for an answer. You watch it go off when the door opens with a, "princess."

You look up, finding Arryk's worried face, and soon, Erryk behind him.

"Has something happened?" Erryk asks hurriedly.

You shake your head, "no... I," you look at the smoke wafting from your candle, "I just wanted to see if you were alright."

Arryk, even through the darkness, could see your bare décolletage. His eye lingers before he shakes his head, "you needn't worry about us. My brother and I are well."

"It was your husband that ended up badly injured," Erryk quips.

Arryk looks over to his brother. Erryk has his eyes on you, or rather, your candle. He reaches out, "allow me to relight it, my princess."

You watch him take your candle and a shiver runs down your spine as the wind blows down the quiet hall.

Arryk notices and steps aside, "it will not take long, but please, take a seat."

You walk into their room and Arryk motions to one of the beds. You take a seat and watch Erryk look through his drawers, grumbling, "where the bloody hells did I put that damn flint?"

Arryk drapes a blanket on your shoulders, rolling his eyes at his brother, "hang on."

You tighten the blanket around you, immediately feeling warm, not only because of the added layer, but because it smelled like your ward. You watch Arryk dig through his own drawers and the moment he grumbles like his twin, you realize you it was going to take long. You didn't mind at all though.

You decide to lie down and make yourself comfortable. You yawn, knowing then you were, in fact, exhausted.

Erryk decides his flint is lost and snaps at his brother, "where's your fucking flint?"

Arryk glares at back at him, "mind your manners, worm."

Erryk immediately tenses, remembering why he was looking for flint in the first place. His eyes turn to you, throat tightening to see you lying down. He steps forward, calling out your name.

Your heavy eyes open wide, only to fall again at the sight of Erryk, "hmm?"

Erryk kneels beside you, "you cannot sleep here." His hand twitches, dying to touch you.

Hearing his twin's words, Arryk turns. He rubs his chest and curses under his breath.

You merely hum again, snuggling deeper into your blankets.

Erryk speaks your name once more.

You sigh, "yes?"

"Princess," Arryk says, clenching his fists in an attempt to steel himself away, "I do not think we will find flint to light your candle."

Erryk ignores reason and listens to desire; he places a hand on your cheek, belly burning when you lean into his touch.

Arryk gulps at the sight of it. His voice is soft and shaky, "y-you cannot sleep here."

You sigh once more, finally pushing yourself up from the bed. You tighten the blanket around you with a groan. Your heavy eyes look upon Erryk, knelt on the floor, his own eyes were blown, wholly opposite to yours. You then turn to Arryk, stood rigid by his drawers. You notice the way his fingers twitch.

You place your hand on Erryk's shoulders, intending push yourself up on him, that is, until you feel the heat of him; he is impossibly hot. You examine his face, lips parting at the sight of his furrowed brows. Erryk whimpers when your colder hands come to his cheeks. He wants for nothing else than to warm you.

"Do you want me to leave?" you mutter.

Erryk immediately shakes his head. Arryk immediately calls out your name.

Erryk ignores him, eyes lowering to your neck, or what was left uncovered by your blanket.

You turn to Arryk, licking your lips before asking slowly, "do you want me to leave?"

Arryk gulps, lowering his head.

"You're welcome to leave, brother," Erryk mutters, hands coming atop yours. He hisses at the coolness of your skin and mutters rather pathetically, "please."

You ignore Erryk, eyes on his twin, "Arryk?"

Arryk scoffs, lifting his countenance. He does not say a word. He merely walks to the door and locks it before walking in front of you to kneel beside his brother.

Erryk whines when your hand leaves him. You shush him as you take Arryk's cheek, "the gods gave me two hands to hold you both at once."

Arryk leans into your touch, nearly choking on his spit at the smell of your fragrance on your wrist.

"Please," Erryk begs for the second time, "my skin grows hotter. I need to warm you."

You relish the feel of their cheeks a moment longer before pulling away completely. Their eyes watch you like a hawk and you bask in the attention before pushing the blanket off your shoulders. You sigh and nod, tilting your head back.

They are immediately upon you. Four hands roam you at once, two hot mouths on either side of your neck. They move in sync, never colliding with a hand that did not belong to them, their touches somehow contrasting yet complimenting all at once.

Arryk, ever the more level headed and patient, kisses against your throat slowly and gently. His hands work to undress you, to massage your breasts, to assure you of his devotion. Erryk, ever the more hungry and eager, licks and nips against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, though not in a manner that would ever be unpleasant. His hands work to pleasure you, to make you moan, to make known his yearning.

Like clockwork, each twin finds your most sensitive part, loath to part from your skin. Though one was as greedy as the other in their desire for you, your own desire came before theirs, and never has there been a moment where either of them kept you wanting.

You lean into Arryk, eyes screwing shut as you chase after his mouth. He does not make you wait; his hand comes to the back of your neck and the other moves to the opposite breast, pinching your nipple, knowing it will get you to moan. He immediately feasts on your moan, tongue dancing into your open mouth. His hand kneads your breast to warm it like he did the other.

Erryk, now that you were tilted to one side, takes this opportunity to part your thighs more by bringing your leg over his lap. He easily finds his way past your bloomers and rubs your clit, moaning at the feel of your building wetness.

The twins work in efficient tandem, and soon you're all three of you naked and hot. The bed for the guards are unlike your own; it was barely just enough for one, let alone three, and yet, you made it work; the desire to be close to each other made it work.

It was not enough to have Arryk pressed behind you and Erryk in front, you were desperate to have them inside, and you relayed just that by reaching for Arryk's cheeks and throwing a leg over Erryk's hips. Receptive as ever, Arryk kisses your hand and Erryk rubs your thigh.

"I need you both," you mutter.

"You have us," Arryk assures, rubbing your belly.

Erryk manages a kiss on your jaw, "who do you want first, my princess?"

"Both."

"Fuck," Erryk tightens his hold on your thigh.

Arryk's brow furrow, "are you certain?"

You whimper at the feel of fingers brushing between your legs. You mewl as someone pumps in and out you. You arch your back and ride out the sensations, "please."

"She's more than ready, brother."

"We should make her peak first."

"No," you whine, eyes opening to look at them both, "I can take it."

They are about to protest, but their words are smothered by how you grind back into Arryk and grab Erryk's cock, each as hard as the other. You pant, "we've done it before."

Arryk squeezes your hip. His voice is heavy, "a-are you certain?"

"We do not want to hurt you," Erryk softly offers.

You nod and turn to Arryk, kissing him reassuringly. You then turn to Erryk doing the same as you stroke him a few times before guiding him into you. His reaction is instant, he moans when his tip feels your wetness, and the only reason he does not plunge into you is because he holds your comfort higher than his own need.

Arryk kisses your shoulder as he leans into you. The first stretch is the one met with most resistance and he, along with his brother, always ensure you have ample time to adjust to them before even thinking of their own comfort. It's all worth it in the end, because, gods, when they're both sunked in, the feel is maddening.

The sounds that you emit when they begin to move starts soft, but both of them know better than to think it would remain. As soon as they begin to pick up the pace, they muffle your mouth with their own, assuring you have enough room to breathe though your sounds are garbled.

In truth, they could only dampen the noise so much, as there was the sinful sound of wet skin slapping to account for. Soon, the thrusting and squelching became unmistakably lewd. Soon, dampening the uncontrollable sounds scratching up your throat became near impossible.

Faster and faster and deeper and deeper and hotter and hotter and wetter and wetter— then snap.

It was good that Arryk knew your body so well that he clamped his hand over your mouth just before you clenched around their cocks. The sound that left you was loud, loud and to the bone obscene. You make another sound at the feel of them pulsing and twitching inside of you; the twins single-mindedly ride out the pleasure raging across you all with increasingly sloppier thrusts.

Arryk eventually pulls his hand off your mouth, only to replace it with his mouth, and Erryk kisses you soon after. You three remain entangled like this, hot and satisfied. You want nothing more than to sleep in their arms.

An instant stream of hot seed spills down your thighs when they pull out. You whimper in protest, never liking it when they leave you before you are ready. You're rarely ready.

They tell you what they always do, they'd never leave if they hadn't just done so, and they ought to clean you up.

And they do; they clean you up and you whimper some more, this time to complain about the cold. So there, in that tiny bed, all three of you slept, keeping each other warm.

That's when Daemon starts from his own bed, heart racing, body sweating. He is severely disoriented as he turns to the window, blinded by the morning sun, then to space on the bed beside him. He heaves as he scans the emptiness, mind racing with the terrible nightmare he had woken up from.

He scratches his eyes as tears begin to prick in its corners. He jumps, throwing the blanket aside and forfeiting slippers as he marches off. He reaches the door, but then he starts when he hears a squeal.

You gasp, one hand on your chest, another on the door sill for balance. You had just emerged from the bath, startled to see him sprinting off.

Daemon immediately comes to your side, gripping your arm. He notices the smell of your soap first, then the presence of your servants behind you second. He gives them a look and leads you off, silently dismissing them.

Your servants scurry off as Daemon leads you to your vanity.

You look at him, noticing the manic expression on his face, "is everything alright?"

He does not turn to you as he sits you down.

"Is there somewhere you need to be?"

"You," he blurts and shakes his head rapidly, "I was looking for you."

You watch him scratch his eyes. He takes the comb on your vanity and only once he's untangling your hair do you see from his reflection that he looked distraught and teary. You mutter, "Daemon-"

"When did you come bed?"

Your brows quirk and you're about to respond, until he yanks through a tangle, causing you to wince.

Daemon stops and immediately shakes his head as he looks at your reflection, "I did not mean to."

You frown, slowly enunciating, "Dae-"

"Do not answer," he clenches your comb in his hand.

He looks erratic. Your heart rate picks up, "what?"

"I change my mind. I do not want to know when you came to bed," he shakes his head, combing through your hair again. You swear you see his hands shake as he does. He whispers to himself, "or if you came back at all."

You do not catch it, but you do catch his hand, forcing him to stop combing.

Daemon shivers as you come to a stand. You look at him, face falling at the tears so suddenly streaming down his face. You furrow your brows and reach for his cheek. You are taken aback when he pulls away.

You gulp, unsure if you should step forward or back. You decide to stay put and slowly call out to him.

Daemon wipes his face, "I-"

"Is it the wake?"

"..."

Your own eyes begin to water, "... did you, perhaps, have a nightmare?"

He is at a loss for words. He flinches when you take a step forward.

You watch him closely as you raise your hand. He does not move away up until you touch his arm. You must admit, the way in which he shrugs you off stings. Still, you compose yourself with a sigh and nod. "Very well," you step back.

His hand raises, "wait."

You are rendered frozen when he grabs your arm. Your chest begins to tighten and your eyes begin to water against yourself. You shrug and chuckle dryly, "I do not understand."

Daemon's face is pained as he releases you. He lowers his head and steps back, "neither do I."

You both stand there for a moment. You wait for him to say something but he never does. In truth, Daemon was waiting for you to do the same.

He was rather disappointed to hear you say, "perhaps you should take a bath."

He watches you wipe the tears off your cheek and wonders why it was tears found you so easily. Was it your affliction? Or just him? He nods, "very well."

Your gaze is fixed upon him as he heads to the bathroom. You sigh deeply, sitting back in your vanity chair to gather yourself.

[ivysangel]

WHERE ARE YOU TONIGHT? (JASON TODD)

NOTES/CW - mild angst but it's short lived, porn with plot, mutual masturbation, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, shower sex, happy ending, the endings a little rushed, i think that's all?

It was the early hours of the morning, and you had been "sleeping" restlessly all night. The worry of something happening to Jason loomed in the darkness every time you closed your eyes. Tiredness weighed you down, but it was no match for the sickening feeling in your gut that came around every time he was a little late coming home. It didn't matter how long it had been since you started dating him; you found that nothing eased the nerves or the ache when you started to overthink about what he could possibly be doing at that moment instead of being beside you. 

Hot water runs down your chest, and you crane your neck away from the heavy streams coming from your showerhead. Steam curls up and out of the shower, dampening the ceiling with tiny droplets of water. And the heat doesn't do much for your mind but it does ease the physical ache that comes with sleep deprivation. That's not what you needed right now though; what you needed were the thoughts of Jason dying alone, again, out of your head.

Your hand reaches for the knob and turns it the absolute farthest it would go, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out your surroundings and the familiarity of this space you'd shared with him so many times. 

Jason, Jason, Jason. Where was he? 

The jarring sound of metal sliding across metal invades your ears and is quickly followed by the presence of someone else entering the cramped space. "Did you hear me? I was calling your name."

There he was.

The feeling of his arms around your waist brings you back to reality. His voice could have just been your head messing with you, but this, him wrapped around you, this was real. "How was patrol?" You say carefully, trying to keep your words, even for fear that he'll hear the distress in your voice. "You're home later than usual." He noses at your neck, and he hums into the skin, water pelting his head and soaking his hair. You bring your hand up to his wet locks, rubbing gently, deciding not to ask again, knowing he wouldn't answer anyway.

His fingers knead at the flesh on your hips as you both just stand there in the scalding hot water. "I missed you." You say, feeling him exhale deeply into your neck and slide his hands further up your body. Large, warm hands find your breasts, squeezing lightly. He breathes in your scent, a comfort to him after a long night of taking out criminals, something to ground him the same way he grounds you. He pinches at your nipple, rolling it around and tugging lightly, and your breath hitches at the stimulation of the lewd action. 

"Did you miss me?" You sounded desperate, pathetic even, like you were begging for your life when you really were just craving his affection. He laughs wryly, head lifting from out of the crevice of your neck, and his lips find the space behind your ear.

He presses a kiss to the skin and brings his head down again to nip at your earlobe. "You always ask me that," he says lowly, the bass in his voice reverberating against your eardrum. "I just wanna know." 

One of his hands slowly drags down your chest, over the hill of your chest, and you moan at the warmth spreading through your body. "You're too..." he moves further down your torso, "in your head sometimes." Lower and lower, "but it's okay," until it settles between the wet heat between your legs, "I can fix it."

He rubs gently, pointer finger ghosting over your clit, while he presses his boner into you. You hadn't even realized how turned on you were until this very moment, until you were suddenly all too aware of how close he was to you, drenched in water and naked. His thumb presses the sensitive nub between your legs, the added pressure making your back arch into him, feeling his dick dig into the soft flesh of your ass. 

"You know I love you, right?" He asks, rubbing small quick circles into your clit, earning a gasp from you. "You do, right?" You swallow hard, nodding your head while one of your hands finds its way to your lonely breast while the other slips behind you to Jason's crotch. "Mmm, that's right, I know you do."

You feel around for his cock, the task made more difficult by the fuzziness clouding your brain from the thick finger that was slowly making its way into your cunt. The size of your hand was nothing compared to the size of his dick; his erection was heavy in your hand, radiating heat and weighing it down, but god, did you need it in you. 

You stroke from the base to the tip, using his pre-cum as lube, and he groans into the side of your neck. His thumb leaves your clit as his middle finger joins in on stretching you out. Two thick fingers sit deep in your cunt, curling into your sweet spot, the sensation sending chills down your spine. The pitter-pattering conceals the squelching sounds of Jason fucking his fingers into you and the pornographic moans escaping your lips.

Long, slow strokes of his dick become short and shallow as you jerk him off while his fingers continuously move in and out of you. You attempt to focus on the task at hand, getting him off, but your breath quickens, and you go weak in the knees as your climax approaches. The tingling of your nerves puts you on edge, and you have to refrain from squeezing his dick too hard as you get lost in pleasure.

The water's almost run cold by now, and every single drop should feel like a piece of hail on your skin, but it doesn't. The nearly ice-cold droplets don't compare to the temperature of your body when he's got you riled up like this. Your climax was quickly approaching, and you knew Jason's was, too, by the way his groans and grunts were becoming more frequent. He had started rocking his hips back and forth into your hand, and you were sure your fingers would be painted in cum sometime soon. "I'm sorry, baby," He mutters, "Sorry for what I'm about to do." it comes out breathlessly, and if you were facing him, he'd see the confused expression etching itself on your face. "But it'll be worth it. Promise."

His words are followed by an unwelcome emptiness, one that leaves you clenching around nothing, aching to be filled once more. He withdraws his fingers from your cunt with a pop that you can't hear but definitely can feel, and his hand grabs your wrist, stopping you from jerking him any longer. You turn to face him, ready to object, and plead, and beg on your knees if you had to, but you never get the chance.

His hands cup your cheeks, and he kisses you deeply, your mouths falling into a familiar synchronization. "Feel like I can't fuck you without kissing you first." You finally get a good look at him for the first time since he'd gotten home, hair wet and eyes green as ever, strong features looking especially intimidating in the dim lighting of your bathroom, and muscles earned from years of training littered with bruises he'd ice when you weren't around.

While you find yourself admiring his features, he takes your shoulders in his hands and gently pushes you up against the shower wall. Gripping your thigh, he lifts your leg up and aligns himself with your entrance. He pushes inside of you with a deep groan and stills himself for a few seconds so you can adjust to the stretch. It's a dull pain, an intense throb deep in your womb that leaves your legs weak and you more wet than anything.

He keeps your leg up and places his palm flat on the shower wall, bracing himself before drawing out of you completely and plunging back inside. His hips rock rhythmically, each pump of his cock leaving you holding onto him for dear life. His hand curls into a fist against the wall, and you know he's close, already having been wound up from fucking your hand earlier. He towers over you, wet hair hanging in his face, muscles tensed, as he loses himself in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

You bring your arm up around his neck, pulling him as close as you can without causing you guys to slip. His breath is hot on your face, combatting the chilliness of the water, and you're hard-pressed not to kiss him, but you couldn't, not when you were so close to release, not when you wanted to see his face when he came.

You bring your hand between the two of you, rubbing your clit, trying to bring yourself over the edge, and he lifts your leg higher and buries himself even deeper. A loud moan slips out of your mouth and echoes off the walls as he hits that soft spongy spot deep in your cunt again and again. Soon enough, the knot in your stomach completely unravels, and you tremble as your orgasm washes over you, his big arms keeping you upright as your eyes roll back. 

Your eyes flutter open just in time to see his face contort. Brows furrowed, and jaw clenched as his hips stutter, pace faltering as he's sent off the deep end. His grunts get louder, and he begins to sound almost animalistic until he lets out one final sound, long and drawn out as he fills your guts. 

The both of you stand there, catching your breath as the shower rains down on you, skin dripping and water pooling at your feet. Your chest heaves, and your eyes close to avoid drops of water getting in your eyes. He pulls out slowly, giving you time to adjust to the emptiness before gently letting go of your leg and helping you stand up straight. His hand finds the shower knob, turning until the water stops, and you admire him from behind as he steps out of the shower, grabbing a couple of towels.

"Do you get it now?" He asks, holding open a towel, waiting for you to step into it. "Get what?" you ask, using the wall to hold yourself up, legs still weak from Jason being so deep in you just a few moments ago. "Get that I love you?" 

His arms wrap around you, tucking the towel into itself before pulling you close and bringing his lips to your forehead. His lips are warm, and he smells nice, like a mixture of soap and gunpowder. Ironic because he didn't wash and will probably hop back in the shower when you're fast asleep. 

He looks down at you earnestly, waiting for a response to his question, and you would call him ridiculous, but you know he needs to hear this just as much as you need to hear him say that he loves you in the first place. "Yes," you nod. "I know that you love me."

"Good."

edited this for like four hours so if there are any typos and errors that's just what the universe intended.

[kateswallofweird]

EX-BOYFRIEND DICK GRAYSON . . .

dick grayson x reader who drinks coffee (though the coffee doesn't rlly add to or take from the plot so !); cw angst ish, highs and lows of a relationship

💭 a reminder that love isn't supposed to hurt. it might sting and it might be rough, but it isn't supposed to ache. take care of yourself and protect your heart xo

PART 2 HERE

being in love with dick grayson was like hot chocolate on a cold winter night and the first fall of snow upon season's change. he was warmth and light laughter. he was diving into the deep end of a pool and coming up for air when you thought you'd gone too far. he was brightness—your single star against the cerulean backdrop of the vast night sky.

but loving dick grayson was also silence after a long night. it was watchful eyes and rising tension despite your confusion. it was changing topics and a dismissive laugh, empty and unsettling. it was the cold creeping up and blanketing you in a chill you couldn't escape. it was midnight blue—a darkness that didn't seem all encompassing until you were stranded in the middle.

loneliness is a gut punch when you're surrounded by love but kept from it by distance. it's the hurt you feel at night, the ache that grows in your heart. it's knowing that things are over before it is, and the final act of desperation before joy evades you and light slips through your fingers. it's drowning without water and suffocating in your own desolation.

"i'm sorry."

your relationship had ended with a simple apology and unsaid words. there were no tears shed, no screaming match, no final attempt to stay together. there was only bitterness (of a love so great lost) and the sad realization of the end upon you (one long time coming).

but that was two years ago. things were changed. you were changed, and you had healed (though his initials were still etched into you). dick grayson was a thing of the past, or so you were convinced.

"it's . . . it's been a while, hasn't it?"

crackly like his connection was weak, his voice filtered through the speaker of your phone from your inbox of messages left from missed calls. he'd changed his number.

"i got a new phone and changed my number this morning. some wayne stalker situation. and bruce, he said to call him first, but i—" he laughed lightly like he couldn't believe himself, "i found myself dialing you instead. apparently, i still have your number memorized."

and you stilled in your kitchen, nursing your mug of scalding coffee, because what if you moved and you realized all of this wasn't real?

"i've been thinking a lot these days . . . about you, about us." he took a deep breath. "i messed up. i see it now. i'm sorry."

memories of your fights fought to the front of your mind, the scars his sharp words brandished on you and the fresh wounds your insults left on him. loving dick grayson was worth it, but it certainly wasn't easy.

"and i miss you. i hope that isn't too selfish of me." he cleared his throat, and you set your mug down to pick up your phone. "oh, it's dick by the way . . . in case you happen to have any other ex-boyfriends hitting your line. not that i'm wondering." he mumbled something under his breath that the phone didn't quite pick up, but a smile betrayed you. you could practically imagine his sheepish expression.

"so goodbye i guess," he said, his voice a lot closer to the microphone now as hesitance rang thick. "and um now you have my number, which i realize now you may not want, but if you ever feel some urge to, uh, call me—you can, and i'll answer. no matter what."

the line clicked and the message ended, leaving only the ghost of dick grayson and a whisper of your ex-boyfriend in your kitchen.

💭 how are we feeling dick grayson nation? attacked? comforted? good? bad? well there's going to be a part 2 (it's on the way!) so hang on tight ig!

[shy-writer-999]

Keeping warm with Ace - no nut December? 🔥

Summary: Ace half-jokingly declares a vow of no-nut December. When he manages to last a few days, how will the dry spell be broken? ~1.4k words. CW: SMUT! Afab reader w/gendered language (e.g. "princess"), fingering, P in V, dirty talk. Minors don't interact - nsfw content!

Art by the lovely @hirakyun13 (thank you for collabing with me!)

“You only love me so much because I let you hit all the time.”

When he heard your words, Ace bursted out laughing. He feigned a gasp. “Do you have such a low opinion of me, princess?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m jokinggg, Ace. But you sure are rabid recently. Not like I have a problem with it or anything.”

His lips curled into that sweet smile of his as he brought his lips to your cheek. “Well, then. I’ll show you how wrong you are. Let’s see how much you like me not jumping your bones every three seconds. No nut December.”

“Ace,” you laughed. “You’re going to last a day.”

Somehow, though, he managed to last multiple.

---

Ages ago, you booked a holiday trip with Ace. A nice vacation from your lives, a reprieve from the stress and endless list of tasks to do.

The chalet—or rather, cabin—was gorgeous. It felt like it was in the middle of nowhere, in a forest of tall pines covered in heavy snow that weighed their branches down. They would have looked melancholy if it wasn’t for the bright white heaps of snow on the bows to remind you what time of year it was.

Ace’s joke-abstinence no-nut-December lasted until the second day of your extended stay at the beautiful A-frame cabin—so, in total, he lasted a good few days.

He tried his hardest and it was amusing, but really, he could barely keep it together. Boner 24/7. You figured it wouldn’t be too hard to break him, but it was great entertainment to tease him for as long as he could hold out for. Besides, after waiting for a few days you knew that the sex, once it finally happened, would be that much better.

---

On your second day at the cabin—the day that Ace broke his “no nut December”—after a nice long walk in the snow outside (interrupted by a blizzard), you and Ace returned to the cabin and undressed. Time for a shower to warm you to your bones—scalding hot and steamy.

While you showered, Ace lit a fire in the fireplace; he warmed up the blankets on the plushy, king-size bed and then lit a candle.

When you emerged from the shower, hair wet and skin damp, you snuggled up in the blankets, no clothes on (to soak in the warmth that you knew Ace placed there).

“Come warm me up, Ace.” You requested and he happily obliged, like always. ‘Warming you up’ was one of his favorite things, mostly because it just involved touching you. He would take any and every chance he could get. And of course, now that he was at the end of his mini-dry spell, he looked forward to it all the more. Might now be the time to break his multi-day streak?

When he slid in bed with you and pressed his body on yours, his warmth flooded through your body. He got as warm as he could get without being too hot.

It was a double satisfaction for you—getting warm, and then teasing Ace so hard you knew he’d fold like a lawn chair.

He wrapped a hand around your front and pulled you close to him, taking a deep inhale of your freshly washed hair and squeezing you tight to his chest.

You laid there for a while, happy and toasty, almost drifting off to sleep when you realized that you felt something hard pressing onto you from behind. Obviously, it was Ace.

So, you did what any reasonable person would do and snuggled back into him, brushing his hard-on in a way that made his breath hitch. It was easy to play him like a fiddle because he was figuratively on his knees for you every moment of the day. He’d do anything for you and worshipped the ground you walked on.

You pressed back again, harder, overtly deliberate now, and he let out a quiet gasp as he felt your warm skin graze his aching shaft through his underwear.

“Fuck, sweetheart. I can’t take it anymore.” His hand passed down to grip your hip and he rutted his hips, effectively humping you through his underwear. Quiet but deep grunts slipped out of him every couple seconds, and as you felt him roll into you it started to make you feel some sort of way—how could it not?

After Ace rubbed himself on you like that for a while, he started to get more worked up. Unapologetic groans fell out of his pretty lips and his breathing quickened.

A hand creeped downwards, towards the valley where your thighs met. He repositioned you slightly to give himself better access, then slid his fingers inwards to caress your folds and soft spots.

Those rough, thick fingers felt godly when he warmed them up and touched you gently like this. He turned you into a sopping-wet mess within a couple minutes, thighs shaking slightly, and breaths shallow, punctured by the occasional, muted moan.

“Let those sounds out, angel. I wanna hear ‘em.” He whispered in your ear and you could feel his hot puffs of breath on your skin. His fingers plunged in and out, making you squirm as he curved them and spread them inside of you.

Soft moans and sounds of bliss fell from your lips unrestrained at his request. He made his fingers warmer still, and it felt like heaven as he drew circles around your clit then slipped his fingers inside and out again.

After a while, you started to lose focus. You couldn’t tell where his skin stopped and where yours began.

“Ace—I need you,” you managed to choke out.

Promptly flipping you over so you were facing him, Ace pushed your leg up, over his hip, and pulled you into a long, affectionate kiss before he brought his throbbing shaft out of his boxers and started to line himself up with your entrance.

When he sunk you down onto his length, your eyes rolled back in your head, not in jest this time but in pure pleasure.

Immediately, Ace started to thrust his hips upwards in small jerks, fucking you shallowly and slowly.

“Fuck—you’re perfect,” Ace groaned and bucked his hips deeper, sliding deliciously into you and passing over your hot spot.

Every few seconds he greedily pulled you into a kiss, and each time your lips met in increasing desperation.

His grip on your hip tightened. It was almost painful now. As he thrusted into you faster, he started to moan into your mouth, deep groans that went straight to your core and vibrated your lips ever so slightly.

Too many presses of his girth past your g-spot and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Ace, I’m gonna cum soon,” you gasped, and he slammed into you particularly hard, pressing on the spot he knew would make you feel the best.

“Do it, baby,” his hips rocked into and wet noises echoed in your ears. “Show me, ah, fuck, s-show me how good I make you feel.”

Ace slammed into your g-spot again and it sent you reeling headfirst into your orgasm. White-hot pleasure jolted through you, radiating from your sticky, pulsing core outwards to your limbs where it stalled in tingling zaps of bliss.

You couldn’t tell, since you were lost in the crushing weight of your climax, but your toes curled the hardest they had before, and you writhed on Ace’s cock so hard that it made him cum.

His body seized up alongside yours and his heartrate threatened to explode out of his chest. Deafening groans—one of the best parts of having sex with him—escaped his lips as every muscle in his body went taught. “Fuuuuhhhhccckkkk.”

When you were done floating through bliss, there was quite the mess to clean up. But, ever the gentleman, Ace told you to just lay there and not move a muscle. He got you cleaned up then went back to spooning you and keeping you warm.

oh my GOD, the piece becca (@hirakyun13 / @becca-oak ) drew has me literally drooling. also she sent this fic idea to me so she's really holding this whole piece on her back rn. please check out her page and drop a follow!!! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

if you liked this fic, check out my masterlist and the masterlist for this short holiday event! 🎄🎄🎄

merry christmas & happy new year!!