#heavy and strained. weighted. tired. something Pulling. its nice

[sunnydayaoe]

playing piano has been doing wonders for my dysphoria. hellish world we live in where doing the things you like makes your life better. who let that happen

[ilium-ilia]

As Your Skin Gives

ghoap x fem!reader | pet!au | masterlist

Chapter Two: welcome home

tw: non-con

Something tethers you to the earth when you wake up. 

Not by rope or chain, but by weight. Every part of you is heavy. You’re plagued by lethargic limbs, solid eyelids that can’t quite flutter open, and a diaphragm that refuses to pull in enough air for you to breathe. Even your tongue turns into lead in your mouth as you force your eyes open. 

A quiet TV drones on somewhere close by, but its sound is too faded for you to tell what program is running as you attempt to make sense of the view above you. Bars criss-cross through your vision, obscuring the gentle beams of sun that dance on the decaying walls just out of focus, which would have paired nicely with the scent of cooked meat that wafts into the room if your stomach wasn’t twisting at the smell. 

The effects of dehydration are agonizing on your body. Cotton-like dryness accompanies the heavy tongue in your mouth, and your skin feels as if it’s contracting in on itself. Pulled too taught over your bones. Hazy memories attempt to surface in your thoughts, but they’re disconnected. Incomplete and fractured. You can recall the sweat on your skin at work, and the taste of fizzy soda on your tongue, but that’s it. All you’re left with is an overwhelming sense of warmth and a panicked frustration. 

You need to get up—you need to do something—yet when you try to move your legs, nothing happens. Muscles tense and strain, but they push against something immovable that creaks and groans against your efforts. Your neck cries out as you lift your head free from plush blankets and a flat pillow, but you’re only able to hold it up long enough to realize that you are not laying in a bed. 

You are in a cage. 

“Morning Bonnie.” 

An eager voice purrs on your left, and your head rolls to the side in response only to find a man laying next to you outside of your cage. Every muscle in your body grows stiff with consternation as you soak up the view of dark hair shaved into an overgrown mohawk and pearly white teeth that flash in ardor. This man lays on his side to face you and doesn’t seem to have any complaints about the hardwood floor pushing into his shoulder. 

He also doesn’t have any complaints about the leather collar around his throat. 

Fear muddled with confusion settles deep in the confines of your stomach where it bubbles and festers like rotten poison. Its taste is soured when coupled with the queasiness that overwhelms your senses, and you find it difficult to even muster a response to this stranger. He looks at you with such adoration in his eyes that he almost has you believing you’ve known each other forever, but you can’t recall a single memory of him in your life. The scars on his chin, the slight stubble along his jaw—none of it is recognizable. 

The man chuckles something sweet and bone chilling as he slowly nuzzles his way closer to you. If it weren’t for the bars of this cage separating the two of you, you have no doubt that he would pounce on you like a dog. 

“Still tired? You’ve been sleeping all night. Waited all morning for you to wake up,” he says in a near whine. 

A garbled whimper erupts from your throat as you respond, vocal chords botching your words. Huffing, you attempt to twist your body so that you’re no longer on your back and it nearly takes everything you have. Jellified muscles, fragile bones—it’s as if someone else is in control of your body, sabotaging every little thing you do. 

Heavy footsteps suddenly approach the room, quickly silencing this strange man. Boots on hardwood floor—weighty feet and an even bigger man. Perking up, he pushes himself so that he’s sitting on his haunches, eyes avidly gawking at what you’re assuming is the door, but you can’t quite twist your neck to see. 

“Eager, aren’t ya?” A man’s voice cuts through the room like a knife. It’s deep and severe, and just loud enough to rattle your bones within the confines of your skin. 

“She just woke up,” the man on the floor next to you beams. “Come on, I’ve been patient all night. You’ll let me have her, won’t you?” 

“Down, Johnny.” 

Silence falls over the room as those heavy feet step closer and closer to your cage. Thick boots cross into your vision as a new figure crouches to look at you. You’re nothing but a pathetic worm baking underneath the searing heat of a dark gaze as a pale, scarred face obscures your vision. A tight jaw and pursed lips spell out nothing but disdain, and you do your best to swallow despite the sandy texture in your throat. This man doesn’t look human. You’re certain no other human could look at someone as if they were so far beneath them, yet this stranger has somehow done it. To him, you’re nothing but filth. 

Nothing at all. 

Thick fingers mess with a lock on the cage, and you hear a soft squeak as the door swings open. Trembling, you squirm when those same fingers dig into either side of your jaw. His cruel grip draws a squeaky wince from your parched throat as he forces your head to the side so that you’re fully facing him. Dark eyes watch with careful attention as your pupils dilate. Fear is one hell of a drug, but it’s nothing compared to the roofies that still taint your blood. 

“She’s awake, but still out of it,” the man says as he lets go of your jaw. “C’mon pet. Up.” 

Your vision blurs as the man tugs on your arm, prompting your body up. You’re not sure why you’re so obedient to his demands—perhaps it’s the virulent look in his eyes that forces you into submission as he drags you out of the opening of the cage. Unstable on your feet, he guides you to a bed shoved up against the far wall where he allows you to collapse with a groan. Head pounding, you curl into a ball as the collared man—Johnny—looks at you with eyes wider than saucers. 

“Can I have her now? Please, Simon, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” he asks, pushing himself to his feet. 

Relief floods through you when that man—Simon?—finally looks away from you, only for your stomach to drop when his fingers loop through Johnny’s collar. In order to prevent himself from falling as Simon tugs on it, his hands come up to rest on his chest, but he doesn’t seem nearly as terrified as you feel he should be. 

“What did I say? Not ‘til I say so. Fuck ‘er now, and she might get pregnant. Would hate to get rid of ‘er ‘cause of that. You don’t want that, do you Johnny?” Simon asks. Johnny shakes his head. “Good, so keep that fuckin’ cock dry until I say so. You understand me, mutt?” 

Once Johnny nods, Simon’s grip on his collar loosens. Humming, he takes a few steps back before rummaging through the pockets of his jeans. “I’ll be back tonight. Make sure she gets some water. 

“Of course,” Johnny replies. 

Black fabric hangs limply around Simon’s fingers as he retrieves something from his pants, and in one smooth motion he pulls the item over his face. A balaclava obscures his features until there’s nothing left but his eyes���those eyes. Unkind and bitter. 

Just like they were last night at the bar. 

“Remember, play nice,” he dismisses. 

It all comes crashing down around you as Simon leaves the room, leaving you and Johnny alone. You can recall fuzzy remnants of memories of your night at work with that large monster haunting the corner in the back. He never took a single sip of the drink he had you pour him; never removed that stupid mask, either. He was too busy brooding over something on his phone—so much so that you thought you could afford to give your attention elsewhere in the bar. It’s him. 

That son of a bitch. 

This realization sparks something in you. Something foul. Something that wants blood. It demands that you sink your claws into him, to wet your maw with his blood until your mind is blank, but you’re in no such state for vengeance. Your body tries in its pitiful way as your elbows dig into the mattress in an attempt to sit yourself upright, but the world begins to tilt around you. A sob nearly escapes you as your torso falls back onto the bed. 

“What’s the matter, Bonnie?” Johnny’s voice is sweet and kind as he hops up onto the bed. Thick arms bulge in the small sleeves of a plain, grey t-shirt as he crawls up to you on his hands and knees. It isn’t long before he’s straddling your legs. “You look sick.” 

“That man… that man kidnapped me,” you say. You wish you could scream these words out to convey your desperation, but your tongue won’t move properly and every thought takes nearly all your energy just to appear into existence. 

“Oh, Simon?” Johnny questions with a grin. “Silly lass, he saved you just like he saved me.” 

Saved you? It was crazy enough for you to almost laugh at it. 

“No, no you don’t understand, I’m not supposed to be here,” you retort with fluttering eyes. 

Your words fall on deaf ears. Johnny’s mind is too shrouded with concupiscent desire to make any sense of what you’re begging for him to understand. Instead, he continues to smile as he inches closer to you, warm hands resting on your waist with a chuckle. 

“What’re you so worked up for, Bonnie? Of course you’re supposed to be here,” he says as if he can convince you otherwise. The hands that rest on either side of you ventures lower as he brushes against the waistband of your joggers. Greedy fingers slide underneath the fabric where he gives it a swift tug over the swell of your thighs. “You’re so… you’re so beautiful.” 

Even with your fuzzy brain, you know he’s deluded. You should be home in your shitty apartment underneath the covers on your bed trying to sleep off a long night’s work, not here in some stranger’s home. Not here with a man pinning you to the bed as he tears your pants down your thighs like an animal. Perhaps he is—in some twisted way—an animal. He looks like a man, speaks like a man, yet he has a collar around his neck as if it’s a warning. 

You should have known this was coming the very moment you woke up to find his teeth bared at you. 

Everything spins as Johnny flips your legs to the left, giving the rest of your body no choice but to follow, turning you on your side. With your stomach full of nothing but the remainder of your drink and Simon’s tampering from the previous night, you swear you might puke. Your eyes screw tight as Johnny slips off of your legs, giving him the perfect angle to slide your panties down to meet your pants. He hasn’t bothered to fully take them off; he’s only moved them down far enough until your ass and cunt are exposed to him. 

“Please, stop,” you beg, voice hardly carrying over the sound of your heart jumping in your chest. 

In some sort of pathetic attempt to save what is left of your dignity, your hands blindly seek your pants, but Johnny pushes them further down as he unzips his own pants. White hot fear rages in your chest as you dare to glance down at him. You would have thought Johnny’s eyes were beautiful if you weren’t filled with terror at the glint just beyond their blue hue. This feeling only gets worse as you catch sight of the way he fists his cock with a grunt. 

“N-No, you can’t,” you slur. “Please, I’m not- he said not to, remember? We shouldn’t o-or Simon will get mad. Please…”

It’s the only thing your mind can think of that might convince him to leave you be, to bring up what the other man had said earlier. Would hate to get rid of her. Simon’s words sear your brain, and you know you don’t want to find out what he means by getting rid of you. 

“Just the tip. Please, Bonnie,” he insists. The head of his cock pushes against your tight cunt and your body recoils at the sensation. There’s no slick to be found within you; the only lubrication comes from Johnny’s leaking tip. “That’s it, that’s all I want. I need it, Bonnie. I need you.” 

The breath you attempt to suck in for your response doesn’t even have the chance to pass through your lips before he pushes into you. Your thoughts cut off with a simple yelp at the sting and stretch of him as he bullies into you, thick cock splitting you open as you take in his ruddy tip. With the dehydration that ravages your body, there’s nothing to soothe the ache as he forces your cunt to swallow him. You’re not sure how much he makes you take—if he keeps his promise of just the tip or not—but you know that if he goes any further, he’ll ruin you. 

“Christ, Bonnie. Fuck, I knew it. I knew from the moment I saw those pictures of you that you were the one,” Johnny rambles as he shallowly thrusts into you. “Been waiting for this for so long…” 

After a few more pathetic thrusts, Johnny pulls out. It’s sudden, but the reprieve is almost enough to make you sob, and you nearly do as you bury your face into the duvet. Perhaps animals are capable of telling the truth after all; maybe they really can grin with razor sharp fangs and only take exactly what they promise they will. 

Much to your dismay, Johnny’s hips slam against you once more, forcing the air from your lungs. Yet, there’s no stretch. There’s no deep ache where your body is supposed to be forced apart to make room for him. Instead of nestling his cock into your cunt—like you know he wishes he could—he slides it between the plush flesh of your thighs with a near growl. You can feel the warmth of it, the way it throbs with a vicious yearning to rip you to shreds, and it doesn’t take him long to start pumping himself in and out between your legs. 

“I promise, Bonnie. I’ll fuck you properly when Simon says I can. Just been waiting so long for you, I-I have to have this,” Johnny babbles. His hands press down on your thighs, forcing them closer together, making the stimulation all the more intense for him. Daring a glance, you watch as his head rolls back where his neck strains against the leather collar he’s bound to. The word Soap glistens on the silver tag—like a proper dog. “A real angel. I told him you were. Thank you. Thank you.” 

You don’t bother to entertain his insane mumbling with a response as your world begins to crumble and tilt, but he doesn’t seem to care. Each drag of his cock along your heating skin only seems to melt his mind into a mess, and all you can do is lay there and take it as he fucks your thighs. It’ll be over eventually, you tell yourself. 

It has to be. 

Lucky. The word pops into your mind with relentless force, ruining your attempt at ignoring your current predicament. Lucky. It’s a miracle he hasn’t gone any further; that he hasn’t ravaged your cunt until you’re raw and broken. But you don’t feel blessed when the bile in your stomach roils in protest at every thrust. It doesn’t seem auspicious that your head pounds with each violent shake of your body as if your mind is trying to self-destruct to save you from the agony of survival. You’re anything but fortunate. 

In one final, gut-wrenching thrust, Johnny’s hips press against the crux of your thighs. His cock pulses between your legs, sending his sticky spend flowing onto your skin. His head falls forward with a groan as he rests it against your shoulder, caging you in with his body as his cum seeps from your body and ruins the bed spread. A faint chuckle rumbles in his chest as he presses a kiss against your exposed shoulder, and the sound of it finally gets your tears to start flowing. 

Not bothering to zip his pants back up, Johnny collapses onto the bed next to you. With you already on your side, it puts you in the perfect position for him to slot his chest right against your back where he wraps a firm arm around your center. His skin feels warm and disgusting against yours, even though the gentleness of his fingers running along your arm try to convince you otherwise. If you weren’t so spent, you would attempt to scurry off to clean up the mess he made of you, but there’s not much you can do as he nuzzles his nose against the nape of your neck with a sigh. 

“Please,” you sniffle, voice raw, “let me go home. I wanna g-go home…” 

“But you are home,” Johnny chuckles. Arms constricting like the body of a snake, he pulls you closer with a hum. “Finally home.”

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[midday0nightmares]

26 - in your arms (m).

Previous chapter reckless choices.

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

The unexpected appearance of the young man with the unusual bright orange hair throw you all off guard, a minute have passed with the four of you starring at each other.

“I’m Zhong chenle, I moved to the 49th floor I believe that make us neighbors” his big smile never faltered. 

Jeno broke the rude silence, he cleared his throat, “It does” exchanging looks with jaemin, 

“welcome man, I’m jeno and this is jaemin” they shake hands with him while you stand there awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Chenle looks at you waiting for an introduction, jeno and jaemin hesitate for a second before jeno speaks again “that’s sera, she’s our roommate” You force smile, you feel uncomfortable with the attention, the way his eyes were scanning you from top to bottom..your messy hair, puffy face with red eyes and nose, your scraped knee through your torn jeans. You obviously been through something. you looked away hoping he would get the hint and stop starring. 

“Excuse us, we just came back from a long trip and we all are tired. See you around” jaemin spoke trying to cut the encounter short as he walked into the elevator first and you followed him, but chenle spoke again “I’m throwing a home warming party tomorrow night, you should come. You can bring guests too if want”.  

.

The elevator doors close, “he seems .. “ jeno trails and jaemin finishs his sentence “wild, we should be more carful now”. 

.

.

As soon as they walk through the door, they head straight to their rooms leaving you alone. you huff, still upset with yourself, you thought you should try again with jaemin, you want to properly explain yourself to him. you knock on his door, no response. you turn the door knob and let yourself in.

His clothes were scattered on the floor, the shower was running and steam was coming out of the slightly open bathroom door. You walk in and closed the door behind you, you too discard your clothes too you could join him. 

You open the bathroom door trying not to make any noise, the way his toned body stood in the hot fog, the way the water hits his muscular tattooed back made your heart flutter. Your face growing warm and you can’t blame it all on the hot stream. 

you tiptoe closer but you straddle him before you could surprise him, a heavy sigh blows out of him, he turns his back to you resuming his shower “what do you want?”..  you, I want you, you wished you could be honest, but you aren’t discouraged yet, as long as he’s not throwing punches you’er good to go.

You get in the shower wrap your arms around his waist, pressing naked chest to his bare back. He doesn’t react or try to push you away. 

“Im sorry” you say in your softest voice “I wasn’t thinking straight, I was scared and shocked, I didn’t know what to do”, you tighten your hold around him when he doesn’t say anything. he sigh but this time in defeat and turns in you arms to face you, his hands come cup your cheeks. “sera, if you want to leave, then go. I won’t hold you back anymore”, you shake your head refusing his suggestion, “ I don’t” your hands grabbing his arms, afraid that he will let go and you’ll lose him. He doesn’t believe you, his hands loosens ready to pull away from you, “jaemin” you try to step even closer, your arms reaching to the back of his neck “I promise you I don’t want to go. I want to stay here, with you” your voice straining with growing fear.

“Sera” he try to pry your arms of off him “I don’t know anymore, I try my best but you alway want to leave me”

“no” you stretch yourself on your tiptoes to reach his lips as you pull him down, you mold your lips with his, the feverish kiss lasts for what seems to be hours, your heart explodes in your chest when he opens his mouth to take your tongue in. his taste intoxicate you, making your head spin with lust, but you had to pull away to breathe. 

the way his eyes were still closed, the way his chest was heavily rising, the way his cheeks were returning to their original color, and the way he was beige vulnerable in your hands it all tugged on your heart strings.

He pulls you by your waist and holds you his chest, he hugs you so tight like he was trying to push you inside of his chest cavity. You don’t mind as you try to do the same to him, it would be nice if you could keep him next your heart.

You can feel all the exhaustion and frustration melts off of him. his angelic smile returns, his hands hold your face in place as he leans down to press tens of kisses to it, your giggles echoing off the walls. you reach for the body wash “Let me take care of you” you say to him in between the small kisses. You bit your lip when he doesn’t object, you squeeze the soapy gel into your hand and start leathering it over his bored chest, slowly moving to his shoulders and arms. He turns around and you do the same to his back, your hands move back to his stomach and you work your way down to his groin region, you take your time exploring his body, admiring every detail.

“sera..” his low voice calls your name, you ghost over his half alerted member earring a hiss. 

You feel the strong thumbs of his racing heart, you stop dragging it and take him in your hand, he moans and throws his head back, you bite on the soft skin of his back as you were getting exited yourself.

You slowly stroke him, feeling him twitch as he grows harder in your hands, his hips move in sync with your touch, his low moans and heavy breathing sound like a mesmerizing spell being casted over you.

He make a questioning sound when you stop, you turn him around and get on your knees in front of him to indulge yourself into him more. You take him in your mouth, you both moan when the intimate contact happens, you lose yourself in the way he feels filling your mouth, you take him deeper to the back you your throat finding pleasure with the struggle to take all of him in. he hiss and stops you “baby.. slow down”, you feel self conscious as shyness bites at your cheeks.

He helps you up, turning around pressing you to the cold tiles “I want you too you know” he mumbles into your neck as his lips attacks it, the work of his hunger and wet mouth makes you dizzy, his hands touching, squeezing, pinching every accessible part of you.

You were both needy for each other, passion was running in your vines fueling you to go further, you arch you back into him “Jaemin.. please”  you moan, begging him to do something already, his hands he grab your hips, pulling them back to gain better access to the place he hasn’t touched yet, he aligns his tip to your opening and slowly starts pushing in, there’s no resistance as he smoothly slides in, he opens you, stretching your walls around him.

Your loud moan egging him to go deeper, although it’s not your first time with him, but it feels like a new experience. his arms wrap around you, securing you for what’s to come, he stills when he bottoms out, taking a moment to enjoy being completely buried inside of you. 

You swear your bones went soft when his hips starts moving, he slowly pulls out before pushing back in, high pitched gasp comes out of you with each thrust, your toes curl and you fingers scratch the cold wall. your eyes flutter and your mind goes blank, all you are aware of right now is the immense pleasure of him stuffed deep into you.

He grunts before he bites your shoulder, muffling his sounds, his thrusts gets stronger, rougher, you jerk froward every time his hips snap back into you before his hands pull your hips back to him. you feel the tight knot in the pit of your stomach, your back arching into him more. He seems to know how close you are “baby you gonna cum?” He asks you but your mushy brain doesn’t register it, he holds you closer and give you exactly what you need, faster thrusts. It toke only two more thrusts to push you of the edge, your walls convulse around him, you chant his name as you come undone, he push himself deeper into you and stays there to make sure you ride the last bit of your intense orgasm. 

His hand creases your lower abdomen to calm your shaking body as your try to catch your breathes, “you ok?” you weakly nod to him, you don’t want to speak as your head is being folded with euphoric cocktail of hormones.

 “can you take more?” he makes sure you can before he starts moving again, you hiss at the burning sensation, you’er still sensitive and he was overstimulating you, but you quickly start to enjoy it too, specially knowing he finds his pleasure in you.

He dose’t last long after that, couple more sharp thrusts and he pulls out and spill his hot cum over your back. 

He holds you close for a while, before he helps you cleaning yourself, with both of you very tired, clean and very much satisfied, you dry yourselves and for the first time you willingly wear his clothes instead of yours.

You lay in his bed first and wait for him, “you still have it?” you squeal when you saw he still keep the teddy bear he bought you from the hospital next to his pillow, “I do” he sheepishly smile as he gets under the covers with you and pulls you closer to him, “can I take it?” .. “hmm it’s yours, its always have been yours” his words fill your fills with butterflies. you turn and snuggle closer to him, you lay over his chest socking in his warmth, his hand plays with your fingers. 

“When does your classes begin?” He asks you, 

“Next Monday”.. 

You look up at him, you stare into his dreamy eyes, you swear you can fall into them, you were smitten.. but the events of last night came creeping back, bursting your lovey dovey bubble, your hand pulls out of his, your body starts to retract itself away from him. But holds you firmly, retaking your hand in his “sera, he was a very bad man” he tries to explain, knowing the cause behind the sudden change in to your behavior, but his words don’t appease your worry, so he tries again.

“look at me, It has to be done or many people would have gotten hurt. Im not what you think I am” but the knot between your eyebrows still tight so he brings your hand up to his mouth, and kiss each finger before he place it on his cheek “l left my father’s gang long time ago, I’m not that type of a man, never was never will”, you can hear the sincerity in his voice and you finally settle in your place next to him and nod “I know”.

[generallybarzy]

the queen + her good boy. ---m.barzal

inspo: kings & queens, ava max… “you might think I’m weak without a sword, but if i had one it’d be bigger than yours” ……… that’s so hot….

an: here’s that smutty fic that turned out being a loooooot more than a blurb, oops. I literally can’t stop thinking about this cincept and I definitely think its something Mat’d be into. A lot of people see him as a sub and a lot see him as a dom, and I’m pretty much on the “he’s a soft dom”/switch side but now I appreciate both so…. this fic is the outcome. im so so proud of this, i think i used realllllly good descriptions and its really hot but i also don’t like bragging so please tell me if you like it cause i speedwrote this in like 2 days. praise me like the reader praises maty. Reminder that all you girls are 👑queens👑 and you better make any guys treat you as such. Only reciprocate and make him feel like a king if he deserves it 💕.

warning: smut.

word count: 4.3k

The first time you said it, it surprised him.

You weren't unhappy with your sex life in any way. You weren't bored, you weren't looking for a change, you weren't trying to make it more exciting. You were content. It was beautiful, you both gave and received, it was an even back and forth, and you had plenty of different "modes". You communicated and had little important talks about sex, you made it the best it could be. You weren't stuck in a sexual rut, in fact, you couldn't be happier with where you were. Something just felt so right about those words.

The first time you said it, Mat's mouth was between your thighs.

You were spread out on the couch, legs on Mat's shoulders and hands tangled in his hair as he knelt on the floor between your thighs and lapped away at your heat. It felt so good, so fucking perfect that you couldn't control yourself. You were yanking on his dark locks, tugging his face closer, spurred on by the wet noises of his mouth, his chin, his nose all up against your pussy, eating to his heart’s content, his nose bumping against your clit and making your legs squeeze around his head. You felt so in control, being able to push and pull him any way you want, and Mat felt so at your will, letting you guide him and tell him what you wanted most.

And when those two words slipped out in the heat of the moment, Mat realized just how much he loved the position he was in.

"Ohhh, good boy."

The sound that escaped his throat was like a moan, a whine almost, as his pretty eyes shot up to look at you, at the way your chest was rising and falling with each heavy breath, at the way you were looking down at him, a fire in your eyes.

His eyes wide, his jaw slack and his face shiny with your slick as he leaned back from your cunt to gaze up at you, the dumbstruck expression making his pleasure evident.

“Oh, damn.”

“You like that, Maty?” You bit your lip, watching the way his hand moved down to the stirring in his pants and loving the way you affected him. “You like it when I call you that, baby?”

“Hell, yes.” He shuffled around on the floor, tugging his tight jeans down his thighs and pushing them aside to ease the pressure on his straining cock. “Say it again.”

“Only if you get back to your job.”  And with that, you tugged him closer until his mouth reconnected with your clit. “Right there…” He went to work, sucking and kissing and bringing his fingers up to dip at your entrance, pushing and pulling you in all the ways he knew you loved. “Oh yeah, Maty. Just like that.” You stroked his hair, gentler than before, curling your fingers through the fluffy locks and dragging your nails over his scalp just how you knew it comforted him. “You’re so good to me... Always treating me so nicely, making me cum so good. You’re my good boy, aren’t you, baby?”

He moaned again, vibrating against your warmth. “Mhmm. Yeah, princess.”

Your eyes fell shut momentarily, satisfied, and savoring the feeling before an idea struck you. “No,” You pulled his hair and forced his gaze up to you. You “Oh, no, baby, I’m the queen now.”

“Fuck. Fuck yes you are.”

"You like this? You like being so submissive for me?"

"Holy shit." Mat’s hand fell to his cock for a few helpless strokes. "Yes. Fuck yes."

“Now,” You put your foot on the back of Mat’s head and pulled him in again, tired of all the banter and just wanting your release. “Are you gonna be a good boy and make your queen cum?”

“Yes, queen.”

And he got to work.

It didn’t take long after that, and when you were finally spent and panting and Mat had emptied himself all over his own hand, you pulled him up onto the couch with you. His knees were red and lightly carpet burnt from kneeling before you for so long, but you both knew it was just reciprocation for all the times you had bruised your own knees for him. Your fingers stayed knotted securely in his hair, right where they belonged, the two of you curled together on the couch and he kissed at your neck as your breathing steadied down to a normal pace. “Maty…”

“Hmm?”

You touched his cheeks and lifted his face from your neck to get a good look at him. His cheeks were pink, his eyes averted and soft, and the smile on his face was haloed with your stickiness. Baby’s a messy eater… “Maty, I didn’t know you were into that.”

“I didn’t know either.”

“It’s so hot.”

“Mhmm.”

You leaned in to kiss him, still tasting yourself on his tongue. “I’m glad you admitted how much you liked it. A lot of guys wouldn’t be comfortable saying that, I don’t think.”

“I just like hearing that I make you feel good.”

“You do. So good.”

He sighed against your skin and grinned. “You think this is gonna become a regular thing now?”

"I don't know. I like you being in charge." Mat hummed in response and went back to kissing your neck. "But I like this too. I like calling you a good boy. Cause you are."

"Mmm."

"I like both equally."

"Me too." Mat's lips found your own again, more chaste and sweet this time. "We can do both."

The next time it happened, you planned it out.

There had been a long, tiring game that night, and even after they finally won, Mat still didn’t feel like celebrating. The score had been much to close all night, and when Mat finally got home, all he wanted to do was finally sit down and rest and indulge in his girl.

His queen.

“Hey, pretty baby.” You greeted him with a kiss and led him to the bedroom, dropping your robe to reveal your pretty lingerie set, working him out of his tie and suit jacket as he stared in awe. No words needed to be spoken. It was a common occurrence after tough games for you to take good care of him, he knew what he needed to do, even without your soft words. “Lay down for me, baby. Be a good boy.”

He whined at the words, flopping down on the bed and knowing exactly what was coming.

“C’mon, baby.” You worked him out of his dress pants and shirt, kissing up his thighs and up his abdomen and chest and his neck until you were nibbling at his jawline. “You gonna behave for me tonight, Maty?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, what?”

He moaned.

"C'mon, baby."

“Yes, my queen.”

A hand came up to his hair and his eyes went wide, watching, waiting for your commands. “Good boy. I know you will.” You straddled his now-naked thighs and leaned into his ear, nibbling gently. “ First I need you to get that pretty cock of yours hard for me. Can you do that?”

He whimpered helplessly, grinding himself up against you, only half hard.

“Yeah, I think you can do it.” You took him in your hand, playing with the weight and stroking in just the way you knew he loved. The way you knew would get him hard. He was practically throbbing, aching for need already, and you could feel him grow harder with each passing moment. It was a tender moment, sitting there together in warm silence, listening to Mat’s breaths, and feeling his growing desire for you, just sharing that moment of intimacy.  “Maty?”

“Hm?” His eyes opened, gazing up at you in awe.

“You want me to take care of you, baby?"

"Yes, please."

"You gotta earn it first, you know that, right? You gotta deserve it. Wanna eat me out? Make me cum first? Earn your orgasm?”

“Yes, yes!” He was eager to respond, nodding his head quickly and shaking around his hair. “Fuck, I promise I’ll make you cum so good-” he was moving to sit up, so you placed a hand right on his chest and gently pushed him back.

“No, baby, stay here. Lie back and be comfy.” You brushed the hair away from his forehead and crawled up his body, watching his jaw drop as he realized what you meant. Your eyes went cautious for a moment, silently asking if this is alright, but he just opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue for you to sit yourself down onto while you steadied yourself with his hair.

Your throne.

“Go ahead baby, do what you do best.”

And he went right on ahead, his tongue lapping at your aching hole, his hands coming up to hold your thighs in place, his nose pressing against your clit, always eager to please his queen, always eager to show you just how good he was, to remind you just how much he worshipped you. You ground your hips down onto his face, a spark of pleasure erupting from the way his nose hit your sensitive clit, and you reached down to tug on his hair, tilting his face up perfectly against your pussy. “Yes, baby. Like that.”

He groaned from beneath you, unable to form coherent noises, settling for groans and whines that sent vibrations straight through your core. The peaks and dips of his face felt so euphoric between your thighs, you wanted to explore and memorize the terrain, and the way your soft skin slid over the scratchy scruff on his cheeks had your legs trembling. If it weren't for your grip in his dark waves, you would have fallen over.

It wasn’t long before his skilled mouth had you shaking, reaching your limit. You leaned back to let him breathe before you could finish, and caught a glimpse of him beneath you, his eyes dark and wide, his tongue swiping over his lips and cleaning himself of your slick. He wasn’t doing a good job, though, as he was stickied and wet from his chin to his nose, his cheeks red and lips swollen from all the work he’d been doing. Messy baby.

“Well,” You ran your fingers across his forehead, pushing dark curls away from the sweat they were sticking to. “Finish the job, pretty boy.”

“Yes, my queen.”

With his eyes still straining up to yours as his mouth connected with your clit and his finger found your hole, it was only seconds before you spasmed around him, your slickness leaking down all over his face. Mat moaned into your flesh- his cock throbbing at the sight of you coming undone atop of him, at the feeling of your hands yanking his face closer, your pussy throbbing around his two fingers and they dipped in and out and curled just how he knew you loved- and you dripped into his mouth, fully spent and satisfied.

When he could finally form words, he whispered, gazing at you in awe: “How was that?”

“Mmm,” You were still trembling from that hell of an orgasm, sliding down to sit on his chest instead, and Mat almost came at the feeling of your wet against his skin. “Mmmm, Mat. that was so good, So perfect baby.”

“Was I good? Did I earn it?”

“What do you think?” After all of that, you almost forgot what he’d done it for.

“But say it.” His eyes were pleading, wide and bright. “Please.”

“Oh,” You leaned down to give his lips a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Oh, baby, you’re such a good boy for me. Good boy, good boy. Made me cum so good. I think you deserve a treat, don't you?”

"Please, my queen."

It wasn’t long before the words made it into your daily life.

It wasn’t a serious dom and sub role like something out of “Fifty Shades” or some gross preteen-written fanfiction, definitely not, but just a cute little tease that you liked to bring up now and then to fluster him. Mat loved to be reminded of how good he was to you, he loved to know he was doing a good job and that you appreciate him, and you loved to dish it out. If it were any other guy, you wouldn’t do this for them, but Mat just… deserved it so bad. He really did treat you like his queen.

He loved to tease you. Many times, he'd catch you in the mirror before dates and his sneaky hands would find their way down to your ass, and you would scold him and swat those hands away. "Oh, come on, baby. My queen looks so delicious tonight." He’d be gazing at you in the mirror, leaving sloppy kisses all the way up your neck, but you just got your hair perfect, you just applied your makeup perfectly, there was no way you were about to ruin it, especially for such a naughty boy.

"Keep behaving like that and you won't get anything tonight, baby. Bad boys don't get rewards, you know that."

"I'm being bad?" He smirked, sending shivers down your spine.

"So bad."

"Oh, I can get a lot worse."

He'd tease you, alright, but you always found ways to tease him right back.

Like the time you were out with his friends, and one of the wags mentioned "Oh yeah, Y/N definitely runs the show in this relationship." and everyone laughed and cheered about how "Barzy's so whipped!" It was all in good nature, everyone knew how much the two of you loved each other, and all his friends laughed at it, but Mat only shrugged and mumbled something like "Sometimes I’m in charge…”, though you knew he wasn’t afraid to admit to his friends just how much he loved his queen. Not that he’d ever tell them… about that.

“I might be in charge, but Maty here is good at following my orders. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Mat’s eyes widened for a moment as you reached up and curled a hand to cradle the back of his neck and play with the dark curls peeking out of his hat. His cheeks went red at the use of his pet name in front of all these friends.  

“Yeah, of course, your majesty.”

The words were spoken sarcastically, and to anyone else, it seemed like playful banter, simply teasing. But both you and Mat- and only the two of you- knew that under the table, something was stirring up in Mat, and when you got home tonight, he was definitely gonna be the one in charge.  

You loved the teasing, but sometimes you weren't in the mood for that. Sometimes you were in the mood to be absolutely cherished and catered to. Treated like the queen you are.  And luckily, Mat was there, willing and ready to dish it out.

After such a long day at work, all you wanted when you came home was to fall onto the couch and lose yourself in your loving boyfriend. You’d called Mat the moment you got off work, practically begged him to come over to your apartment for the night. Not that it was really begging, because he caved immediately at the thought of spending more time with his girl. But the thoughts of the dishes in the sink, the dinner that needed to be prepared, and how your apartment that looked like an absolute wreck when you left this morning plagued your mind as you took the final steps through the hall to your apartment door.

The second you opened the door, you found yourself encased in big arms.

“Hey, baby.”

“Mat. Ugh, I had the worst day.”

“I can tell.” His lips found your cheeks sweetly, and your eyes took a moment to glance around the room.

“Did you… clean?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back from your hug with a proud smile. “I know when you’re stressed you busy yourself with a lot of work, so if I do everything for you, there’s nothing for you to do tonight but cuddle, right?” You didn’t know what to say. Your jaw had literally dropped, and, if you weren’t so dead tired, you would have jumped him. “I did the dishes, cleaned up a little, got our favorite show on, and I’m one click away from ordering some food if you’re down.”

“Mat, you didn’t need to do all this.”

“Nothing’s too much to do for my queen.”

You smiled at the pet name as you felt the familiar heat curling through your stomach. “Thank you for this. So much, baby.”

“No problem, seriously. I guess I’m just… a good boy, for doing all this?” He said the words with a smile, a suggestion. And you were down.

“Maty, baby. You are. You’re such a good boy. What do you want tonight?”

“Whatever you want. I’m all yours for the night. Do whatever you want. Anything. You deserve it.”

Just those words had heat flooding into your panties, as you remembered what it felt like to have his cheeks scratch against the insides of your thighs.

“Eat me out, baby.”

At your words, he dropped to his knees in front of you.

Woah.

His hands quickly unbuttoned your pants and yanked them down to your ankles along with your panties, and his mouth followed, pressing sloppy, wet kisses down your legs. He hooked one of your knees over his shoulder and nibbled up the soft flesh of your inner thigh, leaving tiny love bites all the way. “Mat, Mat.” He glanced up, his eyes fiery and needy. “Mat, take your clothes off. Wanna see you.”

“Fuck, yes, my queen.”

His shirt fell onto the floor, followed quickly by his sweatpants, and finally his boxers. Just like always, the sight of him had you aching for more, your heat pounding with your heartbeat so hard you swore he could hear it from his position. Seeing him naked, vulnerable, submissive at your feet just… stroked something in you. Your confidence, maybe. Seeing such a big, strong, dominant guy so willing and needy for you, willing to do anything just for a taste, it made you feel so powerful. You controlled his pleasure.

He was already half-hard, gripping himself tightly and giving slow, steady strokes.

“Ah, ah, ah, hands off your cock, baby.” His eyes shot up to yours and his hands flattened on his thighs, cock twitching wildly in the air, straining for you. You knotted your fingers through his locks like always and tugged him in.

And he got to work.

His mouth felt heavenly against your heat, his tongue wide and thick and hot and lapping at you as if he was a starved man and you were the most delicious feast he could ever eat. As if what was dripping for him from between your legs was like honey, was like the food of gods, and he had tried his hardest to prove he was worthy of just a taste, just a breath, just your mere presence. And he was taking his precious time savoring the taste because you were the best flavor he could ever imagine. The sweet taste of your skin, where the perfume lingered as he bit down into your shoulder, the taste of whatever chapstick you put on when you kissed him, and now the intoxicating drip drip drip between your legs.

One of your feet was already flat on his back, so when he lifted your other leg over his shoulder, you hesitated.

He glanced up from between your legs with a smile, cocky and sure of himself. “Don’t think I can hold you up, babe?”

“Can you?”

“Trust me.”

And with your back against the wall, Mat hoisted both your legs onto his shoulders and scooted closer to you, until his face was flush with your heat, your feet flat on his back and your hands in his hair pulling him in. You tossed your head back against the wall as his lips closed around your clit, abusing the bundle of nerves just like you loved.

“Fuuuck, yes. Good boy.”

“Ohhh.” There were the words he craved so bad to hear.

The room was full of wet, sloppy noises, the noises of Mat’s tongue and face against your slickness, but through it all, you heard something else. A familiar sound of steady, rhythmic slapping.

“Mathew!” As much as your body complained, your hands tugged Mat’s face away, looking down at the dizzy, dumbstruck look on his face, his hand frozen on his cock. He’d been caught, and he’d be punished. “Bad, bad boy. Hands off.”

“Fuck.”

Your hand cupped his cheek, dragging a thumb along his bottom lip and swiping away some of your slick. “You don’t like listening to me? You like being a nasty, disobedient boy?”

“No, fuck, I’ll be good.” His hands gripped his thighs tight, trying to calm himself and keep his hands away, his cock red and angry and straining for you.

“Hmm. Maybe I’m being too hard on you. Teasing you like this and not giving you any release. Maybe I need to show you a little mercy. You think you deserve it?” He said nothing, not wanting to seem too needy and instead waiting patiently for your answer. Did he deserve it? He didn’t know yet. It was such a privilege to even be in this position with you. Your hand stroked across his cheek again. “I think you do. Poor baby, let’s put your hands at work somewhere else.”

He quickly got the hint, bringing one hand up to grip your thigh tight and trailing the other all the way up the inside of your thigh and gathering your wetness between his fingers and bringing them to his lips to lick them clean.

He was back at work.

You were a drug, and he was addicted. He couldn’t get enough, he’d do anything to prove himself worthy for just one more taste. One more taste of that glorious honey dripping from your legs. And he’d continue to prove himself time after time because you didn’t deserve anything less than his best. You were his queen, and he worshiped you.

“Oh yeah, yes baby.” He’d found the perfect rhythm in you, the perfect beat to have you shaking and moaning and trembling around his head. His grip on your thigh was the only thing keeping you grounded on earth, otherwise, you would have floated away into the euphoria of how it felt to have his tongue against your clit and his long fingers curling just right and grazing against your g-spot with every movement. You couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning when you’d wake up covered in his fingerprints and lovebites and wear them like little secret trophies. And you couldn’t wait to go about your day with the lingering thought that someone like this awaited you at home to tend to your every need like this. Nobody you talked with throughout the day knew of the little markings of your late-night adventures that were kept hidden away under your clothes. Nobody but Mat. His fingerprints would be embedded in your skin as if your body wanted to remember every crevice of the way he touched you, his teeth would be tattooed on your shoulder, his face and fingers would still taste slightly of you from the night before. His fingers would delicately graze every mark he left, asking if it hurt and asking if it was worth it, smiling and passing compliments and praise back and forth because that’s the kind of love you had. The kind that could go from nasty and wild to soft and delicate, the kind that could be both at once.

“Good, good, good boy. Ohhh, so good for me, baby. You know that? You’re the best. Always treating me so well. Making me feel so good.”

“(Y/N)...”

You swiped your hand over his forehead and brushed his hair away from his sweaty brow, locking eyes in a delicate moment. “Make me cum, baby, please.”

“Of course, my queen.” The words were spoken into soft flesh as he came back for the final stretch, his cock painfully hard and needy for your hand, your mouth, your attention, beading with precum as Mat grinded helplessly at nothing, just looking for any friction. Just a little bit longer, he knew, and he’d get his reward. Just a little bit longer.

He could barely breathe, the further in you pulled him, just surrounded by your scent and your heat and your wetness, but what need did he have for breath when you were gifting him the most valuable thing in existence? Yourself, your heart, the sweet, sweet nectar dripping from your core, the birdsong of moans falling from your lips, the choir of angel’s voices from your lips that cried his name. That was all he needed.

Finally, finally, your grip loosened from his hair and your legs fell limp and weak onto his shoulders. He gave you a moment to breathe, to collect yourself, and rest on him before continuing on. He stood, lifting you with him and helping you settle your feet onto the floor, shaky and off-balance.

“Woah, Maty.”

“Did I do good?”

“Like always, pretty boy.” You tilted your head up to see him finally extended to his full height, once again reminded of how powerful you were to have someone so much bigger than you down on his knees for you. “Good, good boy. Always so amazing for me, so willing, so selfless, so giving. I love you. Mat. You deserve the world for being so good.”

“I love you too.”

“Seriously, thanks for tonight.”

“Mhmm, any day, anything for my queen. Thank you for existing, you fucking goddess.”

“Mmm.” You shared a sweet kiss, dripping with love and adoration and care for one another, your eyes locked together in an intimate embrace before your arms slid from around his shoulder. “Now, baby,” You back him against the wall, slowly dragging your hands down his chest, over the peaks of his nipples and the crevices of his abdomen and bellybutton, and right to where his cock was straining red and angry for attention, dropping to your knees for him. “Lemme make my good boy feel like a king. He deserves it.”  

"Oh, baby."

And when you finally took him in your mouth and his hand tightened in your hair, his whines told you that he was the furthest thing from a good boy. "Let me show you how a queen rewards her most loyal subjects..."

[sideblogformindtrash]

SUMMER OF WHUMP - DAY 4 - ABANDONED

Mind the huge cw. Is mostly just discussing it, but still.

CW: Insinuated no-con; past-abuse; relieving past trauma; abandonment; very low self esteem; humiliation; accidental triggering; bait dog; whipping; starvation; shoved in luggage bag; bitten by mice; gross food; claustrophobia; burns; no-con drugging; no-con touching; mentioned amputation; pet whump; multiple whumpers; human trafficking; muzzle; starvation; neglect; manhandling; cruel/intimate/neglectful whumpers;

“H-hello and welcome to BB’s and Pastel’s show!” ...Pastel turned the octopus plush around as BB turned the camera on. It went from a pink, smiley octopus, to it’s frowning gray insides. Pastel pulled the blankets over his head, leaving only his eyes out “...I’ll be your host, BB, and this is my assistant, Mr.Tonsils!”

BB lifts Mr.Tonsils in front of the camera, waiving his little furry paws so he can say hello to their audience. They pick up the camera, and take it to the bed with Pastel, capturing his pretty pink-ish eyes. 

“C-come on Pastel! Say hi!”

Pastel shifts slightly under the blanket.

“I’m… Not a fan of cameras, BB'' his voice is just a whisper, as he twists the blanket. BB thinks he is kneeling “...I’ll just… be your audience today, okay?”

“O-oH! Sorry!” BB stepped away. That was right. Pastel didn’t have good memories about that. BB pointed it away, making sure only they and Mr.Tonsils were on frame. Pastel seemed to relax, even sitting back and lowering his blanket cocoon “...So, due to technical issues, Pastel won’t be joining us tonight. But that 's okay. BB and Mr.Tonsils are here to entertain you!”

BB smiled, making sure to show the missing little teeth. Just like Blue. Just like Blue… before, at least. 

“...Well, for tonight’s show me and Mr.Tonsils prepared a top 15 review!” BB wasn’t sure if it really classified as such. But it sure sounded nice “BB will be going over all of our old homes!”

They noticed as Pastel frowned, suddenly changing their expression, way more alert. BB only felt more excited. If Pastel was paying attention, it clearly meant the topic of the video was interesting! Audiences would love it! Even… Even if this was never going to be aired. BB could picture the audiences!

...With a deep breath, they braced themselves and started. They had prepared for this. They could do it.

“...BB’s begun it’s life like us all, in b-between white walls and tiled floors of the training grounds. They were worthless and ugly and dumb, BB’s smile never charmed anyone! It took a long time in the store before BB got home. It was and old lady that said BB was so ugly that it hurt, and dumb as a door, but worked well enough to, to scrub her floor” BB smiled, remembering the cozy attic, where they made their first friends, among piles of boxes that compiled their first owner’s life. Long nights they spent alone there, digging through piles of pictures, trying to piece together what a human life was like. Nonsense, it was, because it just filled BB’s head with a lot of silly thoughts.  They lifted Mr.Tonsils for the camera “...BB worked the day and spent the night locked away. In the house’s attic, BB made their first friends. They were Mr.Tonsils crowd, a family of mice, and BB befriended them all, even if they’d bite BB’s feet while it was trying to sleep! BB loved the house, their first owner, and e-every single mouse!”

BB hugged Mr.Tonsil, swinging him around. Pastel was biting his lip, pulling a thread out of the blanket. Good! He was enjoying the story! And BB felt like they were doing good, too. Better than they did at any of their homes.

“...First owner got tired of BB because the stupid Pet let her cat flee! All BB wanted to do was help and clean, but the cat saw their chance and ran away. First owner took BB to a store with a mean looking clerk. They agreed BB was ‘So ugly it fucking hurt’, hoping BB would only stay a few days and them someone would want them” BB rubbed their hand together. That didn’t count as an owner, did it? It was only temporary, in nature. Not that owners lasted very long “BB was at the store for almost a full month, during which they got to eat, sleep and there was no work. BB wanted to make friends with other pets in cages, but they never stayed for long, after all - good pets get good homes!”

...BB was still upset about the store. All of those Pets had looked so nice, so much better than they are… And they never tried to talk to BB. They were all scared they’d be beaten down if they tried, but never were. BB was the only worthless one, that got the punishments… for everyone!

“...BB was bought by creepy looking guy who stuffed BB inside a cage and on a plane and was flown away” BB gestured with their hand, copying the movements of a plane. They had to be on the chair, so it would look nice on video, but otherwise, they would have liked to run around with their arms opened “...Creepy man named BB Bait. They were a teaser for a larger, angrier Pet named Spike, who had on BB a nice punching bag who couldn’t put up a fight. They were nice to BB and even a friend, but scary and cruel when the Master decided they needed to beat them. So BB was Spike’s chew toy, but when they were nice… BB was always filled with joy!”

...They closed their eyes for a second. Those two lives were merged together. One of them had been so short, they could barely remember the second dog.

“...After Spike got tired, BB was sold again, to be another dog's punchbag. And he was the third friend BB had! He refused to hurt BB, would even cuddle them to sleep, and then I was severly punished… For making the Master's dog weak. It was the first time BB tasted a whip, and with dark bruises on its face, BB was sold again”

...They stood in that second store for a week. With no food, and no sleep. They were dirty, and cheap, not worthy of caring for.

“The next Master had BB as furniture for his house. All he did was snap his fingers and that was BB’s call. It would crawl and hold things very still and keep his glass fill, he would rest his feet over BB. If it got boring the cane was always on hand, he could crack in on BB’s back and get it all shades of purple and black. BB didn’t sleep there much at all, it had to stand still behind his bed, all night long holding a water jar upon a tray, in a perfect 90° degree, or there was always hell to pay” BB touched their arm, absentmindedly, a small scar on their elbow where bone had poke through “But BB was ugly furniture, bad and broke away, when Master tried to sit over its back one sad summer day. BB tumbled to the side, knocking Master to the floor. BB got a broken arm and was kicked out of the door!”

“...The next Master that took me in was cruel and harsh, with unusual punishments that left some scars: fingers pulled back until they snapped, weights to BB’s feet, heavy chains and painful strains and the worst - the oven’s flame” BB tilted their head. That Master, too, had scars. They didn’t know how she had gotten them, it was not it’s place to ask. They… They were happy to leave that one “...BB was then lost in a card game, and doesn’t remember much at all. Pills made BB sweet and kind and small. What BB doesn’t get is that they never needed pills - they would never disobey, even if put through awful, lingering pain, they’d love Master all the same.”

...Hazy. Foggy memories. Hands over them, and brushing their cheeks, and so much drool because they were never cohesive enough to form words or move. Blinking white lights, whispered little things that returned to them in dreams.

“...When BB was sober again, they found themselves in a shed, where they were always so alone. The Master was a mountain who only came at night to beat BB down. The days went by slowly, loneliness crushing down, it was dark and cold and hungry, and there were spiders all around“ BB stopped their speech for a moment. This next part was something… that still haunted them. They had done… awful, awful things. They covered Mr.Tonsils' ears. They were afraid of what he would think “...BB, on that shed, made things it would rather forget. Just like the Master forgot BB had to fed! BB might have eaten a few of Tonsil's friends, please don’t let him know, is just BB’s stomach hurt so much and it was the only thing that could stop the growl”

BB releases Mr.Tonsil’s ears, hearing a gasp from Pastel. They turn and smile, but his face is… Pale, horrified. BB shrugs. Pastel always worries faaaar too much. Next one… Made BB feel nostalgic.

“Next… Was the trucker! He liked BB a whole lot, and let BB on the bed and the passenger’s seat! He and BB traveled a lot, seeing magic and beautiful places. BB spoke on the radio, and… And… Had a name! Was called Oreos...” They messed up their rhymes. This… This wasn’t how it was supposed to go “...BB was… Was happy then. His spouse didn’t like me, and… And behind his back, gave me away”

BB’s nails sunk on their arms, as they hug themselves. They… missed those days. It was good, good nostalgia, but what followed made them sick. They had just learned how big and beautiful the world was…

“Next Master… Stuffed BB into a bag, small and stinky with heavy leather smell, with no room to move at all, so much BB’s limbs collapsed when it was finally left out. It travelled around so much, but BB never got to see outside. It was let out during the night to be with Master, and shoved back on the bag once he was satisfied” BB shook their head, as if that would send the memories away. They hated it, hated that bag so, so much. Terrible, suffocating and endlessly boring and aching. And worse… that’s when they lost their name Oreos. They had loved that life. They truly had. “It didn’t matter much, BB was soon thrown away again. Unlovable and worthless, no one could stand BB for much longer either way. BB was sold and sold, always on their way. Next Master was confusing – gave BB many orders and functions, then beat BB down for following the instructions! They likes to trick BB, make plenty of cruel jokes, BB was just a dumb dog, one they only named Mutt!”

...They smiled then. The next one was also nice. His name was Wolfgang, but he was not a wolf. Not that BB could remember.

“And BB’s following owner sold stuff door to door! Saw BB – or Mutt then – and thought they were good charms! BB helped with the sales, being all cute and sweet, and Master was happy at first, but eventually… Sold me!”

And the next Master was…

BB shivered. This one… Hurt a lot. A whole fucking lot. It had been one of the longest lasting homes they had. It had changed the way they saw and thought of themselves forever. It was where they became BB. Bootleg Blue. Fake, useless, worthless.

“…Next was Owner Alvin, who BB loved so, so, so much. He said he would always care for BB… if BB could be someone else. BB had never ever been loved, and the feeling was so gentle and sweet! BB finally understood why no one else had loved it, and what it needed to do so that it would. Blue, a pet who had videos and fame, who had scars BB didn’t have… But I wanted to gain! BB left their teeth rot, BB scarred their own face, Master got angry – Bad BB, bad…” No, no, no. They couldn’t start to lament now. Not when they had gone so far on the video, already, and trough some of the hardest part “Alvin gave BB a room with a  plain white dresser, four pairs of clothes and double of socks! BB knew them all by heart and cherished them, BB loved Alvin, loved him, loved him so, so, so much. 

But …Alvin wanted BB to be Blue, but wouldn’t tolerate it when BB got the knife and tried to make the change. BB watched the videos on repeat, hundreds, thousands of hours on end, BB could cite them by head!

But BB wasn’t Blue, and can never be. BB is unworthy, and no one could love me. BB was shoved in a car and Owner broke his promise – he decided not to keep me, he, he, h-he… He, he…”

BB closes their eyes, bites back a sob. They are almost done now, and even if they completely messed up the last part…. they can push through! They can still make a nice video… Maybe the audience will like that they can be a little emotive?

“...Shoved BB in a car, drove them to a dead end. Left them alone on the streets to fend for themselves. BB stayed there alone and scared and sad, hoping someone would come… Or that somehow, their pain would end. And then Paul and Reina appeared, finding the ugly pet on the streets. Reina said BB did look like Blue! So she wanted, she wanted BB too!” BB smiled a little. Reina was pretty. She gave me good headpats… But BB didn’t miss them a lot. Paul wasn’t so nice “Paul knew BB was worthless, but Reina still wanted BB. BB was taken to their house and for a short span of time, BB was pampered, happy and loved, an illusion that didn’t last. They figured BB was fun to hurt and start to get their way – not that BB cared, loved them all the same”

They turned around for a second, smiling at Pastel. This was something they’d truly love to talk about, for once.

“But the best part was that BB made a friend when living at their place. Pastel was his name! Pastel held BB and told me it would be okay. BB didn’t have to be Blue – they loved me either way. Pastel took punishment and tried to keep Master’s away. BB cuddled them to sleep and they loved each other! They did!” 

BB smiled at this, hugging the plush. One drop of joy, as small as it had been. One that wasn’t stripped away. But the show hadn’t ended.

“…Alas we got back to IF. IF my desired owner, the true maker of Blue, the one who could make BB worthy of love… If he had wanted to. He shoved BB in a cage and tortured Pastel instead, and it was so, so awfully cruel!” BB shook their head, lamenting “But last and not least, Master Fairyman appeared! He took BB and Pastel to live with him! And he has been so nice so far, giving BB colored books! Lovely, nice and nice! And Pastel Is with me too, BB don’t know how long it will last, but BB is so, so to be here with you!”

BB finished, looking back at Pastel and drawing a heart in the air with their fingers. Pastel… is tearing up. He jumps from the bed, not minding the camera anymore, and hugs BB. BB melts, leaning onto the hug. Soft. Kind. Loved. 

“BB…” He finally speaks, still not letting them go  “Did… Did you rehearse this?”

“Many times in BB’s head!” BB smiled. Many, many, many times, all those years… “Did it come out nice?”

“Yeah…” Pastel rested his head on BB’s shoulder, hugging them tight “I love you, you know?”

BB smiled.

“I know”

tagging: @summer-of-whump@pinkraindropsfell

[achubbydumpling]

Alright, I just finished Destroyer (2018) and a bottle of wine and I have some thoughts about this movie and lots of thots about Chris. Why am I writing this? Why not! I love reading other people's opinions, so here are mine.

Let's get into it!

(if you just want ~800 words of chubby kink brain rot skip to the +++ under the cut)

Thoughts and semi-serious movie review

(I don't know nothing about movies, so this is very subjective, but I'd love to hear your opinions, if you disagree with anything or just have something to add)

First, I went into this film completely blind. I had no idea what this film was about, I only knew that Seb was in it.

It starts off promising. Alcoholic detective who knows more than she lets on, an unidentified body and an old antagonist from our detectives past reappears. Plot is being set up, we get to know Erin, the story advances at a good pace and then 15 minutes in everything grinds to a halt.

The movie is very good at building tension, but has trouble reaching satisfying conclusions. Almost every scene just fizzles out into an anticlimactic or abrupt end. The characters seem static, with no real development apart from a few pieces sprinkles throughout, which makes emotional scenes feel unearned.

The movie drags on through it's 2h runtime. By the end I was honestly wishing for Erin to just die already, which probably wasn’t the intention with this character-driven film. We’re told that she is consumed by anger, but to me she just seemed bored most of the time. Like she was trudging from plot point to plot point.

Most of the characters in this movie felt like less than side characters, even Chris, who’s death is the inciting incident for Erin wanting to get revenge on Silas. Arturo was the only other character that stood out to me, but he only really got to shine in the Russian Roulette scene.

The flashback scene at the end was probably the best part of the movie. Not just because we finally got to see Chris for a bit longer, but because Erin finally has someone to play off of and even though she still seems quite stiff in her acting, this is in my opinion her best performance in the movie. 2/5 stars

"omg Sebastian Stan is so hot in this movie"-review

And now let's talk about Seb's look in this movie, because damn does he look good. Stuff I liked in no particular order:

the beard in the flash backs

the shaved head in the less far back flash backs

smoking. doing drugs! cocaine!!

rings

fake dating?? yes please (giving me ideas)

Seb's fucking silent movie acting, hmm jaw clenching and intense staring (his line delivery wasn't the best in this, but it might've been the phrasing)

"Nice ass." "It's all yours."

the grey sweater

rings

Chris' body language being all loose and open, going with where Erin pulls him, draped all over her back, arm around her waist

hnng Erin pulling down the big sweater and showing of his chest-shoulder-collarbone

+++ (weight gain, belly kink and more feedist nonsense from here on out) +++

that shirt is pretty big on him though, isn't it?

and his jeans are way too loose as well, "Nice ass"?, yeah, it'll be real nice with about fifty more pounds on him, when those jeans look painted on

he could maybe hide his double chin under the beard, but his love handles would be peeking out under the hem of that grey sweater, his belly creasing his waist band where it hangs over it, his lower belly hanging out as soon as he moves his arms and he constantly has to pull his shirt down, otherwise it works its way up until the entire spare tire around his hips is on display

idk if everyone is just short, but Seb looks so tall in this movie, imagine he's so tall that he starts out at 230lbs looking jacked, all brawn, functional strength, low insertion muscles, all stretched out, y'know?

and then he packs on weight, still working, still moving, but putting half the time he used to spend exercises, into eating, he eats what you put in front of him and then some

it's not like it's a burden, eating until he's full and then pushing himself a bit further, but your encouragement and the obvious lust on your face whenever you watch him eat, is an added bonus

when Erin suggests he steal the money with her, he refuses, he's got you and you'd never ask him to risk his life on the off-chance that you might be able to pull this off, so he gets out, back to being an FBI agent, back to you, and finally back to eating what he wants

ohhh he'd thought when you first explained to him how you liked bigger guys that he'd be doing this just for you, settling down, putting on a few pounds, it was probably inevitable anyway, but once you started, once he actually gained weight, he liked it, he really liked it

Chris caught himself sneaking his hand under his sweater to play with the tiny bit of fat that was starting to hang over his waistband

he'd always been confident, but feeling heavier made him feel more powerful, instead of rushing everywhere he took his time, long, unbroken strides, nothing could shake him

he was an excellent fighter, not easily swayed, but they take him out of the field when he gains more weight, he gets out, gets a job as private security instead and keeps gaining

300lbs and he's finally getting a real belly, but you could still see some muscles moving under his ribs when you trailed your fingers over them, he's tall, so all the weight has lots of places to settle

350lbs and his legs are straining aganist his jeans, the fabric between his legs thinning from the constant friction, looking at him you'd guess he was 250lbs, maybe 280lbs

but you didn't care too much about him looking smaller than he was, because when he got on top of you and let you feel all the weight you'd put on him, how heavy he was and you were just struggling to catch your breath with 350lbs of absolute beef cake on top of you, you couldn't really form a single coherent thought

it didn't take long for him to reach 400lbs, and you were all over it, you kept him pinned to the couch by the weight of his stuffed belly every night, riding one of his thick thighs until he'd finally digested just enough, that he could think about anything besides the dull ache in his stomach, you could see his eyes lose some of that hazy fog, his body going from boneless exhaustion to pressing his thigh up into you, matching your rhythm

as much as you loved Chris weighing you down, you had learned the positive sides of being on top of him over the last 50lbs he's gained, he was an impressive man, quietly commanding every room he was in, but you could make him fall apart, come undone beneath you and make him give up all this control

he didn't just do it for you, when you saw his eyes flutter shut and his jaw work to deal with all those overwhelming sensations, you could see him get lost in it, going elsewhere and yet giving himself up even more completely to you

he'd beg for you to touch him, to fuck him, to "please make me come, baby", even though he could easily take all that he wanted from you, he only ever asked for it and how happily you gave it all to him

lotsa text, but he's just too hot in this movie, like you can just imagine undressing him and finding a nice little belly under all those baggy clothes

[irrelevantwriter]

The Art of Foreplay

Pairing: Negan x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW

Warnings: Language, Daddy kink, dry humping, mentions of bodily fluids, vaginal fingering, Negan’s impatient potty mouth (it is its own warning)

Word Count: 1638

Summary: Part 1. Negan is stressed so you decided to educate him on foreplay 101.

A/N: This is my entry for @negans-lucille-tblr​ 4k foreplay challenge! Congrats on the milestone! My chosen prompt was Dry Humping. I had so much fun writing this. I really missed Negan and his shit-talking so this was a nice reintroduction. I hope you guys like it. Feedback is that good shit. Enjoy and share with your friends!

Want more Negan foreplay?

*Check out part two: Acts of Service

*Foreplay series masterlist 

*Masterlist in bio.

**********************

You knocked gently on Negan’s door, listening for the low rumbling of his voice through the thick wood.

“Come in.” You heard him say, though the tone was much more subdued than what you were used to hearing.

You turned the handle and opened the door, your eyes still not used to such grandiosity in the middle of the apocalypse. Negan’s living quarters would’ve been considered luxurious even before the world went to shit. In the middle of the world ending, his place was a fucking palace compared to anything else.

Your gaze caught him hunched over his desk, a glass of brown liquid in his hand. His leather jacket was off, his armor discarded for the time being. He looked tired, exhausted even. The tension in his body was obvious, the weight of what was left of this world obviously sitting on his shoulders. The sight made you sigh, the need to comfort him suddenly overwhelming.

You’d caught a passing glance of him only an hour before when he’d passed the wives’ quarters, not bothering to stop and chat. It was odd for Negan to continue on without stopping to visit or flirt, especially with you. You were the new wife and had your husband captivated at the moment. Your refusal to sleep with him right away kept him glued to your side while he was upstairs. The man looked at it as a challenge, and you’d learned rather quickly that he loved a challenge.

“Hey, doll…” He greeted wearily, the grin you loved so much now lopsided and forlorn.

You stepped towards him, the cool feel of silk against your skin making you shiver. You wore a black negligee, the lace fabric barely hiding your nipples from view. You weren’t intending on sleeping with your husband just yet, but you’d been set on progressing your physical relationship. Every night for the last week and a half you’d been with Negan. There was an abundance of kissing and heavy petting, but nothing beyond that. You were taking your time, easing into the unique relationship you’d found yourself in. And Negan was patient and supportive, making your decision more difficult each time you left him at the end of the night.

“Come with me.” You softly demanded, not leaving any room for arguing. You grabbed at his hand, gently pulling at him to follow you.

“I’ve got a lot of fucking shit to do.” He protested, but his body followed you anyways. His hazel eyes took you in as he stood, his gaze burning your flesh with intensity. Not even fatigue could tamper his sexual appetite.

“I’m gonna help you.” You reassured, leading him to the sofa. You gestured for him to sit down, waiting until he complied before you crawled in his lap. He made room for you, his hands settling at your hips as you made yourself comfortable. Your delicately covered pussy made contact with his denim crotch, seeking out the hard lines of his cock.

“Giving me blue balls is not gonna fucking help.” He stated flatly, fingertips beginning to dig into the flesh of your hips.

“I’ve never given you blue balls. You always finish.” You corrected, unable to keep your hips still at the stirring of his erection. You might not be sleeping with Negan, but you didn’t leave him unsatisfied either. You both ensured that the other found release on your nights together.

Your hands gently traced over his face and trailed to the back of his neck, tugging at the hair there. His eyes were beginning to fall, the sensations ensnaring him like a predator hunting its prey. You could feel him relaxing beneath you, his limbs no longer tense with stress but now heavy with desire.

“Every day I don’t slide into that tight pussy, my balls get tighter.” He mumbled, eyes still closed and head thrown back. Your hips were still moving over his lap, but the rhythm was slow and torturous. You were already wet, the moisture no doubt seeping from your panties and onto his pants.

You felt a jolt of pleasure as your clit brushed the denim just right. A tiny gasp tore from your lips at the action, your body seeking out the source for more. You felt Negan’s eyes on you as he realized what you were doing. He licked his lips with a seductive swipe of his tongue, his hips arching to meet yours.

“You know,” You started, your breathing now labored against the rush of lust that had made a home between your thighs. “The art of foreplay has really been lost.”

Negan grunted, gaze still taking you in as you moved over him. “Really? How so?”

He was humoring your rambling, the mirth now back in his features as he guided your movements. You could feel him swelling against the zipper of his jeans, the slight thrust of his hips into your core making your insides ignite. You could feel your nipples pebbling against the lace of your nightie, calling to your lover. You arched your back and pushed your chest forward, inviting Negan to touch you.

“There’s something to be said about not giving in to what your body so desperately wants.” You whispered against his lips, relishing in the way his hands glided up your body. His attention was focused solely on you, his eyes hooded and glinting with need. The combination made you high, the adrenaline coursing through your veins and collecting at the apex of your thighs. You pushed back against his body, letting the soaked material of your panties rub against him. His movements faltered as you mimicked riding his cock, his jaw set in barely tamed ecstasy.

“Fuck, doll…” Negan cursed, hands pushing down the straps of your lingerie to reveal your breasts. He immediately attacked the flesh, mouth nipping and sucking as he tasted you. His tongue lavished your nipples with attention as you held him to you, unwilling to let him separate from your body. His lips traveled up your chest and over your neck, teeth biting down to leave a mark. You shivered at the sting of pain and the burn of his facial hair, the sensations only fueling your movements.

“You wanna cum on Daddy’s lap? Rub yourself against me until you soak my jeans?” He encouraged into your ear, his calloused hands grasping your breasts with desperation.

You moaned at his words, the low rumble of his voice making your pussy throb. You tangled your fingers into his hair, bringing his lips back to yours.

“You cum first, Daddy.” You challenged, taking pleasure in the way his eyes rolled when your hips rotated in a seductive loop. “Can’t you feel how wet I am?” You purred.

“Goddamn…” He groaned, hands back to gripping your hips. You could feel the wet patch you were leaving behind, feel his cock straining to bury inside your depths.

You moved your hands to the button of his jeans, pulling them apart. His mouth opened to question you, but the words died on his lips when you settled your weeping slit over his cock, the muscle still hidden beneath the thin layer of cotton underwear he wore. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the barrier between you both hardly concealing the product of your arousal.

“Fucking fuck, baby girl…” He cursed harshly. “You’re gonna make me cum.” His hips jerked and his head fell back as you increased your speed, intent on making him do just as he’d said.

“Do it, Daddy.” You practically begged, feeling your panties slip inside you. You rocked against his solid form, maneuvering his cock so that he was pressed between your lips. Your swollen clit thanked you as it came alive with longing, your walls clutching around nothing.

You sucked ferociously at a patch on Negan’s neck, riding his clothed cock with new fervor. You could feel the tendrils of orgasm starting to surround you. His hands grasped your ass, his hips meeting your thrusts as he cursed between clenched teeth.

“Shit…” A deep groan released from his chest as his body began to tense. His hands held you to him, locking you to his spasming hips. You focused on the feel of him as his cock pulsed beneath you, the warmth of his release coating the front of his underwear.

His climax triggered your own, your pussy tremoring against his stiffness. A rush of sticky liquid soaked the fabrics that separated you both, creating a mess. Your nails dug into his shoulders while his forehead rested against your chest, the myriad of sensations taking you both prisoner. Euphoria washed over you immediately, the satiation that came with orgasm now settling into your bones.

“I haven’t jizzed on my fucking self since I was a pimple-faced fucking preteen.” Negan said with a raspy chuckle, his shaking body causing yours to move with his.

You laughed along with him, raising onto your legs slightly to avoid the overwhelming sensitivity that always claimed you afterwards. You pulled his face to you, caressing his stubbled face. There was a different type of tired that now painted his features, a contentment that let you know your mission was successfully accomplished.

“If that’s your way of saying thank you, then you’re welcome.” You quipped, teasing his lips with your tongue.

“I can properly thank you when you let me fuck that pussy raw.” He insisted with a devilish smirk, a long finger edging its way into your depths. You hissed at the intrusion, your body jerking at the feel of him.

“Patience is a virtue.” You moaned, your body betraying its own sensitivity. You bit your lip as he dared to push you over the edge again.

“Doll, you should know by now that there ain’t nothing virtuous about your Daddy.”

[ficsnroses]

Upset - John Wick x Reader

Word Count : 3K

Warnings : Fluff, Angst, don't think there’s anything apart from that!

Summary : John & his girlfriend, Y/N, have a bit of an argument before bed, leaving them both feeling uneasy. 

A/N : So this emerged from the idea of your S/O always kissing you goodnight without fail, even if you’re in a fight, and kinda just stemmed from there. Once again, this turned out completely different from what I imagined it would, but that’s alright! I hope you enjoy ❤️ Requests are currently open :)

It’s a cold evening in New York, you’d swore flurries may have just fell, 

had the air not been so desiccated. Shrill, arctic frost loiters each surface, each brick of the city stone, freckled with ice on all the rooftops. The leaves out the window embroider in ice sequins coats, decorated by the frigid crisp itself.

John had come home not too long ago, and you’d felt him tense just by a look his way. He’d hung his coat, sluggish on the entrance coat hanger, movement slow and weary as his limbs trudge along the hardwood floor. Dog had ran his way in a haste, tail wagging frantically as he joys at John’s feet, waiting for an abundance of praiseful pets. John doesn’t quite abide, though.

“Good Dog.” John’s low, deep voice barely manages, settling for just a stroke behind Dog’s ear, before plodding towards the kitchen. You’d heard John come in from your spot on the living room couch, browsing a novel of your choice as you’d wait for him.

You found yourself waiting for John often on days like today. Days when he’d venture out, with little to speak on his whereabouts.

You tried not to press on it much. Over the years of being John Wick’s girlfriend, you’d learned much about the way he was. John was special, for sure. There was no denying it.

John is loving, John is compassionate. John is gentle, sweet, thoughtful. He’s a great listener, trustful and respectful. He makes you laugh just when you need it most, he offers a shoulder to cry on when you need it firm.

John loves you endlessly, unconditionally, here, now, today, as you are. And he will, for as long as he can. You’ve never doubted it. He’d never let you. For John, you’d always been the one everything comes down to in the end. He’s all you’d ever wanted, and plenty more.

But even the best of us have our flaws.

John is quiet, when he feels he needs to be. John carries an unrelenting weight on his shoulders, the burden of all his demons when he feels its best. John often forgets, that he is only human.

That he is, human.

Quiet, you pad towards the kitchen, hearing John shuffle around the marble floors. You catch a glimpse of his fatigued form, expressions low, melancholy. You know he’s not feeling his best, and it hurts you to realize that.

If you had it your way, you’d take all his worries away in a heartbeat. That’s the kind of love you had – an interminable battle to keep each other safe, carefree.

“John? Are you here?” You quietly inquire, making your presence known. Dog’s ears perk up to the sound of your soft voice, as he hops over to you, stopping by your feet.

He shifts his gaze your way, with a glass of tepid water in hand. “It’s just me.” He responds, raising a hand as he sips. He offers a small smile your way, although it never quite reaches his chestnut orbs. He lets out a small cough, a wince apparent in his measure, that he tries to brush off.

As you walk his way, your heart falls heavy knowing he’s had a rough day. With your touch gentle, you wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. His hands come around your waist briefly, as he dots a kiss your lips brief, finishing with a more delicate one to your forehead.

His kisses still sent you in butterflies, no matter the countless amounts you’d shared.

“Long day?” You ask, letting go of him as he moves to wash his hands. His muscles seem tense as he moves drained, although you can tell he’s trying his best to make it not apparent to you. That’s how John was, he’d rather stomach any distresses himself, than have his love worry.

“I’m alright, sweetheart.” He replies, short, keeping his eyes fixed on the steady stream of the faucet flow. You sigh a breathy exhale, knowing he’d rather keep his guard up than let you know. You’d often wonder why John did that. He really was the man to give as much as he could to you, asking for absolutely nothing in return.

But that wasn’t how you’d preferred. For him, you wanted the same. You wanted to be there for him when he needed you, wanted to walk through plights with him, holding his hand each step of the way. You wanted to show him, that what you had was a two-way street.

He takes care of you, and you take care of him.

As you walk closer to him again, you allow your arms to wrap around his waist from behind, leaning yourself on him as he stands at the kitchen sink. With your cheek pressed against his back, you quietly press. 

“John, I can tell something is wrong. You’re not yourself today.” You frown, giving his bicep a compassionate squeeze.

You feel his tenseness subside a little as you touch him. With your chest pressed to his back, you soothe up and down his arms, trying your best to get it out of him. If not much, you’d just love if he’d let you talk him through it.

As he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, his frame moves to the kitchen towel, drying the droplets of water off his skin. “It’s okay, I’m alright.” He quietly protests, moving to the living room couch. You trail behind him, refusing to let him wallow alone. As he takes place by the fireplace, Dog runs rush at his feet, padding a few twirls on his paws before plopping comfortable. You trail behind, feeling more uneasy by the second. John doesn’t seem to budge today.

For your own sanity, you need him to be okay.

Silence dawns the room as you try to find the right words. Stood at the doorframe, you watch John rub his worn-out eyes, yawning as he clears his throat. There seems to be no right way to approach him, so you settle for just asking him again.

“John,” you say, voice assertive this time. As you walk up behind him as he sits, you allow your arms to circle his shoulders, planting a kiss on his head. “Please, I know somethings bothering you and I just wanna help.” Ruffling his hair, you try to keep the mood light. “How about we get to bed early tonight? It’s freezing out, maybe we could both just use a good snuggle.” You giggle, pressing another kiss to the side of his head.

You’d always make sure John knew just how loved he is. Make sure he doesn’t forget the feeling of being touched.

He deserves it, more than anyone else.

He sighs, lips curling into a small smile at the way you’re holding him. “That sounds nice.” He replies, to the thought of having the day over with, falling asleep beside the woman he loves.

“Annnnnnnnd….you’ll tell me what’s up.” You say, quiet, but firm. When he doesn’t reply, let go of him, moving around the couch to take seat by. He’s still strained, his lips purse slight, just enough to exaggerate his tense brow. Taking hold of his hand, you lace your fingers together, rubbing the top of his palm as he stares out the window.

“John, I don’t know what’s bothering you but I know there is something. It doesn’t sit well with me that you’re upset and I don’t know why.” You sigh, as he turns to look your way. “Honey, please. Was it something from…work?” You question, never letting go of his hand. He takes in a deep breath, almost about to speak, before the words seem to get caught in his throat, never quite coming out.

Rolling your eyes, you grow impatient, slightly peeved that he won’t just tell you. “John, you’re doing that thing again. Where you shut me out.” You frown.  

He lets out an exhale, jaw tensing. “I’m not…” he frowns. “…shutting you out, Y/N. I’m just tired. Okay? You don’t need to worry.”

Groaning, you grow more annoyed. “John, why do you have to be so stubborn? I know you, and I know somethings up. You’ve been acting weird since you got home, you’ve been dry, you’re all tense and…” you bite your lip, trying not to complain. “You’re not your same...” 

Searching for the right words, you continue. “….cheery self today. You’ve barely talked to me since you got home.” With a fretful hand comb through your hair, you breathe. “Did I do something?” You ask, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

“No, of course not.” He replies, giving your hand a small squeeze.

“Then tell me what’s wrong!” You say, a bit louder than intended.

He turns to lock your gaze. Calm and collected still, he speaks. “Y/N, stop pressing. Please. You’re making it worse.”

You’re making it worse. That stung.

Letting go of his hand, you straighten your back, looking down slightly. “Alright then.” You begin to stand, as he lightly grasps hold of your arm.

“Y/N, wait, I’m….” he starts, as you cut him off, a mock evident in your words.

“No. I’m making it worse, aren’t I?” You shake his hand off your arm, sighing as an anxious hand runs through your locks. “Just…leave me alone tonight, alright, John? We’ll talk in the morning when you’ve figured your shit out.” You dispute, turning on the balls of your feet to walk away.

-

John and you didn’t fight often. Even when you did, they weren’t necessarily arguments. Much like today, they would be confrontation, leaving both of you the space you needed until you’d be ready to discuss again, work things through.

Although, as the words of staying apart tonight had slipped off your lips, John felt his heart heavy, suddenly aware of how much he didn’t want that. If anything, John wanted to take you up on your offer of calling it an early night, more than ever. He knew, just how much he wanted to hold you close, rejuvenate through the night, forgetting about his taxing day. Sometimes, he just needed a little grounding. Something to pull him back to earth, reminding him that there’s more to his life, than what he had become. What he was bound to.

There was you. All things good, all things he needed to remember what he truly needs.

Solace.

Familiarity.

Normality.

All things, he got from you.

John hated when things weren’t right between you two. He didn’t have anyone else to confide in. For him, it was just you.

But John was anything but inconsiderate. He wasn’t a monster, as the world made him out to be. John understands, he knows how to give you the respect you deserve. If you wanted space, he’d give it to you, for as long as you needed.

Even if it hurt him.

Discontent, he hauls himself up, heading for the wooden stairs that led to your shared bedroom. The one that you’d fall asleep in alone tonight. This wasn’t what he wanted. Why did he always somehow manage to make things worse? He thinks wearily to himself, shaking his head as he rubs his temples, mad at himself for letting it get this way, when all you were trying to do was be there for him.

The same thing he did for you, without doubt.

-

As he glides the bedroom door open, the creak fills the air around, as the rest of the room sits rather still. He sees you tucked away on your side of the bed, the comforter pulled tight up, covering most of your face. You’d been curled up, as if shielding yourself from something unwelcome. 

He feared it was him.

As he cautiously ambles over, his orbs frown, with a grimace coat his features. His heart hopes more than anything that you hadn’t shed any tears. It would ruin him to know he did that to you, when all he wanted was the exact opposite.

As he moves closer to his side of the bed, he sighs, grabbing his fluffed white pillow that matches the one under your head.

Hopefully the guest bedroom sheets wouldn’t treat him too glum tonight.

Turning to head out the door, he kicks himself again mentally, for allowing it to go this far tonight. John wasn’t used to sleeping without you, not unless it was while he was away for a job. Tonight felt wrong. Looking your way once more, he feels himself halt in his tracks, unable to leave.

John had a habit, more of a routine, if you will. Each night, he’d kiss you goodnight, without fail. Even if he’d be away, he’d make sure his nightly phone call went your way, as he’d wish you a goodnights sleep, reminding you that he loves you. While he was home, it was always the last thing on his agenda. Finishing his day off in the way he knew best.

As he bends down, kneeling beside the bed, John observes your features. You lay still, calm, poised and present, chest rising and falling gently. He was glad you were getting rest, he was ready for this dreadful evening to be over soon as well, hopeful for the morning, when you’d wake and could talk it out.

With his hand coming down to cup your cheek softly, his lips move in, pressing a gentle, delicate kiss to your forehead. He lingers in place for a moment before pulling away, lips hovering over your face, close enough to give you another. But he’d held himself back, afraid he’d wake you up. John didn’t want to ruin your night more than he already had.

Giving your hand a gentle squeeze, he reluctantly pulls himself back, pillow tucked away under his arm, giving you a final glance, before he leaves for good. The door creaks again on his way out, his foot steps audible towards the guestroom.

You’d been awake, well aware of the way he was silently regretful. But you decided it would be good to sleep separate tonight, it would give you both a chance to collect your thoughts and be alone. John was sorry for sure, but that didn’t compromise for the fact that he hadn’t reacted in the best way tonight. 

You love him with all your heart, you respect him and understand he’s a quiet man. But as his girlfriend, you felt you deserve to at least know why he’d been behaving the way he was.

If not tonight, the least you wanted was him to let you know that he’d tell you when he was ready. Not completely shut you out.

-

As the sun shines through the bedroom windows, your eyes flutter open to the remembrance of last nights past. Out of habit, you turn to hug John closer, hit with the reality that he’s not there. The spot lays cold and empty, his pillow missing and the sheets untouched on his side.

You sigh, bringing your hands to rub your tired eyes. You wished he was here, tucked away beside you, where he belongs. No matter what had happen last night, you just wanted him here, now, in this moment. You miss him, despite knowing he’s only a room away.

It doesn’t sit well with you knowing you’re in the middle of a fight.

Lifting the covers off yourself, your groggy eyes adjust to the bright morning glow channeling the room. It’s still chilly out, and you catch glimpse of the frost speckle the tree branches outside, gleaming, beaming, sparkling as a new day wakens.

Dragging your tired, bleary limbs as you walk, you hope John is already awake. You don’t want to wake him prematurely; you know he needs rest. But you can’t drag this on longer, you just need things to be alright again. 

Walking through the hallway, you smell the aroma of fresh coffee being brewed on the timer downstairs. John sets a pot for exactly 6:00AM every morning, for you both to enjoy when you’d wake up together. It had become routine at this point. Morning coffee was one of your favourite times of the day, when you’d have John all to yourself in his clumsily sleepy state, as each sip woke you both up more and more. John is a sweetheart in the morning, affectionate as he peppers you with kisses while you browse the morning paper, reading aloud the intriguing headlines for him as well, as he cooks you breakfast.

This morning, however, was a dire contrast to your routine ones.

As you sway the guestroom door open quietly, you see him lay on his back, eyes shut as the sheets bunch and pleat around him.

He’d been tossing and turning all night.

You frown at the exhaustion that paints his features, suddenly regretful that you may have been the reason for that. Perhaps you’d been a bit harsh on him. Maybe you should have just let it go, understand that he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

Slow and cautious, you make your way over to the bed, taking seat beside him. Your hand moves to softly rest on his cheek, giving the skin a few gentle strokes, hoping he was able to get a little bit of decent sleep last night. He deserved it.

“John?” You quietly speak, trying to awake him calm. “Jonathan?”

You try to shake him gently, making sure not to startle him. As you call his name again, his eyes shoot open, adjusting to the light before they set on you, heavy.

“Y/N,” John’s morning voice rasps as he sits up slightly, looking your way.

“I-..” You begin, before he cuts you off, setting a hand on your thigh.

“Wait, before you say anything, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, sweetheart.” He shakes his head. “I was just overwhelmed and I didn’t want you to worry. You weren’t making it worse at all, I didn’t mean what I said.” He sighs. “I’m sorry I made you upset.”

You smile, the anger of the night completely forgotten. All you wanted right now, was to be with the man you love. As you move closer to him, your arms wrap around his neck, placing a kiss to his cheek, as you finish with a rest of your head on his shoulder. His arms come around you as well, tucking his head into your neck with a sigh of relief. He holds you close, pressing sweet kisses wherever he pleases.

“I’m sorry too. I should have understood that you weren’t ready to talk about it.” You run your hands through his hair as you hold each other in an embrace, both happy to put the night behind. “I won’t press next time, I promise.” As you pull back slightly to connect your eyes, your hand comes to cup his bearded cheek. “You’re not mad at me, right?” you bite your lip.

John shakes his head, placing his hand over yours that holds his cheek, as his other stays wrapped around you. “Of course not, princess.” He plants a kiss to your wrist, letting you know he’s ready to move on as well. “ You’re not mad at me either, right?” 

“Of course not. I love you.” You reply, smiling as you stare his lips.

He brings his own in closer, hovering just above yours as a smile curls his lips as well. “I love you so much more, sweetheart.” He kisses you brief, before his lips speak again. “Always. Don’t forget it.”

As your lips connect in a heartfelt kiss again, your hands never leave each other, as your arms hold close, savouring in each other once again in the wake of the daybreak sun.

It’s a cold morning in New York, you’d swore flurries may have just fell,

had the love of your life not made,

the world around seem,

so warm.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

Taglist Posted Separately (Ask to be added or removed!) :

[crybabyjam]

nobody like you

for valentines day

ship: bakudeku

rating: t

summary: Izuku takes Katsuki on a date to a parfait shop.

content warning for (light??) heavy petting/making out. age difference.

available on ao3

---

Katsuki grunts on impact as Deku barrels into him excitedly, like a giant puppydog that doesn't know its own strength.

He was underneath the awning of Aldera Junior High, one of the last students there besides the sports kids and the class reps who had to do whatever bullshit it is that they do.

Still, they were all inside the building. So it's quiet enough that, when Deku takes a moment to nuzzle his face against the spiky softness of Katsuki's hair,  Katsuki can hear Izuku's heartbeat.

Strong and steady, a deep 'thump, thump, thump' that makes Katsuki's own pick up in speed.

He hears it more clearly in his wrist when Deku lifts his hands to lay them gently across the back of his neck and trace his thumb along the jaw, until Katsuki's nose flares and he can feel his cheeks flush.

Fucking romantic. It made Katsuki want to swallow his entire mouth so that he can chew his own heart out.

(read more)

"Kacchan, are you ready?" Deku asks, peering down at Katsuki from his bullshit height of 6'4''. Second growth spurt at the end of his first year of high school. Asshole.

Katsuki'll catch up or die trying.

"Yeah," Katsuki grunts, ducking his head down to dodge the kiss that Deku tries to stick on his cheek.

Deku, undeterred, lets it land instead on Katsuki's hairline. The thinner, more bristly hairs near his sideburns tickle Deku's lips, and Katsuki is left with a vibrating laugh ringing in his ears when Izuku pulls away.

"Let me hold your bag?" Deku asks as he reaches out to grab it anyway.

It's just a briefcase, smaller than Deku's yellow monstrosity by a large margin. But he's learned that Deku will get annoying if he doesn't let him do some 'boyfriend' things, so Katsuki lets him grab the briefcase and hook it over his shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, pack-mule. Where are we going?"

Deku hooks his arm over Katsuki's shoulder and begins to gently lead him along down the sidewalk. With that same hand, he pats along Katsuki's chest until he snags his phone with a grin and unlocks it.

For as many times as Katsuki has threatened to change it to lock him out, he never has. But Katsuki almost regrets giving him the code, just because of that giddy look.

"It's not far," Deku is saying, gesturing with one finger towards the left as his thumb runs across the map on Katsuki's phone. "It'll be nice and quiet like you like. They even have booths."

"Took one of your other boyfriends there?" Katsuki huffs.

Deku looks at him, bemused. "You're the one who made me choose something private! I would have been happy announcing how much I love my Kacchan to the entire world."

"'Cause you're a fuckin' embarrassment."

And, as if that was a compliment, Deku perks up and says, "Oh, right!"

Deku tucks the phone back in Katsuki's pocket and sneaks his fingers, instead, to his backpack. It takes a bit of struggling because he refuses to let go of Katsuki's shoulder while he does it.

Katsuki ends up in a bit of a chokehold, and he elbows Deku in the gut. It feels solid, a literal wall of dense muscle. Katsuki digs his pointy elbow in meanly, until Deku curves his tummy away with a grunt and a laugh.

"Here!"

A gaudy red object is shoved in his face, distracting him from his attack.

Katsuki snatches it away from Deku's scarred fingers and squints at the thing.

A teddy bear. Red, fuzzy, and tiny. In its arms is a stuffed heart, and on its back is a box of chocolates (heart-shaped, of course) that overshadows the thing by about 300%.

"I would have gotten orange, but you don't like orange-flavored candies, right? This is a variety pack instead. Although, I know you don't really love chocolate— so it might be kind of a waste. But it's a holiday! And Kacchan deserves a nice Valentine's box, after all—"

"Looks like roadkill." Katsuki thumbs across the sewed nose of the thing, and the button eyes that feel like marbles. The fur is soft, and doesn't shed even when Katsuki scratches at the scalp of the thing.

And the box itself isn't bad. Covered in transparent, plastic-like paper and, beneath that, the box itself is outlined in white lace. Kind of dainty for a guy like Katsuki, but he couldn't say he didn't like it.

Deku always did have a different idea about him than everyone else, anyway.

Deku's shoulders drop, relaxed. More of his weight leans on Katsuki, and he throws his head back with his belly laugh.

"Does that mean you like it?"

Katsuki tucks the bloody-colored bear under his arm, careful not to ruin the packaging of the chocolates too much. It jostles noisily, and Deku looks half a second from stealing it back from him just to carry it again.

So Katsuki nods. "It's… good."

As if he'd just gotten powered by the sun itself, Deku's smile brightens by megawatts. He gets these ridiculous dimples when he smiles like that, deep and perfectly pokable.

Katsuki resists, and instead turns to face the sidewalk as if he was the one leading the way.

Deku sneaks a kiss to Katsuki's cheek, close to the edge of his mouth. It was purposeful, too, because Deku tugs his arm away and runs a few steps ahead to walk backwards as he leads the way.

Katsuki stuffs his hands in his pockets and glares at the ground even as he fights the grin off of his face like he's fighting a dragon with a shield made of paper lace.

The grin wins.

 ---

 They make it to the little venue Deku had chosen for them.

And, of all places, it's a parfait shop. It's darkened glass windows to keep the inside cool on hot days, and small; cornered and squished by taller buildings on either side. Across the small street is a busier shop that's stuffed full with a line out the door— a bakery.

Katsuki squints at Deku, and Deku gives him a coy look in return.

"C'mon."

He leads them up the two short steps and Katsuki holds the door open for Deku's wide ass backpack.

The inside is even smaller than it looks. Overfilled with pillows and stuffed animals and floral banners announcing the Valentine's holiday, it was like Katsuki had been dropped into a love commercial.

But it's quiet, and there's only two workers and one other customer in the entire shop. Deku leads them towards a booth to set down their things, and the cushioned seats creak when Katsuki flops into it.

It's too big of a booth for just the two of them. Curved in a corner, faced in a way that they're hidden unless someone walked right in front of the table.

It smells like a park in spring over in their corner. Mixed with something sweet in the air, it's like he's floating on cinnamon-sugar clouds.

"Can I order for you?" Deku hums, chewing on an open straw even though there's no drink in front of him. "There's a cake I think you would like."

"Mm." Katsuki cursorily sweeps his gaze across the menu, though there aren't many pictures to bely what the snacks would actually taste like. Just flowery descriptions that use the word 'decadent' way too much, in his opinion.

"I'll also get us a parfait. To share?"

Deku's eyes are hopeful. Way too fucking green and bright for his own good. His gaze is impossibly soft, and Katsuki feels like he just got wrapped in silk and laid in satin.

He scratches at his skin to keep himself from looking too excitable. But he does nod. "We can share."

Deku waves down a waiter.

Katsuki watches how his school uniform shifts with him when he raises his hand up, how it strains at the shoulders. He'd really filled out over the years, and it seems his clothes couldn't really keep up.

Deku catches him looking and winks, face turning pink like a freshly blossomed flower.

The waiter arrives, interrupting Katsuki before he gets started.

Katsuki tugs off the jacket to his own uniform as Deku lists off a few items to the worker.

It's cool inside, as expected, but Katsuki always ran hot anyway. So that it doesn't drop on the floor and get dirty, he stuffs it behind Deku's bag, which is between them in the booth like a boulder stopping the flow of a river. He's careful not to squish his chocolate box, moving the bear to the empty spot of the booth opposite of Deku, on top of the table.

Katsuki leans across it, ignoring the poke of utensils and notebooks, and blinks his eyes slowly as Deku laughs at something the worker says. It's a muted sound, polite so that he doesn't disturb the literally only other patron in the establishment.

His lips look soft when they part in a smile like that. Smooth and dusky and plush.

Katsuki hides his own against the sleeves of his button up, suckling the lower one between his teeth to mimic the way Deku likes to nibble on it when he's in a tease-y mood.

"Kacchan?"

Deku blinks at him, just noticing the shift in positions. The worker bows their head quickly as they leave, still smiling, but Deku's focus has entirely shifted to Katsuki. As it always has and always will.

Deku scooches closer, so that he eclipses the other side of the bag. Katsuki gets shadowed along with it, and he has to pluck his head up to continue looking Deku in the eye.

A hand hovers close to his brow, and he eyes it carefully before he nods and lets it comb through his hair. Deku focuses on the tangles, first, and then lets his fingertips focus on the temple worriedly.

They're cold, colder than the restaurant. Bad circulation from turning his bones and his veins and his nerves to dust too many times.

"Tired?"

"Sick of your bullshit," Katsuki says, with no venom whatsoever. Deku can tell, because his eyes just (somehow) soften even further.

As if Katsuki is actually asleep and he's afraid to wake him, Deku lays the lightest kiss on his skin. Across his temple, warm to replace the cold.

"Sorry, Kacchan," Deku says, teasingly. "I think you'll always be sick of me."

Impossible, but Deku didn't need to know that. Let him figure it out on his own, when he needs to.

"But it's okay because I'll always be there to get on your nerves even more, Kacchan."

Katsuki snorts. It's a jarring sound, rising above the lilting music playing in the background. Inside, his heart is hammering at the declaration. What a fucking dumbass.

Only Deku could make a stupid sentence like that affect Katsuki so much.

He grabs Deku's wrist and shoves it against his cheek, squeezing it between that and his shoulder so that it gets trapped there.

"Yeah, well. You're fuckin' stuck with me, too. Forever, asshole."

The words are growled, said too fast and awkwardly. Like Katsuki had dropped them in a pile at Deku's feet and hastily picked them up to show them off.

Deku accepts them graciously. As if the words were dipped in gold and sprinkled with diamonds.

His face goes from pink to red, and Katsuki is reminded of the awkward kid that used to walk him to and from elementary when Deku was just beginning junior high.

He'd been lanky then, like Katsuki is lanky now. All bones and jumpy like a skittish rabbit perpetually in the middle of a street.

He'd always had a red face back then, too. Maybe from crying, or from laughing too hard when Katsuki would steal his homework to try to do it instead, maybe three years before he'd learned the material.

"I'm glad, Kacchan," Deku says, eventually. His fingers curve against Katsuki's skin, warming up pleasantly. Katsuki's own are sweltering. If they got any hotter, they'd ignite and explode like fireworks.

Katsuki swipes his palm across his pants to clean them. Squeezes the loose material between his fist just to steel himself.

Deku glances down at the motion, and brings his other hand up to press it against Katsuki's face. To comfort him, maybe.

Katsuki interrupts by shoving his own against Deku's face first. It's awkward, and he does it too fast because there's a soft 'plap' sound when his clammy palm connects with Deku's cheek.

Still, it fits there comfortably. Deku's chubby cheeks curve into the space of his palm like he's about to roll a ball of mochi.

Dumbass was built like a brickhouse and still had the babiest face.

Katsuki relaxes when Deku doesn't shove him away. Not that Deku ever would, not when Katsuki's heart was about to shove it's way up his throat and make good on that chewing promise from earlier.

Deku's hand, which had been hastily shoved out of the way so Katsuki could grab him first, comes to instead rest atop Katsuki's own.

He presses it firmly against Katsuki's, fitting his fingers between Katsuki's smaller ones and curving towards the middle so he can tickle at Katsuki's heart line with the tips.

"You make me so happy," Izuku mumbles, against Katsuki's palm.

As if he'd been released from chains tying him down, Katsuki knees the schoolbag fully out of the way, shifting up onto it so that he can atleast match Izuku in height.

"Deku," Kacchan says between his teeth, just before Izuku pulls him forward to kiss him silly.

Izuku always likes to build up to kissing. Likes to leave his touch across Kacchan's skin so that it can tingle and thrum with the feeling it leaves behind. He likes leaving a trail of kisses up his neck, across his chin, and just a bare brush of lips across lips. And he likes how Kacchan looks when he does it, eyes half-lidded and dark, mouth dropped open with the barest hint of a smile, cheeks flushed.

But, right now, he can't help going straight for it. Kacchan doesn't mind either way (or, atleast, says he hates when Izuku teases him, wants him to just get on with it), so he's already there with an open mouth and a moan.

Izuku is quick to shush him, feeling along Kacchan's shoulders and noting how the muscles beneath his button-up tense and subsequently relax. Izuku curves the touch lower, fitting his arms beneath Kacchan's so that he can rest them, crossed at the wrist, against the small of Kacchan's back.

They fit there nicely, especially when Kacchan climbs into Izuku's lap to take up all the space between his belly and the table.

Izuku tugs him closer by that hold, sinking down low so that Kacchan, for once, has to dip his head down to kiss him back.

Their lips move across one another, connecting them together more solidly than a red thread of fate could in that moment. Kacchan is concentrating hard on the moment, Izuku can tell because he begins to minutely rock back and forth the motions of his breath. He always kissed Izuku like he had something to prove, but Izuku was just happy to hold him. To love him.

Still, Kacchan kisses him so deeply, like he's trying to transmit every one of his thoughts directly into Izuku's temporal lobe, that Izuku gets lost in the current that is Kacchan's desire.

Static from the seat zaps the back of his neck when he slides in the booth more, gathering it by his hair rubbing against the leather. He pulls his hand away to pat at his nape, but Kacchan tugs it back before it gets very far.

He encourages Izuku to grab a handful of his thigh, lifting up a few inches so that his fingers can curve comfortably around the underside. For himself, Kacchan busies himself with sneaking his fingers beneath Izuku's blazer to try to fit it past his shoulders.

Izuku doesn't realize he's still sliding down the seat until his feet hit the other side of the booth, and he breaks the kiss to laugh when Kacchan flinches at the dull noise.

"Sorry," Izuku whispers, leaning over to glance past the barrier of the booth. "We should probably slow down before we kicked out before you even get to taste—"

"Shut up," Kacchan says, also in a whisper. His soft fingers come back to Izuku's cheeks and press them in so that Izuku's lips pop out.

Izuku laughs again, and it gets muffled when Kacchan kisses the noise away.

Warmth furls around Izuku's chest, like love had grown a physical form and decided to wrap itself around his ribcage as the first thing it did. He can't breathe in too deep, or else he's afraid he'll melt right in Katsuki's hands.

He feels along the cascading dip of Kacchan's spine, all the way up to the shoulderblades. He's been working out recently, eager to join Izuku at U.A. and surpass him before Izuku graduates.

It's been paying off, little by little. He's still tiny, not that he'd ever say so. But it's true, especially when he fits himself in Izuku's arms and lets himself get cradled there as he swallows down his soft, breathy sounds.

Izuku writhes in his seat. He blinks his eyes open to find Kacchan already looking at him with a grin.

"You get like this just 'cause of one little kiss? Virgin."

Izuku doesn't mention that they took each other's virginities.

Kacchan's face is bright red, lips not exactly kiss-swollen but close enough. Still, his smirk is wide enough that the tips of his sharper teeth peek out between his pink lips.

"Kacchan," Izuku huffs. Kacchan settles his weight fully on Izuku's lap, carefully angled away from that spot with a quick pat on the hip from Izuku's hand.

They were already being too forward as it is.

Still, Izuku shifts upwards so that he's sitting correctly in his seat, just so that he can peck Katsuki across the lips properly.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Kacchan."

There's the gentle clack of hard-soled shoes across the floor as the waiter approaches with their food, and Izuku hurriedly shoos Kacchan back into the booth as he takes off his jacket like Kacchan wanted.

Though, unlike what Katsuki is expecting (which is him hiding his kiss boner with his wadded up uniform), Izuku drops the jacket across Katsuki's shoulders and tucks the sleeves firmly across his lap.

The waiter arrives just as Izuku has smoothed out his own shirt again, swiping his big hands across his curly hair to fluff it out.

Katsuki buries his face against the collar of the jacket. It's warm like he's a tea kettle over a freshly stoked fire. It's a good thing his belly is empty or else— pfft no.

Izuku is once again making nice with the waiter as they explain the order, handing off two long spoons to each of them. Izuku already has his own shoved between his lips before Katsuki even grabs for his.

He lays it on the table, resting his chin in his hand as a large slice of cake is slid in the empty area of the booth opposite of them. In front of the red bear that is laying half on its side, kept upright only by the heavy chocolates weighing it down.

With a snort, Katsuki sidles closer to the school bag to get back on his portion of the booth.

Izuku reaches out to stop him, bowing his head in thanks to the waiter as they head off.

Katsuki, just to tease, dodges the touch and only gets two paces further before Izuku whines and drags him back, leaning his full weight across Katsuki's back to smother him in butterfly kisses.

They focus mostly on his jaw, unable to get at his face with the position, but Izuku takes what he can get and peppers each smooch thoroughly across Katsuki's skin until the latter shrieks like a banshee between his laughter.

"Idiot, you just said you didn't want us to get kicked out!" Katsuki gripes, twisting in Izuku's grip just to grit his teeth right in Izuku's face.

Izuku lets his hold loosen, one arm behind Katsuki's back. Katsuki trails his own across Izuku's and tucks his fingers in the back pocket that's closest to him.

"I can't help it when I'm with you, Kacchan. All I wanna do is kiss you!"

"I hate you," Katsuki says, resolutely. He leans his head against Izuku's shoulder and gestures at the parfait in front of them. "Now let's fuckin' eat this junk already."

It's tall, with mostly pink fruit to keep up with the theme of the holiday. Strawberries and syrupy peaches cover the top of the pink ice cream, color offset by white powdered sugar and dark brown chocolate shavings sprinkled on top. The cup itself is lined in chocolate drizzle, in a wavy pattern that gets a bit smeared when Izuku pokes his spoon into the top.

There's also a little heart shaped cookie on top.

"Look how pretty it is, Kacchan!" Izuku says excitedly. He carefully wipes excess whipped cream off of the rim of the tall glass and laps it off his thumb. Some smudges at the edge of his lip.

Katsuki lets out a fond sigh and gestures him forward.

Izuku comes to him willingly, always happy for whatever it is Katsuki gives to him.

Instead of kissing him again, Katsuki swipes the whipped cream up to instead smear it directly across Izuku's freckled cheek. Only two of his more prominent ones get covered completely, but it dissolves the two of them into a fit of giggles anyway.

"Kacchan!" Izuku wipes off the mess with the back of his sleeve, completely disregarding the perfectly good handkerchief he has tucked in his back pocket. Katsuki can feel it brushing against his fingertips when Izuku shifts forward to 'ooh' and 'ahh' at the parfait again.

Katsuki watches him for a moment, and feels his insides shift with a bursting need to tell Izuku right now that he loves him so much that his very soul belongs in Izuku's strong, mangled, soft, gentle hands.

Somehow, the idiot has powdered sugar in his hair.

Katsuki grabs for his briefcase and flicks it open as Izuku takes his first bite, chirring happily like a bird that just learned how to fly.

When he pulls out the small chocolate box, Izuku cuts off abruptly.

"Kacchan?" The name is garbled around the spoon, but the inflection is clear. Hesitant, yearning. Disbelieving. It's just a simple box wrapped in a ribbon, but Izuku wants to treasure it immediately like it's his first autograph from a hero.

"Made this for you," Katsuki says, gruffly. He shoves it across the table, and it slides right into Izuku's hand.

Despite the size, the box is a bit heavy. Izuku weighs it for a moment, eyes already brimming with tears.

Katsuki grimaces, turning away to tug the parfait close to himself instead and swirls up a bite of strawberry flavored ice cream with one of the peaches, shoving it in his mouth instead of explaining further.

"Can I…" Izuku pauses to wet his lips, and they're doing that thing where he's caught between a smile and a grin; between overjoyed and overwhelmed. "Can I open it?"

"Just said I made it for you," Katsuki mumbles, swallowing the ice cream down too fast. It melts in his throat and leaves an empty spot that fills with tense nervousness.

He takes another bite of ice cream to fill it as Izuku carefully unravels the present.

And, on the inside of the simple black box, is a plain chocolate. Homemade, of course, and hard-shelled. It was a bitch to temper, but the shine came out well if Katsuki did say so himself.

The top is outlined with a white chocolate heart, and the message inside of it is a mix of white and dark chocolate— because Izuku didn't actually like the taste of white chocolate. Katsuki taste-tested it a million times to make sure he couldn't taste it more than the rest of the chocolate but…

Katsuki rubs his sweaty palms across his thighs again.

The message simply says, 'To my Number One hero.'

Because Katsuki wasn't… couldn't actually convince himself to do the lovey-dovey shit. The heart shape was pushing it but… he knew Izuku would do something that would make him feel like this, so. He had to.

Katsuki bites his tongue to quiet his own nervous thoughts. Shit, he was hanging around the nerd too much.

Izuku likes it, though. Because he's crying harder, laying the box on the table so that he doesn't crush the edges when it becomes too much for him.

"Kacchan, you're—" Izuku interrupts himself with a sniffle. And then a soft sob.

"Deku, don't fuckin' cry," Katsuki says, only mildly panicking.

He's just begun preparing himself to crawl back in Izuku's lap and kiss the tears away himself when Izuku finally swipes them away with the edge of his already dirtied sleeves.

With a quick nod, he centers himself and looks Katsuki directly in the eye.

"I won't let you down, Kacchan. I'll become the Number One for real, soon."

He was still only in high school, but Katsuki had a feeling that this was a promise Izuku wouldn't break.

Katsuki had a lot of catching up to do, but he didn't really mind. Not right now.

Instead, he gestures with his spoon towards the homemade chocolate.

"Yeah, yeah. Better fuckin' hold onto it while you can before I take my title back."

"Of course, Kacchan." Izuku is grinning, and his face is red like it always gets (after crying, after laughing, after kissing). "I look forward to it."

Katsuki shoves another bite of parfait past his lips, and, when Izuku drops a kiss to his cheek for the umpteenth time that day, he lets a full smile grace his lips.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Deku."

--

ao3 link

[highordinal]

When a Man Dies, It All but Fades to Black

“Give me the scythe.”

Kayn raised a brow as Jarvan stepped forward, the emperor’s arm extended outward. Although he didn’t feel threatened, he simply rolled his eyes; what a ludicrous request from the other. Now where had he heard this line before? Ah, yes, with Nakuri when his mind was clouded by Rhaast’s false promises. With the Syndicate that were lured in by the entity’s calls.

He had heard this all before but for someone so pure of heart, someone who cared not for the domination of the galaxy, someone like Jarvan, to demand this wretched steel from him… He must admit, he was taken aback. It was concerning and it left the Ordinal a little miffed. Had Rhaast been gossiping behind his back? Fraternizing with those around him and feeding them lies? It was impossible, with how loud and brash the dark star was, Kayn would have heard it.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, your majesty.” The Ordinal finally stated with a slight upturn of his lips; his voice shrouded in its usual sarcastic tone.

Rhaast screamed in the back of his mind, threatening him with a fate worse than death if he relinquished him to the emperor. Ah, so the demon wasn’t playing his usual tricks then? So then why was Jarvan so intent on obtaining the scythe? So many possibilities to ponder, but not enough time to narrow down any suspicions. As much as he respected his emperor, there was no way his naïve mind would have picked up on his little escapades throughout the galaxy. His tracks were covered flawlessly, those who dared to spill his secret were dealt with swiftly. He had put precautionary measures in place after every step he took, always making sure he had an alibi or a plan B.

“Kayn.” Jarvan’s tone became darker. “I will not ask again. Give me the scythe.”

Hm? Oh, right, his emperor was demanding something from him. With a dramatic sigh the Ordinal placed his hands on his hips, glancing off to the side. “As much as I would love to indulge your request, my emperor, I’m afraid I simply cannot deliver.”

The brunette’s frown deepened, azure eyes narrowing at his subordinates' defiance. He huffed before taking his polearm and slamming its end onto the metallic floors. A loud clang resonated through the room, afterwards the doors to the chamber were pushed open and a line of soldiers streamed in, cutting off any means of escape. After them a familiar, colorful crew stepped into the chamber, causing a momentary look of shock across the soldier's features.

A smile spread onto the Ordinal’s face, a curt laugh he couldn’t control passing his lips as he turned to look over his shoulder. “You called my own men on me?” He acknowledged in disbelief, golden irises trailing back towards the royal. “And you even sought aid from Demaxia’s wanted fugitives?”

“You left me with little choice.” Jarvan answered, earning a scoff from his friend. “This hurts me more than you would know, Shieda-”

“Oh?” The soldier cut in, turning to gaze at each of his men, “You call me in here under the false pretenses of friendship, demand I hand over my weapons, and then you cage me like a deranged beast using my own soldiers? Oh Jarvan,” He sounded amused, “You truly know how to break a man’s heart.”

“Enough!” The emperor shouted. “You have abused my trust for years, and it all started with that damned scythe. If you do not wish to lose your station, and by extension your reputation, you will hand over that weapon.”

“Reputation.” Shieda echoed, “As if something like that matters to me anymore. I’ve sacrificed everything I’ve worked toward to keep this weapon out of the hands of those that would use it for evil, and frankly I think I’m doing a rather swell job-”

“You think killing innocent people and harvesting their Ora is a swell job!?” Jarvan finally snapped, taking several steps forward. “You have done nothing but commit heinous deeds behind my back, hiding behind the excuse that it was in the name of the royal family! I never permitted such deeds and yet- yet you hid behind my name and tarnished Demaxia’s image!”

The Ordinal twitched, anger swelling in his chest. “Nothing? You say I’ve done nothing? While you sat there looking all pretty on your golden throne I was the only one scouring the galaxy doing your bidding! I conquered for you, negotiated for you, killed for you, and you say I’ve done nothing!?” His throat was hoarse with raw emotion, his shouts straining his vocal cords as he seethed in anger. “That blood is on my hands, not yours.”

“No.” Jarvan hissed through clenched teeth, “You wanted domination. I wanted peace. I’ve had enough of this- guards! Reprimand Ordinal Kayn and strip him of his weapons.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, boys. You know full well what I am capable of.” He laughed wickedly as they stalked towards him, “You’re no match for the one who trained you.”

Kayn watched as they continued to advance forward, their weapons drawn, beginning to circle him as if he were an animal. And perhaps they were right. A primal urge to kill awakened within, one hand reaching up to draw the scythe sitting snugly against his back. Rhaast hungered for rendered flesh, something the ordinal was all too willing to provide.

“Oh, Rhaast.” He sang sweetly, “It’s time to play.”

“Yeeeess…”

A low rumbling shook the room; frantic eyes darting around the space in confusion and fear. Jarvan yelled over the commotion and readied his weapon, quickly closing the gap between himself and the Ordinal. There was no use in hiding Rhaast’s sentience now, and so he decided to embrace it.

Hearing the clanking of armor behind him, Kayn dropped low just in time to dodge the emperor's spear. He deftly kicked the royal’s feet from under him, watching as the bigger man stumbled to the floor, barely able to catch himself. As the soldiers began closing in all around, the Ordinal jumped back to his feet and raised Rhaast, swinging the neon blade in a wide arc. Those who blocked the attack were pushed back, those who didn’t had a nice new gash across their chest.

It was at this time that he noticed the crew of the Morningstar begin to act, Captain Yasuo unsheathing his blade, the crazy girl pulling out a plethora of guns. He sneered at them before turning his attention back to the fight.

One by one they got up and charged him again, only to be knocked back down into pools of their own blood. A few of them managed to get a few lucky hits in on the Ordinal, but those were nothing but minor scratches that healed up instantaneously due to the Ora running through his veins. He ducked under steel, weaving his way through the men with a grace so deadly they dropped like flies.

As he regained his footing he felt a presence appear beside him, a white blur rushing past. Thinned steel was brought down upon him, giving him mere seconds to react. After dodging the slash, flittering gold locked with the Captain’s hazel irises.

“Lookin’ a little tired there, Ordinal. Might wanna throw in the towel before it's too late.”

Annoyance bubbled within the Ordinal and the Captain smirked, unleashing a flurry of blows before Shieda could put some distance between them. He managed to deflect most of the attacks, however, a well placed strike caught him off guard and he staggered back.

“RAAAAH!”

Kayn’s head shot towards the thundering stomps as Malphite dashed toward him. He cursed under his breath, diving out of the alien’s path. Before he could recover the barrel of a gun was shoved in his face. Looking up he saw the crazy girl tightening her grip around the pistol, an apologetic looking grin on her face as she pulled the trigger.

The Ordinal swiftly evaded the shot, shooting his hand up to grab her wrist. With a tug and a twist she grunted in pain, the gun falling from her fingers. Using his weight he yanked her down, jumping up and spinning around to drive the butt of the scythe hard between her shoulder blades.

“Oh just kill her already!”

Kayn raised Rhaast and readied to strike the ginger and end her pathetic existence.

Seeing his crewmate’s peril, Yasuo maneuvered himself toward the Ordinal and set forth a wall of cyan energy, forcing the man to back off. Kayn ended up being pushed back into a precarious position, yet again surrounded on all sides. He was feeling sluggish, exhaustion starting to lock his limbs into place. He panted heavily, blood and Ora spattered across his uniform. His hair had been cut loose and hung disheveled over his face.

He waited until the foot soldiers pounced before emitting an animalistic snarl and hoisted Rhaast, heavy in his hands, up and tore through his former compatriots. Rhaast reveled in the bloodshed, and for a time Kayn did too, that is, until he saw the faces of his more recognizable men staring in disbelief as their own Ordinal raised his hand against them.

He shook his head, he shouldn’t be thinking of this now, they decided to get in his way so they are to face the consequences. And yet his memories of his time with these soldiers flooded his mind. Images of his senior disciples goofing around during training, taunting their master as they sparred, enjoying the merriment of bonded brothers.

The thought made him hesitate.

Rhaast noticed immediately, “What are you doing, fool!?”

But it was too late, Kayn felt a ripping sensation in his side as Jarvan drove his spear into his flesh. The Ordinal shrieked in pain, twisting partly around and jamming the butt of the scythe against the other’s clavicle. A delightful crunch emitted after it impacted the royal’s body, yet the other stood firm, instead gritting his teeth and leaning all his weight on the Ordinal, driving the spear further in.

“N-No!” He gasped, the searing throb caused one of Kayn’s arms to lose its grip on Rhaast, the weapon clanging against the tile as his now emptied hand came up to try and push Jarvan's off.

Captain Yasuo had strode forward and plunged his blade through the Ordinal’s thigh, rooting him in place, another soldier piercing his other calf. Golden speckled sanguine spilled from his mouth as he watched the soldiers take advantage of this moment of vulnerability. One sprinted forward and slammed his boot against Kayn’s hand, breaking some fingers and knocking Rhaast completely to the floor before they all forced him onto his knees. The others surrounded him, guns aimed directly at his head.

The dark star howled in fury, reverberating on the cold tile as Malphite callously swatted him away from the Ordinal's reach.

Kayn thrashed around as much as he could but the steel only cut further into his skin, drawing more blood which drained his energy further. He was starting to become lightheaded, his breathing becoming ragged and labored, lungs struggling for purchase from the pain.

“Let me go! I’m not done- I’m not-” Fear overtook him as he continued to strain against the emperor's hold, Ora streaming from his eyes and down his cheeks.

“Shieda.” Jarvan pleaded against his ear, “It’s over. It can’t control you anymore-”

“Unhand me! Only I can handle the power that thing wields-!” Kayn protested, his voice shaky as he choked back reddened sobs.

“That thing has killed many of our own and has brainwashed you!”

“No!” Kayn screeched, “With the voice of Ora we can become unstoppable! Finally the Empire will have the strength to carry out what it’s always dreamed of-”

“Listen to yourself Shieda!” Jarvan cut him off, desperation evident in his tone, “It has blinded you with delusions of grandeur- the Empire doesn't need that power, you don’t need that power.”

The emperor freed one of his arms and slowly wrapped it around his old friend, pulling Kayn’s back flush against his chest. “Please… It’s over…”

When a man dies, it all but fades to black. But when someone like him succumbs to fate, why does he see gold? It’s dull, unimpressive and looks worthless, but it’s gold none the less. The excess Ora pulsating through his veins- he watches as it trickles down his skin from open wounds. All that hard work was wasting away, all those souls he’d collected scattering back to the earth. Rhaast had even gone quiet, stewing in his own frustration for having entrusted his life to such a feeble mortal.

“Why did you stop me?” He asks, voice low and raspy. He began to shake, the Ora withdrawing from his system so quickly he body couldn’t keep up. He leaned his head back against Jarvan’s shoulder, lolling his head slightly to look into his eyes. His injuries were numb, head dizzy and vision unfocused. “I finally had the strength to give you everything.”

“Shieda…” The royal’s face twisted in pain, “The day you became Ordinal and stood at my side- that was when I realized I did not need anything more.”

Kayn’s body went slack at his words. The soldiers backed off and watched as their emperor cradled their Ordinal in his arms, slowly removing the spear protruding through his flesh.

“You will live, Shieda,” Jarvan demanded, “We will destroy that scythe and you will live. We will make the Empire prosper through our own means, not that of monsters.”

Live. Prosper. No, not any longer. He had thrown all that away in the pursuit of power, and now he lays incapacitated before his men who have lost all respect for him. Everything he had worked for, his station, his pride, gone in the blink of an eye. It was a risk he took and it backfired. Surely Rhaast blamed him for being unable to fulfill his side of the deal, and surely his emperor held some resentment for his actions. His plans were put to a stop before they ever truly began- how humiliating.

“Live.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue, “And what could I possibly live for now?” His words were hollow, devoid of fire.

Jarvan stayed silent for a moment, hands pressing hard against the gaping wounds in the other’s side. “We will find a reason together, but for now, live for me.”

All the Ordinal could do was scoff before his vision became spotty and he was forced to shut his eyes. The sounds of shuffling feet filled the room as soldiers filtered in and out, medics being called and special units moving to carefully collect the cosmic weapon. At some point he was removed from the emperor's warmth and onto a stretcher, but his body shut down before he could comprehend any more.

His vision faded to black, but it was not the reaper he saw on the other end. No, He was still so stubbornly alive, denied the sweet release of death and forced to live among his sins. He didn’t want that, and yet when an angel bathed in light extended their hand towards him, he foolishly took it.

When their hands touched, his eyes fluttered open and he was greeted by a blindingly white room. He felt a hand clasped over his own, a welcomed warmth contrasting heavily from the plethora of frigid needles piercing his skin, syphoning out the extra Ora in his body.

A muffled voice spoke beside him, although he was unsure if it was addressing him or not. Blurry shapes passed his view, coming closer for a moment before disappearing again. As his eyes adjusted to the light, a figure came into his line of sight, Jarvan, who sat loyally at his bedside with a gentle smile.

“Shieda.” The other said his name so sweetly, so full of relief that his heart throbbed, “Good morning.”

The Ordinal exhaled slowly, careful not to aggravate any of his wounds and reached a bandaged hand up before resting it against Jarvan’s cheek. No more words were said, just tired eyes coming to a silent understanding. He might never be granted the title of Ordinal ever again, but knowing Jarvan's generosity he still may be permitted to advise on the sidelines. Even so, he wouldn’t be permitted to do that so soon.

It would take time to heal, and probably months of therapy and reflection, but it would happen. Slowly but surely it would happen, and as his emperor demanded, he would live. No matter how much he struggled and protested, he would live.

[sharada-n]

Febuwhump day 13 - Hiding an injury

Fandom: Left 4 Dead 2

Also fills @zehecatl‘s whump dialogue prompt

"Fuck, we should split up!"

Nick wasn't sure if the others had even heard him over the deafening roar of gunfire, but he had to take the risk. He saw Coach and Rochelle veer to the left, so turned right at the next corner himself. Heavy panting behind him indicated Ellis was following him.

They kept running, the muscles in Nick's leg started straining but he pushed forward until the sound of bullets was gone and it was only their own feet against the pavement. His lungs burned with the effort to keep going. They had to put as much leeway between them and the bastards as they could manage.

They finally came to a stop in an alleyway, the sudden silence eerie as it fell over them. The bandits' shouting had faded in the distance, and they probably wouldn't pursue a lone group of survivors this far, to begin with. Their supplies couldn't be worth that much trouble.

"Shit-" Ellis managed between deep inhales to catch his breath. "Haven't run that far since I did track back in high school."

Nick wheezed. "Yeah?" He was really starting to regret all those years he spent smoking with this whole apocalypse thing going on now.

The alley they had landed in was a backstreet between two brick buildings, made even narrower by the fire escape squeezed between. Nick straightened his back and was rewarded with a sharp pain shooting into his side.

He pressed a hand to the wound, feeling the slick warmth of blood. The stain would hardly be visible on his ruined suit, dirty from weeks of accumulated end of the world shit.

A ricochet wound. One of the bandit's bullets must have knicked him.

"So how do we get back to the others?" Ellis asked. He had been standing with his back towards Nick, and when he turned around to face him, Nick pulled his jacket over the injury.

They didn't have time for Ellis to fuzz over him right now.

"Let's see if we can get to higher ground, orient ourselves." Nick brushed the sweat-slick hair from his forehead. "Should be easy to spot our rendez-vous from the roof."

Ellis grinned at him. "Let's do it then."

"Damn Nick, you can see the whole city from up here."

Nick grunted, unable to answer at first through how hard he was grinding his teeth. The pain was getting worse.

But he forced himself to speak anyway. "Yeah? Can you see those pricks who were shooting at us?"

Ellis was leaning on the metal bar at the edge of the rood, the wind almost blowing his cap away. He held onto it with one hand.

"Nope, but I can see where we are supposed to head."

"Great, let's get the fuck out of here then." Nick couldn't wait to get back to the others. He was too old for this shit.

"Hey, Nick. You alright man?" Ellis was staring at him, scrutinizing his face with unusual consideration. Nick bit his tongue hard to keep from showing how much pain he was in.

"Just peachy once we get off this roof," he answered.

Ellis nodded and lead the way.

It couldn't be that far. It couldn't be. They had to be almost there.

He felt the sweat run down the back of his neck, not from exertion this time. Nick's hands kept shaking and he gripped the Glock tighter, feeling the strength in his fingers fade too.

How much blood had he lost?

The room was swaying side to side and he just stood there as Ellis searched the cabinets, pulling out a bottle of alcohol. "We could probably use this for a molly." He gestured at nick with the bottle.

Nick couldn't even find it in himself to respond. Nausea was creeping up his throat. He had realized a while ago that the wound might be a lot worse than he had judged it to be, but with no time to lose and no sense in putting themselves in any more danger by stopping and playing field medicine, he had pushed himself to bear it.

That wouldn't work much longer.

"Nick?" He realized too late that Ellis was talking to him. Probably had been for a while now. Nick had to blink just to focus. "Nick, what's happening?" A hand reached out for him.

"El-"

Then the world shifted and Nick was on his ass.

He didn't hit the ground as hard as he thought he'd have, which meant Ellis must have caught him halfway down. He was slumped against the ground and Ellis was pulling at his suit jacket. The bullet hadn't graced Nick, but rather hit him inches above the hip bone. It must have exited on the other side – Nick had enough experience to know when a heated piece of metal was still stuck inside him – but that hadn't helped with the bleeding.

Ellis cursed under his breath, untied the overall sleeves around his waist, and ripped off a piece to press against the oozing wound. Nick jerked as the pressure renewed the pain, but avoided kneeing Ellis in the face for his troubles. A cough suddenly forced its way out of his throat and he hadn't realized until then how hard it was to breathe.

"Nick, why didn't you say nothing!" Ellis was scolding him. At a time like this, and the kid was going to mother hen him. Nick laughed, but it was humorless and empty.

"Didn't want to be a bother."

Ellis frowned, every line on his face standing out between the dirt and blood smeared on it. His eyes were dark blue, like the ocean at low tide. When it all pulls back and reveals the white sand beneath the surface. But when Ellis grinned, they shone. "You pick now to stop being a selfish asshole?"

A coldness engulfed Nick's fingertips. He didn't want to think about how pathetic it was to be immune to a deadly pathogenic but then die in an apartment building because 911 is out of service.

He cleared his throat, tasting iron at the back of it. "This might be your last chance to say something to me, Kid. You should make it count," he said. "Or make it something nice at least."

Ellis' eyes grew wide. Suddenly wetness was pooling in them and they seemed even more like the ocean, brimming with tears. "Shut the fuck up, Nick. You're not- You're not supposed to say that."

"Yeah? I'm saying it anyway. Give me your best shot."

It wasn't meant to be a challenge but figures Ellis would take it as one anyway. For a moment he wasn't pressing down on the wound anymore, cold fingers coming up to trace Nick's face, cup his cheeks. The tears spilling from his eyes and getting caught in his lashes. "You're not dying, you asshole. Not when I haven't had a chance to tell you I loved you yet."

For once in his life, Nick was clean out of retorts. So instead he used the last remaining power in his limbs to bring up one hand and grab hold of Ellis' shirt, pulling him forward and down into a kiss. It was messy and hard and not very romantic, tasting of blood and despair. There was barely any oxygen between the two of them so it couldn't even last that long.

But it was a farewell kiss if Nick's ever had one.

He fell back against the wall, energy spent. The pain was unbearable, making dark spots dance in his vision. He gave into them at the same moment he heard Ellis call his name again.

Hours later Nick woke up with a splitting headache and the world's worst case of back pain. He couldn't move, a restricting bandage around his stomach making it even worse, but just enough to turn his head and look around.

Nick was already surprised enough to be waking up at all, but even more that he would do so in their safe room.

Rochelle and Couch were sitting against the opposite wall, her head resting on the big man's shoulder and a blanket had been thrown over the both of them to keep them warm. Nick felt palatable relief at seeing them safe and sound, though he hardly would show it.

He didn't need to be a genius to figure out what had happened. They had been close enough after all.

Ellis on his other side, trying hard to sit still but too busy fidgeting in the spot. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept all night.

"Did you stay up just to watch me?" Nick asked.

Ellis' eyes flew open, his face shifting rapidly between worry and then reassurance at seeing Nick awake. He wiped at his eyes, red-rimmed. "Just keeping an eye on you, 's all."

When Ellis smiled it felt like the weight of the world was lifted off Nick's shoulders.

Then the kid worried his lip between his teeth, turning suspiciously red. "Uh, are we gonna like... talk about what happened."

Ah, shit.

Nick tried to roll over onto his side but the wound wouldn't allow it. He closed his eyes instead. "I guess. Tomorrow. After you get some sleep."

"Right." Ellis nodded, looking away. Him blushing in a situation like this was almost cute, but that might just be the pain clouding Nick's mind.

That too could wait until tomorrow.

[zhonglishrine]

Between The Lines

Pairing: Dazai Osamu x Reader Word Counts: 3.5k Note: Dedication to @yokelish​ -senpai uwu <3 **It’s about a girl who’s hopelessly in love— maybe not— with bandaged bastard. Why am I doing Dazai and not my beloved Gogol? because SENPAI that’s why, haha ily <3 and thank you so much for @soukokuwu​ for editing and proofread this one cringy fic! <3

You entered your apartment. You didn’t even bother to check the time, you just knew it was later than when you usually got home. The sun was setting; the sky was painted in beautiful different shades of gold, but all you saw were the dark clouds casting gloomy shadows. Dragging your feet, you closed the door. Did you even lock it? Not that you bothered to check. You were too tired to care or even think of it anymore. Every breath you took felt so heavy and you were exhausted from working long hours. Every day it was the same thing on repeat. Every move you made felt so strained and the bag you carried felt like a burden. You flung it on the floor and started undressing, strewing your clothes aside, and entered the bathroom.

You turned on the tap and let it slowly fill the bathtub, impatiently getting in even before it was full. You felt the cold water against your skin and watched the bubbles forming near the mouth of the tap. In contrast to the quiet surroundings, the thoughts in your mind were deafening, not allowing for a moment of relaxation. But you weren’t surprised. There was never a break given from such intrusive thoughts. How you wished you could get rid of them, how you wished it was as simple as dirt being washed away, but no matter what you did they stayed like a stubborn stain. Why did you have to feel this way? It only served to hurt you more inside. And the worst part is? You knew better, and yet there was nothing you could do about it. It felt like there were thorns wrapped around your heart, painfully digging into it each time you breathed. Ironically, what made you feel like dying, was also the one thing that reminded you that you were alive.

But it felt so lonely, so unfair, for you to be the only one feeling this way.

How you wished things were different from the start, but now you were the only one left to handle the consequences. You loved someone too hard, and now you were paying the price for your futile pursuits.

*****

With eyes as dark as the dead of the night, he drew you in from the first time you met; an irresistible attraction that pulled you in and eventually crushed you with its weight, leaving you behind in the rubble once it exploded. You thought you had met your ideal man at last. He was handsome, charming, funny.  Even though you didn’t know him long, you believed he could be the one. Or at least, you thought so.

He seemed to be interested in you at first, as though he was curious to know everything about you when you first joined the Armed Detective Agency. There had been a vacancy for a clerk, and you had gone for the interview the moment you saw the notice.

You were nervous even before the interview started. You couldn’t even get much sleep the night before. They had told you that the President was not in yet and brought you to see him instead. Your heart was pounding erratically by then. If this person was filling in for the President he must be important; he must have a vital role in the agency, one of high authority.

“So tell me, one interesting fact about yourself.” Dazai was the one who asked that.

Anxiously tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and biting your lips, you answered him with as much confidence as you could muster. You were saying it with a serious face, but all you got was Dazai laughing at your answer, wiping at fake tears. What? Did you say something funny? You were confused, unamused. But he merely welcomed you and said that you passed. Just like that, you became one of them.

It wasn’t easy to adjust to the work environment at first, but they were all nice and Dazai had been the one tasked to guide you, much to the disagreement of his partner. But it didn’t matter, because before you knew it, you were already attracted to him.

Dazai always wore bandages, covering his forearms, even his neck. Where else he had it on you didn’t know, but it definitely wasn’t normal. You wondered why he wore them at first, but you came to learn that he was a ‘suicidal maniac’, or so Kunikida called him that. You felt conflicted about it, given how comedic he made it seem. But you knew it had to be deeper than that. You could see it in his smiles, they felt empty. You could hear it in his laughs, they sounded hollow. It was all a mask; an illusion, something that he created to shield his true self; something to manipulate people into thinking that fake, comedic Dazai was the real Dazai. Though, if you were completely honest, you knew nothing about who he really was, nothing about his past, and even his present seemed murky. He never let anything personal about himself slip through his mouth. Dazai calculated everything - his steps, his speech, his body movements, even. You were beginning to realize that you would never be able to understand the brunette at all, but of one thing you were sure: you had fallen for him, and it was too late to turn back.

The line between admiration and infatuation is obscure. A simple, innocent feeling can turn into one of obsession and possession just like that. A simple, innocent feeling can turn into some sickening emotion that some people can’t handle logically. All rationality will dissolve and dissipate like froth in the vast ocean until there is no other choice but to drown oneself in the sea of madness. All because of love, that which makes us blind; a concept that distorts nearly all rationality. Without restrictions or self-control over it, the one madly in love would ultimately be driven to self-destruction and despair if their feelings go unreciprocated.

And it was unfortunate then, if you already knew of the consequences but yet you fell for the trap anyway. You were already in too deep - too deep in these feelings that held your heart hostage and suffocated you with its strong grip; these feelings that rendered you breathless as you struggled to pine for something you couldn’t have. It felt like it was draining the life out of you like it was sucking your soul dry. It felt like stretching out for a mirage of an oasis after an endless chase in a scorching desert, only to find that in the end, it was yet another hopeless endeavor.

Yet, no matter how futile it always seemed, you were too blinded by love to learn your lesson, continuing to be hopelessly in love with Dazai, letting him lead you on, time and time again. You clung on to every hope he held out to you, no matter how flimsy it was. You wanted him to look at you and you alone, to feel the same way you felt about him. Something told you it was the same as asking for the impossible, but you ignored that voice in your head each time. Just like how you ignored it when it told you the brutal truth - that Dazai was not yours and never would be. Still, it didn’t stop you from trying for him. Your heart longed for him, it prayed for his love each night before you slept. He was the only thing on your mind, etched into your heart and flowing in your bloodstream. You knew not what life would be without him. Your love for him consumed you; you would do anything for him, even if it meant pulling a knife against your throat to prove it.

Before you met him, you had nothing; no ambitions - you lived your monotonous life, just going with the flow. If you hadn’t gone out that day, if you hadn’t seen the poster about the job vacancy, you wouldn’t be where you are right now. You would probably just rot away at home with no job, no will to live, and no hope for tomorrow. Your life was entirely empty and meaningless. But the moment you met him, you found a reason; a purpose. He filled the void in your heart even when you thought it wasn’t possible. Dazai is completely the opposite one, and it’s funny how he was the one to give you a reason to live, when he couldn’t even find one himself; when he was the one with the hopeless and pessimistic outlook on life; when he was the one that wanted to die.

Dazai was the only one who saw through you. He was the only one who called you out on it - for being a people pleaser, for being pretentious and superficial with everyone. It was the first anyone had done that to you. It made you feel offended, exposed. Because it was true. What a hypocrite you were, hating that Dazai put up a comedic facade only to put up one of your own. You acted the way you thought people wanted you to, and you threw your real feelings away in the process. It was disgusting, really, how easily you were able to put on a smile and spout sugar-coated words just to appease other people’s egos. You felt a little quiver in your heart when Dazai pointed that out to you. Was it out of fear of being exposed? Or maybe, just maybe, it was because you finally met someone who understood you.

“Senpai, I love you.”

“I know~”

You could feel the butterflies in your stomach when Dazai responded to your little confession with a playful smirk. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling and blushing and feeling exactly like a high school girl giddily in love. It was fleeting happiness that you hadn’t felt for a long time. You only said such things when no one else was around like it was a sort of secret routine between you and him, and you wanted to keep it that way.

Just between the two of you.

It wasn’t wrong to hope, right?

*****

You always looked forward to talking with him and found yourself searching for his figure whenever he wasn’t around. This was all part of your downfall. It was little things, like this little routine you had with him, and the feelings of hope you tied to him, that would ultimately cause it. You needed his constant attention, getting all clingy and possessive whenever someone else would try to get close to him. You texted him every single day to ask about his day, getting upset over the smallest things like not getting a reply or when you were ignored. It felt incomplete to you if you hadn’t heard or seen him for even a day. You’d always try to get a hold of his whereabouts and would constantly be worried about his absence. You got attached way too much and got too emotionally dependent on him, and you fooled yourself into thinking it was all out of love.

You fell for Dazai too hard, and it wasn’t something you could easily recover from. Seeing him was like having a fever dream. He was all you could think about, and what you centered your life around. Every aspect of him and his life piqued your interest. You even fantasized about a life with him, to be together with him, physically, emotionally. It slowly turned into an obsession, and you weren’t totally dense. You knew how unhealthy it was.

You were no Snow White and he was no Prince Charming, but if given a choice, you’d still consume the poisonous apple and risk your own life if it meant he would save you and love you for the rest of his life. You’d do anything to prove that you loved him. Even if it meant gouging your own heart out and carving his name on it, even if you had to bleed out and let your bones turn to ash, or even if you had to be buried alive. You would do it. But despite all you would do, all you would get was his signature head-pat, as if he didn’t take you seriously and never would. As if you didn’t know already, he would never love you back, or do as much as you would for him. You thought you were fine with it, content to be in this position, with being just his friend, but you weren’t.

How could you be fine when you felt anger just seeing him talk to someone else? How could you be fine when you felt the anger boiling up as he was flirting with other people? How could you be fine when he gave his attention so freely to anyone else but not you? It drove you to the brink of madness and frustrated you to no end because it was as if he did it intentionally, knowing the fact that you would be jealous. And the fact that you couldn’t do anything about it but accept it left you exasperated. It almost drives you crazy. But you were still sane enough to control your impulsive thoughts. Or else, you were tempted to get rid of anyone who tried to get in your way. He was like a poisonous drug, consume too much and you would drown yourself in its toxins, losing yourself in the process. But there was no one else to blame. After all, it was your decision to love him despite all the red lights you saw; the warnings other people gave you.

How silly of you, to turn a deaf ear to their words. You thought you knew better but how wrong you were. You couldn’t see it yourself - how you started losing your mind the closer you got to Dazai Osamu. You didn’t see how your friends started to be concerned about your well-being, a consequence of always putting Dazai first. And it’s always Dazai this and Dazai that - he was all you could talk and think about. It started as a crush at first, but now it just became overbearing. And you know you were being selfish for wanting him all to yourself.

Dazai was the prime example of how you wouldn’t always get what you wanted in life. It was nice to be observed by him, and he himself was endearing to watch, but trying to embrace him was like trying to embrace mist, it would just slip out of your grasp, and never be within your reach. Chasing him was like running in circles, and it was as though something kept tripping you, making you fall over and over again, but you were too stubborn to give up. Dazai always seemed close to you, almost within an arm’s reach - but yet he appeared so far. It was like a distance you would never be able to close. But then again, the distance between you and him never existed. Because you never had a chance with him in the first place. It was all but a fragment of your imagination.

But still, you continued with your routine.

“I love you, senpai.”

And he always said the same thing, “I know.”

But did he really? It wasn’t as throwing it around for you. He may be used to it, but you weren’t. How could you even begin to explain how much he meant to you? He already had your heart, it already belonged to him, and he could crush it anytime he so pleased, and yet he didn’t. He did something much worse. He did nothing. It was like he didn’t care, like it never mattered at all to him, no matter how many times you confessed. His answer was always the same. Maybe if you put more feelings into it - would he finally understand? Would he finally stop taking it so lightly? You were past the point of being embarrassed. You didn’t bother to hide your feelings anymore. You felt like you had to show more, just to get him to understand. After all, why wouldn’t he say anything else? It felt like a hopeless desire, but still, you wished for it anyway. For anything but that same, mundane ‘I know’. You wanted to cross that imaginary line that separated your heart from his, but the barrier always stood strong and it’s impossible to breach.

He wouldn’t let you in no matter how hard you tried. And you were slowly losing your mind and you couldn’t take it anymore. You wanted - needed - him to know. You were desperate but the words you want to say always stuck in your throat each time you tried to bring it out. You don’t want to make him overwhelmed, in fear of losing what you have now. Even if it just one side, you can’t help it, you can’t stop it no matter how hard you tried. It’s easier said than done. Your friends think it was better for you to let him go, that you don’t deserve to hurt yourself and deserved better. They told you to wake up from this fever dream and move on. But you know, even if you try, you will always come back for him. Again and again. No matter how he appeared to be with you, or what persona he created, he is still the same person. The one that you were in love. And it has taken deep root in your heart now.

“Senpai… I’m in love with you.”

Hopelessly. Helplessly. I’m drowning in it. I can’t live without you, do you know that? I would do anything for your sake. You are my life, you are my love. You are my pain and my relief. You are everything to me. Even if we don’t have any significant relationship, I still can’t afford to stay away from you for even a moment. I live for you every day, my time and heart are devoted only to you. No moment is ever complete without you. Your name is etched into each breath of mine. I have lived only for you and I am prepared to die for you. Because it is you. Only you. I have loved you so much. And I will continue to love you dearly. You are all that I want. And it’s not solely due to my obsession that I’ve come this far. I genuinely feel for you. You are the only one who can make me feel this way. I love you. I love you. I love you. I really do. And it hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Because I can't find it in myself to express all of this to you.

His expression subtly changed. He wasn’t surprised by what you said, no. Dazai knew of your feelings, but hearing it with such a resolution from you was a different thing. Your love was there. It was evident in your eyes as you kept looking at him, unwavering. Perhaps, he could just say he didn’t care for it and one day it might disappear. Everything was fleeting after all, even love. But would your feelings go away so easily?

“That’s unfortunate, for you…”

“I know,” you replied, wincing at the familiar sound of his signature words coming from your mouth. Even if he didn’t point it out, you knew it already. You already knew it from the start.

“I am so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“Isn't that a thing people say in unfortunate situations?” He chuckled at his own nonchalant response, hoping to keep the conversion light. But you could say that it just hurt you instead. Like a needle is pricking your heart when you heard his response. 

“Well, that's true. But saying sorry would only make me look pathetic here. Not like I wasn't one already,” you said, an air of self-deprecation surrounding you. How unfortunate, indeed, for you, though you had accepted that fact a long time ago. You could just laugh at how stupid this all was and cry at its sheer ridiculousness. But now it was nearly impossible for you to act like you were fine anymore. You tried to act tough but really, you were falling apart inside. He tore you piece by piece and yet he wasn’t even aware of that. 

“I’m sorry.” Again, he apologized. He sounded more sincere this time. Was it truly genuine, or was this another lie coming out of his facade? Frankly, it didn’t matter at this point anymore.

Dazai closed the distance between you two, reaching out his hand to give you his signature head-pat. He ruffled your hair and you could feel the warmth radiating from him. It was so gentle and cruel at the same time. He sounded so sincere, apologizing for it too. He didn’t turn you down completely but instead accepted your feelings silently, without returning it back. Such a cruel way to torment you further. But you knew it already, you knew the consequence of your decision from the start. However, you still kept clinging on to him as if he was the only support you had as you floated out in the open sea, but yet was also the reason why you might drown in the first place. It suffocate you and you can’t breathe. It hurt so much. But falling for him was something you would never regret even if what awaited at the end was just a void that would envelop you. Even so, you aren’t afraid of drowning in it anymore if you could keep this feeling you had for him. Even if it resulted in hurting you. It was fine. If it was the only way you could love him.

And as repetitive as it seemed now, you would still say it no matter how many times it will take for him to truly understand it.

“Senpai, thank you… I love you.”

“I know.” 

And you would keep it that way until your feelings slowly cease to exist, much like a dying star. It burned brightly in the beginning and eventually will fade away, disappearing back into nothingness.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A New Arrangement [Part 6/9][NSFW]

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Voyeurism

<- Part 5 | Part 7 ->

Summary: Dr. Chilton does not want your weekly in-home visits to come to an end, so he proposes hiring you for a different service.

(For @thatesqcrush​‘s kink bingo. If you’re just here for Kinktober smut, feel free to start with this chapter! It should have all the exposition necessary.)

Frederick Chilton x Female Reader

3,389 words

The sturdy rectangular gray headboard supported your weight, along with a mountain of soft eider-down pillows, as you sat back against it. One hand typed financial figures into a laptop. The other gently ran its fingers through the thick hair of the head resting in your lap.

This had all started as a fairly standard work arrangement.

Frederick Chilton had been through several near-death experiences, and had reached out to your agency to ensure his affairs were in order. You handled end-of-life arrangements: advanced directives, living wills, estate planning, funerals—your business was the one-stop-shop for a worry-free death.

He was only recently out of the hospital since being severely burned over ninety percent of his body, and was shy about it. He was also wealthy enough to cloister himself away from the world. And so you had been visiting him at his home for the past few weeks to conduct business.

Your fingers stopped their lazy crawl through his hair, and he let out a soft whine. Clearing your throat, you pointed out something on the screen that required his attention, and he pushed himself off your lap with a disappointed groan. Once he managed to get into a sufficiently upright sitting position against the headboard, he settled back into you, leaning against your shoulder. He idly laid his hand on your leg, and you covered it with your own, stroking the scarred skin with your thumb.

Because he was so frequently exhausted, you had gotten into the habit of… well, cuddling. Platonically. Professionally. Eventually you grew so comfortable together that you started working from his bed, where he could fall asleep if he needed and not have to drag himself from the study (a short but insurmountable distance when one is in great pain and too tired to even sit up).

It felt nice to be so close with someone, even if you were never allowed to see his face.

As relaxed as you had grown together, he was always covered completely from head to toe. The only indication to the extent of his burns was the scarring that peeked underneath the white chin of his mask, covered his throat, dipped below the collar of his dress shirt, and covered his hands like a gnarled glove.

You closed down your computer after he had finished reviewing and signing all of the necessary digital forms you needed for that day.

Not just for that day, in fact. Those were the last ones. That was it. His end-of-life planning was complete. You could only hope he wouldn’t need it for a long time. The thought of him in a hospital on life support sent an uncontrollable pang through your heart.

Extricating yourself from his clinging limbs, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and packed the laptop in a messenger bag. His hand chased after you, gingerly grasping your hand. A soft, familiar gesture, silently pleading you to stay.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you, Mr. Chilton.” You gave a coy smile. “Sorry. Doctor.”

His pretty eyes narrowed inside the mask, and his shoulders heaved with a short breath of laughter. He had corrected you so harshly the first day that you were sure he was going to cancel your services then and there. He had only been kind to you since. Particular, but kind. “It’s a shame this is our last meeting,” you sighed, and you meant it.

You were going to miss him. He was an unusual client, and you enjoyed getting to know him.

“It does not have to be the last,” he blurted, desperation tinging his muffled voice. “I could continue paying for your time.”

You cocked your head. “Everything is set up. The only thing we’re waiting on is confirmation from the—”

“I could pay you for… other services.” His thumb brushed sensuously over your wrist.

Oh. Oh.

Your eyes widened and you felt a shameful twitch between your thighs. You tried to hold your composure but your cheeks were burning and your face revealed every sinful thought whirling through your mind.

“I do not mean anything untoward,” he said quickly. “Nothing you do not wish to do. I enjoy your company and would like to keep it, that is all.”

Nothing untoward? You deflated. Something untoward happening had been a thought you’d been pushing down into a box with a tight lid for weeks now, and the moment he said that—the millisecond you thought he might want you that way—the lid sprang off like a pressurized cannon, and it would take ages to gather up all the licentious images scattered in your mind and contain them again. But he just wanted company. Any company. Even some random accountant.

A new wave of sympathy welled up in your chest. “You really don’t have anybody, do you?”

He let go your wrist quite suddenly to cross his arms over his chest, and his placid mask turned away sharply. Underneath the expressionless porcelain, you had a feeling the prickly psychiatrist was anything but calm.

“You believe I am lonely?” he scoffed. “My last book topped the New York Times Best Seller list. If I wish for company I can have it. I was merely being sentimental, as I have grown accustomed to you and find you tolerable. It seemed simpler than finding somebody new if we continued with… another arrangement.”

The shyness with which he said arrangement, pronouncing it with stretched syllables to give it weight, made you certain he did intend something untoward until he misread your look of surprise as rejection.

What you should have said was there was no need to pay you to spend time with him—that you were happy enough to do that on your own. That you found it surprising how a man so charming and cuddly could believe he needed to pay for anyone’s company. But the idea of being paid for “services” titillated you, sending an electric jolt straight to your core.

So instead you said, “All right.”

The mask swung back to face you. “All right?”

“What kind of arrangement do you have in mind?” you purred, crawling back onto the bed toward him.

He swallowed sharply. The strip of exposed neck beneath the mask’s chin was red and had the texture of kneaded bread dough, but the bob of his Adam’s apple was pronounced enough for you to see his undisguised arousal.

Since you had been sitting close to each other near the edge of the bed, you were almost immediately on top of him, smoothing the silky fabric of his shirt down his chest. He smelled of spices and a hint of something clean and floral. “Well?” you pouted expectantly. His muscles were stiff as rocks. All you could see through the mask were two pale eyes the color of autumn moss staring in panic from a white sea of sclera.

“I didn’t necessarily mean… i-if you don’t want to…” he stammered, words losing their controlled diction. Apparently he had not anticipated you agreeing so readily, but a stirring in the front of his slacks suggested this was precisely the outcome he had hoped for. You took a chance and ran your palm over the growing bulge, and were rewarded with a gasp, his fingers clenching the sheets. “Yes, that—that is wonderful. Keep going,” he croaked.

He shifted, opening his legs to give you better access, and you turned so your thigh rested over his, skirt riding up, as you rubbed him through his pants. His hands wandered over your hips and back, muscular arms pulling you in closer. Seeking more contact, you buried your face against the kneaded skin his neck where you could feel warm puffs of breath escaping from the sides of the mask. You wondered if he would take it off, now that you were being intimate. Part of you hoped he wouldn’t. The anonymity added to the thrill, to the wrongness of what you were doing. You agreed to let a man you’d never even seen have his way with you for money.

His breath grew ragged as his cock hardened, lengthening under your palm. His hands withdrew from their exploration of your body to clumsily unbutton his slacks, which were tenting under the strain of his growing erection. It sprang free and he stroked himself a few times, but your hand was right there to take over the job. His muscles tensed, prepared to flinch away when you released him in disgust, but you bit your lip, lids fluttering closed as you tried and failed to hold in a lewd noise of pleasure.

He stared at you like you were the most incredible thing he had ever seen. Then he let out a breathy moan, head falling back against the headboard. “You are… quite eager,” he teased.

“I’ve been waiting a long time.”

He wondered if that was true, or if it was just something you said, but he let himself be excited by it anyway, pretending you wanted him.

His cock felt incredible in your hand—heavy, throbbingly hot, like holding a heartbeat, and textured with a mesh of grafts and thin, stiff ridges of surgical scars zigzagging down the shaft to allow it to expand to its full, exquisite length. You wondered if you were the first person he’d been with since his burn, and a weight of importance settled onto your shoulders.

“Am I doing all right?” you whispered, trying to gauge his reaction from an unforthcoming mask. “Tell me what you want.”

“Take off all of your clothing,” he said thickly. “All of it.”

You tugged at your shirt, in a hurry to obey, but he stopped you, and had you get up and stand beside the bed where he could see all of you.

He wanted to watch.

The cold white mask was unreadable, even Chilton’s green eyes disappearing into the shadows, as you began unbuttoning your blouse.

“The skirt first,” he instructed. Your heart skipped a beat. Self-consciously, fingers trembling at the clasp, you zipped down the skirt, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle around your ankles. You looked to him for approval.

His cock was in his hand and he was stroking himself slowly as he called out the next article of clothing for you to remove. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and your cunt drip with anticipation. A wealthy eccentric who had essentially bought you was sitting there in control while you were exposed and vulnerable, not showing any emotion but clearly getting off to you.

Trembling breath shuddered in his throat, strained. As he allowed you to undo your blouse, button by button, his pace built urgency, hand beating up and down in his lap. You could imagine how his face looked beneath that calm mask—how clouded with lust, helpless and falling apart.

God, you wanted to see him. But not knowing was such a turn-on.

At last he guided you to slip off your panties, and you stood naked before him. He stopped stroking himself.

“Come here,” he beckoned with his finger.

You climbed onto the bed, skin prickling with goosebumps, and settled yourself next to him in a familiar cuddling position. His arm easily snaked around your back, supporting and drawing you closer.

“How are you doing?” he asked, ducking his mask close to whisper like it was a secret.

“Nervous,” you admitted, whispering back.

His fingers circled your wrist, calloused with scars but the fingernails polished and manicured, and press into the soft underside. “Your pulse is racing,” he said as if you were a patient. “We can stop.”

The needy whine in your throat cleared up any uncertainty before you could form words. “I don’t want to stop. If you need to stop, we can. But I…” your eyes drifted unconsciously to his cock, thick and covered in distinctive surgical details, and you sucked your lower lip between your teeth. You wondered how he would feel sliding into your entrance.

Pressing your shoulders, he began by having you lie on your back on top of the blankets, exposed for him. Then he asked you to spread your legs so he could kneel between them. You thought he was going to fuck you, but he just hovered above you, watching.

He had taken off his suit jacket before getting into bed, but the end of his blue-patterned tie dangled dangerously above his stiff cock, which emerged from the opening in his dark slacks. He was very well dressed, only revealing what little flesh was necessary. He loosened the knot around his neck, and pulled it off, tossing it haphazardly aside.

Soft green eyes bored into you from their protected porcelain fortress, heating your skin like a fire as they took in the curves and dips and perfect imperfections of your body.

Finally he moved.

Bracing himself on one arm, he leaned above you, hand roving intimately over the same curves of your body his eyes had just navigated. You were so worked up already, your back arched and you moaned the moment he made contact with your skin. You were ready, writhing and straining for him to fuck you, but he only touched you.

He didn’t rush for the obvious areas you expected, but took his time. Instead of going directly for your tits, he caressed the length of your collarbone delicately with just his thumb and two fingers. Then he dipped lower, and you sucked an expectant breath, but he drew a line down your sternum, between your breasts, and splayed his scarred fingers out over the soft of your belly.

You were so ready to explode from anticipation, even the slightest graze of his fingertips sent sparks tickling across your skin wherever they went. You thought about him touching himself while he watched you strip.

It was so hard to know what he was thinking. The mask removed facial expression from the equation, and when he went silent for so long like this, you trembled with how blindfolded you felt, just focusing on his touch..

He traced one finger delicately down your arm, ghosting just over the skin in a wandering, unhurried path that raised a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

The pink head of his cock glistened with precum, waiting just as anxiously as you to bury itself inside you. You wanted to take control, grasp it, and plunge him between your thighs, but you didn’t want to spook him. If this was the first time he was intimate with someone since being scarred, it was a big step. You didn’t mind him taking his time. You were hypnotized by his delicate touches, every inch of your skin vibrating like the air during a lightning storm.

Leaning down closer, he curled his fingers around your neck. You gasped as the throbbing weight of his erection pressed into your stomach—but he was only studying your face. Still, he was much closer now, the heat of his body inches from yours, and being able to feel his cock was almost too much. You reached up to wrap your arm around his back, pulling him even harder against you.

God you were beautiful. And sweet, and intelligent. He wanted to keep you. Maybe it was just how tender he was from his latest life-altering trauma, but he had never wanted anything quite as much as he wanted you.

Your skin was warm and smooth, so unlike his, but you did not mind—or you were skilled at concealing your distaste. He observed with pleasure how you shuddered and sighed and leaned into his touch. How you gasped and moaned and wanted him. It was just for the money, of course. He knew that. Wealth could buy all kinds of love from the sort of person with the proper priorities—though he had not expected you to be one of them. It was a desperate final effort to make you stay. But some surprises were good ones. 

He trailed his fingertips along your jaw, over your cheek. You whined as his fingers brushed across your lips, and you parted them, tasting a salty pad with the tip of your tongue. You felt his cock jerk against your stomach. So you licked him again, satisfied to achieve the same reaction, as well as pull a low whimper from deep in the back of his throat. His fingers curled around your chin, thumb still teasing the tender inner flesh of your lower lip, letting your tongue draw him in deeper, pinching the manicured digit between your teeth, and finally sucking on it, pretending it was his exquisite cock in your mouth.

It drove him crazy. With every swirl of your tongue, his cock twitched and grew harder, and a strangled sob would force its way shaking out of him. The contrast between the impassive mask and the lustful noises muffled within its porcelain shell sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you rocked your hips against his pant leg. He lowered himself to your ear and nuzzled your neck. His noises were even louder, intensifying your greed for him. Your hand snaked its way up to the back of his head, fingers gripping his hair, and tugged his head down.

He stiffened, every muscle going rigid. Grunting disapprovingly, he knocked your hand away, but to your gasping delight, continued to drag the mask down your body.

He felt sick deceiving you. No matter how much money he had to offer, you would never agree to be with him if you knew what was under the mask. He couldn’t risk you tugging at it. It was terrifying and confusing enough that you were touching him at all—the incredible, gorgeous way your body moved beneath him—and if you knew, you would be gone. It would all go away. This dream would end as a nightmare. He felt awful, but unbridled lust overwhelmed every bit of logic and tenuous scrap of decency he had. He deserved something good, just this once. He was going to make you scream for him in pleasure, not horror.

Hard, expressionless porcelain traveled down your soft skin, its cold lips following the swell of your breast. It brushed your nipple, and you arched your back, moaning around the thumb in your mouth. Your body started shaking with so many sensations—the cold smooth porcelain rolling your hardening peak under its sculpted ridges, his cock pressing into you, and his warm, rough, salty thumb, dripping with saliva as you took out your frustrations on it, swirling your tongue over the pad, bobbing your head, hoping to drive him mad enough to fuck you already.

His movements were jerkier and less patient, you noticed—he was falling apart, too.

He continued moving lower, his thumb escaping your mouth with a wet pop and trailing down your chin as the mask’s pointed nose traced a ticklish path over your stomach, and down, between your thighs. The mask’s nose just barely grazed your clit, but you were so ready for release it made you whimper loudly and grab at his hair, almost coming just from one touch. You wanted to push his head between your legs and let you grind your swollen clit against that nose until you broke, but he brushed your hand off again and you relented. You had an unspoken language built on weeks of cuddling—He was sensitive about certain things. He set a boundary and you knew not to push it.

Though he didn’t let you ride his mask, he stayed between your legs. He pressed the broad flat of his palms against your outer thighs as he deeply breathed in your scent, and you shuddered at the lewd act. He let out the breath with a long, intoxicated sigh.

“P-please,” you whimpered, knowing just how pathetic you sounded. “Please fuck me.” Every muscle in your body was on fire from this agonizingly slow foreplay, straining for some kind of release. A satisfied chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

“So impatient,” he teased, voice low and soft. “I want to savor every second. Every inch of you.”

You swallowed hungrily.

[sapphireglyphs]

[ bangtan short fic series ] jjk (feat. myg)

» Yᴏᴜʀ Vᴏɪᴄᴇ | ᴊᴊᴋ  sᴏʟᴏ ᴍᴜsɪᴄɪᴀɴ!ᴀᴜ (ғᴇᴀᴛ. ᴍʏɢ)   

Gᴇɴʀᴇ/Tᴀɢs: sʟɪᴄᴇ-ᴏғ-ʟɪғᴇ, ᴛɪɴʏ ʙɪᴛ ᴏғ ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ᴍɪɴ ʏᴏᴏɴɢɪ ɪs ᴀ ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ ʜᴏsᴛ, ɴᴏ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢs, ɪɴᴠᴏʟᴠᴇs ᴀ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴄᴋ/ɪʟʟ ʏ/ɴ sᴏ ɪғ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ... ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ sᴋɪᴘ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ?, ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ ɪs ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ʜᴀʀᴍʟᴇss, ʏᴏᴏɴᴋᴏᴏᴋ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅsʜɪᴘ ғᴛᴡ

Rᴀᴛɪɴɢ: ᴘɢ

Wᴏʀᴅ Cᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~1.5K

Sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Jᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ ɢᴇᴛs ɪɴᴠɪᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʜɪs ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ Mɪɴ Yᴏᴏɴɢɪ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ʜɪs ɴᴇᴡ ᴀʟʙᴜᴍ ᴏɴ ʜɪs ᴡɪᴅᴇʟʏ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ ʀᴀᴅɪᴏ sʜᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴇᴛs ᴀ ᴠᴇʀʏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀʟʟ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ғᴀɴ.

Aᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's Nᴏᴛᴇ: ᴏʜᴍʏɢᴏsʜ, ᴏᴋᴀʏ, sᴏ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴍʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ғᴏʀᴀʏ ɪɴᴛᴏ Bᴀɴɢᴛᴀɴ ғᴀɴғɪᴄ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ sᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ. Iᴛ ʜᴏɴᴇsᴛʟʏ ᴡᴀs sᴜᴘᴘᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴛɪɴʏ 500 ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴘɪʀᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪs ɪɴ ғʀᴏɴᴛ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ. Tʜɪs ɪs sᴛɪʟʟ ᴜɴᴇᴅɪᴛᴇᴅ; I'ᴍ ʜᴏᴘɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ɪᴛ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴡʜᴇɴ I ɢᴇᴛ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴛᴏᴍᴏʀʀᴏᴡ. Iғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴜʀɪᴏᴜs ᴀs ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴠᴇʀsɪᴏɴ ᴏғ "Sᴛɪʟʟ Wɪᴛʜ Yᴏᴜ" I ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ɪɴsᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ғʀᴏᴍ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴋ ʜᴇʀᴇ! Pʟᴇᴀsᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ғɪᴄʟᴇᴛ ᴏғ ᴍɪɴᴇ... I'ᴍ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɪᴍᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ sᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ sʜᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ! Eɴᴊᴏʏ 💜 

“We’re back on in 2 minutes.” 

Jungkook shifted in his seat with a toothy grin. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a ‘producer’...” the singer-songwriter trailed off bashfully. 

“But that’s what this album was: self-produced. Your first, in fact.” Yoongi countered.

The young artist didn’t deny the fact, knowing that his old friend had already slipped back into his radio host persona, even before the one minute standby was called. It seemed that, at least for the time being, Yoongi didn’t press the issue but simply followed up with, “What’s something you’ve been working on that’s been giving you trouble lately?”

Jungkook tilted his head slightly as he thought. His overgrown bangs fringed across his bottom eyelashes, giving him a rebellious devil-may-care aura, which would have made Yoongi roll his eyes if the younger man was actually anything like that in person. The radio host knew that under that edgy haircut and emo hipster attire, Jungkook was still that soft, shy kid from Busan with big round eyes and an even bigger heart. 

He was glad to see his friend was still the same guy in all the ways that mattered. 

“There is this one particular track that I have a vague concept and melody for but-” Jungkook’s response was cut off by one of the producers calling the 30 second standby.

Yoongi, still relaxed as ever, pressed for him to continue, “But-?” 

“Oh, uhm, but the lyrics are still eluding me.” Jungkook finally murmured, fidgeting with his bracelet absentmindedly. 

The host nodded sympathetically as he pushed a few buttons on the console in front of him before turning his head slightly to the window where the staff members were monitoring the phone lines and the clock as the show returned from its commercial break. “Welcome back to the show, everybody. I’m your host, DJ Suga with the sweet voice from Honey FM 06.13. My guest is the one and only Jeon Jungkook here to promote his brand new, self produced EP “Mixtape 1”. His single “My Time” was released earlier today and it seems as though the response is already overwhelmingly positive. Producer Jungkook?” Yoongi pauses for dramatic effect before quickly continuing, “Would you like to take some calls from your fans? I can see the switchboard lighting up like fireworks. What do you say, huh? Shall we take some calls?” 

Jungkook simply chuckled at Yoongi’s subtle ‘producer’ jab, ducking his head in embarrassment. "Yeah, let's get it." 

“We have Minnie on the line. Hi, Minnie, you’re on the air with DJ Suga and Jeon Jungkook.” Yoongi said.

“Oh my gosh! Hi DJ Suga! Hi Jungkook!” a cheerful voice filtered in through the headsets, “I’m in love with “My Time”. The lyrics seem so sad even if the song sounds so upbeat. What inspired you to write a song like this?”

Jungkook replied, “Thank you so much for liking the song. It’s a very personal piece to me and it means a lot to hear that fans are reacting so positively to the track.” He took a deep breath before continuing, “When I had set out to create this song, I had wanted to be as honest and authentic as possible with the lyrics while still staying true to my original vision for the song which was basically a bittersweet look at the last few years of my life and what it means to me as a young musician. I believe instead of seeing the lyrics as something sad, I see it as simply living life. Life has ups and downs, there are sacrifices but even greater rewards. A give and take, if you will.”

“Poignant.” Yoongi responded, “Thank you for calling in Minnie. Next caller we have is Ken. Ken you’re on the air with DJ Suga and Jungkook.”

“Hi guys. I just wanted to say that I really love both of your albums, Jungkook. “Euphoria” is on repeat daily for me.” a warm, tenor voice insisted on the other end. “When will we be able to hear you live in concert again?”

Jungkook gave a grateful smile and bowed unconsciously, almost hitting his head on the microphone in front of him. “Thank you so much for your support. I’m hoping to go on tour very soon, so please look out for tour dates on the official website. Until then, please enjoy ‘Mixtape 1’.” 

Yoongi efficiently thanked Ken for calling in and pulled up the next call in the queue, “Hi Y/N, you’re on the air with DJ Suga and Jungkook.”

There was silence on the other end. 

Unfazed, Yoongi tried again, “Y/N? You’re on the air.”

The unnerving silence permeated the air and just as Yoongi was going to move on to the next caller, a soft voice pierced through the quiet, “Hello? I-is it really you, Jungkook?”

Jungkook scooted forward into his chair. “Yes, hello.”

“I wanted to let you know that I truly love listening to you sing. Your voice is so beautiful and full of emotion. You truly have a gift...” There was a pregnant pause before the fragile voice rasped, “But I’m not sure how much longer I can stay to listen to you.”

Both host and guest were taken aback by the peculiar response but Jungkook recovered quickly and said, “Why do you say that? It isn't that late. Are you getting tired already?”

“I’m always tired nowadays.” The silence was heavy. When the voice returned, it seemed strained, as though simply speaking was becoming too difficult a task to bear. “Your songs used to be a source of such strength for me… but I’ve come to accept that it isn't going to be enough anymore. You see… I'm not doing too well.”

As the weight of the words sat palpable in the studio, Yoongi could see the panic in Jungkook’s eyes as he began to piece together what the caller was implying. Before he could jump in to save his friend though, the young musician simply asked, “How can I help?”

The voice returned this time with a quiet strength that masked the slight quiver of desperation, “Would it be too much if I could hear you sing for me… one last time?”  

Jungkook looked up at Yoongi, his mind racing with a million thoughts. His eyes flickered to the radio host’s black guitar that hung on the wall behind his booth. Standing to his feet with resolve, Jungkook strode over to the guitar and carefully pulled it down from it’s hooks. He turned to Yoongi. “Hyung? Would you mind?” 

Yoongi didn’t even blink. “Go for it, Jungkookie.”

Nodding his thanks, Jungkook made his way back to his seat and spoke softly into the microphone, “Y/N, please forgive me if this song is a bit on the rougher side as it’s still a work in progress.”

“I understand.” 

Upon hearing a reply from the other end of the line, Jungkook closed his eyes in relief. He didn’t realize he had waited for that response with bated breath. 

He began strumming a few cords before tweaking the guitar just a bit. “Now here’s the deal: I’ll be happy to sing this for you but you got to promise me that you’ll listen well to the very end, okay?” 

“I will.” 

Jungkook closed his eyes. Giving himself over to the music, his calloused fingers found its rhythm and began to strum a simple cord before taking a deep breath and allowing the song to take shape...

That faint voice of yours that grazed me Please call my name one more time I’m standing still under the frozen light, but I will walk towards you, step by step Still with you

Yoongi sat back, too stunned to actually respond to anything that had actually transpired over the course of the next few minutes as Jungkook began to croon over the gentle strum of his guitar, an acoustic ballad of longing and loneliness. Despite the lyrics holding such sadness in its tone, the song ends hopeful of a day where the vocalist could meet again with the person they had longed for. Yoongi imagines the final studio version of the song would sound nice with a piano in the mix, brushed drums for a percussion piece and maybe even some tinkling synths for character. Either way, he’s pretty sure he had just witnessed the creation of another major hit for the younger musician.    

The moon looks lonely Like it's crying in the bright night sky Even though I always know the morning will come I want to stay in your sky like a star

As the song wound down, the studio erupted into cheers, from the staff and Yoongi alike. Jungkook bowed politely before he spoke into the microphone, “So, Y/N, what did you think?”

There was no reply from the other end of the line. Yoongi looked towards the booth where the producers sat behind the glass window and took their nods as a sign that the line was still open. 

“Y/N?” Jungkook repeated. “Don’t leave me hanging now. We had a deal. Are you still there?” 

There was a beat of agonizing silence before a sniffle could be heard from the other end of the line. “Yes, Jungkook... I’m still here.”

[mwahrzipan-sen]

~ Merry slightly late Christmas to you, sweetest Papaya Jess! I hope you like this gift and I hope this story is nice! You are the sweetest human ever and I am so glad we chat so much and enjoy our wonderful cowboy stories! Merry Christmas and I give you so many hugs and squishies! ~

A Christmas Valentine

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Heavy boots dragging through the snow. The owner of said heavy boots made a stop, leaning against a strong cedar tree. A quick match to a roll and the dark scenery was lit by a tiny circle of ember. A sigh broke the onslaught of the harsh cold wind, and the man could only huff as the cigarette did little to warm his body up. With a sigh, he carelessly threw the cigarette into the snow and the crunch of the hard snow filled the air once more. The hard crunch was soon drowned out by the sounds of chattering teeth and a small fussy boy whining to his Mama about Daddy not being there.

“He pwomised, Mama! Where’s Daddy?” little Jack fussed softly, the poor thing’s hand tightly gripping onto Abigail’s shawl. The small hand kept tight on Abigail’s shawl and the poor thing shook it cutely.

“He’s coming soon sweetie. Don’t go pulling on your Mama’ shawl now.” Abigail fussed sweetly, “Bastard better hurry up” she grumbled softly, before pressing tiny kisses to Jack’s fussy cheeks. Both stood and waited before Abigail’s one second growl was replaced with faux happiness. “Look, baby! It’s your Daddy!” She hummed and bounced Jack, the sweet thing letting go of his tantrum before making grabby hands to John coming back from his smoke break. John gave a small gruff sigh before he gave a small smile to make Abigail satisfied and to let the mother have a break.

“Hey, son. Giving Mama trouble before Christmas?” John teased, bouncing the small boy. Jack’s small hands squished John’s cheeks before fussing, “Don’t teww Santa, Daddy! Pwease!”. It was too cute and John could only chuckle lightly. “Here, son. Got the gift you wanted.” John hummed gently as he grabbed the small gift from his pocket and handed it over to the eager little boy. With a happy squeal, little Jack giggled and was soon back into his Mama’s arms, holding his gift excitedly.

“We’ll open that up on Christmas Day, baby. Be good alright?” Abigail cooed before gently sending her baby to bed. John sighed as he and Abigail shared a small tense goodbye before John turned and went to his cabin. He sighed, entering the cold thin home and going to start a fire, something to stave off the cold. He then took notice of his cabinmate, Javier, who was currently resting on the uncomfortable beds. Javier shifted his hat and peaked back at John. “Welcome back, brother,” Javier greeted, “Guessing you’re having marital issues again?” he teased lightly before receiving a glare from the other. John gave a small tsk before sighing and flopping on his own uncomfortable bed. The two stewed in silence, all that could be heard was the harsh wind outside and the creaks from the thin cabin but was soon disturbed by Javier’s small hum. “Listen. We’re gonna be moving soon, to Valentine. That’s gonna take a lot of time, so…” Javier hummed softly, avoiding John’s glare, “So why don’t you two make up?” Javier suggested heavily to which John sighed. “Can’t work out something that’s dying, Javier.” He sighed again, “Don’t wanna burden her and make it anymore difficult. I just don’t know what to do…” John sighed again before turning away from the sympathetic man. “Just… goodnight, Javier.” And with his back turned, John fell into an uneasy sleep. Bit a small soft feeling was there on his cheek, soft and small and gone in an instant before John fell completely asleep.

Once the Van Der Linde group woken up, everyone pitched in to get their camp packed away and ready to travel out of the mountains. John hummed softly, a little distracted from his work. What was that soft feeling on his cheek before he fell asleep. He pondered and pondered before he felt a small shove to his shoulder, “Don’t go thinkin too hard, brother. Gotta get going soon.” Arthur joked, chuckling a bit before humming. He took a peek at Abigail gently fussing with Jack, the small boy fussing sweetly, ready for a wonderful Christmas. The cute thing was so impatient~. Arthur hummed, “You having problems again?” Arthur asked as John sighed, “Strained. But that’s not it.” John stopped, not going any further. John finished up packing before he went to mount on his horse. As he mounted, Javier rode up close and gave a gentle smile. “Morning. Feeling any better?” Javier asked gently. John didn’t know why but he found his cheeks burning a little. Strange, but John didn’t find his usual grouchy self complaining. John gave a small grumble though, “M’fine. Let’s get going. Gonna take months before we make it to Valentine.” John huffed before he and the whole group made their way down the mountain.

After travelling down the mountain successfully, they made a break and set up their small camp. With everyone’s help, the Van Der Linde group had settled and went to work on their chores or taking a break. John felt hisself pondering again and the man could only peek at Abigail and Jack, the little boy learning how to read with Grandpa Hosea and Abigail praising the tiny boy. John sighed before resting his eyes, needing a nap from all of his self brooding. But there it was again, the small fleeting warmth on his cheek again. John opened his eyes but found no one. Thoroughly confused but it just felt nice. He can’t remember if Abigail ever kissed so softly. But…. With how they are, it couldn’t have been Abigail. John would just need to figure it out somehow.

But before he could think, he was interrupted by Javier. The tan man smiled and held out his flask. “Share a warm drink in the bitter cold, hombre?” Javier smiled, his voice soft as to not disturb the others. The sun was dimming and the fires were being made. John looked at the flask then to Javier before giving a shrug. The two sat down, huddled close, and took turns drinking the harsh and burning whiskey. They sat in silent for the most part, although John made sure he was quiet whenever peeking at Javier. The strong jawline, the scars littering Javier’s cheek and the adamant scar on his neck, and those deep eyes that shined when the sun just hits right- John flinched as he looked down at the snow, glaring so hard the snow would’ve melted. What’s with his thoughts? Why now? All of a sudden? John was about to grumble before Javier gave a small tap to John’s thighs. “You’re stressed. The alcohol must not be that powerful, huh?” Javier joked lightly before giving a small frown, “What’s wrong?”. John sighed softly, daring his eyes to peek at Javier again. His heartbeat rose as he looked into the concerned eyes. John bit his lip before his body moved on its own, leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to Javier’s cheek, the same as the one he felt before. Javier and John were still for a very long and awkward period of time, both not really knowing what to do. Javier fidgeted nervously before gently returning the peck, “Figured it out?” He whispered softly, almost afraid, but he did his best to be brave.

John was at a stand still but he found his body relax. He figured it out, so quickly, and the man gave a sigh. “Yer a real sweetheart, aint’chu Javier?” John teased lightly before cooing softly, “Real sweet.” Another peck. The another. Another. Another~. The alcohol seemed to kick in and Javier could feel his cheeks heat up too. Javier gently cupped John’s face before gently pulling away. “Come to my tent later. Let’s talk.” Javier hummed softly before getting up. John, now alone, sighed softly, gently touching his lips. Was he in even more trouble with his family? Maybe. Had he felt something different but nice? Yes. Was he going to Javier’s tent at night? You bet. But, before John could make a mistake or do something to hurt his relationship even more, he needed to talk with Abigail first.

Abigail sighed softly, gently cradling her precious son. The poor thing did his best to stay up to see Santa but thankfully with Abigail’s sweet lullabies soothed the boy to sleep. With Jack tucked up in the little cot, Abigail laid on her little sleeping bag. She sighed, she was tired and she was also silently cursing. She needs a break, but she knew for a fact that Jack’s father wasn’t gonna step up. But, Abigail couldn’t help but think that something needs to improve, something to just put everything at ease. But… that’s hard to think about, but she’ll mull over everyone it later. Just before the mother could join her son in dreams, she heard the tent flap move. She looked up and speak of the devil. “John.” Abigail said curtly before she sighed. She let John inside and the two sat down, with a small whisper Abigail hummed, “What?”. John hummed gently, “Let’s talk. We… I wanna improve enough so that I can help you take care of our son.” John whispered. He looked at the sleeping Jack, all bundled up. John looked back, “And… well let’s decide what we are to each other.” John and Abigail shared a huff. The air was tense but John broke it. “I don’t think we’ve felt love from eachother in a long while… I see the stares you give Ms. Sadie, so…” John cleared his throat, “So I think she’d be good for you.” John hummed, “And…” John took a deep breath, “And I think… I think I’ve found someone else too.” John felt himself slump a little, a weight lifted off his shoulders. He looked at Abigail shyly and the other gave a tiny smile. “Let’s be happy alright. Maybe not together but… let’s be happy our own ways. Happy parents mean a happy child right?” Abigail cooed sweetly. She too slumped and felt herself gently squeeze John’s arm. “Have fun with your darling alright? Don’t let me hold you back. Goodnight, John. And make sure you come over for Christmas, for our boy’s sake.” Abigail smiled gently before John gave a nod and stood. John gave a tiny kiss to Jack’s cheek before leaving the tent, going immediately towards Javier’s.

Javier’s body was snuggled into the thin blanket, his chest rising and falling slowly, breathing softly. He was enjoying his nice sleep before he felt his body was shaken. A gentle shake at that. Javier gave a small yawn and turned, his eyes trying to focus. But, Javier recognized John’s figure and the smaller man gave a small smile. “Hola~” He said simply before scootching over and letting John cuddle the other. They reveled in their shared warmth before Javier presses a gentle kiss to John’s cheek. “Tomorrow’s Christmas… let’s go to Valentine together, si?” Javier hummed sleepily to which John replied with a small gruff hum. Both found themselves slowly sinking back into a nice slumber, warm and filled with a light feeling.

Christmas morning was heard through the birds chirping in the air, felt by the shared warmth from the two gentleman, and can be appreciated as both shared sweet lazy kisses to one another’s scarred and scruffy cheeks, tickled by mustaches. A small peck was shared on one another’s ruddy cheeks before they pulled away. Javier gave a small smile, “Let’s get ready, si? Or else our date will be wasted on a wonderful Christmas,” Javier hummed sweetly, kissing John’s cheek. John blushed, “We’re wanted in Valentine, remember?” John grumbled, a bit worried. He sure didn’t want his date with his crush? Lover? His Javier in a county jail cell. Javier giggled softly. “We’ll be careful, right? And we’ll just book a hotel under an alias.” Javier smiled and teased. He sighed before getting up. “I’ll get our horses ready while you get breakfast.” Javier hummed, leaving the tent to do his chore before his date. John could only lay on the cot and smile lightly to himself. This was already turning to a nice Christmas. He too soon got up and went to nab breakfast and possibly freshen up for Javier.

With chores taken cared of, the two new lovebirds went into town, bundled up and not being suspicious. They shared sneaky glances and inside smiles. It was nice… although still high pressure whenever they see any cops, but thankfully, no Pinkertons were in the area. They’re wonderful Christmas morning, shared with warm drinks, small chatter, and a spectacle of beautiful lights. They made their way to Main Square, seeing the large cedar tree decorated with gorgeous decorations, and the most beautiful was the star on top, large and golden. John and Javier stared in silence, a comforting thing as they heard carolers and happy chatter from the townsfolk. John then looked to Javier, before quickly and gently pulling the other into a sweet kiss. Soft sparks of warmth hit both men’s hearts before they pulled away. John looked down at Javier and gave a warm coo, “Merry Christmas, darlin’”. Javier gave a warm smile and pressed another kiss to his darling John, “Merry Christmas, amor.”

The End

[shsldepressedlesbian]

HAHA LOOK BUT MAYBE 75 FOR THE PROMPTS THING I have headcanons about Nagito being a huge crier during sex--

75: "You know, you look real pretty when you cry."

komaeda is definitely a huge crier i agree lol.

but, as good as a prompt this is for them, i feel like i didnt do it justice 😔 a little more just plain pwp then i feel like i could have done. however, i think its ok for now, but expect a rewrite one day 🤔

-

It's so hot, so stuffy, and it's hard to think, Komaeda finds, clutching desperately into the sheets.

"Hinata-kun," he manages to wheeze in between all the other lewd noises he's making.

His only answer back is his partner's own deep breaths, and the grip on his hips tightening, accompanied with another sharp thrust that causes Komaeda to let out an almost strangled sound.

Ironically, this seems to get a chuckle out of Hinata, though it sounds more wheezy then a real one.

"Sorry, are you already overwhelmed?"

Before Komaeda could manage a response, he feels Hinata's chest push against his back, and the shift of movement has him feeling all of it, from the burning, wet feeling inside of him to how Hinata's cock throbs, moving painfully slow-

Hinata had moved to nibbling at Komaeda's neck, tracing over the already made marks, and somehow, that only gets him more sensitive.

"I can't," Komaeda shudders, his whole body practically trembling. He should be used to this, being fucked roughly, but the problem was that Hinata wasn't being rough, and every deep, drawn out, torturest thrust of pressure on his prostate, aiming to get as many noises out of him, sends him into a downward spiral. 

"I can't-"

A shushing noise in his ear has him whimpering out of pure frustration, instinctively pushing his hips back. He can tell it's meant to be comforting- but every nerve in his body has him wanting Hinata to hurry and finish the job already.

Only the feeling of a hand gripping his jawline to tip his head up has a part of his brain finally turn on.

"Ha, don't…!" His instincts have him thinking about how embarrassing it would be to have Hinata look at him in the face like this- he must look so gross, so repulsing, absolutely wrecked-

But Hinata doesn't seem to care about that, keeping a firm hold on the other's face and turning it towards him just enough for him to apply soft kisses and nips to Komaeda's cheek- the gentleness much more different compared to how sadistic he was treating him everywhere else.

"So good, Komaeda," He mutters, letting go of Komaeda's face and starting a more rhymetic pace, and while it's hardly enough for Komaeda, it's much better than the previous torturing one. "You feel so good."

The praise falls on mostly deaf ears, but the very tone of Hinata's voice is enough to get Komaeda to let out another wheezy moan.

He could say he's almost fine with this new pace, as it seems to quicken, and become more promising… which makes the sudden full halt too much to bear.

The noise that Komaeda makes is pathetic even to his own ears. But he doesn't ponder it. No, the sudden stop and now, feeling of emptiness as Hinata almost entirely pulls out despite Komaeda's own objections and trying to constrict around him, just when he thought they were getting somewhere good, is a whole other type of teasing.

"Hinat-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence, however, when he's suddenly tossed onto his back almost effortlessly.

It's a relief when Hinata slams back in, so suddenly that Komaeda lets out another loud, primal noise, almost akin to a scream, his toes finding themselves curling into the bedsheets.

"Sorry," he vaguely hears Hinata apologize once again, though this one sounds more genuine then the first one.

With some of his brainpower being briefly returned as Hinata seems to take time to adjust enough to make Komaeda comfortable, the boy in question finds himself feeling rather exposed. Not something he usually cared or worried about, but with Hinata's previous praises, something inside once again tells him to at least attempt to cover up some dignity, mostly by covering his face as best as he can with his arms, avoiding eye contact with his partner.

Any plan for that, however, is ruined by Hinata himself parting his arms, giving him a clear view of how terrible Komaeda must look.

"I want to see your face." Hinata exclaims, voice firm though breathy.

Of course he did, Komaeda berates himself. Why else would he turn him over?

But the gentle undertones of his voice gives Komaeda enough security to look up at him- and feel a twinge of satisfaction at the fact Hinata, despite how calm and dominant he had been, didn't seem much better for fare either.

His own bangs stick to his forehead, speckled in sweat, his eyes almost cloudy and face flushed. If it weren't for him still feeling unsatisfied and knowing that he looks way worse just judging by the feeling of dried tears staining his cheeks, Komaeda would have chuckled at the sight of both of them looking like filthy messes.

But Hinata grins for him, once again making Komaeda feel exposed.

"You know, you look real pretty when you cry."

Komaeda feels his own face flushing up(if it was even possible for him to feel hotter), turning his head to once again avoid eye contact, finding himself once again unable to fire off a response. No, there's nothing attractive about his sobs, he's sure, and it's bad enough that he seems to almost always get like this when their fucking-

Hinata bucks his hips again, seemingly deciding to carry on, and Komaeda yelps. As though taking advantage of his guard falling, he felt his partner once take his face in hand, bringing their mouths together. And despite the teasing, Komaeda finds himself not hesitating at all to open his mouth and welcome his tongue in.

But attempting to focus on that proves difficult when Hinata immediately takes a new, brutal pace, and despite it being exactly what he wanted, the sudden change of tone and attack on his mouth has Komaeda’s brain going fuzzy, half registering a guttural groan he wasn’t even aware he himself could make.

And when they part in order to catch their breath, Komaeda can barely do even that, finding his legs being lifted off the bed as Hinata took him by his thighs, effectively finding a deeper consistency to pound into him.

Komaeda can’t tell if he even makes a noise when he opens his mouth, not being able to focus on anything but the sensation that is quickly bringing him closer and closer to his release, almost too fast-

When Hinata leans forward, Komaeda takes the chance to cling and dig his nails into his back, as though he were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

He hears Hinata grunt something, yet he can only make out the call of his name and a warning(to which he had to briefly wonder if he himself has already come without fully realising), but he merely keeps his hold.

He quickly finds the answer to whether or not he had already meant his climax answered, as his vision goes white and ears almost ring.

He almost believed that he passed out for a moment, because it feels like he's lost his sense of time, as he comes off his high. 

The first thing he brings his attention to, despite his exhaustion, is the little nitpicks.

From the weight of another body on him(Hinata doesn't seem in a much better state then he is, having fallen onto Komaeda in a half hearted embrace, his breathing equally as heavy), to the stickiness both across his chest and inside him that makes him want to squirm, if he didn't want to actually pass out more.

And soon, the embarrassment: to orgasm so hard from just that, when they've done so much more before… ah, pathetic. Perhaps he was getting too easy already. 

Well, it's stuff to muse over later- when he's less tired, perhaps.

Which is why he attempts to shut off his mind by closing his eyes and getting control of his breathing, but sure enough, Hinata, with his ever blessed energy, shuffles from being tangled on top of him(accidentally shifting a little too much pressure on Komaeda, to which he gives a soft "sorry" at his displeased noise), and stopping beside him just to lay down again, his breath still unsteady.

"Komaeda," Hinata breathes, though Komaeda chooses to turn his head away from him instead of responding. His partner seems to ignore this sign, however, continuing. "Sorry, did I…?"

It's probably better that Hinata chooses to not continue with that question, or Komaeda would have probably had to make a comment on how many times he's said "sorry" in the last 30 minutes.

"We should clean up," he instead insists, and Komaeda, despite not looking at him, feels him sitting up, and he instinctively grabs for his wrist.

"Let's just sleep, Hinata-kun," he mutters, quickly finding just how sore his throat is(along with his whole body), but still continuing. "We can bathe later."

He can almost feel Hinata furrow his brows at him, which is what gets him to roll his head again to actually look at him and confirm it. And, sure enough. 

"But you always complain about how gross you feel after," he objects, "I just want to make sure-"

Komaeda sighs, an almost rattly sound, turning over so he can bury some of his face in the pillow(an uncomfortable shift, but a necessary one). Hinata's right: he does feel gross, but unless he insisted on picking up Komaeda to take him to the bathroom, he'd rather just get some rest.

"I do, but Hinata-kun has been extra cruel today, and I couldn't get my body started if I wanted to." Not wanting to talk longer than necessary in order to rest his voice, he closes his eyes once again. "Take some responsibility."

Hinata makes a half strangled noise that would make Komaeda chuckle, had he not wanted to strain his throat. 

But, it seems he doesn't wish to argue anymore, as Komaeda listened to Hinata's sign and felt the shift of weight of him lying down again, brushing arms with the other.

The quietness is nice, Komaeda finds, but as he slightly shifts his legs, he bites his tongue in time to keep from groaning.

Everything, from himself to the sheets, will be absolutely gross, and he'd definitely need to take a shower right away.

But it was worth it. Or, at least, that's what he likes to tell his hazed self.

And when his eyes close with the feeling of a warm, comforting presence beside him, it's almost believable.