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sttoru · 1 year ago

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⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you show your husband some affection, thinking you two were alone - only to be interrupted by your son.

tags. dad!toji fushiguro x wife!female reader. fluff, suggestive. mentions of toji developing / having a dad bod. & reader having a mom bod. reader gets called ‘princess, mama (by gumi)’. baby gumi waking up bcs of a nightmare. excuse me - not beta read bcs i was half asleep when writing this rt_t

“tooooji,” you smile as you enter the kitchen. you’ve put megumi to bed - finally - and have the chance to spend some one-on-one time with your dear husband. both of you deserve the rest after a hard day of work.

toji has been putting the dishes back in their designated spots whilst you were away. the dark-haired man turns his head to the side once he feels a pair of arms wrap around his waist. a small grin tugs at his lips, “missed me, princess?”

you roll your eyes. even if years have passed since your marriage, toji has not stopped using that specific nickname for you. he loves calling you ‘princess’, because that’s what you’ll always be to him. in his eyes, at least.

“mhm,” you decide to indulge him. you bury your face into his broad back, feeling the muscles he’s worked so hard on obtaining. after megumi was born, toji did let himself go for a bit, but that is a good sign.

it means he’s content with his life - this peaceful life that he’s settled down for with no regrets. no more being reckless, no more battling for money; he’s now got a family to come back home to after all.

“is the little brat asleep?” toji asks while putting the last dish away. he’s visibly enjoying your warm hands that have slid under his shirt. your skin is so soft to the touch compared to his.

you chuckle and nod to his question. “gumi’s sleeping like a baby,” you rub your husband’s stomach gently, feeling the little bumps of his fading abs. you’re loving his new body - just as much as toji loves yours.

toji turns around to face you, desperately needing to return the favor. he can’t get enough of being with you. his rough hands grab your waist and bring you closer against his body, until your chests are nearly touching. he lowers his head to your neck, “that means i can show my wife how much i love her, yeah?”

you shiver at how toji’s voice turns from soft and gentle to sexual and husky. big hands find their place on your tummy, massaging the loose skin with its stretch marks. you can hear your husband’s breath hitch. “fuck,” toji swallows his spit, his fingers moving to grasp your hips.

toji loves how your hips got wider after you’ve given birth to your child. every change in your body, whether big or small, is completely welcomed by him. your body has blessed toji with a son he loves and he’ll forever be grateful for that fact. the least he can do is take his time to appreciate you.

“so beautiful,” toji sighs as he leaves soft pecks on your neck and throat. his fingers are working their way down to your thighs and ass—not leaving a single patch of skin untouched. his lips eventually find yours and you melt into his embrace.

it’s getting heated and the tension is palpable. toji’s about to lift you into his arms when you catch a glimpse of a short figure in the doorway. your eyes widen and you immediately detach your lips from your husband’s.

toji quickly catches on and sighs. he cocks his head to the left, the sight of his toddler standing at the doorway coming into view. “damn kid,” he whispers, nearly pouting because of the interruption. you playfully slap his bicep—a warning to fix his potty mouth in front of megumi.

“h-hey, gumi,” you say with an awkward giggle, walking towards the child. you fix your shirt in the meantime, straightening the material. you crouch down to megumi’s level and pat his head tenderly, “what happened? why are you out of bed?”

megumi stares up at you with teary eyes. he’s clenching onto his dog plushie, hugging the stuffed animal to his little body. you can easily guess that he’s scared—probably because of a nightmare. he’s been getting those more frequently.

though, instead of explaining himself, megumi searches for answers to something else. he points at his dad who’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. the toddler then looks back at you like he’s made some big discovery;

“mama papa kissing!”

you nearly choke on your spit. megumi’s a clever little boy and it shows through his advanced vocabulary. you’re surprised that he’s learnt what that meant already. you try to deny what your child said, “no, uhm, mama and papa were just hugging!”

toji snorts at your half assed excuse. he lazily walks over to you two, hands in his pockets. he bends forwards and looks megumi in the eyes with a huge smirk on his face. “yeah, we were. ‘n you totally ruined it,” he utters without any shame and menacingly sticks his tongue out at the little boy.

you hiss and lightly shove toji—he cannot take anything seriously. you’re trying your best to distract megumi’s attention from what he’s seen his parents do, to what his reason is for waking up.

“did you have a nightmare again?” you coo and pick your son up. he instantly snuggles up to you and presses his face against your chest in search of comfort. you smile and can conclude that your assumptions are right.

you pet megumi’s head whilst softly humming one of his favorite lullabies. toji watches your interaction with his son and his mood softens once more. he silently hugs you from behind—also wrapping an arm around megumi—turning it into a little family group hug.

“y’re all right, buddy,” toji mutters to megumi and the little boy sniffles in response, “mama ‘n papa ‘re right here.”

after a couple minutes, you carry megumi back to his room before putting him down in his bed. your husband stands next to you as you make sure your kid is tucked in properly.

megumi stares up at you with a sniff and you nearly melt at the adorable sight. you brush his bangs out of his eyes and kiss his forehead, wishing him a good night. the toddler nods and hugs his plushie to his chest again, still a bit shaken up from the nightmare. however, he’s doing a lot better after he got comforted by both his parents.

“sweet dreams, gumi,” you whisper and rub megumi’s cheeks with a fond smile on your lips. toji simply stares at you conversing with megumi—his face showing little to no emotion. though, from within, toji is absolutely in awe at your motherly personality. you’re the perfect mother.

megumi gets drowsy and tosses onto his side so he could be more comfortable. he struggles to open his eyes, but manages to look at toji. the little boy pouts and points another finger at his dad, this time drowsily warning him, “papa no kiss mama, ‘kay?”

that comment catches you off guard. you’re embarrassed by the fact that megumi still remembers what he’s seen in the kitchen. you try to clear your throat and explain yourself, but toji’s one step ahead of you. he silently mimics megumi’s words and rolls his eyes—

“yeah yeah, whatever. i won’t,” toji promises his son. the toddler clearly inherited your husband’s protectiveness. you chuckle at the playfulness between the two, enjoying the jokey banter the father-son duo have each time.

megumi huffs in victory and nods. he can sleep in peace now, knowing his dad won’t try anything funny with you. he closes his weary eyes and is asleep within just a few seconds.

you stretch your arms and sigh in content. you can’t help but chuckle once you notice how megumi’s fallen asleep with a tiny smile on his lips. you give the child one last forehead kiss before leaving the room in silence.

toji follows right behind you. now that his son is sound asleep, he doesn’t have to keep his promise. technically— he wasn’t planning to anyway.

“c’mere,” your husband mumbles and grabs your hand. he pulls you into a tight hug, hands instantly roaming your body which he admires so much. he plants his lips onto yours not a second later.

you smile into the kiss, finding it funny how toji couldn’t keep his (fake) promise for even one second. he would die if he actually couldn’t kiss you, and that isn’t even an exaggeration.

toji pulls back after a moment and smirks at you—those bedroom eyes of his very telling.

“so, where were we?”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x you #toji x you #jjk fluff #toji fluff #jjk x y/n #toji x y/n #star divider by benkeibear

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catdia · 8 months ago

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Sevika with a Chubby S/o

Sevika loves bigger women, something about round tummies and thick thighs makes her go wild

calls you her peach because your nice and juicy

runs her fingers along your stretch marks, grabbing fistfuls of your flesh

chronic ass slapper and biter

uses your belly as leverage to fuck into you with her strap

constantly tells you that she wants to get you pregnant if she could

that you’ll make a great mama for her children

Sevika is much leaner and muscular, so whenever you get the chance you trace her abs with your finger tips

amazed by her raw powerful body you get an excuse to make her move furniture or heavy boxes

Silco adores you, so does Jinx. he asks Sevika how are you doing and genuinely cares about you (especially when you brought cookies for his daughter). because he has seen first hand what your relationship does to Sevika

got into a pretty nasty fight? Sevika punches his goons half to death. and looks even scarier than ever before

you patched up Sevika’s poncho after it got snagged on a broken window? he could almost see a sliver of a blush on her cheeks

his right hand woman has no idea the effect you have on her does she?

Sevika even toned down drinking and smoking

“my lady chews my ear off if I smell too much like a drive bar.”

you call her beautiful as you kiss her countless scars and rub the shoulder of her mechanical arm

“i’m everything but beautiful, doll.”

something primal takes over her as she sees how different your bodies are. you so soft and plush, her’s hard and brutal.

treats you like an absolute princess. buys you what ever you want. gives you what ever you want.

you are the one that cuts and styles her hair. she even asked you to shave her bald once and you had a heart attack.

Sevika plays dirty in card games. for every round she wins you take off a piece of clothing. one time she left you completely bare and you were pissed because you saw her cheat more than once.

ate your fat pussy out as a form of sorry

when she tells you to sit on her face, you SIT on her face

no “I’m too heavy” bullshit. if she couldn’t handle a little weight on her then she wouldn’t have the privilege of calling you her woman

and have you seen her?! Sevika is a tank. she can certainly handle herself (and you) more than anything

sleeps nude, with her chest pressed against your back and always a hand on your lower tummy

walks around the apartment shirtless all the time. flexes her arm when she catches you staring

uses your arm fat as a stress ball. It “makes her think better”. her words not mine

you patch her up after rough deals, crying and yelling at her for being too reckless. so selfish

Sevika kisses you. nose running down your neck, smelling your sweetness. she hates seeing you in pain. especially if it was caused by her

“i don’t like it when you cry.”

#arcane x reader #chubby reader #sevika #sevika x reader #arcane league of legends #arcane #sevika x you #vi x reader #caitlyn x reader #viktor arcane #jayce x reader #vander x reader #vander arcane #viktor league of legends #mel medarda #arcane silco #plus size reader #fat reader

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yandere-daydreams · 2 months ago

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tw - physical abuse, mentions of kidnapping, themes of marking/ownership. based on this ask.

Suguru has your name tattooed just below his collarbone.

It's subtle. Black ink pressed into neat kanji, bold lettering camouflaged behind the swirls and patterns of his other designs. Yours emerges from the back of a brilliant, white and blue dragon, while Satoru's hangs below, settled into the spiraling pupil of the dragon's eye. You try not to look for it. Really, you try not to look at him at all, but he makes it difficult - always forcing your hand against his chest, always asking you to read out the only names that have or will ever matter to him. It might be a little more romantic if he didn't seem so proud, if he didn't purr out his affirmations of love with quite so much self-satisfaction. He wants evidence of his claim to you, of his right to you, and what could be more telling than carrying your name so close to his heart?

Satoru wears two wedding rings.

Technically four, if you count the engagement bands he keeps on a delicate silver chain around his neck. It's embarrassing, honestly. He'd always been the one to propose - first to Suguru, when they were fresh out of high school, then to you, on the first anniversary of your abduction. The two of you aren't actually married (no, they'd never let you stray far enough from their countryside estate for that), but Satoru likes to pretend, and Suguru likes to indulge him. He calls you by all the right terms of endearment, brings home cake and flowers every few weeks for some invented milestone, whines when he finds your rarely-worn ring stuffed under the mattress or broken into pieces on the floor. He's always wanted something domestic, something mutual. Your continued imprisonment may eliminate any hope for the latter, but he can still try to nudge you towards the former.

They've both carved their names into you.

Suguru's, first, stretching over the small of your back. The lines are jagged, the scarring ugly and only just beginning to heal around the roughest patches. He did it on impulse - as a punishment for trying to run away, as proof that you'd never really be able to get away from them. He wanted to make himself a part of you, and in a way, he did.

Satoru's had to be inflicted later on, after weeks of building jealousy and off-handed comments about how unfair it would be to leave you so lopsided. His name was handled more with more care - engraved in your shared bedroom rather than the back of Suguru's car, using a proper scalpel rather than a rusted pocket knife. Suguru held you while Satoru did the dirty work, nuzzling into your tear-streaked cheeks and promising that they were only doing this because they loved you, because they had to make sure you knew who you belonged with. That did nothing to stop the pain, of course, almost as intense as the bitter hatred you feel every time Satoru presses a line of kisses up the length of your spine or Suguru settles a hand over the ruined mess of skin and flesh that you once called your own. Satoru holds up his rings to your scars, and Suguru offers to get another line of ink, and they try to convince you that you're all on equal ground. You're not, though. Obviously, you're not.

As violently as they refuse to admit it, Satoru can take off his rings, and Suguru can cover up his tattoos. Your claims to them can be removed, or hidden, and if they ever wanted to, they could leave, separate themselves, run.

For whatever reason, you just weren't given the same choice.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo satoru x reader #yandere geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #yandere gojo satoru

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thegr33nc0met · 3 months ago

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*drops this and runs*

Mark Grayson x healer!reader ♥︎

Warnings: NSFW, GN!reader/unspecified anatomy, reader’s a little mean, cumming in pants, canon typical violence

he was honestly the most insufferable person you had ever put up with.

yes, even more so than rex.

rex at least gave his all when he fought. he didn’t pull his punches or refuse to use his explosives because he felt it was ‘unfair.’ at least he had a valid reason for being in the space used as your office.

mark on the other hand…

you grumbled to yourself as you watched him on tv, clad in his new suit. you sighed in agitation as you watched the villain he was fighting fling him across the ground, leaving a meteor-like hole as he crashed.

great, another injury for you to fix. one he could have easily avoided if he had just taken this guy out.

but no. he has to pretend like he’s the good guy. it really drove you up the wall. everyone knew he was strong enough to finish half his fights in a fraction of the time it normally takes him, and he’d be finished without a scratch.

you flicked off the tv, too annoyed to watch anymore. you knew he’d just be here in a bit to have you heal up his cuts and bruises.

you’re a healer, having discovered your powers at a young age. well, healer was the nicest term you could have used. once cecil got whiff of you, he knew you were something he’d need to control if you were to ever give into those angry urges of yours. all organic matter was under your domain. he once saw you split a man in two, forcing his cells from one side to the other.

it’s not like you enjoyed it, though. you had always had what others referred to as a strong sense of justice, only using your powers to harm those who you thought really deserved it. that’s why cecil convinced you to be a healer at such a young age. you were 14 when you joined the teen team, but you never went out on the field. you simply patched the others up after a fight. you had seen the rise and fall of the team, along with the new guardians. now you were back at the old teen team compound, doing the same work you’d been doing the last few years.

yet despite being through multiple different groups of teams, mark had always been your number one client.

your nostrils flare as you recall the image of him getting injured on the tv. at first, you thought maybe you should feel bad for the guy. you never enjoyed seeing him get hurt. but after finding out what he was capable of and still seeing him hold back in the most dire of situations, it really boiled your blood.

the sound of the door to your office opening snapped you out of your thoughts. you audibly sighed as he limped inside, clutching his ribs as he struggled over to the medical gurney, wheezing as he took a seat without you having to instruct him to. a flash of worry trickled through you at the sight, but it was quickly replaced with anger.

mark knew you didn’t like him, or at least didn’t agree with his methods. he could hear your heart beat faster with anger whenever he showed up beaten and bloody.

you wordlessly step over to him, silently seething as he removed his mask with a grunt. his face was bloody and bruised, his left eye nearly swollen shut. you grimaced.

“happy to see me?” he managed to wheeze out, a shit eating grin on his face despite his pain.

“shut up if you want me to fix you,” you hissed, a hateful gleam in your eye. he was too out of it to tease much more, the pain in his face keeping him tamer than usual. you brought your hands up and loosely placed them on his neck, the only exposed bit of his skin you could reach. there was a low hum tugging somewhere in your body as you willed his cuts and bruises away. it took longer than it would any human, not used to his viltrumite dna quite yet to heal him as quickly as you could others despite doing this countless times. the silence stretched on, your eyes closed in focus. you could feel each and every one of his cells flexing and pulsating beneath your touch.

“just say it,” mark sighed, sensing the mean thoughts he knew you’d unleash on him one way or another.

“you’re a fucking idiot.” he grinned at that, a soft puff of air coming out through his nose in a lazy sort of laugh. “do you understand how many more people are gonna get hurt because of you?” you hiss.

“okay, ouch…” he mutters halfheartedly, wincing as a cut fuses back together.

“and look at you. it’s honestly pathetic,” you spit out, clenching your teeth. “it’s almost like you enjoy being in here.”

something swirls in his lower gut, his breath hitching at your words. it’s such a small noise that you don’t even notice. you keep trying to focus on getting the swelling around his eye to go down.

he knows once you’re start, you can’t stop though. you hurl insults at him as you fix his wounds, your fingers digging slightly into the flesh of his neck. he’s breathing heavier, but you blame it on the healing. you hardly even notice the flush on his face as you continue degrading him.

“…and if you had any self respect, you wouldn’t show your face in here,” you finished, the last of his wounds disappearing as if they were never even there to begin with. you finally take your hands off his neck and the loss of contact makes him whimper. the sound catches you off guard, your eyes flying open. it’s then you notice the flush on his cheeks, the way his pupils are so dilated they nearly swallow his iris’ whole, the heavier breathing.

“mark-“ you start, your eyes flicking over his body rapidly before they land on the very prominent bulge in his suit.

“fuck…” he sighs, a fresh wave of hot humiliation clogging his atoms.

“you need help fixing that as well?” before you can even think to regret the words, he’s nodding his head, a bit too eagerly.

you really shouldn’t be taking pity on him. you should keep berating him, tell him he’s sick for enjoying this so much. but instead, you spread his thighs and step between them, closer than before. his hands are on your hips in an instant, a needy noise leaving his mouth.

“stay still,” you tell him. he nods, watching as you hesitantly bring your hand to the lump in his suit.

“fuck…” he breathes out once more, his hips twitching to meet your touch.

“i said stay still,” you say more firmly than before, gripping the outline of his cock tighter. he whines softly, nodding his head as he brings a hand up to quiet himself.

you swallow nervously. the sight of him like this is really doing something to you. you hadn’t really ever considered yourself as super powerful before, but seeing one of the strongest men on the planet crumbling in on himself all because your hand is cupping his crotch through his suit…

it makes you feel high.

maybe this is why he always let himself get beat down. maybe he enjoyed it just a little too much. maybe he liked being weak.

the thought made you pity him. you moved your hand faster against his cock, making him mewl and squirm on the cot. you bring your other hand to the back of his head, encouraging him to rest his forehead on your shoulder. he obediently does so, fighting his urge to buck up into your hand.

you can’t bring yourself to speak up, only the sounds of his whimpers and the creaking of the medical cot filling your office. you can feel the wet patch on the crotch of his suit against your hand now. he’s so painfully hard beneath the damp fabric.

“oh god, oh fuck…” mark grunts, his eyes rolling back. “gonna cum, fuck!” he whines.

“yeah?” you whisper, your voice wavering. “you’re doing so good for me,” you tell him, almost gently.

oh, that really does it. the slightest bit of praise. his noises get louder, his body bucks and writhes uncontrollably as it builds up.

“oh! f-fuck!” he grunts before letting out a series of high pitched moans and whimpers. you feel him tense and tremble against you, feeling the fabric getting wetter beneath your hand as he explodes in his suit. he pants softly as you slow your hand, letting him come down from his high. you stand there for a moment, petting the back of his head like one might a cat before slowly disentangling yourself from him.

he watches you dazedly as you take a step back, his eyes still glossed over with lust. undeniably, the way he looks at you makes you flustered. it’s too intense. you give a light smack to his thigh, making him flinch (knowing damn well it didn’t hurt).

“welp, you’re all healed up, champ,” you tell him, doing your damn best to avoid looking at those eyes that’ll just suck you right in if you let them. “get outta here…” you say, thumbing to the door as you step to the side. something flickers across his face - a pout, almost - before he neutralizes his features and sighs. he turns his head to look at you, narrowing his eyes before a smirk spreads across his lips and he stands.

“see you tomorrow?” he asks, though you know it’s not a question. you just hum in response, watching the way his hips move as he walks towards the door, waddling slightly from the mess in his suit.

what the fuck just happened?

this was heavily inspired by @swtheartz healer stories! go check out his blog♥︎

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #invincible x reader #invincible x you #mark grayson #invincible #sub mark grayson

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alanisstonedd · 3 months ago

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mile high mackin'

NFL!ONY x black!reader

cw: MDNI smut with a very small side of plot, exhibitionism, fingering, cussing, p in v, cum eating, choking, dirtay talkin

an: i feel like this def deserves the sickening all nighter i pulled writing it. enjoy this meal baddies!!! kisses

.....yall join the mile high club with a QUICKNESS on a late night flight back home for the incoming season.....

like a thug - latto ft. lil durk

as your eyes threaten to close in the dim cabin of the red-eye, a deep, settled warmth washes over you. the soft hum of the plane, the plush first-class seat, the comforting scent of ony’s cologne still clinging to your skin—it all lulls you into a hazy state of contentment.

your mind drifts back to the last few days, the heat of the sun on your skin, the glimmer of crystal-clear water, the indulgent taste of tropical drinks melting on your tongue. and him. ony, with his hands all over you, fucking you senseless in your private villa, making sure you never went more than a few hours without feeling him stretch you out. the thought sends a dull throb between your thighs, a phantom ache that lingers even now, stuck on this plane, headed back to reality.

a small pout tugs at your lips. the reprieve is over. soon, he’ll be back in the throes of football season, grueling practices, late nights at the gym, traveling most of the time. but instead of dreading the time apart, a strange jittery anticipation buzzes in your veins. watching him in his element, seeing the way the world practically worships him—it does something to you. and god, the way he dotes on you after games, all sore and pent-up aggression, fucking you slow and deep, like he needs it just as much as the air in his lungs.

you shift slightly in your seat, the thought sending a slow heat curling through your belly. some movie ony picked plays on the screen in front of you, but you’re hardly paying attention. your body is still sensitive, still pliant from the days spent tangled in the soft villa sheets, and he knows it too. you feel the weight of his gaze before you even turn your head.

and when you do—when you see the way his heavy-lidded eyes drop to your lips, licking his own in anticipation. the way his thick fingers flex on his thigh like he’s fighting the urge to touch you—you already knowin'.

the movie was nothing but flickering light now, simply forgotten background noise to the real show he's putting on under the blanket. the dim cabin gave ony just enough cover to get reckless—his thick fingers dragging slow, torturous strokes up and down the wet patch soaking through your leggings, teasing, barely pressing where you needed him.

"ony, i swear-" you shift in your seat, thighs threatening to clamp shut, but his other hand rests heavy on your knee, keeping you wide open for him. "uh-uh," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement, lips ghosting over the curve of your jaw. "be good, baby. let me feel you."

"ony- wait-" your breath shudders out of you as he finally slips lower, slipping past the waistband of your leggings, fingertips grazing your clit. the first real touch is so light, so taunting, it makes you jump, your nails digging into his thigh.

"mmm, she hot," ony groans under his breath, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, knowing whisper. "so wet fa me already. i was already knowin' baby."

you bite your lip so hard you swear you taste blood, but it’s useless—the second he slides two thick fingers into you, stretching you open under the blanket, your body reacts. your hips jolt forward, seeking more, your hand blindly finding him, and fuck, he’s throbbing, thick and heavy under his sweats.

"shit, ma," he breathes, gritting his teeth when you squeeze him through the fabric, his fingers inside you curling deep in retaliation. his mouth drops to your throat, mouthing at your pulse, sucking just hard enough to leave the faintest mark. "you feel that? how hard you got me?"

his hips rocked into your palm, pressing into your touch while his fingers fucked you open, his palm pressing against your clit just enough to make your hips twitch, chasing the high sitting right on the edge.

your nails dig into his leg as he works his fingers inside you with purpose, slow but deep, dragging along every nerve, every soft, soaked spot. the slick filthy sound of it is barely muffled under the hum of the plane, and when he presses his thumb to your clit, rubs it slow, firm—

your whole body tenses. fuckkkkk — you can feel it, the heat coiling, the pressure building, your stomach tightening as you chase it—

and then he’s gone.

his fingers slip out with a wet, obscene sound, leaving you aching, throbbing, clenching around nothing. a whimper catches in your throat, your eyes snapping to his, dark and hungry, his chest rising heavy with restraint.

he takes those same fingers, slick and shiny from you, and sucks them into his mouth. his tongue drags between them, slow, messy slurps and sucks, his eyes fluttering shut like he’s losing himself in your taste. his eyes roll back, body relaxing into the seat, thighs parting in a deep manspread to give you more space to work at him over his clothes.

a deep, wrecked groan rumbles from his chest as he pulls them out with a pop, thumb swiping across his lower lip like he’s trying to savor every drop. like he could get drunk off you.

he leaned in, lips brushing your ear, voice so deep and wrecked it made your stomach tighten. "bathroom." your thighs squeezed together, still throbbing, still aching for more as your hand kept stroking him under the blanket.

it’s not a request. it’s a command. low. gravelly.

you think you see his tongue darting out to catch the last of you on his lips as you scramble out of your seat, your body shaking as you bolt for the vacant bathroom.

you don’t breathe until you make it safely, letting out a ragged breath as soon as the cramped bathroom door shuts. you face the mirror, very clearly reflecting your wrecked state—face flushed, lips swollen, pupils blown, darkened patch between your thighs.

you’re sure anyone who saw you would immediately know that you were getting wrecked in that seat. before you could pep-talk some sense into yourself, the door swings open and ony quickly slips in behind you, locking it without a second thought.

"nah, you lookin’ too good," he rumbles, lips dragging along your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. his hungry, hooded eyes lock on yours in the mirror, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you watch him.

his massive frame dwarfs yours, and you feel him everywhere—his chest pressing to your back, his hands already claiming your hips, his print throbbing against your ass. "should’ve known you was tryna set me up," he mutters, hands greedy as they explore, squeezing your thighs, palming your already ruined core. your head tips back onto his broad shoulder, a soft, shaky groan slipping past your lips.

"you're crazy as fuck for this. we could get banned, ony—"

he chuckles, low and wicked, dragging his teeth over the shell of your ear before grinding into you harder, making you gasp. "mmhm… but... look at you, baby." his fingers dig into your flesh, hips rolling against you, rocking you back against his aching cock, grinding hard, letting you feel every inch of what’s waiting for you. "soakin’ through these lil’ leggings. you ain’t think this through, huh? lettin’ me rub on you like that, knowin’ damn well what im on?"

his huge palm splays over your belly, pressing you back into his heat, the other snaking under your top, gripping, kneading—pulling your tits free like he owns them. the contrast of the cold air on your heated skin makes you whimper, but his hands? pure fire. "mmhm, there we go," he rasps against you, rolling your stiff nipples between his fingers. "know you love when i touch you like this."

"we gon need a jet if this is finna be a thing—fuck, ony—" your words dissolve into a choked moan as his fingers dip, press, circle your throbbing clit just right.

"baby," he soothes, voice molten, all gravel and heat as he slowly tugs your leggings down. "relax. imma make my woman feel good wherever i see fit."

his lips trail fire down your shoulder, broad hands spreading you open before he pulls you flush against his clothed length. "mmmm.. shit…" ony licks his lips, his massive frame pressing you into the counter. his tongue flicks over his lips as he smacks your ass, the sound obscene in the tiny space. "imma tear this lil’ pussy up."

"ony—" you hiss, whipping your head to shush him, but the second you part your lips, his thick mushroom tip is already breaching your clenching entrance, stretching you wide.

"fuck, mama—" his voice shudders, thick fingers digging into your hips as he bullies his way inside, your dripping heat pulling him deeper with every slow, deliberate roll of his hips. "so fuckin’ tight… gon make me lose my damn mind."

your hands scramble for purchase, one finding the nape of his neck, the other bracing against his thick thigh. the stretch, the ache, the way his cock pulses inside you—it’s too much, but entirely not enough.

"ohhh—fuck—"

ony growls, low and dangerous, a hand snaking up to grip your throat, pulling your back against his chest, free hand palming your bouncing tits "mhm. look at you now." his voice is taunting, dripping with hunger as his other hand gathers your hair, yanking your head to the side so his lips can graze your ear. "whinin’ for me like you wasn’t talkin’ shit just a second ago." he rasps, licking along your pulse, watching you come apart for him in the mirror.

his hips snap, punching his cock deeper, and you choke on your own breath, nails biting into his skin.

"you gon’ be quiet, or imma have to make you?" his lips brush your earlobe, hot breath fanning over your fevered skin. he smirks against your jaw when you start fucking yourself back on him without even thinking. you try to nod, but you’re too gone, your body already begging for more.

"yeah, that’s what i thought." he grins, tongue licking into your open mouth as he pulls you deeper onto him, making your eyes roll back. "i better not hear a peep ma."

he pops the "p" before he slams into you, the pace brutal from the jump—thick cock stretching you to capacity, his heavy balls smacking your swollen clit with every filthy thrust, strong features furrowed in concentration.

your knees threaten to buckle, your grip on the sink useless against the force of his thrusts.

ony must sense it because a thick arm wraps around your waist, hauling you back against him as his hand slides from your throat to your mouth.

"keep it quiet, bae" he grits out, his fingers dipping into your open mouth, pressing down on your tongue. you moan around them, eyes rolling back as his pace turns brutal, his hips punching into you like he’s got something to prove.

the clap, clap, clap of your ass against his rock-solid abs is obscene, but your whines around his fingers continue to grow louder by the second, loud enough that ony growls, hand clamping over your mouth. "shhh, baby… i thought you was scared? huh? you want them knowin’ how deep i am?"

"m' sorry baby" you whimper into his palm, thighs trembling, pleasure crashing over you in waves.

"that’s right," he coaxes, relentless, ruthless. "gon’ cum f’me? give me that pretty pussy? his voice is deep, rough, damn near feral in your ear.

hes merciless, dragging that fat cock against every aching, pulsing part of you, splitting you open like he owns you. the obscene squelch of your soaked cunt clings to the small space, mixing with his ragged breathing and the heavy slap of skin-on-skin. his grip on your waist is bruising, fingers digging so deep you’ll feel him there tomorrow. maybe longer.

"yeahh- gimme allat."

"fuckkk—i’m gonna—"

"mmm, cum, mama," he orders, pulling his hand from your mouth to shove three fingers through the creamy ring of slick coating his base. he licks them clean, groaning, before he shoves them between your panting lips.

"you like how that taste?" his eyes are wild, obsessed, watching as you suck his fingers like you’re starving, moaning around them as he pounds into you unforgivingly.

the heat crawling up your spine reaches a boiling point, your pussy clamping down so tight that ony grunts, biting into your shoulder, chasing his own violent release.

a hand slides up to your throat, squeezing, forcing your back to arch, forcing your fucked-out gaze to meet his in the mirror.

"look at you, ma. drenched. this shit all mine, huh?” he smacks your swollen clit, and your whole body jerks, a desperate whimper spilling past your lips. “tell me. say it, baby.”

your tongue is thick, your brain scrambled, but you manage to moan out a slurred, “all yours, baby. all yours—fuck!”

“that’s my girl,” he grunts, his fingers slipping lower, pressing against your stomach, feeling himself deep inside you. “shit—feel that? feel me right there, baby? you tryna squeeze me out, huh? nah, take it. take this dick, fuck—”

white-hot pleasure crashes over you, your walls clamping down as ony lets out a deep, wrecked groan, hips stuttering as he fills you to the brim.

you feel every inch of him, stuffing his cum deep inside you - his hips stuttering, curses muffled into your damp skin as he shudders, still grinding deep to make sure every drop stays where it belongs.

"fuck… baby…" his hands are possessive, roaming your spent body as he tenderly kisses the side of your face, both of you still trembling.

you watch him smirk down at where you two meet, pulling out slowwwww, watching the mess drip down your thighs. "yeah… we gon’ need that jet asap."

you chuckle as he cleans you both up, spinning to face him once you both are decent, "damn right. better get on that big daddy." you quip with a slap to his chest, as you head back to your seat, his smirk never leaving you through the steamed bathroom mirror.

hope y'all liked this! likes and reblogs and all the rest much appreciated!!!

xoxo, lana 💋💋💋

#lana.writes 🖍#i love him #ony x black reader #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x black reader smut #ony smut #ony x you #onyankopon x reader #aot onyankopon #aot x black reader #attack on titan x reader #ony x reader #aot smut #ony x y/n #onyankopon smut #onyankopon x you #aot x reader #onyankapon

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redcherrykook · 4 months ago

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──── ๋࣭ ⭑ one time for the present ! ( a & s )

‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿

↳ part of 𝓦𝓗𝓘𝓢𝓚𝓔𝓨 ꩜ .ᐟ

❝ [ husband!Jungkoook universe] ¡! ❞

✎ summary: angry sex with your possessive husband. spanking, lil degradation (slut, cockslut, whore) , possessive!Jungkook, dacryphilia, marking, rough sex, THIS IS TOXIC YES OK. hand restraints with belt, aftercare

note from cherry: #needthat again ughhhh. i managed to write again, i hate not being able to live out my passion, burnout is real

‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿

Jealousy is an ugly emotion.

It seeps through the cracks of your secure attachment, stains it the rotten red color of anger- makes your blood run cold, your warm fingers itch for destruction. Become weapons that scratch upon the surface of your moisturized skin, open a space for your veins to release their contents.

But jealousy does not last forever.

Catching the reflection of your golden wedding ring- the bond you swore to take to your grave on the happiest day you have ever- will ever have, just its small glimmer, proceeded by the streaks of leaving gentle kisses of reassurance on it, that is sufficient to wash away the sin. Regain control of your mind- exhale, if you will.

Sometimes you wish jungkook would be jealous,

"You´re not moving until i say so" you yelp quietly at his growl, knowing the bruises on your knees are here to say once they push into the hardwood below, your chest presses straight into the side of the bed. Morals fade into the same hues of purple that surface your skin in agonizing slowness. Ruthlessly, your husband hikes up your black mini skirt, exposing the back of your thighs to his narrowed gaze,

"Fucking slut, you´re pussy´s drippin´ love pissing me off? Gets you nice and wet for cock?" he presses four of his finger flat against your cunt, roughly sliding them against the soaked cotton.

While it may seem like he is, the thing that surges his anger, makes him tick like a flicker held up to gasoline- that, it reached far too deep to be jealousy. Grabbed his heart in a caged hold no one has seen the key of, digging its daggers into every blood vessel, seeking control.

You belong to jungkook. The seams that neatly attach your every fiber to his soul, they´re tight. Unbreakable, nonetheless, he could feel them burst whenever someone else- someone without his approval, took it to themselves to linger a hand on you, friendly or not, it wasn´t theirs to touch. No one should know what your skin feels like under their fingertips, how the smooth feel compliments the gentle vanilla scent radiating from it.

"aah- please i´m sorry baby" you whine, biting an imprint of your teeth into your swollen lower lip as he spanks your sensitive skin, hooks his fingers into the lace to reveal your seashell to him, before spanking the glistening delicate vulnerability between your thighs again, twice more. The slap vibrates on your clit, thrums you with joys of poisonous excitement, the same vile wrongness that strains jungkook´s cock against his black jeans, makes his pulse quicken.

"You´re gonna be sorry baby, this body´s mine, pussy´s all mine" he gropes at you reddened cheeks with his calloused palms. Stretches and kneads the flesh as if to ground himself in your body, cement himself into every exposed patch of you- you hear him scoff, the droplet of slick tumbling between your thighs must´ve caught his attention. Jungkook´s grunts, the rough sound of leather being messed with fills up your ears- he´s taking his belt off.

"Gonna make sure you can do nothing but take how i´m gonna fuck every last drop into you, make you remember who the fuck you belong to, understand?" his words slip through gritted teeth, you become so small under his dominating presence, nod meekly at his request because the idea is simply so arousing that the attempt of talking back dies down in your throat- squeezed tightly by the utter obedience you need to give him.

Your husband tugs both your arms behind your back, holding your smaller wrists into his hand, the tension in your shoulders makes you whimper quietly "Words, need to know you´re still with me" he says, momentairly sobering up from his drunken focus, "understand" you say in that weak, submissive voice of yours - and it´s all he needs to slip back in.

Your femininely manicured hands fling into the tight enclosure of his black leather belt, wrapped tightly around the skin, far, far beyond the last punched hole. He knotted it twice, making sure it sits without a chance to budge. Twisted pleasure of your masochistic tendencies and the guilt of his actions mix with the way you seem to moan at the sensation of the smooth material restarining you. He pulls once, testing to see your shoulder blades flex, how the curve of your back gets dragged into him erotically while your hardened nipples rub against the bed.

A sight for him, him only, he thinks to himself. Truth- nasty, unrelenting truth be told, the absolute power he felt over your- his wifes- vulnerable, bruised body, knowing it was laid out in his palm to make you shiver, make you cum over and over again, sprinkle your dew of love to your promised lover- it was what he needed. Physically, mentally, Jungkook craved to possess you. Set reminders over and over again that it was soley him, the sound of his growly honey voice, the shape of his heavy cock, moulding your walls to take every thick inch- him, that could make you feel like this.

"Jungkook, s´too tight" you mumble, snapping him out of his thoughts. He reciprocates with a cocky laugh, rubbing his digits along your exposed cunt, zeroing to your wet panties clinging around your unstable knees, "Too bad, you´re little slut though, I´m sure you can take it can´t you?" he awaits your answer, pumping his stiff and leaking cock right behind your dripping entrance, the lewd noise makes you whimper, wishing you could see how good he looks with his length in his hand. "Can take it for you, only you"

Just as the last syllable leaves your mouth, he shoves his entire girth into you, wastes no time by pulling you back into him by the belt, forces you to meet the loud slaps of his pelvis connecting to you. Your husband isn´t oblivious to your manipulative undertone, giving in to what he desired to hear- you´re his. He had to show it to you again, plunge it into your system with the present of an overwhelming orgasm but- what use would it be if you knew you belonged to him? He knew, cat and mouse- you test his limits to run away, have him chase you, find punishment in the corners of mind that he´d rather lock away- keep hidden to contain the urges to a minimum. He knew you push him: just to get pushed back twice as hard.

His thrust start deep, harshly burying himself into your tightness- the warmth engulfs his senses recklessly. His narrowed eyes roll back in an instant- the pornographically beautiful sight of your arch, plump red flesh of your ass meeting his hips is alluring as much as it infuriates him- he wishes to drink in every glimpse of your body- watch his soaked cock disappear into your stretched hole- but his eyes are occupied with your spine- your bound wrists scraping the leather, your waist- he´s obsessed with the every fraction of your revealed body- with you. It belongs to him, he chants in his head- mine,mine,mine.

"Feels so good- you´re so big kook- so good to me" you stumble out, sinfully engaging in his controlling ego that longs for your praise- "Yeah? Am fucking my tight- shiit- tiny pussy so well"

It evoked something raw in him earlier that night- when your coworker Jaehyun rested a friendly arm on your lower back as you passed a group of people, your eyes instantly found your husbands. He send you a knowing glare- the line has been crossed, there was no need for a yellow card, a warning anymore. Deciding if it already came this far- you should push his buttons further. Dive deeper into the punishment you´d have to face under the tangle of your marridal sheets. The dice has been rolled. Turn to Jaehyun, smile- thank him. Almost innocently, but Jungkook knew better. Turn back to meet your husbands gaze again, find him clenching his jaw, just what you wanted. Just what had led you here- back hurting, covered in sweat that represents his utter force, driven by the very thing he tries to lock away- tries to stop from coloring his heart deep red.

"Oh fuck kook- s´too deep" you cry out desperately, a tingling burn spreads over your exhausted shoulders, dripping down the pebbled buds that furiously rub against the bed, travels down your ribs, reaches the throb of your untouched clit. Jungkook´s cock dips into you, bottoming his fat tip out before pushing all the way back in- meeting your spongey g-spot with vigour, pushes and pushes- your throat burns with the restless moans that pool out alongside your spit, decorating the corner of your mouth.

"You´re such a whore, look at you whining over your husbands cock- fuck baby, let another man touch you- he could never make you feel like this- ´could never fill your cunt like I can" The current of his anger releases into you as he leans his torso forward- connects the hard lines of his abdomen to your breakable bound arms, it crashes over you like a wave so all consuming you can´t help but want to drown in it- lose your breath to the sting of his teeth digging into your shoulder, "belong to me, tell me, you´re mine. fucking mine every inch" he commands, groans loudly as he sucks another array of purple hues into your body, his wedding ring adorned hand clasps around your strained throat, tilting your parted mouth up to be able to listen to the words sloppily roll off your tongue- "You- belong to you Jungkook- haa-ah, fuckin´ yours baby" The hint of desperation in your helpless devotion makes him bite down into your soft skin once more- he reverts back to his original position, pumps himself into your abused cunt, hands flinging to your hips, delivers another harsh slap to your cheek- ounces of his frustration flow to his head, overtake his ability to remain in control of how he fucks you, feeds every drop of his feelings for you to swallow "thaat´s right, my fuckin´ cockslut, mine- he could never fuck you like this- shiit look at those bruises baby"

Although your vision doesn´t reach the depths of your marked skin, it is impossible to dismiss the burn, the shake of your thighs giving out underneath you- the sting of his overflowing love rooted into your shoulder with his finalization of a bite imprint- you´re bounded- behind your back by your hands, by his suffocating personality that you willingly indulge in because there is no reassurance much like the awareness of being owned- held captive by a beautifully fucked up, deep red heart, one that compliments your longing to be kept treaure forever.

"Hold it f´m you hear me? you´re not coming yet" you drop your head against the bed, unable to hold up the tension any longer but it still runs down your spine- not for long, Jungkook´s hand grasps a fistful of your messy hair into his hand, yanks you back to curve into him deeper- "shiiit baby, yeah- you´re so fuckin´ good for your husband" he growls, spiraling at the softest sniffles that he barely manages to notice between loud whines of his name- but he does, somehow increases the pace of his hips pistoning into you from behind, slaps his tight balls against your swollen clit- more, deeper- he throbs and throbs, feels your walls sucking him in so fucking well because you´re clinging at the scraps of being good for him- "Jungkook fuck- please, please" you beg and the slight crack in your tearful sweetness makes him snap, he´s weak at the bottom of his knees- realizing that you have him wrapped around your finger, dignity tied to your tears, your voice, your body and fuck; every plea. "Come with me baby, so good, my fuckin´ wife, my good little slut"

There´s not much that fades into your now purified wishes, compareable to your vision spotting at the intensity of your own tantalizing orgasm, synced with your husband pulsating length that paints your walls white- hips stuttering with a prolonged groan- the remainders of your foolish plan wash away, carried by the previous roaring of his pleasure, returned to the peaceful tide- disguised as Jungkook´s hands untying the belt, his strong arms sneaking around your stiff torso.

"Ssh baby, m´here" he whispers, drawing soothing circles on the gentle softness of your stomach, his swollen lips kiss apologies into your neck, painting over the colored bruises he left in his hunger.

"I love you baby, i love you so much" the words set you down in his loving, graceful hold, he flips you around, kisses your tear stained cheeks- lifts you to bed and cradles your head to his chest- fingers massaging into the spot where he pulled you closer with rage and lust. His pure white heart aches at the scraped, red skin that lines your wrists- the leather had cut into it a bit. "Oh god sugar, i- i shouldn´t have done it so fastened, does it hurt a lot? do you wanna slap me?" he asks- seriously so with those doe eyes that swell in affection- you smile lazily, kiss his cheek as a silent acceptance of his equally silent apology. "Don´t be silly, it´s okay baby" you say, nuzzling into the wet skin of his tired neck, "I love you"

"I love you more sugar. Can i see your butt? wanna make sure it´s okay" you giggle, turn around obediently and he lets out a miniature sigh of relief.

"looks good" he says, softly grazing the aroused skin with his knuckles,

"thank you" you chuckle, rubbing your nose to the flattened tip of his own, he smiles, leans in to kiss you- sealing once again, you belong together.

#redcherrykook #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #𝓦𝓗𝓘𝓢𝓚𝓔𝓨 ꩜ .ᐟ #jungkook angst

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bi-writes · 1 year ago

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ghost is off limits. not just emotionally or romantically, but physically. you have seen the aftermath of when someone so much as bumps into him or brushes past his arm in a tight hallway. they learn very quickly that lieutenant riley isn't to be touched, not even a little, not at all. (18+)

ohhhh but not for the medic. your touch is clinical. necessary. ordered. ghost glares, but he does not tell you to go away when you make your way into captain price's office. it's late; they just touched down not even ten minutes ago, exhausted and burdened by an op that took a few weeks of their absence.

he smells like sweat, like grime, and you can taste the sand in the air when you take a seat next to him. even seated, he is taller than you. he takes up a ridiculous amount of space, dwarfing the office chair he sits in. you set your kit down on your captain's desk, turning to face your lieutenant.

"uhm...could you show it to me?"

he huffs in annoyance before he pulls his tactical vest over his head, tossing it onto the floor. you swallow, blinking, focusing, as he unzips the jacket he wears and lets it fall at his feet. your lips part a little as he reveals the strength of his arms, tight muscles straining against the shirt he wears and showing off the sleeve of ugly military tattoos that are sunburnt along one arm.

gorgeous, giant man, but then your eyes take interest on the nasty gash along one arm, a jagged wound that stretches nearly from shoulder to elbow. it looks angry and irritated, much like the look in his eyes.

when you put your hands on him for the first time, he flinches. not because he is in pain, but the feeling of skin against skin is so foreign, like a wound of its own. you blink up at him, soft and sweet, and you show him your hands, what you're doing with them.

"just going to clean it out and stitch you up, lieutenant. promise i won't take too long."

but he likes it. the way your soft palm cups his scarred forearm, running a cloth over the lines of blood that trace along the length to his wrist and drip onto the floor. the warm drag of your fingers pushing his skin together so you can hook the needle through and stitch him up solid and effectively. those easy, gentle strokes, threading through skin as you would hem a skirt, a pattern that you have not forgotten that is now being weaved onto his very body.

he'll wear your stitch pattern like a patch he has so dutifully earned. and you will wear his marks just the same, yes she will, the good girl that she is.

when you finish, he grunts, flexing his fist to gauge the tautness of his skin and the way the wound burns as he stretches his arm. he tilts his head to the side, glaring. your hands rest easy there, still pressed up against him, and he nods at you expectantly.

"open y'r mouth, sergeant."

and you do. because he's your lieutenant, and he has given you an order. he hikes his mask up, revealing a disgusting grin and the sharp edge of a torn lip, a face mangled beyond recognition. when he spits in your mouth, he tastes just as you expected--like sand and smoke.

"now swallow."

and you do, but not because he's your lieutenant, it's something else, something more. not afraid, but intrigued, somehow not put off, but needing sustenance.

when he crowds you in the infirmary later that night, you don't understand. you don't understand the sudden need to touch, the way he grips your ass, the nasty way he bites at your jaw and pushes your pants down your thighs and puts his cock between your thighs.

he promises he won't fuck you, promises he'll be nice this time, but it's hard to discern between reality and heaven when he lets the tip catch on your clit with every frantic stroke. you squeak with every rough thrust, pressing your ass against his pelvis as you arch your back, wanting to see his face, wanting to kiss him, wanting to make this tender and soft and a little romantic, but that isn't ghost.

ghost is mean. ghost isn't a giver, he's a taker. ghost is made of sharp edges only, broken glass on all sides, it's such a shame his cock is so nice and so big and so good, lieutenant, please, i need it--

"need more," is what you beg, even though you know he can't give it to you. you know, but he does it anyway, he slips a big hand between your thighs and opens you up, and you cry when he finally sinks deep, hoisting you up, your back tight against his chest as he learns how quiet the voices in his head are when he's so deep in your pretty, pretty pussy.

he slips another hand around your throat, baring it, giving himself room so he can bite at your neck and lick over the salt and brand you with the evidence of the reprieve he refuses to give, but you don't care, all you can do is smile.

you know his secrets now, the things he would never tell, the things he can't say out loud.

it's almost frightening that you don't really care if he has to kill you to keep you quiet.

#if the last thing i do before i die is fuck simon riley then this life was worth it 🤠#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon thoughts #dark!ghost

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dksfml · 8 months ago

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off my face - yjw

pairing: jungwon x reader genre: soulmate au, mega FLUFF word count: 6.6k summary: in a world where each person has a soulmate mark indicating where they will be touched by their soulmate for the first time, there’s jungwon—the soccer team captain you’d like to be ruined by forever—who has no soulmate mark at all. what does that make you, someone whose mark has changed color because of him? author's note: finally!! here's your most awaited blond jungwon fic that i skipped sleep for<3333 inspired by this amazing prompt my friend sent me.

One touch and you got me stoned. Higher than I've ever known. You call the shots and I follow. Sunrise, but the night still young. No words, but we speak in tongues. If you let me, I might say too much.

You sat near the front row, posture perfect, eyes narrowed as Professor Min’s lecture on ancient mythology took a surprising turn. Today’s topic wasn’t just history—it was soulmate lore, the mysterious marks everyone was born with, and the myths that surrounded them. The professor’s calm, seasoned voice filled the room, but the air buzzed with barely contained excitement. Everyone was alert, even the usual back-row whisperers, captivated by the promise of something rare: a sanctioned discussion about their most private marks.

“These soulmate marks,” Professor Min began, his gaze sweeping the room with a faint smile, “are said to be the final traces of a bond forged in a past life. Legends tell us that in each lifetime, we may be separated from our soulmates, lost to distance or circumstance. But the marks,” he gestured to his own faintly darkened palm, “are said to be the soul’s way of leaving a trail—a reminder.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Everyone had a mark, a small patch of inky darkness, as distinct as fingerprints, mapped out on their bodies. Some had them on their palms or fingertips, waiting for the day a handshake or brush of fingers would light up that mark with color. Others had them in more curious places, whispering of fated touches in the most unlikely moments.

"The legend says," Professor Min continued, "that these marks were painted by one’s soulmate in a past life, a vow made in hopes to meet again, to find each other across time."

You clenched your pen a little tighter, the faint tickle of wonder battling the urge to keep your expression blank and unfeeling. You’d always kept your interest in soulmate marks private. They seemed so full of mystery, and the idea of your soulmate waiting for you somewhere was oddly… reassuring. You glanced down, conscious of the mark behind your knee, hidden like a strange secret that even you could barely understand. What kind of first touch would even reach there? The thought was both amusing and baffling, and you stifled a wry smile.

Around you, other students leaned in to chat, loud enough that their conversations blended into a steady hum. Your classmate Arin nudged her friend, laughing as she displayed the faint mark on her palm. “I’ve been dying to know who’ll shake my hand one day,” she whispered excitedly, her eyes glimmering with hope.

But your gaze drifted just beyond Arin, landing instead on a familiar figure lounging in the middle row with his legs stretched out, looking every bit like he was born to disrupt things without lifting a finger. Jungwon. Handsome in a way that seemed almost unfair, with striking, dark eyes framed by lashes that cast subtle shadows on his cheeks, and hair the color of midnight that fell in soft, tousled waves. He had this effortless, magnetic presence that drew people toward him, like he knew he didn’t need to try.

As captain of the soccer team and one of the most well-known faces on campus, Jungwon somehow managed to look both sharp and relaxed, as if the attention his looks or reputation brought him meant nothing. You’d been crushing on him since last year, an avid fan always present at his games, cheering him on like a lovesick fool. Whenever he scored a goal, you felt your heart leap, and you couldn’t help but unleash your inner fangirl, your excitement spilling over as you screamed his name. Right now, he seemed half-listening to his friends, a hint of a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back, eyes drifting up to the ceiling before refocusing on his friends. It was that easygoing confidence that made him impossible not to notice—and, for you, impossible not to think about.

It was a boy from his friend group, Jay, who interrupted the class chatter by slapping a hand down on the table and teasing, “Come on, Won. You don’t have a soulmate mark, my foot. No one gets off that easy.” The comment was light-hearted but loaded, and more than a few students turned to look.

To your surprise, Jungwon didn’t react with one of his usual witty comebacks or careless shrugs. Instead, he just rubbed the back of his neck, a hint of something almost vulnerable flashing across his face. “No, really,” he insisted, almost apologetically. “I don’t have one. I checked a million times as a kid.”

Your pen paused mid-note, and a slight, irrational disappointment prickled in your chest. It was hard to believe, especially about someone like Jungwon, whose very presence seemed destined to leave a mark on others. Soulmate marks might be rare, but someone like him not having one? It felt impossible, like a missing piece that no one noticed until it was too late.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe he just hadn’t found it yet. After all, some people only discovered their mark when it finally turned to color. Sometimes it wasn’t a visible spot on the skin but something far subtler—a shadow in the hue of their lips that would only brighten after a first kiss, or a darkness lingering in an eye, invisible until the gentle touch of someone wiping away their tears brought it to life. The thought sent a strange warmth to your cheeks as you glanced back toward him, wondering if Jungwon’s missing mark was just waiting for the right person to unlock it.

Still, he looked surprisingly honest, a faint hint of sadness clouding his otherwise bright gaze. For someone so magnetic, it was as if he was caught drifting in space, without any tether connecting him to anyone at all.

“Alright, alright,” Jay relented, raising his hands in surrender but laughing all the same. “Guess someone’s too cool to be fated to anyone, huh?”

The professor’s voice cut back in, and you forced yourself to refocus, though your mind lingered on Jungwon’s quiet expression and the flicker of something in his eyes, something both resigned and deeply private. Could he really be alone in a world where everyone else was bound to someone?

“Imagine having your mark on your knuckles,” Arin whispered beside you with a grin, oblivious to the moment that had just passed. “You’d probably knock your soulmate out before you even realized they were ‘the one’!”

Another round of laughter scattered through the room, like a shared inside joke. The air felt charged, as if everyone were suddenly curious about each other’s marks, glancing around with new eyes. You let out a small sigh, tapping your pen against your notebook with a faint smile. As much as you tried to keep up the class president, model-student act, the idea of soulmates fascinated you in a way you’d never quite admit.

When the bell finally rang, the room filled with that familiar end-of-class chaos. You started packing up, keeping your head down—until you noticed Jungwon slinging his bag over his shoulder, looking effortlessly put-together, as usual. He laughed at something his friend said, his expression relaxed, his dark eyes flickering with amusement. But you couldn’t help catching the faintest flicker of something else in his gaze as he glanced at his friends—like a momentary, unguarded look that felt… wistful?

Okay, maybe that was just you being overly imaginative.

You let out a little huff as you slung your own bag over your shoulder, shaking off the strange pity you’d felt moments before. So what if Jungwon didn’t have a mark? You barely even knew him. Well, you kind of knew him, but from a distance—and with way more daydreams than you’d like to admit. Still, it was silly to wonder about him, right? With your head full of these thoughts, you walked out into the hallway, lost in a world where maybe, just maybe, he was wondering about you, too.

And as you brushed past a group of friends, laughing and shoving each other, your hand slipped over the back of your knee, where your own mark was hidden—quiet, waiting, and as mysterious as ever.

The sky was an endless blue, stretching wide over the school field as your class spilled out onto the grass for PE. With the teacher conveniently on vacation, today’s instructions were simple: enjoy the free time. Most of your classmates took to the field, breaking off into little clusters for a lazy game of soccer, light stretches, or simple gossip sessions by the bleachers.

As class president, you took it upon yourself to ensure no one went too far or caused trouble. Your duty, as you saw it, was to survey your classmates from a slight distance, keeping an eye out with the calm, serious gaze you’d carefully perfected. Yet even from the sidelines, your eyes found themselves drifting toward a familiar figure on the field, drawn to him like magnets.

Jungwon was at the center of the field with his friends, casual and relaxed, but his every move carried an elegance that made your pulse skip. He was laughing at something his friend said, his eyes crinkling as he kicked the soccer ball back and forth, the glint of a confident smirk tugging at his lips. His ease on the field was mesmerizing, a mixture of strength and grace that made it hard to look away.

You reminded yourself to focus, scanning the field to check on the other groups. But before you could pull your attention back entirely, a voice called out, and you saw Jungwon pivot to chase the soccer ball—only for it to ricochet off his foot, headed directly toward you with alarming speed.

In the split second it took you to react, you felt a sharp thud against the back of your knees. The impact sent you stumbling forward, knees buckling beneath you as you tumbled to the ground. Pain flared up where the ball had struck, but it was drowned out by the shock of it all.

“Oh no—are you okay?” Jungwon’s voice was breathless with concern, his steps hurried as he reached you. You barely had a chance to process his arrival before he knelt beside you, face flushed and clearly panicked. His hand hovered awkwardly as if afraid to touch you, his usual calm replaced with something far more vulnerable.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— Are you hurt?” he stammered, his voice unusually soft. He reached out gently, his hands carefully brushing against your arm as he tried to help you up. “Can you stand?”

Your mind struggled to catch up to the moment, and it took everything you had to keep your stoic demeanor intact. Jungwon was close, closer than he’d ever been, and the intensity of his worried gaze was unexpectedly disarming. Even as pain pulsed through your knee, you couldn’t help but stare, captivated by how intensely he focused on you, as if everything else in the world had fallen away.

“I’m fine, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. But as soon as you tried to stand, pain shot up your leg.

Jungwon’s expression shifted to one of determination, and before you could protest, he slid one arm under your knees and lifted you up, his other arm around your shoulders. The world tilted as he held you in a firm, steady grip, his face barely inches from yours. “We’re getting you to the nurse. No arguments.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned by his closeness, by the warmth radiating from him. “Oh—okay.” The words left your mouth almost on instinct, your brain still catching up with the fact that Jungwon was carrying you, his focus set entirely on you. His hands brushed your arm as he adjusted his grip, and you felt a strange warmth bloom under your skin, something unfamiliar and electric.

The walk to the nurse’s office was quiet, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze flickered to you, the gentleness in his expression as he murmured, “Sorry again. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt the class president.”

Your lips parted, searching for something to say, but the way he looked at you—soft, maybe even a bit shy—left you wordless. All you could do was nod, your heart pounding louder with each step as you held onto the feeling of his arms around you, wondering if he could hear it too.

It wasn’t until you glanced down that you noticed it—a faint shift of color beneath your knee where the ball had struck. The mark, once hidden and dark, now radiated a subtle but unmistakable bright yellow hue, soft and warm against your skin.

You froze, eyes wide, as the realization settled in. Jungwon was still mumbling apologies, unaware of the discovery you’d just made. Only he could have caused the mark to change; he was the only one who had touched that spot. The idea left you breathless, your mind scrambling to make sense of it all.

In the clinic, the nurse examined your knee with a quick, professional assessment. “You’ll be fine,” she declared, sending you off with an ice pack and a faint smile. But your thoughts were still racing, tangled up in the startling realization that Jungwon might actually be your soulmate.

The whole walk back to class, you replayed the moment in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Maybe it was a coincidence. Perhaps someone had brushed the back of your knee at some other time, and you simply hadn’t noticed. But deep down, you knew the truth—the mark had only changed when Jungwon touched you.

And when you returned to class, he was there, hovering near the door with a worried frown. He looked up as you approached, eyes bright with relief.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a slight smile breaking through the concern etched into his features. “I was worried about you.”

Your heart skipped as you nodded, doing your best to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. Just… a bit shaken up, that’s all.” You felt the weight of the new secret pressing down on you, but you forced yourself to smile.

Jungwon’s shoulders relaxed, and he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in that effortlessly charming way of his. “I’m glad. I’ll be more careful with my aim next time.”

You smiled back, feeling the weight of the mark’s new color, of the quiet truth only you knew. As Jungwon returned to his seat, your gaze drifted to the back of your knee, where the mark lay hidden under the fabric of your clothes, now touched by color—by him.

In the days following the incident on the field, the world seemed to shift around you, humming with an energy you couldn’t quite shake. The back of your knee, where Jungwon’s touch had changed your soulmate mark to a soft, distinct yellow color, was a constant reminder of the possibility that your crush—Jungwon, the ever-handsome and kind soccer captain—might be something even more significant than you’d ever dared to imagine.

“How’s your knee?” he asked, his voice warm and tinged with that familiar gentleness that made your heart stutter.

“Oh, it’s fine, really!” You waved it off, attempting to tuck your leg further under your desk, hoping he wouldn’t notice the faint new color to the mark that still lingered behind your knee.

Jungwon didn’t seem to buy it. “Are you sure?” he asked, his brows furrowing as he leaned down, intent on seeing for himself. Before he could get a closer look, you tugged your skirt down a little farther, hiding the mark as best as you could.

“I’m sure, really,” you insisted, trying to keep your tone casual. “It’s just a little sore, nothing to worry about.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on you, unreadable. Then he nodded, standing up with a quiet, sheepish smile. “Alright. I’ll trust you, but only if you promise to let me know if it starts hurting again.”

You managed a nod, clutching your books a little tighter to keep your hands steady. “I promise,” you said, hoping he didn’t notice the flicker of nerves in your eyes.

Your third shared class of the week was English, and just as the teacher assigned the day’s group work, the class began to shift into pairs. Coincidentally (or so you told yourself), the seating arrangement placed Jungwon near you that day.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. He offered you one of his signature, heart-stopping smiles. “Mind if we pair up? I mean…if you’re okay with it.”

With an effort to keep your expression neutral, you nodded. “Sure,” you replied, your voice steady even though your heart was anything but.

Settling at a table near the window, you both pulled out your notebooks. The task was straightforward—analyzing a poem about soulmates. You caught a breath at the irony, and Jungwon, seemingly unfazed, began reading the passage aloud. His voice, low and calm, wove through the words as you listened, though your mind kept wandering to his every movement, the way his eyes flickered thoughtfully over the page, how his fingers held the pencil lightly but with intention.

“What do you think?” he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You cleared your throat, willing your focus back to the assignment. “I think…well, it’s romantic. But it’s also kind of tragic, right? There’s always this sense of waiting—like, what if they don’t meet?”

Jungwon’s gaze flickered up, lingering on your face a little longer than necessary. “Yeah, that’s true,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful. “The idea that you’re waiting your whole life for just one person…it’s a lot of pressure.”

He paused, eyes settling on you, as if searching for something beneath the calm exterior you held so tightly. “Do you… believe in it? Soulmates, I mean?”

Caught off guard, you looked down, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on the edge of your notebook. You thought of your parents, of their own lovely story about finding each other through their marks, and how you’d grown up with those tales of destiny. And now, here you were, sitting with the very boy who might be your own fated match.

“I think,” you began slowly, “that I want to believe in it. My parents…they have one of those classic stories. It’s hard not to believe in soulmates when you’ve heard stories like that all your life.”

He nodded, listening intently. “I get that. I guess…sometimes I wonder what it would be like. But it’s hard to picture when you don’t…you know, have any marks yourself.”

The quiet sadness in his tone took you by surprise. You’d never considered what it might be like to go through life without a soulmate mark, to feel like something intrinsic was missing, a feeling that destiny had passed you by. Suddenly, your thoughts flickered back to the legends the elders told—how markless people were said to carry the weight of unrequited love from a past life, doomed to wander without a soulmate to mark them in this one. The idea hung heavy in the air, mingling with your sympathy for him.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter, then,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “Maybe people without marks find their person too, in other ways.” You couldn’t help but think that perhaps Jungwon was one of those souls, burdened by a love that never came to fruition.

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Jungwon seemed lost in thought, his gaze drifting out the window as he considered your words. And just then, a strange sense of comfort washed over you, knowing that even if he was unaware of it, you shared a connection that went beyond what either of you could see.

“Maybe,” he said finally, and then he flashed you a lopsided grin. “Well, even if soulmates are real, maybe it’s a good thing I’m mark-free. I don’t think I’d want someone to find out I was their soulmate because I hit them with a soccer ball.”

His laughter rang out, and you couldn’t help but join him, but beneath the mirth, your heart clenched. You wanted to tell him everything—to reveal the secret that could bridge the chasm between you. But as the words formed on your lips, fear gripped you. What if you were wrong? What if he truly didn’t have a soulmate mark, and this moment of connection was just a fleeting illusion?

So you swallowed hard, plastering a smile on your face that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Well, let’s just keep that between us, then,” you replied, hoping to mask the anxiety swirling inside you.

Inside, the truth weighed heavy, a secret that felt more like a burden than a bond. Keeping it hidden seemed safer, easier—even if it left you feeling like a ghost, drifting alongside him but never truly reaching out. The thought of him being one of those markless souls—the ones who carried the pain of a love never realized—made you ache. You didn’t want him to feel that emptiness, and yet, here you were, hiding a truth that might shatter the fragile connection you shared.

Perhaps it was better this way. Better to hold onto your heartache in silence than risk shattering the bond you had built, no matter how tenuous it felt. As you returned to the assignment, the bittersweet taste of longing lingered on your tongue, mixing with the thrill of possibility, leaving you torn between the hope of what could be and the fear of what might never come to pass.

Finally, during your biology class, your teacher assigned a laboratory cleaning rotation. By the luck of the draw—or maybe a twist of fate—you found yourself paired with Jungwon. It was supposed to be a simple task, but as the two of you gathered supplies and began tidying up the classroom after hours, you felt the weight of every quiet moment.

Jungwon appeared beside you as you straightened a stack of textbooks, arms full of markers and erasers. His casual, laid-back attitude only heightened the quiet thrill that being near him sparked in you. As he handed you an eraser, your fingers brushed slightly, and you pulled back quickly, heart racing.

"Are you always this… serious?" Jungwon teased, his lips curving into a half-smile. "I mean, you don’t have to look like we’re cleaning the whole school."

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “It’s just how I work. I take tasks seriously.”

He nodded, still smiling. “You’re impressive, you know. It’s like…you’re always so composed, like nothing rattles you.”

Caught off guard by his observation, you froze momentarily, not sure how to respond. Behind your serious exterior, you were anything but composed—especially around him. Before you could answer, he turned away to tidy the bookshelves, leaving you wondering if he’d picked up on the effect he had on you.

After a while, Jungwon returned to the task at hand, dusting off a few of the windowsills. It was quiet for a few minutes, the sounds of your combined effort filling the room. You both worked in sync, a silent rhythm that had developed without either of you realizing it. And then, with an abruptness that caught you off guard, he spoke again.

“Hey,” he said, hesitating. “I know this might be a weird question, but… where’s your soulmate mark?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications you weren’t ready to unravel. Your heart thudded as you carefully set down the books you’d been holding, gathering your thoughts.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks. "Um, it's… it's on my knee," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment made you shy, and you instinctively shifted your weight, the hem of your skirt falling to cover your knee even more.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, curiosity glimmering in his eyes. “Oh? Is it… already in color?”

You hesitated for a brief moment, weighing your words. “Uh, yeah,” you replied, biting your lip. “It changed a while ago. But it’s not a big deal.” You left out the part about him possibly being your soulmate, feeling the weight of that truth settle heavily in the air between you.

His expression shifted slightly, disappointment flashing across his features before he masked it with a casual smile. “That’s cool,” he said, his voice a bit quieter now. “I guess… it must be nice to have that certainty.”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to keep the mood light despite the sudden heaviness in your chest. “I mean, it’s comforting, I suppose.”

But beneath your words, a sense of longing stirred. You noticed how his gaze faltered for a moment, and it struck you then how much he had hoped for something different. He had seemed eager, maybe even hopeful, and the realization stung a little.

Jungwon cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over you both. “So, um… did you see the last soccer game?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I think we really need to work on our defense.”

His attempt at lightheartedness felt slightly forced, and you could see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Still, it was nice to see him trying to shake off the heaviness from moments before.

“Yeah, I caught a bit of it,” you replied, grateful for the shift in focus. “You guys played well, though a couple of those goals were pretty close calls.”

He chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Yeah, I think I almost gave our coach a heart attack with that last-minute save,” he said, grinning. It was an infectious smile, and you found yourself smiling back despite the weight still resting in the back of your mind.

The annual school festival arrived faster than expected, and the campus buzzed with activity and excitement. Classrooms were transformed into themed booths, hallways were draped with handmade decorations, and students wore colorful festival shirts and badges, their faces bright with paint and laughter. You found yourself stationed at the face-painting booth, brush in hand, ready to tackle the endless line of eager students.

You’d always enjoyed events like these—participating in the festival offered you a rare chance to relax and feel connected to your classmates outside of the usual seriousness you maintained as class president. Here, you were just another student, painting stars, hearts, and stripes on familiar faces.

“Hey, what’s up? Need a painter?” your friend Taeyoung called out to the next group approaching your booth. You followed his gaze and felt your heart skip when you recognized Jungwon and his friends heading your way, laughing and jostling each other. He wore a loose festival shirt with sleeves rolled up, a casual look that somehow made him even more handsome. You quickly glanced down, suddenly hyper-aware of your paintbrushes and the paper towels you clutched a little too tightly.

The booth was busy, and with most of your fellow painters occupied, it didn’t take long for Taeyoung to pair Jungwon with you. “Hey, Y/N, looks like you’ve got a VIP customer! Captain Jungwon wants to be a canvas today,” he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he nudged Jungwon playfully.

Jungwon chuckled, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—an eagerness mixed with a hint of shyness. “Yeah, I guess I’m in your hands now,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “No pressure, right?”

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure as your heart raced. “Uh, right! No pressure at all,” you replied, your voice a little too bright. “What do you have in mind?”

You forced yourself to meet Jungwon’s eyes, fighting back the nervous excitement bubbling in your chest. “So… what would you like?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jungwon’s usual confident smile softened a little, and he seemed slightly hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture that made your stomach flutter. “Maybe a couple of stars on my cheeks? And… maybe a small cat on my forehead?”

You stifled a laugh at his request, realizing that behind his composed demeanor, he had a playful side you hadn’t seen before. “A star and a cat. Got it,” you whispered, dipping your brush into white paint. You reached out carefully to steady his face, tilting it slightly toward the light. Your fingers lightly touched his cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the spark that jolted through you at the contact.

Jungwon closed his eyes briefly, letting out a small breath. You tried to ignore the slight flush you felt creeping up your neck, focusing on drawing a perfect star on his left cheek. You painted in silence, but every so often, he’d open his eyes and glance at you, making your heart race each time.

With one cheek finished, you moved to the other side. He leaned in closer, giving you the perfect angle. The space between you seemed to shrink with every second, the sounds of the bustling festival fading into a distant hum. You were hyper-aware of everything—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating from him, and how your fingers gently brushed his skin. When you finished with the stars, you pulled back slightly to look at your work, meeting his gaze as you did.

“They look good,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

You swallowed, breaking eye contact to reach for a new brush and dip it in black paint. “Now for the cat,” you said, trying to stay calm. “Hold still.”

You carefully moved to part his hair at the center of his forehead. As your fingers brushed through his bangs, you froze, your eyes widening as you saw something strange—a small patch of his dark hair was shifting, lightening to a soft honey-blonde under your touch.

“Um… Jungwon,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as you stared at the transformed lock of hair falling against his forehead. “Your hair…”

“What about it?” He turned to you with a hint of confusion, glancing up as if trying to catch a glimpse of the change. “Did I mess it up?”

You shook your head, the words tangling in your throat as disbelief washed over you. “It’s… it’s changing color.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard, then brushed his fingers through the area you’d touched. His movements stilled, the warmth in his expression fading, replaced by something deeper—something unreadable. The air thickened around you, a heavy silence filled with unspoken questions.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to decode the truth hidden beneath your surprise.

You nodded slowly, your heart racing. “Yeah, I… I thought it was just the paint at first, but… it’s definitely not.”

The realization hung in the air, electric and palpable, igniting a spark of tension that sent shivers down your spine. Jungwon’s fingers gently traced the newly lightened strands of hair, his expression a mix of wonder and trepidation. You could feel your pulse quicken, an exhilarating rush flooding through you as you grasped the meaning behind this strange phenomenon.

Time seemed to stretch in that moment, each heartbeat echoing like a drum in your chest. Here he was, the boy you’d admired from afar, unexpectedly transformed before your eyes. Jungwon—the one who had unwittingly painted your world in vibrant colors, now literally changing right in front of you.

Suddenly, self-consciousness washed over you like a cold wave. You averted your gaze, stepping back instinctively. “I—I should go finish with the others. They’re probably waiting for me…” Your voice wavered, betraying the rush of emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could dwell on it, a paint container wobbled on the edge of the table, knocking into your elbow. In your panic, you stumbled, sending brushes and colors sprawling over yourself. “Oh no!” you yelped, scrambling to clean up the mess.

“Y/N, wait!” Jungwon exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. He stepped closer, his hand closing around yours, halting your frantic movements. “Stop. Just breathe.”

His grip was steadying, grounding you amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts. “Let’s find somewhere quiet, okay? You need to clean up.” His voice held a calmness that contrasted sharply with the storm inside you.

You felt a rush of warmth at his concern, but your mind spun with confusion. “But… the booth—”

“Trust me,” he said, his gaze unwavering, a silent promise passing between you. “Just for a moment. Let’s talk.”

With a nod, you allowed him to guide you away from the festival’s noise, your heart racing not just from the moment, but from the undeniable connection building between you. The thrill of discovery was tempered by the anxiety of what it all meant, and yet, in Jungwon’s presence, you felt something shift—something new and exciting, just waiting to be explored.

He led you through a quieter section of the campus, where the walls were lined with colorful murals painted by students, the air filled with the faint scent of paint and creativity. The laughter and chatter from the festival faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves overhead and the distant sound of music drifting from the booths.

As you turned a corner, Jungwon paused, the air around you suddenly thick with anticipation. He glanced around, ensuring you were alone, then leaned against the cool brick wall, his posture relaxed yet focused. His gaze locked onto yours, intensity radiating from him. “My hair… it’s slowly turning blond. Isn’t this what soulmate marks are supposed to be like?”

His words hung in the air, electrifying the space between you. You felt the weight of the moment press down, your heart racing like a wild drum in your chest. “Right… your soulmate mark,” you stammered, the tremor in your voice betraying the chaos inside. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it might just be a coincidence, but now… it's all starting to make sense.”

Jungwon stepped closer, the seriousness in his expression deepening. “You mean you knew?” His voice was low, the edge of urgency evident. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The air crackled with tension, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I didn’t know it was you! I thought—” you cut yourself off, frustration bubbling within you. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward. You’ve been my crush longer than you’ve been a friend. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep things from being awkward with you, especially when my mark changed?”

Jungwon’s expression shifted, vulnerability breaking through his confidence. “Your mark... is it.… when did it change? Am I—was it before… or after we met?” His voice was tight, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

You took a deep breath, feeling the memories rush back. “The day you carried me to the nurse’s office, you idiot.”

He blinked, taken aback by your response. “Wait… that day? But I thought...”

His expression softened slightly, the intensity in his eyes shifting as he took a step closer. You held your breath as he knelt down, his fingers hovering over your soulmate mark. The moment felt electric, a mix of vulnerability and anticipation coursing through you.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, giving him permission to touch it. As his fingers brushed against your skin, a shiver ran down your spine. Jungwon chuckled softly, the sound breaking some of the tension between you. “Can you believe this? It feels just like yesterday when I accidentally hit my crush with a soccer ball at her knees,” he said, shaking his head with a bemused smile. “The same crush I’ve wanted to approach since 10th grade but was always too afraid to mess up, especially with how she glares at boys.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the image of a younger Jungwon fumbling with his words as he tried to impress you suddenly vivid in your mind. “I didn’t mean to scare you off,” you admitted, your heart swelling with warmth. “I thought you were just… confident, you know?”

He shrugged, a hint of shyness creeping back into his demeanor. “I try to be. But it’s hard when you’re crushing on someone who’s out of your league.”

“Out of my league?” you repeated, incredulous. “Jungwon, you’re the captain of the soccer team! Everyone looks up to you.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous around you,” he replied, his gaze locking onto yours, sincerity pouring from his words. “It’s different with you. You make me want to be better.”

The air between you thickened with unspoken emotions, each heartbeat echoing the connection that had always been there, waiting to be acknowledged. You both stood on the edge of something monumental, the laughter of the festival fading away, leaving only the two of you and the promise of what lay ahead.

The next day, Jungwon strolled confidently down the hallway, his head of hair transformed into a stunning honeyed blonde that turned heads with every step. The shift was striking—bold, noticeable, and oddly fitting—making it seem as though he had always intended to embrace this change. Whispers and awestruck glances followed him like a gentle wave, yet beneath that cool exterior, you could see the spark of mischief in his eyes, especially when they met yours.

“Wow, he really went all out,” Arin murmured beside you, her voice a mix of surprise and admiration. “He must’ve bleached the whole thing. I didn’t think Jungwon had that in him.”

You nodded, trying to maintain your composure while your heart raced. “Yeah… surprising, isn’t it?” you replied, though a smile betrayed your nonchalance as you watched him navigate the crowd like he owned the place.

Unaware of the true significance of his transformation, your classmates continued their commentary. “Looks good on him, though,” one girl remarked, her tone infused with genuine admiration. “Like he was meant to have it all along.”

Jungwon seemed completely unfazed by the attention, wearing his new look with a blend of pride and ease, as if his blonde hair was a badge of honor that only you understood. It was a mark that connected the two of you in ways that no one else could fathom—an intimate secret wrapped in boldness.

As the hallway thinned out, he lingered by his locker, his casual demeanor slipping just a bit as he caught your gaze from across the hall. He lifted a hand, brushing back his hair with an effortless charm that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach—a subtle nod to the secret you shared.

You walked over, your heart pounding just a little faster than usual. “It suits you,” you said, keeping your voice low, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

His eyes softened, gratitude shimmering in their depths. “Good to know,” he murmured, his tone low but filled with warmth. “After all, it’s your fault it looks this good.”

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at his words, and before you could respond, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice even more as he added, “And don’t worry. The secret’s safe.”

In that crowded hallway, with laughter and footsteps echoing around you, it felt like you and Jungwon were enveloped in your own little world. His blonde hair, like a silent vow, was a reminder of what only the two of you understood: a hidden connection, pulsing with promise and anticipation, waiting to be explored.

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hcneymooners · 6 months ago

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⋆ beg until i'm in.

ambessa x wife!reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: you and ambessa are estranged wives, but are you really estranged if she refuses to divorce you, and every time you see each other, you can't help but fall into bed?

cw: light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, getting back together, top ambessa medarda, dom/sub, dom ambessa medarda, she has soft spot for you, pleasure dom ambessaaaaa, just for you though, strapping, rough sex, rough body play, hair-pulling, name-calling, pet names, lesbian sex, dildos, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation, she is strapping you down, you will not be walking, cock worship, blow jobs, the strap is the cock in question no men i swear to god, mommy kink, praise kink, mating press, age difference, older woman/younger woman, marriage, she does not play about you, realizing this might have slight primal play, orgasm edging, begging, spanking, impact play notes: i am a FREAK about this woman. also i wrote this for @sheloveschai because she has been bringing me joy through their work and i want to do the same.

“she thinks i’m a monster.”

the words hung in the air, dense as the afternoon heat, heavy as ambessa’s head in your lap. how you’d ended up here—her armor gone, her weight so familiar—felt like one of those moments you’d look back on, trying to pin down the thread that led you here. you couldn’t.

your lives were separate. estranged wives, that’s what you told yourself. she wouldn’t divorce you, and you weren’t exactly rushing to draw up the papers. but estrangement was such a tidy, convenient word like the absence between you both was clean and intentional. it wasn’t. she blurred the edges every time she showed up unannounced, stepping into the space she left behind like it still belonged to her. and maybe it did.

she came today, her arrival marked by the low hum of her car pulling up the dirt road. the ranch was still, caught in that honeyed pause between afternoon and evening. the house she’d bought for you sat perched on its patch of green, neat but unpretentious—a porch for watching storms, white siding that seemed to glow in the late sun. the kind of place that felt like it had existed long before you arrived, waiting for someone to live in it properly. around it, the land stretched wide, unbroken except for the fences hemming in the garden you’d built with your own hands.

you were out there, barefoot and stubborn, locked in a battle with the soil. a carrot clung to the earth like it had something to prove, your hair slipping from its tie as you yanked at it, dirt smudged across your face from an earlier showdown with a deer that had dared to challenge your lettuce. the dress you wore—white, soft, and loose—shifted around you like a second skin, its ruffled straps falling to kiss your shoulders. it was stained at the hem, caught on brambles, but it moved with you, romantic in its simplicity, something that could’ve been borrowed from another life.

ambessa watched from the car. you didn’t notice her at first, too busy flailing after some audacious bit of wildlife, but she noticed you. her eyes followed the sway of your dress, the way the sun painted gold onto your skin, how your body moved with a kind of rawness that had always undone her. she waited because ambessa always waited. but there was a tension to it, like watching something she didn’t want to admit she needed.

hours later, she was here, sprawled in your lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. her hand rested against the fabric of your dress, her breathing slow but uneven. you stroked her hair without thinking, staring out at the horizon. the horses were grazing, lazy against the emerald sprawl. the ranch, her gift, felt heavier than it had in a while.

“at one point in time,” you said finally, the words tasting of truth, “every daughter views her mother as her monster.”

her hand stilled. you could feel her thoughts shifting, coiling like a tide just out of reach. she didn’t say anything, but the silence was loud, charged. you didn’t press her.

“you were always so hard on yourself,” you continued, your voice quiet but steady. “you can be… strong, stubborn, cruel. i’ve felt it. i know it. so much of your decision-making is absolute like the world is this black-and-white chessboard you’re determined to win on. there’s no room for anyone else in that kind of thinking. it can be stifling. but—” you hesitated, fingers idly brushing the hem of your dress as you tried to hold her gaze.

“love is always the basis when it comes to the people you care about: mel, kino—”

“you,” she interjected softly, her voice barely audible but so certain it almost startled you.

you hummed in agreement, the corners of your mouth tugging into an easy smile.

“me,” you admitted, your chest tightening at the confession. you sighed, the sound carrying years of ache. “your problem is that you don’t believe we can love you back. not really. you think we can’t be safe with you. so you send us away, like that’s protecting us. you decide things for us—these big, sweeping decisions—and suddenly we’re standing outside looking in, strangers in our own lives with you.”

you paused, thinking of her daughter. “mel’s a teenager. she’s going to buck against you because that’s what teenagers do. you have to let her. you can’t control everything, ambessa. we don’t learn any other way.”

ambessa watched you, her face unreadable but her eyes dark and intent. her voice was indescribably tender when she spoke.

“you’re such a wonderful stepmother.”

the word made you scoff. you pushed her—gently but firmly—off your lap and rose to your feet. she let you, though her eyes lingered on you. she could never let go entirely.

“don’t let her hear you say that,” you muttered, shaking your head.

mel had not taken your marriage to her mother well. and really, who could blame her? you were more than half ambessa’s age. you’d once been mel’s peer at university, brushing shoulders in the same circles without a clue that your lives would one day intertwine like this. to make matters worse, mel hadn’t even learned of the relationship from her mother or you. no, she’d found out by walking in on the two of you in a position that still made your cheeks burn to think about.

what followed was relentless: the icy distance, the sharp words, the careful avoidance. love, for you, had always been hard, but this was a different kind of difficulty. you’d tried to explain yourself to mel, fumbling for words that didn’t sound hollow. you told her you loved her mother simply because you did. it wasn’t about their wealth or their influence. you’d come from nothing—a small town with a crumbling church, miles of barren land, and a quiet resignation to a life of struggle. you were used to living hard and mean, to fending for yourself.

but ambessa… she had swept into your life with the force of a storm. she needled at you, chipped away at your shell until you were belly-up and tender, soft between her teeth. you were an easy kill in her hunt, and she was ruthless, selfish, and she could be so fucking mean. but none of that mattered.

you loved her with the kind of blind devotion that defied reason, and you couldn’t imagine doing anything else. being her wife was your greatest pride, and tending to her was your guiltiest pleasure.

mel couldn’t understand that, and the rift between you grew wider with each passing day. then came the public’s growing animosity toward the medarda family, the rising tensions, and ambessa made one of her absolute decisions. the separation blindsided you. you’d cried so hard you blacked out in the hall, and when you woke, you left without looking back. you thought mel wouldn’t care.

which is why you were shocked when ambessa brought you mel’s request for your perspective.

you turned toward the stove, busying yourself with the rhythm of dinner prep. it was easier to focus on the small, manageable things—chopping vegetables, lighting the flame—than to meet her gaze.

“she doesn’t hate you, [name],” ambessa said suddenly, her voice calm but insistent.

you froze, the knife hovering mid-air before you carefully set it down and turned on the stove.

“you staying for dinner?” you asked carefully.

you heard her shift behind you, felt the warmth of her body as she closed the space between you. her arms circled your waist, firm but gentle, and you shivered, instinctively leaning into her. god knows you were never the strongest soldier. she pressed a kiss to your temple, her lips lingering just long enough to make you melt.

“i admit,” she murmured, her voice low and quiet, “i had other motives for coming here.”

“bessa,” you began.

ambessa held you tighter, her lips brushing against your temple, the warmth of her breath sending shivers down your spine. her silence stretched just long enough for you to grow uneasy, but then she spoke, her voice low and thick with emotion.

“they’ve been asking for you,” she said, her hands smoothing over your waist.

you stiffened slightly, unsure if you’d heard her correctly.

“who?”

“mel. kino.” she pressed another kiss to your temple, then let her forehead rest against the side of your head. “they’ve been pleading with me to bring you back. they won’t admit it outright—god forbid they ever say they were wrong—”

you shot her a look.

“—but they’ve missed you. and they hate the way i’ve been without you. they say i’m different when you’re there.”

your breath hitched, your chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.

“they don’t even like me,” you murmured, your voice cracking.

“that’s not true.” ambessa’s tone softened, her grip on you tightening like she was afraid you might slip away. “they’re too proud to say it, but they’ve developed a soft spot for you despite everything. they miss you as much as i do.”

you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of her expression—open, raw, and devastatingly honest. by instinct, you lifted a hand and cradled her face. you hated it when she was sad.

“oh, bessa.”

“i’ve realized,” she continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “that i am nothing without you. i thought i was protecting you by letting you go, but i was wrong. i’m tired, my love. tired of waking up alone. tired of pretending i don’t need you. i do. god, i do.”

you felt a weight lift from the depths of your body. you’d waited so long to hear this—to feel wanted, needed, like you weren’t just a fleeting chapter in her life. tears welled up, and before you could stop them, they spilled over, hot and fat.

ambessa turned you in her arms, her hands coming up to cup your face as you began to cry in earnest.

“oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing away your tears. “don’t cry. please don’t cry.”

“i don’t want to do this anymore,” you choked out between sobs, clutching at her arms like she was the only thing keeping you upright. you pressed down on the thick cords of muscle, pleading with the strength of your grip. “i don’t want the house or any of this shit. i’m so tired of taking care of myself, ambessa. i just want to come home.”

her expression crumpled, and for a moment, you saw a vulnerability in her that she rarely let show.

“i’m sorry,” she said, her voice tight. “i’m so sorry, my love. i never should have let you go. i’ll make it right—i swear to you. i’ll spoil you, take care of you, and keep you forever. you’re mine, [name], and i’ll never let you forget it again.”

you sobbed harder, your face burying into her chest as her arms enveloped you completely.

“i know, baby. you did so well. i’m so proud of you,” she murmured.

she continued to whisper soft reassurances, mantras of “sweetheart,” “my sweet girl,” and “my sweet baby,” until the tears slowed and your breathing evened out. you shuddered against her, refusing to remove yourself from where you were pressed tightly against her chest. she shifted, and you jolted—fingers splaying desperately across her body.

“shh. i’m just making us more comfortable,” she told you.

the two of you moved, a single weeping entity across the floor of the kitchen into the living room. ambessa settled you on the couch, continuing to trace a hand across the landscape of your back.

“come back with me,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your hair. “let me take care of you. let me love you the way you deserve, hmm?”

you nodded against her, your hands clutching at the fabric of her shirt like a lifeline.

“that's all i want. i never stopped loving you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“i know,” she said, tilting your face up to hers.

the kiss she gave you was desperate and all-consuming, a culmination of every time you had woken and found yourself alone. her hands roamed over your hips and your waist, pulling you closer as if the space between you was unbearable. you gasped into her mouth, and she deepened the kiss.

“i’ve missed you,” she murmured against your lips, her voice low, rough with hunger. “did you miss me?”

you shivered, your body instinctively pressing into hers.

“yes. yes, i did. i swear, bessa,” you insisted, your voice trembling.

“shh, my love,” she said, her lips trailing down your jaw to your neck to soothe you. “i believe you. a sweet girl like you wouldn’t lie to me.”

with a groan, she lifted you, guiding you toward the bedroom, her hands never straying from your body, her kisses growing more frantic. when your back hit the bed, she hovered over you, her gaze dark, possessive. a hand came down to cup your cunt, firm and promising.

“yes or no?” she asked.

she only asked out of respect. ambessa had long ago perfected the art of taking what she wanted. you found you didn’t mind. it was easier this way, surrendering to her because she knew your body—your needs—better than you ever could. in her hands, the pressure of choice vanished. you trusted her to always know what was best.

suddenly, you were reminded of when she proposed. you felt the same now as you had then—wide-eyed, carnivorous. gently, you pulled her closer, brushing your lips against hers. the room smelled of apple blossoms and her intoxicating scent.

“yes,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

satisfied, she lowered her mouth back to your neck. at that moment, you could have mistaken her for a vampire—hunting for your pulse, for that line of forever-promised blood.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

“ambessa.”

“hmm?” she answered, her hand tightening where it reigned on the nape of your neck.

she had you face down with your ass up, her other hand holding you at the small of your back as she thrust into you. you let out a high moan as she began to move faster, her cock moving deeper as you bore down on her.

“you feel so fucking good, sweetheart. so tight and sweet for me. it’s almost as if you haven’t been touched in a long while.”

“bessa—” you choked out, and she let out a laugh.

“oh, baby. i know that’s not true.” bending forward to brace herself on the bed, she began to pump into you. “you were always so hungry for it, so eager. i know you’ve probably stuffed yourself every single night since i’ve been gone.”

you whimpered, drool beginning to spill from your lips.

“but it didn’t feel like this, did it?”

“no,” you answered, squealing as ambessa brought a hand down on your ass. “no, baby. i can’t take care of myself like you do.”

“no,” she agreed. “you can’t. you just get so stupid when you’re fucked. you have no chance of doing this alone. not well, at least.”

“bessa, please,” you mewled.

with a bored sigh, she tightened her grip around your band of hair and yanked your head back, pounding into you with predatorial precision. you moaned as she began to focus on your g-spot, pulling your head back roughly to further increase her control.

“shit, bessa. fuuuuuck.”

“yeah?”

all thoughts were being fucked out of your head. you managed to get a hand on your clit, rubbing furiously to add stimulation.

“uh, uh, uh. oh, fuck. holy shit. ambessa, fuck. please, baby. please don’t stop.”

for a moment, she paused, and you remembered how cruel she could be. tenderly, she turned you over on your back and slid back in, placing your hands on the back of your thighs so that you were holding yourself open. with a grunt, she sunk deep until her hips were once again clapping against your ass.

a strong hand came down, fingers hooking into your mouth and tugging till she could see your teeth. you felt like an animal.

“stop fucking talking,” she told you, and you nodded, spit slicking all over your mouth and her fingers. “good girl.”

the praise settled on you, and you moaned weakly. her next thrust hit you like a line of coke. she was pressing into you, working for something. you weren’t sure what, but you could feel the way she was aiming to break you in.

“come on,” she murmured, retracting her fingers to grope roughly at your tits. “say it.”

your brow furrowed, and she came to a slow, gradual stop. sliding out, ambessa crawled onto the bed and placed a hand on your chest. you watched her, eyes large and glittering with tears. her breasts hung heavy over you, ripe and full with age. you wanted to suck and bite her nipples till she was shaking on the bridge of your nose, pussy-deep into your throat.

carefully, she slipped the holster from her hips and removed the girthy dildo from where it sat, slick with your heat and arousal.

“maybe this will jog your memory,” she said, and you didn’t have a moment to think before her cock was in your mouth.

you choked loudly, but she paid you no mind. with a few circular motions of her wrist, she made you deepthroat every inch, her eyes darkening as you audibly gagged and sucked on it. you ran your tongue over the artificial veins, getting it as wet as possible.

you were tasting yourself, strawberry sweet with a hint of bitterness and slight musk. you could feel your cunt pulsing, fluttering as ambessa’s eyes grew darker. she prohibited you from letting your legs down, and your thighs were burning, sweat garnishing your skin with a light sheen.

you felt so exposed, so debased like this: holding yourself wide and open while gagging like a well-trained whore on the toy.

“remember now?” she asked, and you breathed hard through your nose.

you were trying, bless you, to remember, and she dropped a kiss on your cunt for the effort.

“look at this pussy, sweetheart. fuck, baby.” ambessa lifted from where she’d been dragging her free hand through your folds. her fingers were soaked. “you’re rinsing me.”

something about her tone jogged your memory, and suddenly, you knew what she wanted to hear. in your excitement, you whined, and she met your gaze. she considered you and then removed her cock from your mouth.

“mommy,” you breathed, and she smiled, her face warm and rivaling the sun.

“that’s it,” she said, pride drenching the words. “good job, sweet girl. you deserve a reward.”

you beamed and wiggled your pussy in silent demand. ambessa laughed at your eagerness, bending to kiss you. her lips trailed lower till she was mouthing over the sopping mound of your count. around and around, her tongue wet, her teeth softly grazing your clit. you snapped upward, letting go of your legs and clutching at her braids instead.

“goddamnit, ambessa! fuck!”

she continued to eat you out, shaking her head and sucking loudly. still, she found time to pinch the inside of your thigh in reprimand.

“that’s not my name, sweet girl. i won’t tell you again.”

“fuck. fuck, i’m sorry. i’m sorry, mommy. just—please.” your voice cleaved in the middle. “please, i need to cum. i want to cum so bad for you, mommy. let me. please just let me—”

with a wet pop, ambessa broke away from your swollen pussy and looked at you. you breathed heavily, eyes caught on the way she gazed at you from between your legs.

“nothing is stopping you, my love. do what pleases you.”

she lowered down again and spat right into your cunt. you let your head fall back.

“i told you,” she said. “i plan to spoil you. this will only be your first.”

and with that, she suctioned her mouth around your rosy pussy and sucked, pointing her tongue and slipping inside of you. you came with a high wail, legs clamping around her head as you bowed over her. you felt light-headed, slit open, and destroyed.

and true to her nature, ambessa never stopped.

#ambessa medarda #arcane ambessa #ambessa x reader #ambessa x you #wlw #sapphic #lesbian #wlw smut #arcane smut #mine ; 🐎.

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myntrose · 2 months ago

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12:11 am - sylus can't keep his hands off you (slightly suggestive, Sylus yearning lmao)

We all know how Sylus, despite his experience in guns and other weapons, still chooses to use his bare hands to fight? That's still crazy to me. We're not just talking about fighting normal people. He's throwing hands at people who definitely handle heavy artillery, wanders, machines and mechs that can gun anything down in seconds- despite all that he's still prefer a good beatdown instead.

Despite all of that, plus his workouts that consist of a lot of boxing, his hands are still pretty. It's unfair. Despite how rough and callous they are, he still takes great care of them, like a sculpture does with their own.

See, Sylus has always enjoys teasing and messing with you with his words. He likes the fact that all he needs to do is speak, and he can get a rise out of you. He even maintains his distance from you, ever so slightly, early on with your relationship.

But one day, when you both were walking around the city at night, you reach out for his hand. It's almost natural, an instinct, the way his hands wrap around yours so perfectly. You carry on with your walk, talking about whatever topic you had been chatting to him about. But you don't realize that at some point, all Sylus can think about is the way your hand feels so soft, so delicate compared to his- he thinks that if he was a piece of art he would be made of marble, and you of porcelain compared to him.

It doesn't matter if your hands are on the smaller or bigger side. His compared to yours are still huge, and it makes Sylus go crazy. He loves the way that his scarred and broad hands feel against yours. It's a rush he absurdly needs.

He thought that he would only feel like this with your hands. But the closer, physically and within your relationship, that you both get with each other, the more he realizes that no, it's not just yours hands that he's obsessed with, it's just you.

At night, when he's got you sleeping on top of him, he loves running his hands on any and every inch of your exposed skin. Running his fingers up and down your arms, rubbing your back, and going lower and lower until he physically has to stop himself- he realizes that just touching you alone is a bette drug than anything else the world has to offer.

On days that you offer to do his skincare, he pretends to not want it, but is secretly screaming for you to do so. He loves the way your hands massage his skin. The proximity between you two. He'll pull you closer and closer, his hands gripping your waist, until you're practically on top of him. Not like he ever minded that before.

He thinks that all these light touches were enough. That's what he thought for the longest time, until you both start to become more intimate with each other. The barrier of your clothes no longer prevent him from touching you, actually touching you.

Sylus would run his hands over every patch of skin, be there scars, stretch marks, moles, bumps, or freckles- he's committing everything to memory.

It's gone to the point where he subconsciously will reach out for you. He doesn't realize that all his stress and fatigue instantly go away the moment he makes contact with you.

God forbid you try to avoid his touch. One time, you've decided to prank him by avoiding his hugs. You swear you've never seen Sylus so moody. He looked so offended and borderline hurt, and it wasn't until you moved him to touch you that he bounced right back to his usual behavior.

Yeah, Sylus just yearns for you. Like how a dragon hordes his treasure, Sylus has the need to hold and keep you close too.

god I need this man rn. need him to use his hands on me WHO SAID THAT 🧏‍♀️🧏‍♀️🧏‍♀️🧏‍♀️

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misswynters · 7 months ago

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short drabble

Ekko and heimerdinger are being nerdy while you sleep

requested. by anon

There was always a soft hum of machinery that filled the air in Heimerdinger’s workshop. And with that accompanied by the occasional clink of tools and the professor’s enthusiastic ramblings. The workshop had an oddly calming atmosphere, a mix of glowing gadgets, bubbling contraptions, and the gentle warmth of lamp-lit light. It was perfect for dozing off, especially after a long day of following Ekko around Zaun.

You were sprawled out on the old, lumpy couch tucked in a corner of the workshop, your head cushioned by one of Ekko’s jackets that you’d claimed for yourself. Curled up against your side was your pet, a small, scrappy Zaunite fox. Its fur was a mix of gray and russet, with glowing green streaks running along its ears and tail. Ekko had found it injured near one of the Sump scrapers, and after some patching up, it had attached itself to you like glue.

Ekko called it “Scraps” (because of course he would), and Scraps was now peacefully snoozing, just like you.

Across the room, Ekko and Heimerdinger were huddled around one of the professor’s latest inventions, discussing something that involved words you didn’t fully understand.

“…but if you accelerate the core’s energy output without stabilizing the oscillation, it’ll implode,” Ekko said, gesturing animatedly at the device.

Heimerdinger adjusted his tiny glasses, nodding. “Precisely! Which is why you must ensure the harmonic calibrations are synced—ah, but don’t forget to account for temporal distortions.”

As the professor continued explaining, Ekko’s focus wavered. His gaze drifted toward the couch where you were sleeping, your form softly rising and falling with each breath. Scraps twitched its glowing tail but stayed nestled close to you.

A small smile crept onto Ekko’s face. You looked so peaceful, completely at odds with the chaos that usually surrounded you both in Zaun. Your hand was loosely tangled in Scraps’ fur, your other arm tucked under your cheek.

He didn’t notice the professor had stopped talking until Heimerdinger’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Ah, young love,” Heimerdinger said, his tone tinged with teasing amusement.

Ekko snapped his head back toward him, blinking. “Huh? What’re you talking about?”

Heimerdinger chuckled, folding his hands behind his back. “There’s no use denying it, dear boy. The way you’re looking at them, it’s rather endearing, really.”

Ekko’s ears burned. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was just—” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re asleep, alright? That’s all.”

Heimerdinger hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Still, allow me to impart some wisdom, as one who has witnessed countless romances blossom and wither over the centuries.”

“Oh no,” Ekko muttered, groaning.

Ignoring him, Heimerdinger continued, his voice taking on the tone of a well-meaning but meddling elder. “When courting a significant other, one must always show respect, patience, and attentiveness. Flowers are an excellent gesture, but so is active listening. Communication, you see, is the foundation of—”

“Professor,” Ekko interrupted, exasperated. “I don’t think you understand. We’re not—”

“Young people these days,” Heimerdinger said with a dramatic shake of his head, cutting him off. “Always so quick to dismiss advice. But mark my words: treat them well, or you’ll regret it!”

Before Ekko could retort, Scraps stirred, lifting its head with a sleepy yawn. The movement must’ve disturbed you because you shifted slightly, blinking groggily as the sound of their voices filtered through your half asleep haze.

“Mm… what’s going on?” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Scraps hopped off the couch and stretched before circling back to your lap.

Ekko winced, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Firefly,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d given you. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Firefly—because you were always a little light in Zaun’s darkness, buzzing around him with endless energy.

You shook your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “It’s fine,” you murmured, scratching Scraps behind the ears. “What were you guys talking about?”

Heimerdinger perked up. “Oh, nothing of consequence!” he said cheerfully, though his smirk told a different story. “Merely enlightening young Ekko on the art of courtship.”

You blinked, then glanced at Ekko, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Courtship?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Ekko muttered, shooting Heimerdinger a look.

The professor chuckled, his ears twitching. “Ah, youth. So easily embarrassed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ekko’s expression, your earlier grogginess fading. “Well, did you learn anything useful?” you teased.

Ekko rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

He reached out, ruffling your hair gently before pulling his hand back. “For real, though. Sorry we woke you up. Want me to walk you home?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the couch. “Nah, I’m good here. I like listening to you two talk.”

Heimerdinger beamed. “A kindred spirit indeed! Intellectual discourse is a joy to behold, is it not?”

Ekko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And now you’ve encouraged him. Great.”

You just laughed again, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. Scraps let out a contented sigh, curling up in your lap, and Ekko plopped down on the couch beside you. His hand found yours, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go, his usual ease returning.

The three of you stayed in the workshop, for endless hours as the two nerds worked on their projects. Whereas you cheered them on at the sidelines with cute ol’ Scraps to keep you company. Especially when they would talk about all the science lingo that you did not understand. Even though ekko would sometimes explain it in more simpler terms. It didn’t quite go through your head. Needlessly to say you enjoyed the days you would spend at the workshop.

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

banner. @anitalenia

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bunny-jpeg · 1 year ago

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vegetable patch (3)

farmer!captain john price & (brief) hybrid!simon

cw: hybrid au, bunny!reader, farmer!price, pregnant!reader, pregnancy, man-handling, fingering, pwp/smut, full nelson (sex position), oral sex (f receiving), threesome, guard dog!simon, double penetration, older!price, mindbreak, (there's a lot happening),

part one (simon) | part two (simon & johnny)

bunny says: like the fic? leave a comment! really like the fic? suggest your own!

john never thought it would get to this. when he bought the farm and raised his hybrid guard dogs, he never expected to have a bunny around. let along a pregnant one.

but almost six months into your pregnancy, he had grown affectionate of you. sure you were a bit to handle sometimes, but in a way pregnancy, a roof over your head and a fully belly (in both ways) has made you softer. less of a wild animal and more of a pet.

it was cute.

the one thing that didn't change was your insatiable lust. originally price thought that two strong hybrid dogs would take care of your little bunny cunt, but not even those could stop you. let alone the heaviness of your middle.

the boys were out patrolling the yard with you safe in the house. you were curled up on simon's doggy bed with your hands on your belly and your hands situated on your belly with your head propped up on a pillow.

it was cute, john found himself almost enamored by the sight of you as he relaxed on the couch with a beer in his hand. you were just so small, the little bit of chub at your hips only made you seem cuter.

he got up from the couch and left the beer on the table as he walked toward you. he crouched down and rubbed your cheek. you leaned into his touch and whimpered a little. he chuckled and said, "good girl."

your eyes opened a little and you looked up at price, "what time is it?" your little tail did a wiggle under the over-sized shirt that you wore. he chuckled and pulled you close to him.

he fully sat down on the floor and took you into his arms, delicately. his hand grazed your middle, "not even close to lunch, the boy's are still out. it's just you and i."

you dipped your nose into the crook of his neck and you whimpered, "i feel wet."

"yeah, havin' wet dreams about simon, mama?"

"no." you said, "about you." as your hand reaches for his shirt and you held onto it. you buried your face deeper into his neck as he held you on the hardwood floor.

price's eyes went wide for a moment but then slowly got up with you in his arms. it was like holding a sack of potatoes. the most prominent part of you was the puppy was slept soundly in your belly.

"then i guess we must go to bed then. i know you love simon's bed, but my knees and back won't let me fuck you on the floor." his voice was gruff.

you giggled, "be gentle, baby's sleeping."

"of course, bunny." he replied as he brought you upstairs to his bedroom. there was a spare room for guests and an extra room for the three hybrids of his home.

but right now he was taking you to his room where he could fuck that sweet bunny cunt. it hadn't been the first time he had ever done it, but every time it was something else. a wild little hybrid now tamed and under his gentle care, the way he tamed his boys.

the bed was large and soft, he placed you down and started to work on the jeans he wore followed by the flannel of his shirt. he was hairier than simon and johnny, who had tufts here and there to show their hybrid heritage. but price was hairy that was a man was.

you wondered if a human got a hybrid pregnant then what would the baby be. because from the size of price, you were certain to have a heavy newborn. you got off your shirt and sat there naked on the bed, exposed to your farmer.

his large hands touched your belly gently, thumb grazed the stretch marks, "keepin' the little pup nice and safe, huh? bein' a good mama for me?

you nodded, "only the best for you, sir."

he reached down and rubbed your chubby little cheek, "i can see why simon trapped ya." he chuckled, "cute thing like you shouldn't be wandering the woods. that little cottontail will get into too much trouble."

he got onto the bed and man-handled you into his lap, he wanted to feel you as deep as he could. he wanted to know the inside and outside of bunny cunt. but the position he got you into was more of a wrestling move to keep you pinned against him.

you put your knees up to your head and he had your arms pinned back against him. your squirmed a little, you sort of loved the idea of being trapped. john was propped up against the oak headboard with his little pet bunny in his lap with her cunt soon full of his cock.

it was a little hard to do with such a big belly in the way, you had to squish it a little as you were moved to fit his position. you faced the door that led out of the bedroom and with a few misplaced thrusts, you moaned when price sank his cock into you.

"ah, sir!" you whimpered.

he thrusted into you and kept you in the position. it tested you physical limits but john was a strong man and you were a flexible bunny. after all you had to get through his fence somehow. but now you were all nice a plump with child.

price groaned at the idea of you pregnant with his child next. such a sweet little bunny carrying the farmer's seed made his cock throb while buried inside of you. you sweet noises were music to his ears.

"you like that, mama." he groaned, "you like when i fuck you hard?" he kissed the shell of your ear, "simon got lucky to have a taste of you first, because if it were me. if i caught you in my vegetable patch, then you'd never get the taste of my cock out of your mouth."

you kicked your legs out a little bit as he sank into your further, as deep as it would go. you could feel his cock pressed against your womb. your ears twitched and you felt soaked.

"you'd like that wouldn't you. maybe a little bit more time before you go on birth control would do you some good. see if you can take this old man's seed in your pretty, fertile cunt." he grumbled, "bunnies are known for their many babies."

you felt something churn in your stomach as your pregnant belly bounced with every hard thrust. the sex was rough, heat filled the air as you two moved together.

"i like how you look, mama. all swollen with pup. i bet it was so easy for you, took simon's seed so nicely." he purred as he held you tightly, making it slightly uncomfortable.

but you felt on cloud nine, until the bedroom door opened. and on the otherside was none other than your lover, simon. you whimpered and kicked out your legs.

simon was covered in muck, blood across the shirt he wore. he watched you as you were cock drunk and raised an eyebrows, "price." he said, "what are you doin' with my girl."

"she needed a little tlc, simon." he replied, "you know what bunnies are like. they could be having thirteen kits and still beg for another." he looked over your shoulder and asked, "what the hell did you get into."

"had to scare of a coyote." simon replied, "he could smell bunny all the way from the fence. that's how i knew you were fuckin' her."

"then get that shirt off and help me out." john replied as his pace became harder. you saw stars and your mouth hung open for a moment in pure lust.

with his shirt off and dropped to the floor, followed by, his jeans. he was soon on the bed and licking at your sweet cunt as price fucked you. you were trapped between the two men and you felt a dizziness in your mind.

this was somehow more intense than the threesome you had with johnny and simon. simon only let those in his 'pack' have a taste of his pregnant mate, which meant coyotes like graves were off limits. if simon ever saw graves' paws on you.

simon kept your legs open with his strong hands, the tips of his claws left indents in your skin as he lapped at your cunt. his tongue did touch price's cock which made the older man feel hot all over.

you were the loudest out of the three of you, your voice was high pitched and you felt so full. you squirmed against both men but they kept you still as best as they could.

you came once, then twice, the three times from the pleasure from both men. it was sensory overload. your mind went blank by the third orgasm that the men pulled from you. which left simon painfully hard.

"got any room in there, price." simon said as he pulled away from your cunt and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. his cock stood at full attention in his underwear.

"well, she'll need a good stretch if she's havin' your pup." price chuckled, he could feel himself getting closer. you on the other hand were mindlessly moaning without being able to form words.

your pussy was so wet that he slid in next to price with ease. the stretch made you whimper like an animal, but soon you were dropped back into the depths of pleasure as both men used you.

price let go of your arms but caged you with his around your middle. you felt sore, but your brain couldn't register much. your mouth hung open and drooled a little. your brain felt like it was broken in half.

"i know you can't smell it, price." simon said, "but bred bunny smells the best." his hands were on your belly and soon were price's. simon felt superior for having seeded you first.

sure his other packmates had their fun, but everything from the pup in your belly to the cotton on your tail was his. he watched your gasp for air as you tried to formulate thoughts.

his poor pregnant mate, such a beating to your pussy. but it was okay, he knew that you liked it. bunny's had a pension for a little pain.

both men, fucked you without much abandon. they ever managed to pull one last orgasm out of you which tore from your throat as you went limp against price's hairy chest. the feeling of two cocks inside of your cute little cunt was just too much.

and not wasting any seed, they flooded your poor pussy with human and hybrid seed alike. they stayed in you for a moment more before they pulled out at the same time. cum oozed out of you and simon petted your belly.

"johnny's gonna be jealous he didn't get to join." price remarked.

simon replied, "before he went out on patrol with me. he stuffed a sock in her mouth and fucked her in his bed on the floor. she's got all of our seed in her."

price held you in his arms as you twitched and moaned from the aftershocks of your activity. he watched simon kiss you before he rubbed your belly, "good mama. good little bunny, now you rest and keep growing that pup. simon and i will come back for you later."

you managed to give them a weak nod, your brain felt flat-lined but the lingering feelings of pleasure still shook you to your core <3

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