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wild-jackalope · 2 months ago

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summary :: in another dimension Mark is born a full blooded Viltrumite and is sent to conquer earth, but you change everything.

warning :: Nolan! Mark x Debbie! Reader, smut, porn w/ plot, fem reader, grinding, no use of cock or cunt (yes I'm a prude), cumin inside, breakups, relationship is a little rocky at first, pregnancy, having a child together eventually, Mark is a clueless viltrumite, soft lowkey, likely some mistakes but I tried my best

note :: h..herrow..

You should've known Mark Grayson was too good to be true. Should've known when he stopped an airborne car from ending your life, that his impossibly handsome face wasn't meant to be yours.

Maybe you did know, maybe you just didn't care.

When you first met, he literally swept you off your feet. One moment, there was screeching of metal and car horns: you were stunned, heart racking your bones with intense thudding, eyes blurred with stress-tears and legs failing your desperate, internal pleas to stay alive and run!

The car being hurled towards you wasn't going to stop and you weren't going to move. You were going to die.

But you didn't.

Instead, you looked up into the sky and landed on a stranger who held back your death like it weighed nothing.

Meters above the ground, wrapped in an unknown white and grey uniform that clung to a frame sculpted by something more brutal than earth could offer. A single hand held up the vehicle that had almost killed you.

His silhouette shielded the sun from your eyes and you could just make out the stoic expression holding his face.

"Leave." He ordered.

And just like that, a breath of life filled your lungs, your legs had begun dragging you away from the destruction, although poorly, because you'd fallen to the ground twice. The spasming of your muscles kept you from running far enough. It was like moving in a dream, your mind willing you to escape but your body reduced to uselessness due to shock.

The large arms that had just stopped the car from killing you; scooped you from the ground and took you miles away from the destruction. You caught a glimpse of the ground, watching as you were flown away from the slaughter whilst others ran.

"No— I'm fine! Go back." You blurted, your visceral thought only being that he'd left the fight for you—and more might be hurt because of it.

He didn't respond, only letting you from his arms on a nearby tower. Before he'd completely let go, he took a millisecond to give your smaller frame a squeeze, as if testing the durability of your body. You hadn't time to question it, nor process it, as he was right back into the battle, hair whipping your face from the rush of air he left behind him.

After about ten minutes of regaining your breath and slapping your legs awake, you attempted to find an exit from the roof. The only door to the lower levels had been locked from the inside.

It was funny, really, something you still teased Mark about even on your wedding night. 'You left me on a roof, seriously?' You asked, laughing. 'I came back for you, didn't I?' He replied.

Indeed he did come back, but not a moment before beating the villain wreaking havoc on the city unconscious. Whilst watching dust fly into the sky and buildings sustain damage you had time to consider that maybe this superhero was new.

He returned to you and took you to the ground, resting you on some calm rubble.

"Thank you. I think I owe you— coffee maybe? Dinner? My life?" you laughed.

He angled his chin up, eyes looking down on you suspiciously, almost to study you. "You didn't run," he stated.

You flushed. Were heroes supposed to make you feel embarrassed for becoming a deer in literal headlights? "Next time I'll try to dodge the flying Sudan."

He hovered beside you, perfectly still in waiting. Expecting something.

"Who— are you?" You asked.

"Mary Grayson. I've come from the planet Viltrum to protect your people." He said, as if it were memorised from a script.

"Mark Grayson?"

"Dinner."

"What?"

"I'll accept your offer for dinner." He said.

He was gone before you could even mutter, "Oh."

You didn't expect him to actually show up for dinner— certainly not tapping on your seventh story apartment window like he'd made his reservation at your dinner table. Actually, you weren't sure what to expect. You weren't even sure how he'd known where you lived.

He arrived just after the sun set, wearing the same strange uniform. His hair messily curved, no doubt blown out from his quick flying during the day's catastrophe. Scuff marks peppered his jaw and hands, and a stain you hoped wasn't blood specked across his chest.

Against your better judgement, you pried open your window and let him in.

He didn’t have a clue about how dates worked, let alone human interaction. You offered him water, and he looked at it like it could've been some suspicious poison. You tried to make conversation, and he answered everything in the most literal way possible—no small talk, no polite questions, just raw honesty. At one point, he stared at your TV for a full two minutes, then asked if humans had always been obsessed with wasting their life with entertainment.

Still, there was something oddly endearing about him. He was out of place, odd and— call it crazy— but you enjoyed it.

That meeting seemed to seal your fate, because Mark Grayson was far from done with you.

You'd see his saves plastered on the news, and sometimes even catch him flying by the city. Some weeks, he'd appear at your window with a worn look— like your home was the only place he could think of going.

Asking never seemed to cross his mind; he just appeared.

And you always let him in.

Whenever he showed up at your doorstep, it was always a new surprise— Like the time he brought you a tree, instead of flowers.

"Mark?" You yelled up, startled, your bag slipping from your shoulder as you stepped out of your building. You side-stepped to avoid the crumbling dirt falling from the uprooted tree in his hand.

"This is for you." He landed, touching down with professional ease. The tree thudded into the patchy yard outside your apartment.

"Mark— this is— why?" You croaked.

"It's customary to present someone you're courting with a plant, is it not?"

"Well, yes, but this?"

"I suspected this will outdo those smaller, weaker plants." He stated, as if he were far above handling flowers.

You stared at the massive plant, trunk thick and roots crammed into the dirt. No flower pot could ever hold it and your landlord would likely have an aneurysm if he saw it left on the front lawn.

But Mark was so earnest about it. Prideful, even.

"So you stole a whole tree?"

"I've relocated it," he stated, very surely. "It was unappreciated, it'll be much better with you."

"Mark, this is a cherry blossom tree... from— somewhere. You can't just—"

"There were no nesting animals," he said, "do you not like it?"

That stupid furrow of his brows and the drop in his voice had your heart pulling at your chest. You sighed, long and reluctant. "No, I like it. It's just... different."

"Good," he said, pride returning to his voice, "then I'll continue with my efforts."

One week, it was a tree, the next it was a quartz crystal straight from the earth's crust, still raw and covered in dirt. "Humans like to be adorned with crystals." he reasoned, as though ripping a rock from the earth was the most natural thing to do.

Once, he'd brought you a wild rabbit, its fur bushy and eyes wide in fear. He stated its weak and terrified nature reminded him of you. You took the poor creature from his hand, cradling it and telling him not to kidnap wild animals between light laughs.

You couldn't help but smile at his complete lack of understanding. The innocence in his actions always disarming you. His earnestness was endearing and with each strange gift, each odd comment, seemed to draw you closer to him. Yet, despite the love that bloomed in your chest, there were moments when the differences between you were so glaring they seemed impossible to bridge.

Then came the night when Mark decided you'd be the one he'd try 'marriage' with.

He came to your window, a gash in his arm still seeping blood from the fight you'd seen the news cover just moments ago.

"Mark! Are you alright?" you ushered him to your room, sitting him on your bed and searching your medicine cabinet for anything to stop the bleeding.

He seemed unimpressed with your worry, stating, "I'm going to be fine. I've survived much worse."

"Don't be an idiot," you muttered, placing a gauze on his wound and tightly bandaging it up. You hadn't realised how close you'd become. He fought for the city, then came straight to your home, not the hospital, or Cecil—you.

It was the first time you'd tended to his wounds, but it wouldn't be the last.

Afterward, you sat beside him, eyeing the tight bandage in hopes that it wouldn't bleed through. Mark couldn't take his eyes off you, feeling your warmth radiate on him.

"You always let me in." He stated, not asking but still unsure.

"Shouldn't I?" You asked, meeting his brown eyes.

His jaw clenched, "it's dangerous," he said. "You know what I am, what danger I bring."

"You being a superhero doesn't scare me," you said.

He studied your face, looking for a lie in your eyes but found none. "Reckless." He muttered.

"Says the man, bleeding on my bed." You mused.

That earned the smallest twitch of his mouth, not quite a smile.

You shifted and the space between you dissipated. His breath entwined with yours, short and shallow.

"You're not dangerous to me," you cooed, leaning in and kissing him.

Your first kiss seemed long overdue, because it revealed a deep need through its fever and roughness.

His mouth moved against yours, like trying to find the rhythm of it— trying to immediately master this new experience.

Your fingers found his hair, dragging gently across his scalp until he grunted into your mouth. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his hands hovering, tense and strained over your sides.

You brushed it aside as a silly alien trait and pressed his hand against your side. "It's okay Mark," you breathed, kissing his jaw, "you can touch me."

His breath hitched, flickering between your lips and where his hands tightly rested. "I appreciate your forward approach, but are you sure you're ready to procreate with me?"

"P—Procreate? What?" You snorted, unable to hide how the absurdity jolted your body.

"That is what you're intending, isn't it— to mate?"

"Lord no—" You said, attempting to suppress any giggles rising up your chest. "On Earth, sex isn't just about having children."

"No?"

"Sometimes, but most times..." you trailed, a finger brushing Mark's arm, "it's simply for pleasure."

That got his attention. His muscle stilled beneath your touch, watching you like you were some rare thing. "I want to feel it for myself," he said.

"I bet you do." You leaned in and pressed a lingering, light kiss to his jaw.

Your hands landed on his chest, the hardness a reminder of his impossible strength. You moved, straddling his lap and letting him feel the curves of your body against him. His breath quickened and you could already feel the effects of your touches, hard against your inner thigh.

Your hands, bold and needy, began to map out the muscles of his body, curving over the planes of his stomach before finding the firm ridges. You let them linger there, listening intently to the puffs of Mark's heavy, anticipated breath.

Once you decided to let up on your teasing, your palm found the curve of his bulge, the heat of him palpable even through the fabric of his suit.

He sucked in a sharp, defensive breath, grabbing your hand tightly as protective instinct kicked in. You took a moment away from his lips to study his face.

You were faced with an expression you hadn't yet seen painting Mark's features. His brows were furrowed in an unfamiliar expression: soft frown, flushed face and wide pupils. You could only describe it as desire wearing the mask of nervousness.

You tilted your head, offered him a knowing smile.

Despite his internal turmoil, you easily freed yourself from his grip and continued your pursuit of his pleasure.

You had managed to reach a strange equality in your relationship: Mark was a super-powered hero with incredible strength, but he knew nothing of the world, and you had to teach him. But this? With Mark's breath spiking at the pressure you touched him with, the way he shivered at your wet kisses. He'd never been at your mercy before.

You pressed Mark down onto the bed, rising only to take your shirt off.

He seemed torn between action and simply taking whatever lesson on human interaction you had to give him. His hands hovered closely, but not close enough.

You took his wrist and guided him to the fabric of your bra. "You're not going to break me, Mark."

"You're frail."

You huffed, raising a brow at his expression, "I can take whatever you want to give me."

That did little to soothe his concern—but it didn't stop him.

You pressed your weight into the stiff shape poking your thigh, driving your hips forward. Mark grunted, the hand on your breast squeezing, the other finally taking a stronger hold of your waist.

"Fuck," he cursed, fingers pushing craters into your soft skin. You repeated the motion, adding kisses alongside it.

"You want to take your suit off?" You drawled, slow and sensual into his ear.

He was naked below you before you knew it. You decided to even the playing field by taking off your bottoms.

He admired your body for a moment, enough to send a kick of embarrassment to your cheeks.

“I’ll turn the lights off.” You offered, reaching towards the lamp.

But he stopped you with a firm hand.

“What is the point of nudity if I’m unable to see you?”

“Well—" you paused, "it’s more about feeling.”

He took two fingers and softly dragged them down the middle of your breasts, along the ridges of your sternum until he reached the plush of your tummy. “I’m more than capable of seeing and feeling.”

You shivered. No hiding, then.

“Let me see you.”

“Mark…” you protested. He was having none of it. You slowly relented, unclasping your bra and sliding off your underwear, the last remaining pieces.

As the covers slipped from your skin, you felt like a dish—and Mark, with his scrutinising gaze, could’ve passed for a food inspector. His eyes roamed slowly, meticulously, like he was checking every bump and curve for perfection.

You took the pause to gander at him, finally letting your eyes settle on his sex. Am I prepared to take that? You asked yourself, god if his hands don’t break me, his dick might.

“Stop staring,” You muttered, unsure if it was for you or Mark.

With no further instruction from you, Mark decided he’d better inform you how quick of a learner he was.

He took you into him with a swift motion, his flushed skin meeting your own burning flesh in a tight hold. As quickly as he palmed your skin, his mouth painted your chest with rough and inexperienced kisses. You could feel his teeth drag and catch on your breast, making your thighs quiver.

Okay, yeah, I can take him. You decided.

You reached down, fingers trailing down his defined abdomen before brushing against his shaft, and you took the size of him in your hand, feeling a hot breath ghost your shoulder. You gave him a firmer grip and Mark’s arms around you became rigid. A slow stroke drew a groan from him, one that was unguarded and ragged.

With a more assured pace and grip, you quickened your rhythm. He twitched and a dribble of precum slicked your hand.

You would save the rest of foreplay for another time.

You aligned yourself with his length and hovered over his tip, slowly fitting him into you.

There was a slight discomfort at the wet tightness but it was taken away by a sharp pain at your shoulder. Mark's teeth had sunk into your flesh, not enough to break the skin but enough to distract you whilst he pulled you flush onto the remaining size of his sex.

"Mark!" You yelped, hands circling his neck to pry him away from your shoulder.

His lidded eyes met yours, and little dazed and partly apologetic.

"You bit me." You stunned.

"I—"

"It's okay," you said, "just.. not so hard." You thought you saw a flash of a surprised grin but became distracted with the twitch of his full length inside you.

"You're soft everywhere," Mark rasped, his hips rolling into you, slow and deliberate.

The confession made your gums itch and your moan met his groan halfway. You steadied yourself on his chest, feeling the intense drum of his heartbeat. His hips continued to push into you in an untrained attempt.

You aided, rolling into him and feeling the slide along your sensitive insides. You cursed.

The two of you found a disjointed rhythm— Mark matching the sway of your hips with a quick intent, whilst you took your time on him, working to have his length hit that perfect spot which drove you quicker to your orgasm.

Even through the fog of his desire, Mark couldn't help but study the way you reacted to him. How you quivered when he reached the deepest part of you, right where his dick curved into your most sensitive part.

He angled his hips to reach further, and your breath caught in your throat.

Mark's grip on your hips tightened and in a possessive motion he guided your hips further on him replacing your grinding with his strong, quick thrusts.

Your body shook against his, responding to him instinctively and Mark couldn't help but think this is right. This is exactly where I need to be.

Your nails pierced his chest, raking white lines against Mark's skin as his dick pushed you to your orgasm.

"Fuck!" You cried, your body racked with the flood of pleasure reaching every nerve in your body.

Mark was sent over, too, consumed by the fluttering of your insides sucking him in. A guttural groan escaped him with his final, messy thrust. His seed filled your twitching sex, kept inside by his length still filling you whilst the two of you caught your breath.

Both of you stayed, matching pants filling your otherwise silent room.

"Fuck..." you exhaled, half from exhaustion and disbelief. Your mind still swam in the afterglow and you couldn't help but mutter, "It took my last boyfriend forever to..." and as the words left your mouth your heart dropped. Seriously? Mentioning an ex while he's still inside me?

"Continue," he said, a flicker of tension in his eyes.

You hesitated, considering backtracking. "I've... never finished the first time having sex with someone.."

His lips quirked into a smirk. "So does that earn me the title of boyfriend?" he asked, his voice tinged with playful confidence. Without waiting for an answer, he shifted his hips upward, lifting you off the bed with ease. You gasped at the sensation, smacking his chest.

"Don't be arrogant," you shot back, raising yourself off of him with a silenced wince.

You pulled a drawer open, rummaging for an oversized shirt to slip on, and tugged it over your head before heading into the bathroom to clean up the warm mess between your thighs.

When you returned, Mark hadn't moved. But his eyes were fixed on the ceiling as though it were the endless night sky.

"What are you thinking about Mark Grayson?" you asked, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

His gaze shifted to you and something of a smile formed on his lips, but soon dropped to a slight frown. "On my planet, home. Mating— sex, is purely to procreate. I never thought it could be a tool for anything else."

"Sounds boring." You hummed.

Mark remained silent.

It really was just the two of you from then on, living life in a new rhythm, one that included Mark in ways you hadn't considered. He was at your side whenever he had time away from saving the world,

but that still left you plenty of time alone.

The quiet away from Mark allowed you to remain yourself. You—not just the girlfriend of a superhero.

Still, his absence was... undesirable, so it didn't take long for him to decide he needed to make it up to you. He had been away for a week, trapped in another dimension battling a monstrous race, and when he finally returned, he insisted on doing something to make up for lost time. That’s when he took you across the globe on your first trip together.

It was supposed to be a nice time, a way to reconnect. But like most things with him, it ended up being more complicated than either of you expected...

That trip was the first time you two broke up.

"I can't believe you organised this, Mark." You poked your chicken chasseur with a fork, "you can be romantic after all."

"I figured you must've missed me," he replied as casual as ever.

"Probably not as much as you're hoping I did." You grinned over the rim of your champagne glass.

Mark's brow lifted, amused. "No?"

"Well, you left with no warning, no goodbye." You said, tone light but edged with something real.

"I would've," he said, softer.

You sighed, warm but honest, "I know. It's just... hard sometimes, not knowing where you are, or how long you'll be gone."

He leaned in, elbows resting on the table. "But I'm here now. So, you'll spend the night with me."

You blinked, he must've really missed sleeping with you. "That's pretty direct."

"I took you to Paris, it's considered to be earth's most romantic city," He said plainly.

"You think because you took me to Paris I'll just crawl into bed for you?" You asked, sitting back in your seat.

"Yes— and continue the course of our relationship."

You laughed, but it was dry and full of disbelief. "So that's what we are? A transaction? You leave for weeks, take me to a nice place and I give you sex?"

His jaw tensed. "That's not what I meant."

"But it's what you think, isn't it?" You leaned forward, voice low but controlled.

"Don't twist my words."

"Pretty sure I'm hearing them clearly." You sighed, attempting to soften to him, "you can't expect everything to return to the way it was when you're ready, like my life is on pause until you come back. Then you expect me to worship you when you get back?"

His brow furrowed, caught somewhere between frustration and confusion. "I'm trying to fit your pace, your customs."

"I don't need you to fit anything, Mark, I just want you to understand me." You pushed your plate aside to reach his hand, "A relationship isn't about scoring points."

He glanced down at your touch, but instead of taking it, he pulled his hand away, fingers curling tight around the edge of the table. "I'm tired of your people's petty traditions. Will you come home with me tonight or not?"

Your mouth parted in utter disbelief, "No." You said, tossing your napkin on your plate and standing.

Mark quickly followed, his chair scrapping loudly behind him. "I brought you here, you can't leave without me."

"Like hell I can't."

That led to you blowing a thousand dollars on a very long plane ride home.

It was the first time you and Mark broke up, but it wouldn't be the last.

He won you back of course, only because you saw him save two children on the news, you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The second time the two of you 'broke up' was a tad bit... bloodier.

Mark had taken you to a Christmas market, the kind that lit up at night, with fairy lights strung across every stall, holiday music echoing from an unseen speaker being muffled by laughter and chatter.

It was the kind of place that felt safe and warm, despite the freezing winter.

You'd stepped away from Mark for only a moment, drawn to a stall that sold hand carved snow globes. Each little world held in them were so delicate and sweet. You were smiling, ready to call Mark over to show him one that held a home with a joyful family— when a feeling struck you.

The kind that made your scalp tight and your stomach feel light.

You looked up, eyes instinctively grazing over the people nearby when you landed on a man whose eyes glistened red in the cold. It was a man, mid forties with a glare that pinned you in place.

You straightened, looking over the heads of the crowded market to find Mark.

You spotted his distinctly dark hair and tall frame a few stalls down, half listening to a woman trying to sell him mittens.

You walked to his side, pressing to him and keeping your voice hushed, "let's leave, Mark."

He blinked down at you, "why?"

"There's a guy giving me a look and I am not interested in sticking around to see if he'll try anything."

Mark's expression hardened, not in dismissal but recognition. He stared at your face a moment too long waiting to catch your fleeting gaze to the man. When you did, Mark followed your eye line.

You caught a brief sight of his fists curling before he was gone from your side, leaving you with a strong gust of wind.

"Mark no—" it was too late.

He was already gone.

You stumbled by, weaving through people and muttering apologies to reach him. A tight circle of people had surrounded him and by the time you'd pushed through them, the man was stumbling back, clutching his mouth with a bloodied hand.

Mark's fist connected again, a loud thwack! sounding out. The man dropped like a rag doll to the ground.

"Mark!" You shouted, grabbing the back of his coat—the one you'd just gifted to him, still smelling of the store you bought it from. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"He was looking at you with ill intention," He said flatly, disgusted eyes still on the unconscious man, "just as you said."

"Mark, men look at me. Intent isn't a crime! you can't beat them because they stare!"

"I protected you," he said, eyes cooling when they reached you.

"No, you just attacked someone!" Your voice began to crack at the realised gazes around you. Recording phones, light whispers.

Just then, you caught specks of blood on his collar. It didn't seem to bother him. He was too calm, too sure he'd done the right thing.

"You can't hurt people because you think they're bad. The world doesn't work like that."

"I'll do as I please," he said.

Your chest ached. "Yeah?" You whispered, eyes narrowing. "Then good luck fitting in because I'm not going to babysit some alien psycho." You released your grip on his coat, stepping away.

His expression didn't break, not even twitch and somehow that made it worse.

But, third times a charm, right?

You hoped to God it was when you decided to give Mark his third— and final—chance.

He showed up at your window weeks later, disheveled, like he had forgotten how to dress like a human. His shirt was stained, pants crinkled and still wearing the coat you gave him.

He didn't beg, didn't argue, just said: "I've been learning."

A simple truth, a real promise.

You let him back in, not because he had changed but because he wanted to, for you.

Thankfully, no breakups came about after that. There were missteps, yes—misunderstandings, nights on the couch—but no fights that broke your relationship.

There was growth too, and tenderness. Nights in one another's arms, domestic mornings, and something close to peace.

And it stuck.

So the two of you got married. Not long after, you had a beautiful baby girl.

But really, it was all too good to be true.

The night before you found out Mark's true intentions for coming to Earth—that he was the one who killed the Guardians of the Globe and was going to try and indoctrinate your child into a ruthless empire—he'd made love to you like it'd be the last time.

Things had shifted since your daughter had gotten her powers. Mark was quick to anger from the smallest things, his body was continuously tense in a way it hadn't been in years.

But when he laid you down with soft kisses, you thought maybe this was the Mark you'd missed, until he spoke.

"You know you were the first person I ever experienced this kind of love with." His voice was low and subtly disturbed.

"Mark?" You took his face in your hands, trying to soothe whatever sadness had come over him.

"You'll be the last too."

"Don't talk like that, Mark—" A gasp pulled from your chest as he filled you. You must've had sex with Mark hundreds of times over the years, yet the feeling of his length sliding inside you and the spark it ignited never tired.

It likely felt the same for him, because he halted, regaining the steady pace of his breath.

"I'll never want this with another," he whispered.

"Mark—" He kissed you, enveloping his name on your tongue and hushing any further talk. No, he only wanted moans from you.

His arms encompassed you tightly, as did his smell and taste. Just Mark, all around you and inside.

Too good to be true. You knew it. You had always known it.

read a continuation of this AU here

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tokoyamisstuff · 4 months ago

Note

omg I definetly need more about the Invincible variants if you may!!

Second Chance At Love Pt. 2

After -> this <- silly lil' adorable idea by @rainydaygotham (but I made Reader a civilian instead).

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Warnings: stockholm-syndrome, mentions of death, angst, (fabricated) tragic backstory, canon divergence, not proofread

A/N: whew, I never imagined you people would enjoy it this much. thanks for all the feedback, it really means the world to me! 💌🐞

"Our satellites found the missing variant, Sir."

"And what?" Cecil unintentionally stared daggers towards Donald, probably due to the stress and the fact that both of them had given their everything those past 32 hours. "Spit it out, damn it!"

Even through the reflection of his glasses Donald's mannerism were an open book for the head of the GDA, and right now he acted like he always did when he was unsure how to deliver troublesome information to his boss.

But this time it wasn't particulary bad news that made him hesistant, but the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"He-he is...with an old friend of our Mark, and...currently not attacking anyone."

The elder man rubbed his temples, lack of sleep being a steady companion in this profession but damn his advancing age sure made it harder to function properly.

"I want him on screen immediately!" he commanded harshly, voice not even slightly hinting the extent of his exhaustion.

This one apparently is more clever than the original Mark if he was able to slip past their organization's surveilance, Cecil concluded as the spitting image of his involuntary ally popped up on the monitor.

The young Viltrumite perfectly blended in with the crowd, sitting in a tiny suburban cafè far away from all the chaos. On the opposite end of the coffee table were you - not an unknown face to the GDA solely because of your affiliation with the world's strongest hero.

Cecil worked his jaw in irritation at the unfitting piece to this mess of a puzzle he was expected to solve. No way one of them came here merely to catch up with an old acquaintace...

...and yet for now, there were more urgent matters that he was needed to tend to first.

"Keep an eye on them and report shall he do anything out of the ordinary." As if this right now wasn't enough. "As long as he's preoccupied we have one less monster to worry about...for now."

Meanwhile you were sitting in front of your still untouched drink, watching your reflection on the liquid surface.

There was a radio running in the background, almost constantly updating you about how the other variants were still wreaking havoc everywhere, laying waste to the world as you knew it while you were trapped here acting as if it's a normal fucking tuesday.

You really shouldnt't be playing all domestic with a man that's just as much of a villain as his alternate selves currently on the run, and yet you keep reminding yourself that the only reason you're still alive is the uncertain benevolence of that very same person.

Trying to convince him to see the error of his ways or maybe even switch sides was out of the question - this Mark, just as the other sociopaths you saw in the news, has totally lost it a long time ago. You should be glad that he currently entertains himself with this little obsession of his, but that's no guarantee he couldn't snap and reduce you to a bloodied pulp any time.

And still, even though you have no other choice, it felt so terribly wrong to have a date - that felt more like a hostage situation - during an international emergency of apocalyptic scale.

Starting to feel sick as reality of your predicament dawned on you once again, you shoved the cup to aside, bracing yourself to interact with your kidnapper that hasn't initiated anything by himself until now.

Invincible on the other hand had destroyed Levi's orb long before finding you, never having disclosed his true intentions of joining this war. Also, with all the damage he's done the other 19 versions of himself would be sufficient, surely their 'boss' wouldn't care if one went astray from the plan. Not that he ever trusted Angstrom to not stab him in the back at some point, so who cares.

Back in the day you always had some spare clothes for this world's Mark in your room, in case he needed them - which was frankly quite often as they tend to get either torn or bloody from spontaneous fights. Maybe it was the sentimental value that made you keep them long after your friendship had ended, but right now they came in handy.

The other Mark nervously picks and tugs on the fabric, not used to wear civilian clothing after what felt like an eternity. It made him feel incredibly vulnerable to present himself this way. For years his costume had served as a barrier between himself and humanity, a symbol that the person he once was had long since ceased to exist so his Viltrumite side could rise.

Still, those familiar clothes, especially since given to him by you of all people, offered a strange comfort all the same.

At least he looked remotely normal like this, but god this man can be awkward at times. Some things really never change, even across different dimensions. Right now he was a perfect picture of misery, looking at you expectantly like a lost puppy that had just been kicked. Almost adorable, if you shun out the circumstances.

An uninvolved stranger would never believe that this is the villain who reduced entire cities to ashes just a few hours ago.

"So" you finally dare speaking up, casually leaning back in your seat as you take a sip of your already ice cold drink."I take it you're not a Seance Dog fan anymore?"

Noticing the bright logo on his shirt, Invincible actually managed to crack a smile - that trademark lopsided smirk of his that seemed more like a snarl now that you saw it after all this time. "Oh, you'd be shocked: The author is actually one of the few people I deliberately kept alive."

He's right, you are shocked not only with the answer, but the delivery as well. Suddenly you regret having pried in the first place. "Just a joke" he adds as soon as he sees the slightest shift of your expression, clutching the edge of the tabletop in frustration until it left a dent of his handprint.

You don't want to laugh. This isn't even remotely funny, and his reaction was awfully concerning as well. And yet you force yourself to snort, nails digging into your palm in an attempt to keep up the facade. "Glad to know you're as much of a weirdo as the original one."

It amazed yourself how calm and collected you could act, despite being as terrified of him as in the very beginning. Maybe you got used to the feeling already, or you had discovered a hidden talent of working well under pressure. May apply for a job at the GDA if you're ever alive and free again.

For the remaining duration of this afternoon, the two of you exchanged trivial stories about the past with your respective counterparts, many of whom were shared experiences. And as much as you tried to deny it, deep down you were aware you enjoyed this conversation more than you should.

There were only mild differences between your two dimensions as it seemed - at least when it came to your friendship, that was.

Invincible was pretty secretive about anything else really, but judging from the bits he threw in between you deduced he got his abilities way earlier than your Mark, which caused his father to never lose track of his original goal.

Occasionally Mark would state contradictionary opinions and you were sure most of it was just him mindlessly repeating the indoctrination his father had hammered into his head through inhumane methods.

You can only imagine what it meant for a gentle, sensitive soul like Mark to be subjected to a Viltrumite upbringing.

The sun was already starting to set when you were scooped up once again, however this time around you weren't afraid of the height in the slightest. You felt his chin resting atop of your head as he carried you through the sky, holding you firmly but carefully like you were a precious porcellain doll - and compared to his strenght you might as well be.

Yet all you could think of was the beauty of the twilight sky, and how oddly content you felt at that very moment.

Your date had promised to bring you to a secret location with a breathtaking view, and he really did not disappoint. It was in the midst of nature, absent of any human intervention. Just the two of you, surrounded by the sounds of the earth and the sight of the most horrible day in history of mankind slowly coming to an end.

Invincible spread his jacket out for you to sit on, and you secretly appreciated the gesture. A murderer, but also a gentleman, you mentally noted. Ironic. He slumped down on the damp grass an appropriate distance away from you, subconsciously starting to rip out some leaves.

You lean your head against his shoulder and he freezes in his tracks at the unexpected display of affection - or at least he hopes it's the absence of fear. For a long while you remain like this, admiring the view and each other's closeness, until you disturb the comfortable silence.

"How did you..." You hesitated for a moment, but then you met his eyes, so completely and utterly filled with genuine affection that caused something to blossom beneath your ribcage which you didn't want to acknowledge.

Even though you were still wary of him, it was hard to stay objective in the proximity of a literal carbon copy of the love of your life in nearly every single way.

"...how did you become like this?"

There was a long pause between your question and his answer.

"I got my powers shortly before my 13th birthday..." In hindsight, after having met the other variants who got them even earlier, it could've been worse. At least he was granted a few good years. "...and from then on, everything suddenly changed. My mom had an 'accident', so my dad was left to raise me on his own. It was-"

Mark's voice cracked, eyes glossed with unshed tears he was long since taught to repress as they were a sign of weakness. "The only times I felt truly happy was when I sneaked out to see you...I think for a long time those visits were what kept me sane. But nothing went past him..."

He balled a fist in the fabric over his sternum, and there was so much agony in his tone that it made your own heart clench painfully. "Dad- no, he's not a father. Never was. Anyways, Nolan tolerated it for a while, thinking I'd outgrow this sentiment and understand humans are beneath us. But when I turned 18..."

A tidal wave of shame and guilt washed over him, making him unable to bear looking at you as he continued his story. "He made me watch...I should've done something, I should've defended you, but...I was so scared of him. I just stood there when he snapped your neck."

The disclosure of the other's fate ultimately caused the panic attack that was seething inside of you ever since your first encounter with this variant to finally unravel. You frantically tug on your collar as you began to hyperventillate, feeling as if it was actually your neck that was being assaulted.

"Don't worry, I took care of it..." Invincible still had his face buried in his hands, and there was an eerie coldness in the following statement. "It took me a while, but I got stronger just to avenge you...ripped his sorry excuse of a heart right out of his fucking chest."

That's hardly a solace for either of you, isn't it.

Mark looks down at his palms as vivid images of his past crimes creep up on his mind, accompanied by a neurotic laughter that could only be described as absolutely broken...

...until you cup his hands with yours, the gesture conveying emotions you would never be able to put into words.

"Everything felt so pointless after you were gone..." he snivels, not resisting as you couldn't help but tug his head towards your lap. "You have no idea what emptiness you left behind...at some point I started doing unspeakable things just in order to feel something, anything to distract myself from the grief..."

You hum in between choked sobs, weeping for this lost soul as you rake your fingers through his hair, listening to him repeat countless apologies. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry...I should've just flown into the sun...I should've been stronger, better...I didn't want to become cruel...I wanted to be good...for you..."

What were you even doing here? Have you lost your mind?! Snap out of it, this is insane!

"Shh...it's enough. Stop tormenting yourself." No. He deserves far worse. Victim of circumstance or not, this man is beyond saving.

"Accompany me to my homeworld. Let me indulge you the way you deserve. Never leave me again" was what he desperately wanted to say, but instead he gulped harshly around the lump forming in his throat before announcing "I'll take you back home soon...phase one of Angstrom's plan is over, the variants will leave and you're safe again."

"Huh? I thought-"

"Drop the performance" he ordered as he fought to regain his composure. "You can speak freely. I meant what I said, I won't hurt you. Even if you hate me, even if you hurl all kinds of insults and accusations at me...I can take it. I'm just grateful for today. I'll cherish this memory forever."

Yes. This was more than he could possibly ask for. He already destroyed the life of your counterpart in his world, it's not fair of him to do the same to someone so precious twice.

Mark doesn't care what happens to him from now on, because thanks to you he was able to make peace with what happened.

"Come." He jolts up as he wipes his tear-stained cheeks clean, not biding you another look as he fears that otherwise he won't be able to pull through with his good intentions. "It's getting cold, we should-"

"No!"

Out of a whim you tackle hug the Viltrumite, who is caught off guard enough to stagger and fall. You softly punch against his chest and he allows you to let it all out, though he has no idea what you're on about.

"You-you're not like those other variants of Mark...please..." Your bottom lip is trembling as you speak, voice wavering with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher yourself. "Don't leave. If you have nothing to live for in your timeline, then...just stay in this one."

"And then what? Go to the Pentagon and say 'hi, I'm one of the Invincibles that ruined simply everything, but now I'd like to stay here'? They'll never believe that I don't have an ulterior motive!"

"So what? It's not like they can contain or even scratch you. And even if they could, I-I'll make sure to visit you every day!" You giggle like an infatuated teenager as you add that last sentence, and even a maniac like him realizes you must've lost your mind.

God, this is all his fault...

"What are you even talking about?" he almost yells, now on top of you and softly grabbing your shoulders to shake you ever so slightly. "Why are you trying to convince me? That can't seriously be what you want!"

"I-I...don't know." You're staring straight at him now, a stubborn determination in your eyes that almost frightens this unstoppable man. Wrapping your arms around his neck to make your foreheads touch, you whisper "All I'm sure of is that you didn't deserve any of this, and maybe...shit, just give us some time to figure it out, would you?"

Mark's hands were hovering over your body, giving it his best to hold back yet it was a lost battle before it even started. He utters vile curses under his breath before finally crushing you flush against his body, lips brushing against yours as if to ask for permission. You're quick to take the initiative, tossing all reason overboard as you give in to this all-consuming madness some might call hope...

...but just when you were about to pull him in for a long overdue kiss, the man that was straddling your waist mere seconds ago had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The soundwave reached your ears much later than the actual impact, and much to your shock, when you saw not one but two Invincibles - yours having been knocked into a nearby rock formation - you immediately understood what it meant.

"Mark, wait!" you screamed, but your plea went on deaf ears.

After everything your world's Invincible had to endure those past few days, he wasn't even slightly in an amenable constitution. The only thing he was able to feel at this moment was rage, and he needed to direct it to something or otherwise he'd burst.

Sadly the next best target of his fury was the variant right in front of him - a man who not only attacked his homeplanet, but tried to violate someone he once held dear.

Mark will make him pay for trying to harm you.

"C'mon, stand up. Right now all I want to do is hit something...as hard as I can."

[Next Part]

#invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #invincible s3 #invincible spoiler #writing #fanfiction #series #reader insert #nondescriptive reader #no use of y/m

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sungbeams · 5 months ago

Text

MIDNIGHT IN MILAN — lhs

they say love makes you do stupid things...surely fucking your boyfriend in the bathroom at the prada after party when your relationship isn't even public and neither of you can afford a dating scandal isn't that stupid, right?

⟡ ┆ pairing. lee heeseung x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, established relationship, idol AU (both heeseung and yn)

⟡ ┆ warnings. semi-public sex, unprotected sex, mirror sex, mild choking, creampie, fingering, tiniest hint of degradation (he calls her a slut like once), one singular spank, some hair pulling, not really any aftercare

⟡ ┆ word count. 6.4k

⟡ ┆ note. i know the hype around tipsy hee already died down but i simply couldn't let this go. started writing it literally the same day the pictures dropped, then got hit with a massive writers block and only recently managed to finish this. biggest thanks to @jayparked who listened to me complain about this fic and contemplate just deleting it all. this fic wouldn't be here without her :(

"Fuck, Hee—" your broken moans echo off the dark walls around you as you throw your head back at the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of you, hitting that perfect spot that has your hips chasing after his, "feels so good. Don't stop, please don't stop."

"Not planning to, baby," Heeseung grunts out his reply, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you back to meet his sharp thrusts, sending shockwaves up your spine all the way to your head, making you feel woozy at the intense pleasure overwhelming your senses.

Your gazes meet in the mirror in front of you, your arms shaking as you try to hold yourself up. One of his hands moves up your body, his fingers wrapping around your throat and applying slight pressure to it to cut off the needy whines spilling from your mouth. Your eyes roll back at the sensation, head falling forward and your body crashing into the counter beneath you, your arms too weak to hold yourself up anymore.

"That's my good girl, so desperate for my cock, huh?" Heeseung smirks to himself, continuing to roll his hips into yours. He wants to tug on your hair, hold you in place so he can look at your fucked-out face, but he knows he needs to be careful not to wreck you too much, not to leave any marks — or at least none that leave no doubt as to what you're doing here.

Truly, the two of you should be ashamed about what you're doing, but neither of you can bring yourself to care — not in the slightest. Right now, the only thing you're concerned about is Heeseung's cock repeatedly drilling past your folds into your soaked heat, how snug your walls feel around him, hugging him, molding to his shape with each snap of his hips. Maybe come tomorrow when you wake up and you think back to this moment, you'll bury your head in your hands and wonder what drove you to make such stupid, such careless decisions.

After all, you are currently having sex with your boyfriend in a private powder room at an afterparty you had been invited to as brand ambassadors. You should be professional. Mingling with people, maybe having a drink, getting some of your pictures taken, but no, instead you're getting your guts rearranged by a man barely anyone knows is your boyfriend.

In your defense, the past few days had been beyond stressful, and you hadn’t been able to get any alone time with Heeseung in what feels like forever. Not during the busy days ahead of your flight to Italy, not during the 14-hour plane ride from Seoul to Milan for Fashion Week, and certainly not during all the schedules you had the past two days. Moments of privacy had been sparse, reduced to rare bathroom breaks since you shared a hotel room with one of the other members of your group.

----

Stepping out of the van to attend the afterparty, you force an effortless smile onto your face, repeatedly reminding yourself that this was your last schedule of the night and then you'd get a night of sleep just to hop onto another seemingly everlasting flight back home where you’ll be greeted with at least a few days without any public appearances. So you push yourself to ignore the ache in your feet from wearing heels all day, ignoring the throbbing in your head from the lack of sleep, food, and water, which only intensifies from the flurry of flashing cameras greeting you, or the pinch in your lower back from where you assume a safety pin must've come loose.

Hours pass by in the blink of an eye, pictures being taken with either your fellow group members or other celebrities and influencers also attending the party; a drink gets pushed into your hands, and the alcohol momentarily numbs your body and washes the pain away, allowing your shoulders to relax and your breaths to deepen as you take in your surroundings. Lo and behold, a few feet away from where you are, you find him standing: Heeseung. Hands in his pockets as he's talking to some unidentifiable celebrity in front of him.

Almost as if he feels your gaze on him, he glances away from the man before him, your eyes meeting for a brief moment. You take an involuntary step forward, like he's drawing you right in, before your manager steps in your line of sight, "They want a picture of you girls with Enhypen, something about wanting the two K-Pop groups attending in one picture together."

You nod your head at her words, trying to steal one last look at your boyfriend, only to see him walking right in your direction, together with Sunoo and Jungwon trailing after him, their manager leading them right to where you're walking to.

A staff member pushes and pulls you all into position, telling you where to stand and how to pose, and by some sort of miracle you end up right next to your boyfriend. Your manager shoots you a quick look, and you teasingly roll your eyes at her as she's silently warning you to not make your relationship too obvious, seeing as your company has been pretty outspoken about not wanting the public to know about what was going on between Heeseung and you.

While the photographers look over their pictures, trying to decide if they need more or if they're satisfied with what they got, you lean slightly to your right, close enough so the man next to you would be able to hear your hushed whispers, "You know...I heard some people talking about there being private restrooms at this venue. Just thought I'd mention it in case you'd like a moment alone to take a bit of a breather from all the socializing."

"Oh? Is that so?" you can hear the slight smile in the low rumble of his voice as he leans down, masking his closeness by adjusting the leg of his pants, "Guess I'll have to check them out in a bit then."

"Alright, everyone, we'll take a few more pictures and then you can go back to the party," one of the photographers interrupts your conversation, drawing all attention back to the front. You position yourself slightly to the left again, creating more space between your boyfriend and you to avoid angering your managers.

A few more pictures taken, and you're finally released. Almost instantly, you excuse yourself from your group, beelining towards the aforementioned restrooms, making sure not to draw any attention to yourself despite your heart beating rapidly in your chest at the thought of some alone time with your boyfriend, sending blood rushing through your ears, loud enough to drown out the quick click-clacks of your heels against the tiled floor underneath you.

The anticipation is killing you as you're waiting for Heeseung to show up, staring at your phone just to see the status of your message to him with the details of exactly where you are change from 'delivered' to 'seen' right in front of your eyes. Minutes feel like hours as you tap your foot nervously against the marble floor beneath your feet, trying your best to ignore your throbbing pussy, your folds covered in your slick and clinging onto your underwear already — all just because of the mere thought of what he would do to you within these four walls.

You glance at your phone again when three rapid knocks followed by two more taps against the wooden door next to you startle you. Opening the door with a smile on your lips, you lean out slightly, your head turning left and right to scan the hallway, "Are you sure no one followed you?"

Wordlessly he nudges you back inside and closes the door behind you. His lips are on yours in an instant, moving with familiar desperation as he pushes you against the closed door. His hands are all over you, grasping onto your hips, pulling them flush against him and allowing you to feel the growing bulge in his pants press against your lower abdomen. Your heart beats erratically in your chest — the sound almost drowning out the soft clicking of the lock turning behind your back — hands scrambling to find something to hold onto as lust takes over you, clouding your mind. His lips work against yours in a beautiful frenzy, rushed but still taking his time, nipping at your lower lip, entangling his tongue with yours in a passionate dance that wordlessly tells you everything you need to know.

Your body relaxes right against his, all tension melting away with each movement, the space between you charged with tension, thick and hot, as Heeseung pulls away.

"Don't worry, we're all alone, baby," he breathes against your lips as his mouth trails down to your neck, eagerly covering your skin in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle themselves in his hair.

The tiny voice in a deep, dark corner of your mind tells you not to mess it up, not to leave a single trace for people to suspect what the two of you left the party for, to avoid any scandal at all costs. But your need to be as close as possible to your boyfriend overrides any and all logic left inside you, so you ignore it, pulling him closer to you instead and letting him graze your skin wherever he desires. Contrary to you, he seems to still have some care for the consequences of your escapades, seeing as he moves down the collar of your dress to continue the path of his lips there, sucking and softly biting the supple flesh, leaving marks easily hidden.

With his hand pressing against the small of your back, he pulls you away from the door, and the two of you stumble over towards the massive mirror situated behind the vanity of the powder room. Your ass digs into the cold marble of the counter as he crowds you against it, fingers holding your hips in a bruising grip — enough to almost hurt, the sensation just the right mix of pain and pleasure to pull a whimpered plea from your lips — before moving lower. His hands massaging your round cheeks has you biting your lip, whining as he lifts you up, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist just to feel his hard cock straining against his pants and press right into where you need him the most.

"Hee...please—" you cut yourself off with a moan, louder than you had anticipated, and he quietly shushes you in response.

“Shh, baby, we don't wanna get caught now, do we?"

His lips form into a smirk against your skin as you shake your head with a slight pout on your lips. You really don’t want to get caught; you don't want to even think about what it would mean for both of you if people found out about what the two of you are up to in here, but your mind is begging, screaming at you to let it all out, let him know how good he's making you feel.

"You can be loud in the hotel; how about that, sweetheart?”

Oh, screw him. Getting you worked up over the possibilities the future holds for you before even having you now.

Your reply comes in the form of a quiet whimper, mind wandering off to all the possibilities your soundproof hotel room offers. His hands snap you out of it, interrupting your train of thought as they push underneath the bottom hem of your dress, reaching for your soiled underwear to press his fingers right against your cunt, feeling just how absolutely soaked he has gotten you.

"Fuck, baby, what's gotten you this wet, huh?"

"You, Hee—" you exhale, chest heaving up and down as he toys with your clit through the damp cotton of your panties, hips bucking up to chase his fingers, "please...please just fuck me already."

“Love when you beg for me like this. Shit," he groans, eyes closing for a brief moment in a hopeless attempt to compose himself, panting like a dog as he pulls away from you. His hands move over the buckle of his belt in a frenzied rush, fumbling slightly before he manages to undo it, opening his zipper with shaking and twitching fingers. His pants hit the floor with a thud, joined by the black briefs he had been wearing underneath, and he's back on you before you even have a chance to gawk at his cock, thick and heavy, with an angry tip, red and leaking precum already. Despite having seen it multiple times, it still never fails to take your breath away each time you get a chance to look at it.

His lips crash against yours in an almost bruising kiss, distracting you from his fingers hooking underneath your underwear, pushing it to the side as his other hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself a few times until he lets his head kiss your entrance. In one fluid movement he pushes himself inside you, both of you letting out synchronized moans as you feel your walls stretching around his girth. His size still surprises you, despite this not being the first time together with him, and even though your cunt is dripping — your slick arousal running down your folds just to pool underneath you — you're still having trouble taking him wholly. His throbbing length fills you up so well you swear you feel him all the way in your belly, gasping as you spread your legs wider to grant him even more access to your wet pussy.

His fingers find their way back down to your clit, no longer obstructed by your underwear, massaging it slowly to help you relax around him. And it works; your body lets go, tension melting from you as you allow him to pull back slightly and thrust back in again, slowly managing to push further and further into you until he fills you to the hilt, his hips making contact with your ass. Pressing your face against his shoulder, you try your best to muffle your moans. Your cunt molds itself around him with each clench of your walls, desperate whines tumbling past your lips as his cock pulsates deep inside of you, as you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him.

"Taking me so well, baby, such a good girl for me. You ready for me to move, sweet girl?"

You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words at all, mind fuzzy with pleasure.

And he hasn't even started properly fucking you yet.

Heeseung presses a gentle kiss against your lips, already swollen and raw, his bruising kisses lingering on them, before he begins to move, hips thrusting into your greedy hole as you cling to him, holding on tightly as best as you can. His forehead falls against yours, labored breaths mixing together and becoming one as you pant into each other's mouths, a needy blend of curses occasionally interrupted by your names tumbling from both of your lips. Your eyes meet his, losing yourself in them as they pull you in further and further. His gaze makes you want to shy away, intense and all-consuming, while at the same time it just as well makes you want to throw your head back, moan his name for everyone in this building to hear just how good he's making you feel.

"So good—fuck, feels so good, Heeseung," you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as you lean further into his embrace, his arms holding you upright as the control of your own body slips further from your grasp.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly how you wanted him all night, his cock brushing right against your cervix with every thrust, his hands all over your body in a desperate frenzy, his mouth latched against yours, tasting you like a starved man. The feeling of having him all over you is overpowering your every sense, hopelessly trying — and failing — to keep your moans at bay, choking back a desperate whine in the back of your throat.

Heeseung can't help but coo slightly at you, your urgency going straight to his ego, as well as his cock, twitching deep within your spongy walls as he moves your legs to wrap them around his waist tighter as he grunts and groans, "Such a dirty thing, letting me fuck you right where anyone could hear us. Shit, gonna let me use your pretty cunt, gonna walk out there with my cum dripping down your legs like the little slut you are?"

Your answer comes in a whined 'yes' as you throw your head back, eyes screwing shut, hot sparks shooting through your whole body. Your legs twitch around his hips, nerves tingling as you start clamping down around him. Lust clouds your judgment, wanting to draw this out as much as you could, not wanting to cum just yet. Staying in here any longer than absolutely necessary wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do; in fact, it would be the complete opposite of smart. With every second the two of you are together in this restroom, his cock pressed deep inside you, brushing against your cervix, you risk the chances of getting caught, of someone hearing you moan out his name.

Fortunately for you, Heeseung seems to have a similar thought process. Slowly, his thrusts come to a halt, and he pulls out of you. The emptiness he leaves behind rips a pitiful whine from you, and he shushes you by pressing his lips against yours in a quick, gentle kiss before moving you off the counter and turning you around. You don't mind him manhandling you — you enjoy it even — his touches soft but forceful as he makes your back collide with his chest, your eyes meeting in the big mirror in front of you.

"Be a good girl and bend over for me."

His breath is hot against your ear, voice low and drenched with desire oozing off it thick like honey as you feel his cock dig into the flesh of your ass, the combined sensations sending shivers down your spine. His fingers graze your thighs as he lifts the bottom of your dress above your ass, letting it pool around your hips. Slowly, he pulls your underwear down your legs, his blunt nails scraping your burning skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. The ruined cotton falls to the tiled floor beneath your feet, transparent and sticky with your arousal, as you lean your torso onto the counter, holding yourself up with your shaking arms. You step out of them, blindly kicking them to the side to allow yourself more freedom to move.

Impatiently, you look over your shoulder, wiggling your ass to silently urge him to hurry up and get back to fucking you again. He can't resist the temptation, even if he would’ve attempted to try, running his hand over your bare ass, caressing your soft, round globes before landing a slap against your smooth skin — not a particularly harsh or painful one, not nearly as forceful as you know he’s capable of, but hard enough to send a wave of electricity through your body, a muffled sob falling from your lips at the sensation — before placing them back on your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh with a bruising grip.

Not wasting any more time, he slides right back inside you. The different angle pulls a moan from you, mixing with the low groan falling from Heeseung's mouth as your warm pussy embraces his cock. One of his hands presses against your back, pinning your front against the cold marble counter underneath you, your arms shaking as you scramble to find something to hold onto. The sounds tumbling past his lips make you clench around his length, the low rumble of his groans bouncing off the walls surrounding you, his chest heaving up and down with each erratic roll of his hips turning you into a panting mess as he repeatedly hits that one sensitive spot within you. You try your best to hold eye contact with him through the mirror, wanting nothing more than to see the pleasure clearly written on his face right as you cum, but you simply cannot.

Your head falls forward, eyes screwing shut as you let pleasure take over you — your mind, your body, all of your senses.

His hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your stupor, looking up briefly just to see his eyes trained right on where you're connected, watching his dick disappear within your creamy hole again and again, laser-focused as if he was in a trance. He pulls you back to him with each of his thrusts, making you meet him with even more force. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, your sobs joining the squelching sound of wet skin slapping against skin reverberating around the room. He drives inside you at a merciless pace, each thrust harder than the last one, making your entire body jolt at the force of them.

Heeseung steadies himself, taking his hand off your hip to place on the counter beside you, quickening his pace just slightly as his cock twitches inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

"Hee-'m so close," you whine, fingers clawing at the marble counter, legs shaking as you feel yourself inching closer and closer to the edge with each drag of his heavy cock inside of you, each snap of his hips against yours.

Heeseung throws his head back at the sensation of your cunt fluttering around him, groaning out as his nails bite into your skin, "Just a bit longer, baby, almost there."

His hand on your shoulder pulls you up, your back colliding with his chest as he continues the merciless pace of his thrusts. The angle at which he keeps fucking into you feels overwhelming, consuming your whole mind and body, yet pleasurable in the best way, and you swear this is the closest you've ever been to heaven before. Your soft whines and pants turn into moans, growing louder with every passing second as you hold onto Heeseung's arm wrapped around your front, pressing you into his chest.

In a moment of clarity, Heeseung notices just how loud your moans have gotten, and as much as it pains him, he knows he quickly has to think of something to silence you unless you want someone to hear you on the outside of the door, resulting in a guaranteed scandal. His solution: his hand wrapped around your throat.

A gasped whimper escapes your mouth as you feel his fingers pressing into your skin, the slight pressure and the weight of his hand against your throat causes your head to spin, his grip not strong enough to hurt or leave marks but send dizzying pleasure right to the depths of your belly. Your breath hitches as your airways constrict, eyes rolling into the back of your head, hand reaching up to hold onto his wrist, making sure his hand stays right where it is, already addicted to the feeling.

The lack of air combined with his relentless thrusts sends you into a frenzy, you feel like you're floating, your limbs tingling, and the world around you blurs, your only focus on Heeseung's gaze that meets yours in the mirror in front of you. He's attentive, watching you closely and making sure you can still breathe — which you can, but the thrill of it all leaves you light-headed and gasping for air — while chasing his own high, pressing his lips into your shoulder to muffle the desperate groans threatening to escape him.

His grip on your throat tightens, just barely, but enough to cut off your air supply for just a short moment, the rush sending a brand new wave of arousal pooling in the depths of your belly. It feels like he's everywhere — his cock thrusting into you at a merciless pace, his hand wrapped securely around your throat while his arm winds around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, not allowing you to move in the slightest. The intensity of it all is overwhelming your senses, the lack of oxygen making everything sharper, more intense, and you're reveling in the sensation of him pounding into you and sending every nerve in your body buzzing with electric pleasure.

"God, so greedy, couldn't even wait until we were back at the hotel, could you? Just had to have my cock buried deep inside you, can't get enough of it, right, princess?” he grunts lowly as he loosens the grip on your throat, lips pressing into your ear, sending shivers down your spine as your walls clamp down on him while you suck in a desperate gasp of air.

You're too far gone to respond, your mind clouded with lust, hazy and floating like a cloud on a balmy spring day. All you can do is moan out his name, over and over again, a prayer falling from your lips as he continues thrusting into you, your body pushing against his tight hold of your waist, instinctively moving to meet every snap of his hips. His pace is relentless, Heeseung's thoughts replaced by his need to cum, desperately chasing his own high as he drives you closer and closer to the edge of blissful oblivion. The coil inside you winds impossibly tight, your legs shaking, and if it weren't for your boyfriend holding you upright, you know you'd be a mess of tangled limbs on the cold tiled floor beneath your feet already.

"Cum inside me—fuck, Heeseung, please," you plead breathily, your voice cracking as desperation takes over it, insatiable hunger and need setting your insides on fire.

"Shit, you want me to cum inside you, yeah?"

His hand rubs over the mound of your ass, soothing your raw skin, sensitive from the slap he delivered to it just mere moments ago. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips with such force you're sure to find bruises the following day.

“God, yes, Heeseung!” you cry out, your voice breaking as you feel the knot inside you tighten rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter until it's a white-hot ball of pleasure, ready to explode and set your body alight.

He leans down slightly, his breath tickling your ear as he whispers into your ear, “Be a good girl and cum for me, then you’ll get what you’re asking for. Come on, let go, cum for me, pretty girl."

And just like that you find yourself tipping over the edge, his words breaking the dam inside you and allowing your high to crash over you like a tidal wave, destroying everything in its wake. Pleasure courses through every inch of your body. Every vein, every nerve is set alight and dragged along the powerful and overwhelming waves of your release. Your slick walls clamp down around him like a vice, spasming with every drag of his cock, every brush of his mushroom tip against that one spot that makes stars explode in front of your eyes.

His grip on you loosens enough to allow your upper half to fall forward, catching yourself as you lean on your forearms, left panting and completely undone as you gasp for air, lungs burning and desperate for the sweet taste of oxygen.

Heeseung lets out a strangled moan at the feeling of your dripping cunt tightening around him with even more force, his control slipping as his thrusts become urgent and uncontrollable. He murmurs something underneath his breath, but the rush of your heartbeat echoing in your ears is too loud, drowning out his words, which you assume are mumbled curses of your name.

You lose yourself in the sensation, barely able to form any coherent thoughts as your climax drags on. Each wave drags you deeper and deeper into the current of pleasure, leaving you gasping for air, body twitching and trembling as Heeseung prioritizes his own pleasure, chasing his high with renewed fervor.

Heeseung has never been a selfish lover, always putting your pleasure first, making sure you got to cum at least once before even letting himself think about the possibility of his own release. And maybe that’s part of the thrill for him, repeatedly — intentionally — edging himself until he finally gets what he wants from you, driving himself to the edge of his release over and over again until he is so sensitive he feels like he’s about to explode from just the slightest stimulation.

“Oh fuck, baby—“ he pants with a strained voice, his chest rising and falling rapidly, breaths ragged as he finally allows himself to let go.

With a low guttural groan, Heeseung spills himself inside of you, thick spurts of his warm cum shooting deep into your pulsing cunt, painting your insides white and oozing out of your pussy past his cock. The heat of it sends tiny aftershocks through you; your body shakes as you try to catch your breath, looking into the mirror to see him working himself through the last dredges of his orgasm, jaw slack and body trembling. His face is glistening with sweat, beads of it rolling down his throat and disappearing beneath the neckline of his black shirt.

The sight of him is enough to make you ache with need all over again — his face twisted in pleasure, his eyes dark and unfocused as he watches his cum leak out of your wrecked pussy around his length. You cannot help but think of the folder on his phone, password protected to keep it from the wrong eyes and filled to the brim with pictures you hope never see the light of day: his cum dripping out of your ruined cunt; his cock shoved into your mouth, the lower half of your face messy with a mix of spit, cum, tears, and lipstick; love bites scattered across the skin of your neck and the insides of your thighs like the constellations of the night sky. If you had more time, you’re sure he would add to that growing collection of his, pulling out his phone and snapping multiple pictures until he was satisfied, moving your body into various positions to get the best shot.

Instead of allowing your small daydream to become reality, Heeseung pulls out of you, the sudden emptiness leaving you whimpering and clenching around nothing, the squelching wet sound of him slipping his cock out of you echoing around the room.

He takes another moment to admire the mess he's made of you, leaning back slightly as he watches his cum drip from your drenched hole. He reaches out, letting his fingers run between your folds to collect his cum just to shove it back into you. The sight of your pussy swallowing his digits, your puffy lips embracing them with ease makes his cock twitch again, overstimulated and sensitive but still aching for more.

“Hee—fuck, please,” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, mind fuzzy and eyes heavy as you watch him through the mirror in front of you.

You try to drink it all in, wanting this moment embedded in your memory until the end of your days. His dark hair falling into his eyes, focused on the white globs of his cum slipping out of your cunt from around his fingers and running down your thigh. His skin is flushed, sweat beaded on it like little gems glued to reddened satin. It trails down his neck to his chest, revealed by the undone top button of his shirt.

Heeseung interrupts your little ogling session when he pulls his fingers out slowly, savoring the way you shudder at the loss.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror before he gently turns you around to face him: lips puffy and swollen, eyes watery and completely wrecked despite your combined effort to prevent just this from happening when you were still able to think clearly before your minds were clouded with lust.

“You did so well, baby,” Heeseung murmurs, his voice thick with a twisted mix of pride and possessiveness as he angles your head so his lips capture yours in a kiss that sends another wave of burning heat through you, igniting the glowing embers lingering deep within you.

His hands slide to your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he effortlessly lifts you up, your bare thighs resting on the vanity underneath you, the cold marble biting into the raw and tender skin of your ass.

“Made such a mess, can you feel it dripping out of you?” — you nod at his question despite knowing he didn’t ask for you to answer — “Want me to clean you up?”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe out your reply, eyes glossing over at the intention.

A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, the unspoken meaning of his words written as clear as day on his face as he slowly lowers himself to the tiled floor beneath his feet, spreading your legs in the process to make room for him to fit between them. He looks up at you from between your spread thighs, leaning forward slightly to press his lips against the insides of them, alternating between nibbling and sucking, sure to leave marks for you to find the next day. A whispered sigh of his name slips past your lips as you throw your head back slightly, his lips ghosting closer and closer to where you need him, to where his cum was still dripping out of you.

His warm breath fans over your wet center, lips just a hair's width away from your pulsing cunt when a gentle knock interrupts you. Heeseung jumps up at the sound, back on his feet in an instant. Your eyes are wide in panic as you meet his gaze before you both turn to the door.

“Shit,” Heeseung mouths as he rushes to grab some paper towels to wipe your mixed juices from between your thighs, hoping that whoever just knocked on the door isn’t aware of the fact that there are currently two people in this bathroom. Two people who certainly could not afford to be caught in a position like you are currently finding yourselves in.

“Heeseung? It’s me, Jay.”

The sigh of relief leaving both of you could almost be described as comical if not for the tension still lingering between you, all the worries and anxieties of a secret relationship almost coming true. Haphazardly, Heeseung pulls his pants up, the undone belt still hanging from his hips as he helps you down from the vanity, hands tugging at the hem of your dress to give you at least a slight bit of decency. He takes one look in the mirror, letting out a small groan before shuffling over to open the door.

The moment the door opens, Jay turns towards both of you, hands buried in the pockets of his pants as he awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other. The redness of his ears confirms your suspicions that he most likely heard more than you would’ve liked, immediately sending your blood rushing to your head, face burning with embarrassment at your friend catching you in such a precarious position. He clears his throat once, trying — and failing — to subtly take in Heeseung’s appearance before shooting a small, albeit flustered, smile at the two of you.

“We gotta leave, like,” he takes a look at his phone to check the time, “right now, actually. I already bought you both some time, told them you weren’t feeling well, and Heeseung wanted to make sure you’re alright. You should…clean yourselves up a bit. Meet us at the entrance in 5?”

You both nod as you watch Jay turn to leave after looking your boyfriend and you up and down once again, shaking his head as he deeply sighs in disappointment — a sound almost eerily similar to one you had heard your parents make several times when you were younger — and you swear as he walks away you can hear him mumble to himself about how you were like two hormonal teenagers, not able to keep it in your pants for even one night.

“Well, guess we gotta get you cleaned up, huh, sweetheart?”

“Oh no, we don’t!” you jab your finger into his chest as he chuckles at you, “I get cleaned up, and you can go meet up with everyone. It’ll be less suspicious if we don’t show up at the same time.”

Heeseung holds up his hand in fake surrender, a smile still playing with his glossy lips as his eyes roam over your body with one last hungry gaze. Despite the burning ache inside him, the quick kiss he presses against your lips is nothing but sweet and gentle, tenderness quickly replaces the darkness formerly taking over his eyes, “I’ll text you later. Maybe we can manage to sneak you into my hotel room later.”

“Sounds like a plan,” your hands wrap around his arms, giving his biceps one last affectionate squeeze before ushering him out of the bathroom and away to join his group members, giving you a few more precious minutes to clean up, make yourself look somewhat presentable — or at least presentable enough to not have any fans or press question just what exactly happened over the past hour — and find out where you had kicked your underwear in the heat of the moment.

You take a moment to watch your boyfriend walk away, the slight bounce in his step is a dead giveaway for the people who knew him that he just got laid, but lucky for both of you, no one of importance should be able to figure him out and turn this whole thing into an issue for the two of you. Just as you’re about to turn around and assess his damage in the big vanity mirror, Heeseung turns around one more time, eyes twinkling with mischief as he takes you in, watching the way your eyebrows rise on your forehead in a silent question at his sudden halt.

“Oh, and baby?” you nod your head in response, “Make sure to wipe the lipstick from your chin. We wouldn’t want anyone to find out what a greedy slut you are for me, would we now?”

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagine #enhypen fic #heeseung x reader #heeseung imagine #heeseung fic #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung imagine #lee heeseung fic

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shotmrmiller · 1 year ago

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the tale of how simon got himself a gf without stepping a foot outside of base.

anyone can tell you that alcohol reduces the ability to use logic. to see reason. it lowers inhibitions and blurs the boundary lines you've drawn in the sand.

but indulging in drink tonight is justified. you're in need of reprieve after this shit week: broke up with your boyfriend, deadlines at work appearing out of thin air, a flat tire on your morning commute. you even stepped on the end of your cat's tail.

miserable. (she's okay, just giving you the cold shoulder. you'll buy her some tasty snacks tomorrow.)

but for tonight, you're wallowing in your own misery. some uninteresting show is playing on the television, you're cradled by the cushions of your couch, a fluffy sherpa throw over your socked feet.

if only there was a way to melt this week's accumulated stress away even further.

cue the drunk texting your ex cliché.

anyone can tell you that it's detrimental to moving on. it's akin to reopening a wound that's already begun to heal. a step back when you should only be moving forward. your friends would drag you by your hair for being so dumb.

but there's an incessant throb in between your legs that's only getting stronger with every glass of wine you toss back. you're wound tight, violin strings stretched to the brink. a couple of bow strokes away from snapping.

you'll deal with the consequences tomorrow, along with your hangover.

typing in his (deleted in a fit of heartbroken rage) number with fumbling fingers and send a picture of you with the hem of your sleeping shirt between your teeth, the swell of your bare breasts on full display with a cheeky little missing you <3

he responds in minutes even though it's 2:30am.

send a vid and show me how much you miss me.

it makes your pussy clench around nothing, already slick, drooling, begging to be filled. you sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you bring up the camera.

when simon first gets the text, he's on edge, gripping his phone hard enough to crack. no one should have this number except for price, johnny and kyle. he's made sure of it-- had laswell pull strings to give him a secure line. no scam likely's, no cold calls, nothing.

but then some silly little bird dials his number by mistake and the sweet cherry on top is that you've sent a nude. breasts on full display-- soft looking, hard peaked. it makes his mouth water, his gums itch. he'd love to sink his teeth into them, into you, hard enough to bruise. mark. claim.

but that's for later, once he finds you.

he texts back and what you send him in response fattens his cock. a small hand tucked beneath the waistband of your flimsy knickers, gusset dampened with warm arousal. you lick your bottom lip, leaving it glossy with spit. your chest heaves with the sharp gasps of breath you're drawing.

but there's a problem. he can barely see what you're doing. he doesn't have x-ray vision, your knickers are in the way. while he can understand the allure, he himself doesn't have the patience for it. either you let him see your bare cunt or don't waste his time.

he wasn't expecting you to agree this fast. maybe a bit of push back, a little snapping of teeth until you relent but no. you're an obedient thing. submissive. just how he likes 'em. (if he wants to break someone in, that's what johnny's for.)

soft, inviting thighs spread wide, a couple of fingers curling inside your glistening cunt. (duly noticing how your 2 fingers are the size of 1 of his.) your moans spill from your lips unreservedly when you roll your pearl in tight, precise little circles. he spits on his hand, heavy length resting in his calloused palm and tugs himself at the pace you've set: jerky, quick, messy.

you come with a whimper, eyes shut and pliant body coiled tight. a frothy, sticky cream coats your fingers, dripping down to your arse, pooling on your couch.

you miss me too? sent 3:27 am

(he decides to keep you. simon can't remember the last time he's had a climax that spine stiffening in a while.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley smut

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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"Amsterdam’s roofs have just been converted into a giant sponge that will make the city more climate resilient.

The Dutch have always been famous for their ability to control water, born out of the necessity of their homeland, much of which is below sea level.

Now, their expert water management skills are transforming the city skyline in the capital city of Amsterdam from one of terracotta tile, concrete, and shingles into green grass and brown earth.

It’s part of a new climate-resiliency trend in architecture and civic planning known as the ‘sponge city concept,’ in which a garden of water-loving plants, mosses, and soil absorbs excess rainwater before feeding it into the building for use in flushing toilets or watering plants on the ground.

If heavy rains are predicted, a smart valve system empties the stored rainwater into the municipal storm drains and sewers in advance of the weather, allowing the roof to soak up water and reduce flooding in the city.

In this way, the rooftops of buildings can be wrung out and filled up just like a sponge.

In Amsterdam, 45,000 square meters, or 11 acres of flat metropolitan rooftops have already been fitted with these systems, and the contracting firms behind the technology say they make sense in dry climates like Spain just as much as in wet climates like Amsterdam...

A 4-year project of different firms and organizations called Resilio, the resilient network for smart climate adaptive rooftops, rolled out thousands of square meters of sponge city technology into new buildings. As with many climate technologies, the costs are high upfront but tend to result in savings from several expenditures like water utilities and water damage, over a long-enough time horizon...

All together, Amsterdam’s sponge capacity is over 120,000 gallons.

“We think the concept is applicable to many urban areas around the world,” Kasper Spaan from Waternet, Amsterdam’s public water management organization, told Wired Magazine. “In the south of Europe–Italy and Spain–where there are really drought-stressed areas, there’s new attention for rainwater catchment.”

Indeed the sponge city concept comes into a different shade when installed in drought-prone regions. Waters absorbed by rooftops during heavy rains can be used for municipal purposes to reduce pressure on underground aquifers or rivers, or be sweated out under the Sun’s rays which cools the interior of the building naturally.

Additionally, if solar panels were added on top of the rooftop garden, the evaporation would keep the panels cooler, which has been shown in other projects to improve their energy generation.

“Our philosophy in the end is not that on every roof, everything is possible,” says Spaan, “but that on every roof, something is possible.”

Matt Simon, reporting on the Resilio project for Wired, said succinctly that perhaps science fiction authors have missed the mark when it came to envisioning the city of the future, and that rather than being a glittering metropolis of glass, metal, and marble as smooth as a pannacotta, it will look an awful lot more like an enormous sculpture garden."

-via Good News Network, May 15, 2024

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notsodelirious · 3 months ago

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Good boy — Jason todd

synopsis: you fuck your boyfriend and then take care of him <3

notes: reader is mentioned to have a dick but you can entirely imagine it as a fem!reader with a strap and she takes it off when she cleans herself up in the bathroom — NSFW MDNI 💛

tags: smut like pure smut, aftercare, anal, subspace (not named), aftercare, established relationship, 1k words, no use of y/n, sub Jason (idk how subby I can make that man before it becomes ooc)

(also I’ve written like 3 drabbles in 3 days and I think I might be deceiving people as to how much I’m actually capable of writing but enjoy <3)

Your hands wrapped around his waist as you pulled him back onto your cock, over and over again, revelling in the sound of his soft, punched out moans. The grind of your hips against his ass was slow, methodical, as you made sure to brush against his abused prostate over and over again.

The desperate whine that had left his throat was glorious.

You had been at this for hours now. While he was patrolling, he kept one comm-line channel open for his family, and the other one for you, a temporary cure for his loneliness as he patrolled his streets. He’d been complaining about how wound up he felt, the stress of work and the thought of the world existing around him. As soon as you had gotten your hands on Jason, you undressed him and pushed him into your bed with a promise to fuck his brains out like he’d never had before, to make him forget he’d ever been stressed in the first place.

And now 3 hours later and 5 orgasms deep, Jason was shaking and panting on your sheets, clutching at the covers. You knew his entire body was oversensitive—you took pride in your work: his throat and chest were covered in hickeys, nipples puffy and ridden with bite marks from your abuse and his cock was barely half-chubbed but you were determined to pull one more small climax from his overspent body.

You continued to fuck him at an infuriating pace, knowing that if he had the words for it, Jason would be cussing you out for taking so long, for teasing him, not giving him what he wanted—but the blubbering, crying mess you had reduced him too was too far gone for words. The only words on his lips were your name and his pleas.

“What a good boy,” you said softly, as you brush your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head as your other hand runs over the large expanse of his back. There was something thrilling about having such a powerful man shivering in front of you like this—over 200 pounds of muscle and anger, capable of wielding more weapons than you can name, hands that have killed more people than you’ve ever met; and he was sobbing and begging you for something only you could give him.

You felt good.

And you wanted him to feel better.

You sped up ever so slightly, letting the hand on his back dip down to fondle his balls swinging temptingly between the two of you as he rocked back and forth.

“Want to cum again, big boy?” you cooed softly as you started to fondle him gently, rolling them in your palm before moving to wrap your fingers around his cock. He nodded eagerly, tilting his head to look up at you pleadingly. Dried tears streaked across his face, and there was drool on his pillow, all a testament to how truly gone he was.

He near screamed as you sped up, fucking him firmly into the mattress. His cock twitched valiantly in your hand as you jerk him off.

“You love it, don’t you?” you said softly as he moaned, loud enough that your neighbours would probably complain. Again. “Such a smart boy, going stupid for cock. You like being fucked stupid, don’t you?”

You weren’t even sure if he understood what you were saying, the only response to your words being a litany of “please, please, please,” tumbling from his lips as you felt him draw closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum for me, babe, let go.”

It wasn’t as explosive as his first couple of orgasms; he keened, burying his face in the pillows, his cock offering a pathetic spurt of nearly clear cum, adding to the already soaked sheets below him. You fucked him slowly through his orgasm, helping him ride it, before he tapped the space beside his head, drawing you to a halt. His skin was smooth beneath your hands as you rubbed his back for a quiet minute before you pulled away from carefully.

He whined as the overstimulation got to him; the soft squelch of the lube made you smile when you finally released yourself from him. You resisted the urge to run your thumb along his puffy rim, simply admiring how stretched out he was, appreciating how sore he’d probably feel in the next couple of days. You pat his hip, and gently manoeuvre him to lie on his side, away from the cuddle puddle.

“I’ll be right back,” you promised him in a quiet voice before you’re slipping out of the room to the adjoining bathroom. You made sure to be quick, dreading the thought of leaving Jason alone for too long after having put him through so much.

You cleaned yourself up before coming back to him with a damp, warm cloth. He shuffled closer to you as you wiped him down, careful of areas you knew were sensitive.

“Better?” you asked as you set aside the towel and brushed his hair out of his hair. Bright green eyes stare up at you, just about regaining their spark as he slowly comes out of his dazed headspace.

“Stay?” he croaked as he reached out to clasp your arm. You huff a small laugh, leaning forward to place a peck on his lips.

“Eat and drink something for me first, okay?”

He grumbled but sat up with your help, taking the offered water bottle with shaky hands. You reminded him to take small sips as you settled beside him on the edge of the bed, taking the bottle from him when he pulled away and offering him an open granola bar instead.

He pulled you into his lap as he chewed on his bar, an arm around your waist to make sure you weren’t going anywhere.

“Feel better?” you said as he dropped the empty wrapping on the bedside table to be cleaned up tomorrow.

He nodded before he was manhandling you despite still shaky limbs, until you were cuddling appropriately to his taste, his head on your chest and he practically laid on you.

“Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice, “For taking care of me.”

“Always, big guy,” you ran your hand through his hair, twirling his silver strand around your finger, “Thank you for trusting me with your body.”

“Only you.”

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ltwilliammowett · 11 months ago

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Glossary of Nautical Terms - as used in the late 18th and early 19th centuries

Aft: at or towards the stern or after part of a ship, the opposite of bow.

Aloft: overhead, or above.

Athwart: across.

Bank: a rising ground in the sea, differing from a shoal, because not rocky but composed of sand, mud or gravel.

Becalmed: to halt through lack of wind.

Bow: the foremost end or part of a ship, the opposite of stern.

Bowsprit: a large mast or piece of timber which stands out from the bow of a ship.

Burthen: the older term used to express a ship's tonnage or carrying capacity. It was based on the number of tuns of wine that a ship could carry in her holds, the total number giving her burthen.

Chase, to: to pursue a vessel in wartime with the aim of capturing, acquiring information from her, or destroying.

Colours: the name by which the national flag flown by a ship at sea is known, used to determine nationality.

Dead reckoning: a system of navigation where the position of a ship is calculated without the use of any astronomical observation whatever.

Fair wind: a wind favourable to the direction a ship is sailing.

Fathom: a measure of six feet, used to divide the lead (or sounding) lines in measuring the depth of water; and to calculate in the length of cables, rigging, etc.

Fore: the forward part.

Hail, to: to call to another ship.

Helm: the instrument by which the ship is steered, and includes both the wheel and the tiller, as one general term.

Jib: a triangular sail set by sailing ships on the boom which runs out from the bowsprit.

Jury-mast: a temporary makeshift mast erected to replace a mast that has been disabled or carried away.

Jury-rudder: a makeshift arrangement to give a ship the ability to to steer when she has lost her rudder.

Keel: the lowest and principal timber of a wooden ship - the single strongest member of the ship's frame.

Knot: the nautical measure of speed, one knot being a speed of one nautical mile (6,080 feet) per hour. As a measure of speed the term is always knots, and never knots an hour.

Landfall: the discovery of the land.

Land-locked: sheltered all round by the land, so that there is no view of the sea.

Lead: an instrument for discovering the depth of water, attached to a lead-line, which is marked at certain distances to measure the fathoms.

Lee: the side of a ship, promontory, or other object away from the wind; that side sheltered from the wind. It is the opposite side to windward.

Lee shore: a coastline on to which the wind blows directly - consequently it can be dangerous as the wind tends to force the sailing ship down on it.

Leeward: with the wind; towards the point to which the wind blows.

Letter of Marque: a commission issued in Britain by the Lord High Admiral or Commissioners of the Admiralty authorizing the commander of a privately owned ship to cruise in search of enemy merchant vessels. The letter of marque described the ship, her owners and officers, the amount of surety which had been deposited and stressed the necessity of having all prize vessels or goods seized condemned and valued at a Vice Admiralty Court for the payment of 'prize money'.

Lie-to: to prevent a vessel from making progress through the water - achieved by reducing sail in a gale. The objective is to keep the vessel in such a position, with the wind on the bow, as to ensure that heavy seas do not break aboard.

The Line (or 'Crossing the Line') Sailing across the Equator. Nautical tradition where seamen celebrate the crossing of the equator by dressing up and acting out a visit by King Neptune. Those who have not previously crossed the line are summoned to the court of Neptune for trial, followed by a ritual ducking (in a bathing tub of seawater) and sometimes lathered and roughly shaved.

Mainsail: the principal sail of a sailing vessel.

Mizzen (or mizen): the name for the third, aftermost, mast of a square-rigged sailing ship or of a three-masted schooner.

Muster: to assemble the crew of a ship on deck and call through the list of names to establish who is present and accounted for.

Muster-book: the book kept on board a vessel in which was entered the names of all men serving in the ship, with the dates of their entry and final discharge from the crew. It was the basis on which victuals were issued and payment made for services performed on board.

Pintle: a vertical metal pin attached to the leading edge of the rudder; it is fitted into the metal ring or 'gudgeon' bolted to the sternpost of a vessel. This provides the means for hinging the rudder on the sternpost and allows a rudder to be swung or turned as desired (by use of the tiller); where necessary (ie. when the rudder needs to be removed or repaired) the pintles can be unshipped quickly and the rudder detached.

Port: the left-hand side of a vessel as seen from the stern; also a harbour or haven.

Privateer: a privately owned vessel armed with guns which operated in time of war against the trading vessels of an enemy nation. Each privateer was given a a 'letter of marque' which was regarded as a commission to seize any enemy shipping as a 'prize'. The name 'privateer' has come to refer to both the ship and the men who sailed in her.

Prize: name used to describe an enemy vessel captured at sea by a ship of war or a privateer; also used to describe a contraband cargo taken from a merchant ship. A 'prize court' would then determine the validity of capture of ships and goods and authorize their disposal. 'Prize' in British naval history always acted as considerable incentive to recruitment with many men tempted to join the navy in anticipation of quick riches.

Prize Court: Captured ships were to be brought before prize courts where it was decided whether the vessel was legal prize; if so, the whole value was divided among the owners and the crew of the ship.

Prize Money: the net proceeds of the sale of enemy shipping and property captured at sea - these proceeds were distributed to the captors on a sliding scale from highest rank to lowest seaman.

Road or Roadstead: a stretch of sheltered water near land where ships may ride at anchor in all but very heavy weather; often rendered as 'roads', and does not refer to the streets of a particular port city but rather its anchorage, as in 'St Helens Roads', the designated anchorage for shipping located between St. Helens (Isle of Wight) and Portsmouth, or 'Funchal Roads' at the island of Madeira. (see Elizabeth Macquarie's 1809 Journal).

Quarter: (1)the direction from which the wind was blowing, particularly if it looked like remaining there for some time; (2)the two after parts of the ship - strictly speaking a ship's port or starbord quarter was a bearing 45° from the stern.

Ship: from the Old English scip, the generic name for sea-going vessels (as opposed to boats). Originally ships were personified as masculine but by the sixteenth century almost universally expressed as as feminine.

Shoal: a bank or reef, an area of shallow water dangerous to navigation. Sounding: the of operation of determioning the depth of the sea, and the quality of the ground, by means of a lead and line, sunk from the ship to the bottom, where some of the sediment or sand adheres to the tallow in the hollow base of the lead.

Sound: (1) to try the depth of the water; (2) a deep bay.

Sounding: ascertaining the depth of the sea by means of a lead and line, sunk from a ship to the bottom.

Soundings: those parts of the ocean not far from the shore where the depth is about 80 to 100 fathoms.

Spar: a general term for any wooden support used in the rigging of a ship - includes all masts, yards, booms, gaffs etc.

Squall: a sudden gust of wind of considerable strength.

Starboard: the right-hand side of a vessel as seen from the stern.

Stern: after-part of a ship or boat.

Tack: the nautical manouevre of bringing a sailing vessel on to another bearing by bringing the wind round the bow; during this manouevre the vessel is said to be 'coming about'.

Tide of Flood: the flow of the tidal stream as it rises from the ending of the period of slack water at low tide to the start of the period of slack water at high tide; its period is approximately six hours.

Trade Winds: steady regular winds that blow in a belt approximately 30 N. and 30 S of the equator. In the North Atlantic the trades blow consistently all year round, from the north-east; in the South Atlantic they blow from the south-east, converging just north of the equator. The meeting of the trade winds just north of the equator created the infamous 'doldrums', where sailing ships could be becalmed for days or weeks waiting for a wind to carry them back into the trades.They were known as trade winds because of their regularity, thereby assisting sailing vessels in reaching their markets to carry out trade.

Under way: the description of a ship as soon as she begins to move under canvas power after her anchor has been raised from the bottom; also written as 'under weigh.'

Voyage: a journey by sea. It usually includes the outward and homeward trips, which are called passages.

Watch: (1) one of the seven divisions of the nautical day; (2) one of two divisions of the seamen forming the ship's company.

Wear: the nautical manouevre of bringing a sailing vessel on to another tack by bringing the wind around the stern.

Weather: in a nautical sense (rather than a meteorological) this is the phrase used by seamen to describe anything that lies to windward. Consequently, a coastline that lies to windward of a ship is a weather shore; the side of a ship that faces the wind when it is under way is said to be the weather side a ship, etc.

Weigh: to haul up.

Weigh anchor: the raising of the anchor so that the ship is no longer secured to the sea or river bottom.

Windward: the weather side, or that direction from which the wind blows. It is the opposite side to leeward.

Yard: (1) a large wooden spar crossing the masts of a sailing ship horizontally or diagonally, from which a sail is set. (2) a shortened form of the word 'dockyard, in which vessels are built or repaired.

Sources: JEANS, Peter D. Ship to Shore: a dictionary of everyday words and phrases derived from the sea. Santa Barbara: ABC-Clio, 1993.

The Oxford Companion to Ships & the Sea. (ed.) Peter Kemp. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976.

#naval history #naval artifacts #ship terms #not from me #sources below #18th century #19th century #age of sail #infos

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slytherin-pen · 4 months ago

Text

Heavy Is The Crown

pairing: Xaden x Reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: Xaden is stressed, kissing, Xaden is angsty but this is fluffy

a/n: happy Xaden Week! written for day 1 ‘Leadership’. @empyreanevents

The halls of Riorson House are eerily quiet at this hour, the usual rush of cadets and fliers reduced to the occasional distant footsteps or muffled conversation. You barely notice, too focused on your destination—Xaden’s room. The day has been grueling. Filled with combat training, strategy meetings, and rune lessons. You are sore and exhausted, but all of that fades into the background when you think of him.

You knock lightly before pushing the door open. Xaden sits at his desk, head bent over scattered reports and maps, the mage light casting a light blue glow over the room. His brows are furrowed, his jaw tight with tension, and his hands are curled into fists on the wooden surface. He glares at the papers as if they have personally wronged him.

He doesn’t look up right away, but he knows it’s you. He always knows.

“You should be sleeping,” Xaden murmurs, his voice low, rough with exhaustion.

“So should you.” You step inside, closing the door behind you. The air in here is thick with the scent of leather, steel, and his cologne. You have to remind yourself of why you’re here before you drown in it. “Xaden,” you call.

That gets his attention. He drags a hand down his face before meeting your gaze, and what you see there makes your breath catch.

He’s tired. Not just physically, but in a way that seeps into his bones, into the very fabric of who he is. It’s the kind of exhaustion that comes from carrying too much for too long. From carrying the weight of an entire revolution on his shoulders, from making decisions that mean the difference between life and death for hundreds—if not thousands—of people. He never lets them see it. Not the Assembly, not the marked ones—no one. But he lets you.

Without a word, you walk to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He exhales, tension radiating from him as he leans into your touch. His muscles are taut, and there’s a seemingly permanent furrow between his brows that wrinkles the scar there. When you press a gentle kiss to his temple, his eyes flutter shut, like he’s trying to savor the moment.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whisper. “Just let me be here. Let me help you.”

For a long time, he’s silent. Then, in a voice so quiet you almost don’t hear it, he says, “It’s too much.”

Your heart clenches.

“Every day, I have to act like I have the answers. Like I know exactly what I’m doing, like I don’t feel it—” he trails off as his voice cracks, shaking his head as if that could banish the onslaught of emotions. “Like I don’t feel the weight of every decision I make. Every order I give. Every life that could be lost because of it.”

You kneel beside him, taking his hand in yours. His fingers curl around yours instinctively, strong but desperate.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” you whisper. “I know you think you do, but you don’t.”

He lets out a slow, measured breath. “I do, though.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, and when he speaks again, his voice is raw. “If I let it slip, even for a second, people die.”

You don’t argue. He’s right. But that doesn’t mean you’ll let him bear it without reminding him that someone is here. That someone is here for him and only him. The whole world could burn to ash and you would not care, as long as you were still by his side.

You climb onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he doesn’t hesitate before pulling you close. His breath is warm against your skin, his grip firm as if anchoring himself to you. For a while, you just hold him. You don’t tell him it’ll get easier, because it won’t. You don’t promise that the weight will lessen, because it won’t. But you will remind him, again and again, that he doesn’t have to bear it alone. And when he finally exhales against your shoulder, some of the tension draining from him, you know he knows that too.

Xaden doesn’t thank you with words. He doesn’t have to. The way his grip tightens around you, the way he buries his face in the crook of your neck and just breathes you in, says more than words ever could. For a long time, neither of you move. The world outside keeps turning, the weight on his shoulders doesn’t lessen, but here, in this moment, he allows himself to rest. To let go—if only for a moment.

You lean back to unbutton his flight jacket, his onyx eyes watching your every move. You pull the leather down his shoulders and fling it into his hamper. Your hands find the muscles between his neck and shoulders, and you knead them with your fingers. A groan falls from his lips as his head falls against the back of the chair. His hands tighten around your hips and you restrain the urge to roll them. This isn’t about you, it’s about him. About how much you love and care for him.

You work your way up and down his biceps, massaging away the knots and tension. Slowly, he starts to relax some more. Deflating like a balloon as it releases air. You move on to the back of his neck, gliding your fingernails to his scalp. The corners of his lips twitch upwards, likely imagining the other times your fingers have found their way into his hair. You smirk, but quickly refocus on your ministrations. His hair is soft like silk sliding through your fingers. You switch to the top of his head, moving the stray curls away from his face as you continue. A shiver runs through him with your touch, his shoulders jerking slightly. You smile to yourself and press a kiss to his cheek, then the other.

He quickly catches your lips with his, sliding his tongue across your bottom lip. The kiss is torturously slow, his tongue caressing yours with a gentleness that nearly makes you melt. Your hands move back down to the back of his neck, squeezing slightly. His mouth is warm against yours, always so warm and soft, like a cabin with a fire burning inviting you in from the chill outside.

Eventually, you pull away and his fingers trace slow, absentminded patterns against your back. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers, so quietly you almost miss it.

You cup his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You do.” Your voice is firm but gentle. “You deserve to be cared for. You deserve to have someone who stands beside you, not just behind you.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, something unreadable flashing across his face before he presses his forehead to yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you promise, brushing your thumb along his cheek.

He exhales, and though the weight of leadership still rests on his shoulders, the burden doesn’t feel quite as heavy. Not in this moment. Not with you here.

And when you eventually coax him to bed, tangling your limbs together beneath the covers, you know that tomorrow, he’ll rise and carry it all again. He’ll lead, he’ll fight, he’ll make more impossible decisions. But tonight, he allows himself to rest. To lay in your arms and listen to soft sound of your breathing, to the steady rhythm of your heart beat.

#fourth wing #the empyrean #xadenweek2025 #fourth wing fic #fourth wing x reader #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #rebecca yarros #fluff #iron flame

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kakushino · 2 years ago

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The Queen

Ryomen Sukuna x F! Reader

He never orders you around - rather, he requests.

Tags: slight gore, suggestive, fem reader, true form Sukuna Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

AN: Fanart used in banner made by the amazing @innaillus - be sure to check out their divine fanart Written as a Secret Santa's gift for @zoyakuna - Merry (early) Christmas! (and pls stop slandering Giyuu, it's causing me undue stress)

There was little to amuse you in your secluded throne room underground.

Correction - there had been little to amuse you out of your throne room, so you had retreated back into your palace - and even then, was it a palace, when there were no servants, no great halls, no music, and no consort?

Just you - the Supreme Sovereign - and your throne made of roots and vines.

Which made it odd to hear a sound echo in your chamber. You feared nothing, no one, and your heart remained steady, not a beat out of place, your eyes closed as you rested from lifetimes of exhaustion.

“Who goes there?” you called out, not moving from your reclined position.

You were it to him, the holy grail of his searching - the Queen of Curses. Your name was feared enough that it had been scratched out from all written sources, the feats accredited to you terrifying… yet thrilling to Sukuna. He had needed to meet you, though he knew not why… A deep hunger for companionship, another who could stand at his level, who could reign with him from his Shrine, a craving so consuming he nearly went mad with his searching.

And he did find you, though hardly in the condition he thought he would.

“This is what You have become? The cynosure of all mortals reduced to a wretch.”

The voice was rough, forceful - distinctly male - though the tone held a hint of remorse and confusion. “All beauty is short-lived,” was all you said, a slight irritation churning your stomach for the first time in - decades, centuries, millenia? Who knows?

“Not for curses. We are eternal.” You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, and intense. It lashed out at your own, but like water parting around a blade, yours did too, accepting and redirecting the angry force, dispersing it, and eventually absorbing it. It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after being suffocated under the weight of the world, a drop of water quenching a soul-deep thirst in the desert of life.

You opened your eyes and sat up properly as you studied him.

The man - curse - was tall, broad, and regal. A king would be a title befitting his posture. His hair was a light color you could hardly make out in the darkness of your abode. The dark marks adorning his face stood out starkly against his skin, as did the shape of the disfigured flesh on the right side of his face. Four gleaming eyes were focused on you, four arms relaxed at his sides.

This man was fascinating, and beautiful; he could easily sway the hearts of humans, bring them to their knees. Too bad you were not human.

“Join me, your Majesty.” Despite the wording, it was a plea. How odd.

“Who are you to ask anything of me?” You blinked slowly. You felt the way cursed energy swirled around him - violent, intense, … defensive, lonely. It enticed you, spoke to you in a language you understood all too well. It wasn’t in your nature to deny an honest request.

“Ryomen Sukuna, your Majesty,” he introduced himself. There was a sense of pride in the way he spoke, as if his existence was created, carved out, into the world by his own hands.

Perhaps Ryomen Sukuna would be the cure to your continued boredom.

You stood up from your throne, your figure hardly atrophied as your cursed energy kept you in peak form. The roots and vines retreated into the cave walls, leaving no trace of your royal seat, the chamber empty again for centuries to come.

“Very well.”

Living with Sukuna was hardly boring. Each day, you felt your apathy falling away as you spent time with the King of Curses, until you smiled freely in his presence. The day you realized he softened you to this degree came all too suddenly.

His cruelty to humans who sought to undermine him was but a flimsy curtain of who he truly was. Like a displeased cat, claws exposed, he scratched up those daring to approach him, but with you -

With you he was as playful and borderline affectionate as the tabby you used to feed back in your human days. It warmed your heart, and your cheeks, to feel his eyes on your figure. It made you feel unsteady on your feet. It made you question who was the ruler of the other, who held the power over the other; the power imbalance slowly became a balance - your energy dimmed by the way he could play you like a puppet.

All these feelings weaved together and knotted around your heart, snaring you in a complex web too tight to escape, exposing your throat to him like a delicacy to be gorged upon.

Only if you let him know, that is.

You somehow felt that a man like him wouldn’t settle, and more importantly, he was a man; just another one of the hordes who wanted a demure consort, you could bet. You were not a dainty flower he likely sought; you were a weed - growing strong despite the harshest of conditions, clawing out a place for your existence where there had been none before. The Curse of Curses.

So you buried those feelings like a female buried herself under layers of junihitoe - though you refused to wear that monstrosity despite the latest fashion in Japan, as all the fabric was too heavy for comfort. You made do with the yukata you stole from Sukuna’s wardrobe. It was definitely not because it smelled like him.

You kept away from the humans and the ruling in his Shrine, spending time with Uraume, him, or alone in the gardens - until you could not. He’d left you in charge of his Kingdom when he had business to do.

Human men were deplorable, thinking you were just a weak curse to be manipulated and slandered. You didn’t raise your voice at all, yet it shut everyone up in the hall - save for one local lord thinking himself too mighty to listen. No amount of flattery would have kept him alive after that. A wave of your hand made vines grow out of his guts - burrowing through his flesh as easily as tearing paper apart; sweet-smelling white flowers bloomed from the mess of red-coated plant matter in the middle of the chamber.

You sat in Sukuna’s throne of bones, regal and untouchable.

That was how he found you - presiding over his subjects like the Goddess you were, and bloody Spring sprouted in front of him, rubies glinting upon the stone floors like a grotesque decoration.

At first, he had wanted to study you - the Queen of Curses, the Supreme Sovereign, older than him, wiser, more powerful. Forgotten, yet not forgotten enough for him not to find any sources mentioning your title. He had been curious about you, and then he became curious about the feelings you evoked in him. Your presence in his home converted from an adornment into an emollient to him, smoothing the rough edges and softening the spikes of his defenses against you, yet you remained the centerpiece of his attention, even when you weren’t in his presence. He found himself thinking about you in all his waking moments.

“Everyone, out.”

He could not hide his devotion to you if he tried now - it had grown roots in his soul and fed off of his life-force, yet strengthened it twice as much. His heart was set ablaze every time he laid eyes upon your form, the blood in his veins searing hot, branding him from the inside - a slave to you forevermore.

And so he knelt at your feet, the bottom two of his arms supporting him as he leaned forward, his top pair carefully reaching for your foot and raising it to his face.

The King of Curses kissed your ankle, closing his eyes in silent worship to his Goddess, his World.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted you in a whisper, his lips caressing your skin.

Your eyes grew soft as you studied him, your posture proud but your expression fond. “Sukuna.”

Wet, hot tongue darted out to taste your skin, making you jolt and tear your leg from his grasp with pursed lips. The tabby was particularly impertinent today.

“You have no respect for your Queen, do you?”

“On the contrary, I hold all the respect for you.” His smirk was mischievous, he knew as well as you did neither of you were serious about this. Just a harmless teasing, if a bit skewed.

You used your foot to lightly push against his chest to tip him over onto his back - which he let you do, for he could have as easily resisted. Even falling down, he looked graceful. It made you feel warm inside your ribcage as you pushed a joyous smile down.

Sukuna turned the fall into a backwards roll, ending up on his knees again.

“At least you know your place - on your knees before me…”

“I-” he licked his lips, “I would gladly be on my knees for you all day, Your Majesty.”

Oh? It was your turn to give him a smile full of mischief as he slowly moved back to you. You remained silent.

“Has a cat got your tongue?”

Sukuna shuffled forward on his knees, his top pair of arms resting on the bones of his throne as he came even closer. Palms trailing to your thighs and covering them with his hands - an easy feat with his size.

You could do naught but marvel at the contrast of your limbs and his - each powerful and deadly in their own right, each in a different way. There was no tremor of fear in your muscles, only anticipation, even while he lightly spread your legs to fit his torso between them as you lounged on his throne.

“Let me feast on your nectar.” His voice, smooth like silk, a plea rather than an order, the nuance of his tone telling all you needed to know. He appeared unreadable to others, but he was as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn babe to you at this moment.

Even so, your lips parted in surprise at his request for you didn’t expect him to say it out loud at last. “Forward, aren’t you?”

His carmine eyes - all four of them - focused on yours with an intensity you were only just getting used to with him. Sukuna said nothing as he waited for your response.

The devil didn’t bargain, after all.

“Very well… Show me how you would worship your Queen, my King.”

dividers by the divine @benkeibear

network: @enchantedforest-network

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dandelionsresilience · 4 months ago

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Dandelion News - March 1-7

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles! I’m almost finished with February’s doodles, sorry for the delay

1. Charles Darwin saw this Galápagos bird on Floreana Island in 1835, then it wasn't seen again for almost 200 years

“The Galápagos rail […] had been deemed locally extinct – and due for reintroduction from other Galápagos islands – until it was seen during recent fieldwork. [… “R]emove the invasive threats, and native species can recover in remarkable ways,” says Island Conservation’s Paula Castaño.”

2. Bill supporting free student meals passes through Utah legislature

“[The bill] would move thousands of students who qualify for reduced-cost school meals into eligibility for free breakfasts and lunch. […] H.B. 100 secures $2.5 million from the state’s education budget to help students from families who do not qualify for federal aid like SNAP or TANF.”

3. Indigenous leaders sign landmark carbon deal in Philippines

“[The deal establishes] the country’s first locally owned forest carbon project. The project, which places a monetary value on the potentially climate-warming carbon stored in trees, aims to halt deforestation through the sale of carbon credits — effectively making the forest more valuable alive than cut down.”

4. Powerful Speeches From Trans Dems Flip 29 Republicans, Anti-Trans Bills Die In Montana

“Transgender Reps Zooey Zephyr and SJ Howell delivered powerful speeches on the Montana House floor on Thursday. Republicans defected en masse to join them in voting against anti-trans bills. […] One Republican even took the floor to deliver a scathing rebuke of the bill’s sponsor.”

5. Illinois proves states have a lot of power to advance clean energy

“[Two new bills] aim to evaluate the state’s current power grid, make it easier to expand the transmission system, and add a ton of new battery storage[…. Illinois already] has one of the cleanest grids in the nation thanks to bountiful nuclear power.“

6. ‘I feel real hope’: historic beaver release marks conservation milestone in England

“”We are visibly, measurably recovering nature and that is so exciting[….]” [… In] recent years, beavers have been returning to our waterways via licensed releases into enclosures and some illegal releases. […] Last week, the government announced that, with a licence, it is now legal for conservationists to release beavers into the wild, with no enclosures necessary.”

7. One of South Dakota’s largest wind farms just got the green light

“Invenergy says the new South Dakota wind farm will pump $78 million into landowner payments over the next 30 years, while local governments will see $38 million in property tax revenue. [… T]he project is expected to create 243 construction jobs and support eight long-term operational roles.”

8. The Antarctic ozone hole is healing, thanks to global reduction of CFCs

“[The] new study is the first to show, with high statistical confidence, that this recovery is due primarily to the reduction of ozone-depleting substances, versus other influences such as natural weather variability[….] "By something like 2035, we might see a year when there's no ozone hole depletion at all in the Antarctic.””

9. Monarch butterflies wintering in Mexico rebound this year

“The number of monarch butterflies wintering in the mountains west of Mexico City [doubled] in 2024 despite the stresses of climate change and habitat loss[….] Tavera Alonso credited ongoing efforts to increase the number of plants the butterflies rely on for sustenance and reproduction along their flyway.”

10. Pip in final egg means bald eagles Jackie and Shadow should soon be parents of triplets

“Triplets would be unprecedented for the eagles in a decade of observation. […] The [third] eaglet is "actively working on getting out of the egg." […] The two already-hatched chicks, who will be named by the public in the days to come, are "looking much stronger than they were even yesterday[….]””

February 22-28 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

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queenendless · 7 months ago

Text

🍑 Juicy 🍑

A/n: Reapplying to college got me anxious. Commissions have hit a dead end. Family drama is stressful.

And seeing fanart of so much Gojussy, all of it combined, really pushed me to write of it at least once. Many writing firsts for me on this so please go easy on me. Forgive me for my smut writing, it ain't no masterpiece.

Pairing: Top!Dom!Adult!Male!Reader x Bottom!Sub!Adult!AFAB!Gojo.

CW: 21+ MATURE CONTENT.

🔞 EXPLICIT SMUT! SO MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT! DO NOT REPOST, STEAL, COPY, EDIT, TRANSLATE.

Reblog, like, share, follow. Hope you enjoy.

Seeing that plump ass jutting out of a hole in the wall was what greeted you. Hearing his bubbly cheery voice become "Yap yap yap" in your ears as you lustfully eyed his wiggling cheeks. The dripping juices already trailing down that pussy along the rest of those barren legs made your libido stand.

Gojo's words get strangles in his throat as they turn to raunchy groans for your drooling mouth immediately covered his quivering cum lips. Your fingers parted the folds as your tongue dug deeply into his warm moist caverns. Rutting his hips backwards quite desperately made your ego spike, rewarded with your fingers now roughly rubbing his clit. "Mh~! Mmgh~! Ngh~!"

"The strongest sorcerer, reduced to the neediest slut." Your scorned remark reverberating against his cunt had him gushing hard down your throat and along your chin. "Bastard — AAH~!" Satoru's retort melted into carnal moans, those peaches squishing your face in with your nose deep in his albino pubes as you made out starvingly with his pussy.

"Nnh~ Y/n~! No wait – !" The fact that your skillful tongue hit that bundle of nerves was further proof of how beastly your lust is. No amount of cum devoured would be enough to satiate you. You were always parched for his milk. "I – I'm coming –!" He always came the moment he uttered those words.

Creamy thickness painted your face, stained the front of your clothes, splotched his quivering thighs and supple calves and toe-curling feet, forming puddles along the floor. You kissed those gooey flaps before diving right back on in.

His hands slamming and clawing the wall from the other side grew muddled in your ears as you became lost in his addicting sea of semen. He came at least a dozen times before your mouth popped off his, his ass and legs sagging in relief as his fatigued pants were heard from the other side.

"My beautifully depraved whore!" Feverish spanks to those jiggly phat cheeks came next. His erotic cries paired with his legs kicking in response, having you roughly grab him by his ankles, bending his legs, with your grip biting into his skin to remind him whose in charge. "My sweet Toru~"

Your sharp canines pricked his savory flesh. The red handprints and bloody marks on that once perfectly creamy skin always looked perfect, your inner wish being that you wished they would stay, as further physical proof that his ass is yours and only yours. "Take me already~" The eagerness could be detected in his breathy tone, his ass wiggling being the cherry on the top, got you pulling your dick out of its restrictions.

Clawing your nails into those dips he had for hips left scratch marks along with the bruises as you were sucked greedily in. Slamming relentlessly into his tight familiar jussy with gusto followed. "Too good~! So FUCKIN good~!" Your salacious groans made Gojo squirt harder, a ring of cum forming where you two intersect, and his legs hugged around your waist in his trapped angle.

The ardor in your thrusts was felt as the wall slams bounced around, the cacophony of your lewd shouts fused with his. Feeling you filling his abdomen to the brim was sheer perfection. You were reaching the edge. "Come to me, Toru~! COME~!"

Satoru came undone once again. Waves of fuzzy euphoria sparked through his very being as he came on high. The sight of your conjoined essence coming out between his marked rippling cheeks had you smashing your hips in pursuit of that ever-fleeting rush.

His lips fluttering around your staff, squeezing you for all your seed, pounding into him like the sex doll that he is to you, obsessively fondling and pulling apart his asscheeks in restlessness, Gojo's breathless wanton chants of your name, it all became a typhoon of desire that drowned out all sense of reason.

When it finally came time to come down from your highs, your shaft temporarily deflated, staying within him, slacking against the wall for support, picturing Gojo's messy hair sticking to his flushed dazed heaving face, wanting to see that face in person. "Y/n." His whispered plea just about did you in.

Demolishing the wall was all too easy. Getting your giant lover on his back, mating press him, your cock striking a new nerve bunde had him spurting along your V line as well as his stuffed oven, jostling your penis to life.

"Come for me again, Toru~ A dozen more~"

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astralis-ortus · 1 year ago

Text

you're always enough

✱ boyfriend!bc x fem!reader

— losing you was not an option.

w.count → 2.3k genre → angst, fluff, a dash of comedy warning → mild cussing, mention of infidelity, insecure chan :( a.n → based on this request! it honestly was a challenge for me hahahㅠ i think it's been a while since i wrote something with this quick of a vibe change in a while but i'm glad i got to try again! ⋆ see masterlist

the clock at the bottom right part of his monitor shows its lingering around the 1pm mark—a mere 2 hours since he had stepped foot inside the building—and yet, he’s already stressed.

one block and straight to another, work hasn’t been looking good for him so far. he’s so ready to call for another break—but the soft knocks to the melody of twinkle twinkle little stars on chan’s studio door could only mean one thing.

“well hello there, miss producer,” chan’s frown turned into a smile in the split second you peeked your head between the crack of the door, eyes turning into a pair of beautiful crescents you oh-so adore. you couldn’t even stop yourself from smiling—chan just looked so adorable with his messy natural curls decorating his forehead, beanie discarded somewhere on his leather couch. “come on in. i missed you.”

4 years ago, you were graced with the opportunity to participate in a song camp with the 3racha—one of, if not the, biggest producers in your company. it was a great experience—you got to learn a lot of new things, and somehow, your luck seemed to prolong as you kept in touch with the boys; occasionally called in for inputs while some other time just to hangout while grabbing a bite when the three realized the unidentified voice bleed turns out to originate from your producing room.

“oh really?” your smile easily mirrored his as you stepped inside the cold room, not forgetting to close the door behind you, “you missed me?”

taking his extended hand, the wide grin painted on your face soon met the end of its reign as your boyfriend pulls you into his lap—tiny yelp involuntarily left your lips while chan had his arms wrapped around you in a tight hug. you couldn’t even continue with the witty remarks on the tip of your tongue when his complimentary dozen of butterfly kisses fell across the span of your face; all replaced with the series of giggles and ‘oh my god—stop!’s as you attempted to free yourself from his trap.

you thought your little crush on the oldest of the three was going to remain as a silly little crush—but as life turns out, it has somehow been around 2 years since chan asked you to be his girlfriend, and a little over a year since you two gradually came clean to your closest friends and coworkers; though the thought only came after repeatedly being caught secretly meeting up or sneakily holding hands during your increasingly overlapping recording sessions.

“you little monster!” a high pitched squeal slipped past your upturned lips when you finally caught his rosy cheeks between your hands, keeping him still as you brought your lips onto his for a few quick pecks—which seemed to work, seeing how chan’s antics now reduced to a simple giggle as he held you close. “you really missed me that much?” you hummed, gently running your thumbs on his freckled cheeks.

“of course i do,” chan pursed his lips in protest, warm hand gently running down your side, “it’s not every day i couldn’t see my girlfriend both at home and at work. 24 hours a day alone wasn’t enough, and now it’s reduced? of course i’m bound to miss you!”

swarms of butterflies fill the hollow of your chest while you let laughter echoes through the familiar green walls, feeling both warm and ticklish from chan’s cheesy line. “gosh,” your wide set grin now completed with a tinge of rose-colored flush on your cheeks, “you’re so head over heels for me, aren’t you?”

chan’s reverberating low hum became his reply, nodding his head confidently. “of course i am,” he smiled, eyes twinkling as the pair of deep brown eyes peered right into yours. “aren’t you?”

“well,” you grinned, arms wrapped around your boyfriend’s neck, “maybe if—”

your train of thought was forced to a halt when you felt a buzz in your pocket, quickly hopping off chan’s lap after a quick glance at the name. a short apology was muttered before you finally took the call outside the studio, leaving chan feeling a little dumbfounded and… hurt.

chan knew it’s probably work—despite the promised time off since the artist you’re working with is on their vacation, as someone who works behind the scenes, you’re never actually off duty. there’s bound to be urgent matters you need to deal with, and chan understood that.

he's just… confused.

and his confusion certainly multiplies in size when he heard another voice laughing with yours, right outside of his studio.

“no! geez, didn’t i—oh!” your attention instantly shifted when you heard the studio door crack open, eyes catching your puzzled boyfriends’ as he looked at you and the figure across. “channie, this is kyungho sunbae. he’s a new addition to the team but i met him in college. kyungho sunbae, this is—”

“bang chan-ssi, of course,” kyungho cheerily greeted chan, extending a friendly hand. “i’ve heard a lot of good things about you!”

“oh,” the confusion on chan’s face turned into a tight smile—which equally reflected on his grip on the stranger’s hand. even through a quick scan of his eyes, chan notices a lot. “couldn’t really say the same, but welcome. i hope you’re adjusting well so far,” chan continued, returning his hand to the small of your back.

“i am, thank you! i—”

“i’m sorry i can’t really talk much right now, i have my things to return to,” chan was quick to cut kyungho off, surprising both you and the latter. “it was nice meeting you, though,” chan quickly bowed before disappearing behind the metal door, leaving you slightly bothered.

“well, i gotta get going too,” kyungho finally broke the awkwardness between you. “i’ll text you later about the details?” he smiled despite the peeking confusion behind his eyes, to which you nodded before sending him off.

it was unlike chan to behave like that. sure, he might grow a little rough with his actions when work hasn’t been going the way he wanted things to be, but he was doing just fine. he was all lovey dovey with you less than 5 minutes prior, wasn’t he?

“baby,” cracking the door open, you were met with a stern-faced chan—eyes locked to his monitors with a muffled bass resonating from the headphone over his ears. the sight led you to a defeated sigh; you knew better than anyone to not bother the lion when he’s in this state.

but little did you know,

when you decided to back away and close the door, chan felt as if his worst nightmare had come true.

he knows it’s stupid to think that you’d ever cheat on him, but there’s also no guarantee that you would never fall for someone else and realize that maybe your happiness wasn’t with him. it terrifies chan to realize that maybe one day, you’d meet someone and realize that there’s someone better than him—someone better looking, someone who could treat you better, someone who could give you everything that you could ever wished for.

chan is scared that he’s not enough, and never will be.

for someone who’s been in his seat for so long, chan understands that at times his life does feel rather fleeting—like he’s simply going through the motions as he tries to stay afloat. everything—everyone—goes by so fast, and along the way, chan somehow learned how to shut down his feelings just so he could survive. he knew—he hoped, that as life gets better, he’ll come to find the opportunity to learn how to feel again.

but then, again, not everything he knows he needed to do proves to be easy.

it took him a while, but when he finally reached a point where he felt like life’s doing better for him, chan finally realizes that he now has love within him to give. he tried sharing them with his bandmates, he tried sharing them with his friends and family—hell, he even tried to share them with every single soul he met, but nothing fills him with the sense of content he was looking for…

until he met you.

chan knew he shouldn’t—you were his coworker, but despite him trying his best not to view you in a special light, he couldn’t help but return his gaze to your bright smile whenever you’re in the room. sure, you’re passionate about what you do, and it sure inspires him—but to see how your shoulders relax whenever you pop open a new book, or how happy you looked browsing through the convenience store aisles while trying to find what kind of new snacks you’ve never seen before,

it feels like he finally found what to be at peace felt like. he finally knew what love should look like—and it’s you.

a soft touch on his shoulder snaps chan out of his trance, eyes wide as it met your worried pair. your gentle smile was the second thing he noticed, and his eyes finally trailed down to the box of pineapple juice and a few snacks along the roll of kimbab perched on his desk.

“i know you’re busy,” your voice finally came clear as soon as chan took off his headphone, “but you need to eat first, okay? it’s almost 2, and i know you didn’t eat much earlier before you left. i’m not gonna bother you again if you eat now—i’ll even head home if you need time to focus, but that’s as long as you eat. okay?”

“…then i’m not eating.”

“baby—”

“i don’t want you to go home,” chan reiterated—and that’s when you finally see the tinge of sadness behind his eyes. “i’m not eating if you’re gonna go.”

“oh baby—what happened?” your voice turned gentle as you took his face in your hands, gently grazing the pads of your thumbs over his skin. “are you okay? do you—”

“i’m sorry.”

“sorry?” you tilted your head, now confused. “for…?”

“just… everything,” chan exhaled, arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you close and rested his forehead on your stomach. “i know i’m difficult, but please. don’t leave.”

“baby you’re not difficult,” you furrowed your eyebrows, puzzled. what happened in the 30 minutes you were gone? did something terrible happened? all sorts of thoughts were running through your head.

“and i’m not leaving,” your voice were stern, and you felt the way chan slightly tightened his arms around you. “where am i supposed to even go anyway? i’m already home.”

if chan wasn’t tearing up before, then he sure is now.

“even if i’m not perfect?” he quietly muttered—and you’re slowly piecing the puzzles together. “even if i’m not tall enough? even if my hair is always messy? even if i’m not fashionable? even if—"

“stop right there, mr. bahng,” you stopped him, peeling yourself off from chan and gazed right at his flushed face, “why are you being mean to my boyfriend? where does this came from, hm? no one’s allowed to say shit to my boyfriend like that!” your pursed your lips and gently lowered yourself to place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, only then smiling when chan let out a soft giggle.

“were you upset about me talking to kyungho sunbae earlier?” you questioned, and despite the lack of reply from your boyfriend, you’re pretty sure you knew what his answer was based on the minuscule shift on his face.

“i’m sorry, baby. i thought our interactions wasn’t important enough, so i never really brought him up to you. had i known you’d feel differently about that, i would’ve told you right away,” you apologized, smiling as you noted the faint glint returning in his eyes. “we did met in college, but he was just a senior i came to shadow a couple times when i started out in the industry.”

“i was really surprised when he turned out to be the new guy in my team,” you continued, fingers gently tracing his features, “but what really shocked me was turns out, i actually know his wife.”

you watched as your boyfriend connected the dots, jaw falling upon realizing the tiny detail he had skipped through despite catching a short glimpse of thin silver band on his finger.

“i met his wife a few times since we were pretty close in high school, and he’s been trying to dig out some information from me since their anniversary is just around the corner and he wanted to surprise her. he was just making sure he got the details right without texting me since his texts are synced to their shared device,” you explained, letting a giggle slip when you caught the blush creeping up your boyfriend’s face.

“…i see.”

the echo of your laugh only grew in volume when your boyfriend began to avoid your eyes, resorting to him burying his face on your stomach. adorable.

“it’s okay, baby. i understand why you’d get jealous,” your lips were set into a wide grin as you held your boyfriend close. “i’m still really sorry, though. i really wasn’t trying to hide this, i promise. i’ll tell you straight away if anything like this ever happened again.”

“okay.”

“so…” reducing your giggles to a smile, you gently run your nails on your boyfriend’s scalp, trying to soothe him, “am i forgiven?”

a muffled whine and a nod after, chan finally gazed up at you and added, “if only you’re eating with me.”

“oh baby,” cradling his face in your hands with a smile, you inched closer and placed a light peck over his pouting lips, “i’ll even stay here and cuddle all day with you.”

only then, chan finally allowed himself to laugh.

“well, then don’t mind if i say yes to that.”

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