#Piling up and piling up until it's no longer fun for minorities to be in your fandom space anymore

[ask-artsy-oncie]

Hearing "there's an active Talespin fan forum that someone got banned from for pointing out that it's a Jungle Book AU (and therefore shouldn't be considered 1:1 with the Jungle Book)" just gives me Klonoa fan forum flashbacks.

Very much over people who make geek culture their entire identities, but spend so much of their energy dictating how people should enjoy something rather than doing something productive and community driven.

[linopls]

birthday boys

jisung x fem!reader x felix, college!au

summary: to celebrate your boyfriend and roommates birthday, you all play a fun drinking game which reveals something about your boyfriend. warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, alcohol, threesome, unprotected (wrap it before u tap it pls), voyeurism/exhibitism, cuckolding (kinda?), oral (male receiving 2x), a little degradation, a lot of praising 2.9k words (i got a little carried away.)

you started dating jisung about a year ago, you met in your anatomy class freshman year of college. while jisung needed it for his major, you were taking it as one of your science electives which meant you had no idea what you were doing. while paired together for a lab, jisung saw your struggles and offered to help you study. once the semester ended, you and jisung continued to hang out and started dating.

jisung met felix shortly after you, the two became inseparable very quickly. after freshman year, felix decided he no longer wanted to dorm on campus and found an apartment and asked if you and jisung would like to take the second bedroom. 

you never had any complaints about rooming with jisung and felix. they were the nicest roommates you could ever ask for. they always did their laundry, never left dirty dishes in the sink, and always kept the fridge stocked with plenty of food. 

however you have found one issue about being friends with them, their birthdays followed each other. this meant that one week every year you would spend a fortune making sure to spoil your amazing and kind friends.

remembering an article you read, that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, this year you decided to recruit the help of jisung’s freshman roommate, minho, in preparing them the most amazing home cooked meal they could imagine. buying the most expensive ribs you could find, splurging on an expensive custom cake that was half each of their favorite flavors, and spending more on alcohol than you do your utilities. 

you also invited some of their other friends, changbin, hyunjin, and seungmin, but they know nothing about cooking and they brought board games and more alcohol for the nine of you to enjoy.

“its 6:15, where are they?” you wonder aloud.

“when have any of them ever been on time,” minho says, taking his apron off and setting it on the island.

you check your phone again for any missed texts from any of the boys and check the clock again to make sure your phone clock isn’t wrong.

“they’re nursing students doing clinicals, they will never be off on time,” minho says, pulling up one of the island chairs to sit in.

you sigh and set your head on his shoulder. “i should know that.”

“you should,” minho says, patting your back softly. “but me and you will never understand the life of not clocking out exactly at-”

the sound of the door opening interrupts minho’s thoughts and the familiar sound of jisung and felix’s laugh relaxes yours. jisung, felix, chan, and jeongin come in through the front door.

“something smells amazing!” felix says trying to catch a glimpse of the feast behind you and minho.

“you don’t get to eat until you open all your gifts!” you exclaim running to grab their presents from the living room.

with everyone’s gifts in their hands, changbin, hyunjin, and seungmin follow behind you. the present piles are dropped in front of the two boys and they  rip through their gifts, skim the cards, and say their thank you's before grabbing plates and filling them like they hadn’t been fed in years.

after the feast, the crowd gathers in the living room with their bottles and glasses of alcohol. while you try to sit down after doing a little head count, you notice jisung is missing. that’s when you hear a small whisper:

“y/n, y/n!” jisung calls from down the hall. “come here.”

you set down your wine glass on the coffee table, before saying a quick ‘i’ll be back’ to the boys.

before you can even ask what jisung wants, he pulls you into a warm hug and a deep kiss. his arms wrap around your lower back and his soft lips push against yours. one of your favorite quirks about jisung is that you can always feel is slight smile whenever he kisses you. you’ve never told him, he would probably die of embarrassment. 

you pull away first and set your forehead against his, “happy birthday, baby.”

“you are literally the best girlfriend i could ever ask for, do you know that?” 

“i’ve been told a couple times,” you giggle. “come on, let's go celebrate with all your friends!”

“can we celebrate, the two of us, later maybe?” jisung asks, wiggling his eyebrows and grabbing your hands.

“of course,” you blush. “i have a special surprise for you later.”

-

after watching half a movie, the group decides to play one of the board games that was brought. 

“i found this game wandering through target and thought it would be fun,” seungmin says, pulling out a card game labeled ‘truth or drink’.

after explaining the rules and everyone refilling their drinks, we begin. a couple rounds go through, people are spilling their biggest secrets or slowly working their drinks to be empty again.

“y/n, its your turn,” hyunjin reminds you.

you pull a card and read it aloud. “if you had a threesome with three people in the room, who would it be and why?”

the room is silent for a second as you think if you want to answer it or drink. jisung interrupts the silence by adjusting the way he is sitting and clearing his throat. 

“what will be be, y/nnie?” minho asks, trying to hold back laughter.

“well i think i have to pick jisung as one.” 

“you’d HAVE to?” jisung gasps, dramatically placing a hand over his heart.

“oh zip it,” you snap. “and i guess, felix? it would be easiest to arrange our schedules that way.”

felix’s eyes go wide and cheeks flush red.

“you think too logically,” jeongin laughs before drawing a card for his turn.

the rest of the night finishes without any issues, except changbin spilling his drink once. the rest of the boys uber or walk home around 3AM and you, jisung, and felix head into your bedrooms for a good night’s rest.

before you can even shut your door, jisung is kissing at your neck like a ravished vampire. you melt into his touch and turn to face him. he pushes his body against yours and gently snakes his hand behind your head before pushing you back into the door. you slide your hands underneath his shirt and he separates your kiss only to discard it and throw it to the floor. 

with jisung’s open chest on display, you start to kiss down his jawline and onto his collarbone leaving small marks along the way. jisung gasps softly at everytime you bite down on his soft skin.

“baby,” he says between small moans. “i have a question.”

“mhm,” you reply, still working on leaving marks on his chest.

“that threesome question.” he says and you stop and look up at him. his eyes shiny and filled with lust and his face flushed pink. “i know we never talked about it before, but would you want to?” he asks shyly.

you fully stand and cup your hands around his round cheek and think. “i’ve never thought about it before,” you say, pressing a kiss to his nose. “maybe, yeah sure, why not? it sounds intriguing .”

jisung makes a noise you could only describe as a small whimper. “would you want to…” he trails off.

“what baby? talk to me.”

“would you want to right now? like with felix? like you said?”

you’re stunned and jisung realizes. “i’m sorry for saying anything, we don’t have to, it was just an idea. we can go back-”

“yeah get him in here.”

“what?”

it’s not like you never noticed how attractive felix was. when he stretches his arms above his head and you catch a glimpse at his abs. when he’s concentrated on his games and his tongue peaks out between his beautiful and plush lips. when you talk to him early in the mornings and his voice is raspy and deeper than usual.

“what do you want to do with him?”

“y/n, are you serious?” jisung asks, snapping out of whatever whimpering-lust-haze he was in.

“yes, i am serious, jisung. what do you want to do with him?”

“i don’t want to do anything with him.”

“what do-”

“i want to watch.”

heat rushes to your core, butterflies fill your stomach, and you might have started to drool. the idea of being watched while having sex wasn’t something you ever thought you’d enjoy. but something about your boyfriend wanting to watch you have sex with another man, in front of him, felt so bad that it felt right. 

after kissing you one last time, jisung leaves the room. you start to panic and wonder if this was a bad idea. you turn to look in your vanity mirror and remember your special surprise you had for jisung and think about how it can be used for the two boys.

felix and jisung come into the room and you can feel the atmosphere become more tense.

jisung speaks first. “i explained it to him, he’s okay with it. we’ve already agreed if anyone is uncomfortable at any point, we stop and this never happened.”

“okay.” is all your able to say, you can feel your body being filled with nerves.

“y/n?” felix says. his voice is soothing, and knowing what is about to happen between you both makes him saying your name almost, sexy. 

“i’m ready.” you say.

jisung walks over to you first and begins to kiss you with a level of passion you never knew he had. he kisses up your jawline and whispers into your ear. “i love you baby.”

this gives you the confidence you did not know you had, or maybe its the alcohol. “both of you sit on the bed, please.” you ask softly. they both comply, looking at each other with excitement in their eyes. 

you very slowly, and very seductively, slide your pants down your legs. you look up to jisung for approval and he just smiles like a child about to indulge in his favorite candy. you then look over at felix who has his tongue poking through his luscious lips, staring at your legs.

your surprise is still hidden, until you slide your (jisung’s) oversized shirt off and over your head. jisung’s eyes widen and felix covers his crotch with his hands. you had never worn lingerie in your life, but decided to treat jisung, and now felix, for their birthdays. you picked out jisung’s favorite color, red, and made sure to get something that would accentuate your curves. 

“jesus baby,” jisung sighs. “you’re fucking gorgeous.”

“thank you. but tonights not about me, it's about you two.” 

you walk over to felix and place a hand on his cheek. “can i kiss you?” you ask, leaning down to be eye level with him. 

he nods and you kiss those soft plush lips you’ve wanted to kiss for months. you hear jisung moan slightly in the background, watching you makeout with his best friend in front of him is like porn he could never imagine. felix hesitantly kisses you back.

his lips are soft, softer than they look. after kissing him for a minute you can feel him gain more confidence in this whole scene but he doesn’t move his hands. you pull away slowly and look him in his eyes. they have the same shiny and lust filled look that jisung’s get, which reassures you slightly. 

“can i sit on your lap?” you ask.

felix nods quickly and moves his hands from covering his crotch to being placed softly on your hips. when you fully sit down, you feel the bulge in his pants pressed up against your clothed core. the sensation of straddling another man while your boyfriend watches sends a shiver down your spine. 

as you begin to kiss felix again, you feel the weight of the mattress shift and jisung’s body behind yours. he starts to kiss at your shoulder and up your neck. this causes you to moan loudly. jisung laughs slightly before his presences disappears from behind you and you hear your vanity chair being moved. you can only assume that jisung has moved it and sat in it to watch the show going on in his bed.

you start to kiss felix more passionately, slipping your tongue into his mouth and sliding your hands up and down his chest. you bite down on his bottom lip, releasing a low groan from him, before pulling away and start to pull his shirt off his body. you must stare at his abs a little too long before he grabs your chin and pulls you back into a kiss. 

you gently push felix back onto the bed, and start to kiss down his chest and stomach, leaving red marks and bruises on his perfectly soft skin. you hear his breath hitch in his throat as you make it to the waistband of his pajama pants. you stop kissing his skin to look up at him. 

“can i?” you ask.

“please, y/n.” he groans while lifting his hips to help you remove his pants.

you’re mouth waters at the sight of felix’s cock springing free from the confines of his pants. felix sighs of relief as slowly wrap one of your hands around the base. you slowly lick a stripe following the pulsing vein on the bottom of his cock to the head and pull off. you look up to see he’s propped himself up on his elbows and eyes are closed in pleasure. you take another long lick and stop at his red and angry tip, you place a kiss on the tip and start to go back down to the base.

before you can reach the base, felix slides his hand into your hair and pulls your head back to the top of his cock. “please don’t tease, y/n.” 

you smile and readjust your position to take his cock down your throat. you take every inch painfully slow, you hear felix’s breathing start to get heavier and hear movement from jisung behind you. you feel tears swelling up in your eyes as you start to fully take him in your mouth and you have to stop and pull off before you reach the base.

felix moves his hand from your hair and wipes the spit off your mouth. “it’s okay baby, i know i’m a little bigger than sungie,” he laughs.

“shut up or your out!” jisung says throwing your shirt (you think) at felix.

“my fault, my fault.” felix looks down at you again. “are you okay, love? do you want to do something else?”

you could cum on the spot. the way he’s so kind and gentle while doing something so extremely erotic sends new feelings to your core. 

“i’m okay, you can be a little rougher if you want,” you say, placing your mouth back on the tip of his cock.

“are you sure?” he asks, slowly gathering your hair into a ponytail with his hand.

“mhm,” you say, mouth full of his cock. 

felix slowly pushes you down on his cock, stopping when he feels your throat close and pulling back out again. he does the same thing a little quicker before asking again if you're ready. when you give him the go ahead, he starts again, slowly but accelerates his pace quickly. as he begins to fuck your face, you can feel your mind start to go blank. you move your hands to rest on his hips and out of the corner of your eye you can see jisung move to sit next to him.

jisung’s shirt is off and he’s palming himself through his pants with his left hand and with his right he moves a strand of hair that fell out of felix’s makeshift ponytail behind your ear.

“look at our pretty little slut letting you use her mouth like that,” jisung says as he starts to undo his belt. the comment makes both you and felix moan and felix starts to fuck your mouth even faster.

tears are streaming down your face and you're digging your nails so hard into felix’s thighs you might draw blood. you look over at your boyfriend to see his slowly jerking himself off to the erotic sight of his girlfriend being face-fucked by his best friend. 

felix’s thrust slowly start to become more erratic and you can tell he’s about to finish soon. you start to moan and hum around his cock to bring him to the feeling quicker. 

“i’m g-gonna cum, where? where?” felix groans.

“in her mouth, she’ll swallow it all,” jisung says matter-of-factly and he begins to fuck into his hand faster.

“jesus christ, fuck,” felix moans loudly as his hips sputter out of control. “i’m cumming.” felix thrusts one more time, deep and hard, down your throat before finishing with a guttural groan.

“don’t swallow,” jisung commands as felix slowly pulls his softening cock out of your mouth. jisung slowly stands up and pulls your head to be face to face with his cock.

“open,” he says, grabbing your mouth. the sight of felix’s cum sitting on your tongue is enough to make jisung finish all over your tongue. “now swallow.”

you swallow their mixed seed with a moan and without jisung having to ask, you open your mouth to show them both. felix groans and lets himself fall back onto the bed and jisung cups your face in his hands.

“good girl.” he smiles. “will you let felix and me take care of you now?"

got highkey carried away so if you want a pt 2 lmk!!

UPDATE PT 2 IS HERE

[lorelune]

bathtime

|| blade x reader || M || captive reader x necrobiome blade || wc: 5.1k  || ao3 || previous + next ->

Even the best bath water will find it difficult to cleanse 'sin'.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c welcome to part 3 of the architect-verse :3cc been cooking on this one for awhile 🙏 yandere blade is such a guy and scummy manipulative mommy kafka is so fun to write :3ccc thank you for beloved @ofmermaidstories for doing a read through on this one 🥺♥!! enjoy enjoy enjoy 💓

CW: dark content, yandere blade, captive/pet reader, discussions of noncon, references to past noncon on blade while he was underage and as an adult, references to past noncon on reader, use of the word rape, violence/thoughts of violence, past yingxing/dan feng, toxic blade/kafka

It’s normal for Blade to return to the Stellaron Hunters’ main vessel covered in assorted types of gore. Scraps of rent flesh, smears of blood, bile, scales— tendons and sinew wrapped under his forearms, clinging from the pressure of impact light-years away. The smell of it clings to him, still fresh, just barely beginning to rot. He stews in it during his typical return in small, covert starships. He half-suffocates with the stench of death.  

This is typical. Blade does not carry any opinion about it. If anything, he welcomes the potential of asphyxiation, though it never comes. 

Most routinely, Kafka will greet him as he returns and take him to clean up. Occasionally, when she is indisposed, Silver Wolf will be forced to hose him down in the communal gym shower or Sam will dunk him in the bath by the scruff of his neck. Blade does not... particularly enjoy the latter two options. Though he isn't sure entirely why, and he doesn't tend to dwell on it either. 

When Kafka collects him, it is easier, if nothing else. Less fuss, less grimacing over the smell of burgeoning rot and complaining that Blade should do this prior to arriving home. Blade doesn't care about the other Stellaron Hunters’ complaints, not really, but it does make the ordeal longer than it needs to be. 

(And maybe, maybe, he does not like being drenched in bone-chilling water and soaked clothing. He hates it.) 

Kafka will lead Blade back to her own room, strip him, and give him a warm bath. Frequently, she’ll take off her own clothing and join him. She’ll hold him close, his back to her front. Kafka likes when she is able to cow him into resting against her front, cow him into resting his cheek against her breasts while she scrubs away the worst of the grime. 

Never mind that they share the same, red-tinged bathwater. 

(Occasionally, things escalate. Touch that volleys between innocent and clinical and sexual. Kafka will stroke down the planes of his body, reach for his cock, and bring him to release. It’s— it's nice. He thinks. He can't tell.) 

It's hard to tell anything in the steam of the bath. Though Kafka's presence renders his mara mute, proximity makes it writhe regardless. It is not a soundless beast, though it loses its words. Muddy feelings, rather than anything clear cut. It's a reprieve regardless. 

This is why Blade prefers to be cleaned by Kafka. 

... 

This mission, however, Blade receives a text from Kafka during his return journey that she will be out. Along with Silver Wolf. And that Sam is charging and shouldn't be disturbed.  

However— 

Kafka: 

why don't you see if our little stray is up for a bath, bladie? 

There's a thought. One Blade hadn't considered. 

(There's a whisper of a refusal in the back of his mind. 'No'. Blade is not sure why. It is quiet but sure of itself.) 

Blade: 

When will you be back. 

Kafka: 

tomorrow. don't wait up until then. listen, just ask. 

Kafka's mind weaving does not work over text. But it is, regardless, difficult to resist her command. This is habit. 

Blade idles outside of your room. He has dripped mess across the vessel and left little piles of flesh and muscle in his wake. The quiet sound of blood splattering against the floor (his, maybe, though his regeneration should be almost complete) makes him aware of this. 

It feels uncouth to enter your room like this. 

Blade shakes himself off and leaks scarlet droplets against the metal paneling. methodically, he releases the five locks on your door. Each clicks when fully disarmed, and by the time Blade enters, you're already looking up at the door, eyes wide. 

You're tucked into bed with a soft blanket over your lap. A tablet (a gift from silver wolf at Kafka's behest. For 'good behavior'. Not connected to any internet, but you've told Blade it helps pass the time.) 

The device is promptly forgotten as you push yourself out of bed, "Aeons, Blade, what happened? Are you hurt?" 

You approach him with no caution. It's reckless. It's foolish, especially with this much adrenaline tumbling around between his eyes and in his veins. He has the distinct urge to shove you away and into the floor. Compress you until you break and bleed and bleed and break. 

Blade does not. 

Instead, he lets you flit around him. He lets you draw your own conclusions. 

You are not foolish. You know he is dangerous; he knows you know this. It is your... good nature that creases the surely-soft skin between your brows. It's your kindness that has you frazzled, shaking in your hands as you hover over him. Searching for wounds that are mostly healed. 

"Blade, I said, are you hurt?" You ask, voice strained, bent at the waist while examining a slice in his pants. A lance had torn his calve wide open. It has already healed. 

"I'm fine." 

"Sure." You don't sound convinced, frowning. "You look like shit. Am I really supposed to believe that?" 

"I have already healed. my injuries are no longer a concern." 

"... Really?" 

"I am an abomination of Yaoshi. This is my nature." 

You already know this, yet you look defeated. Your jaw is tight. "Uh-huh. Alright. Fuck, do you feel alright?" 

"I'm fine. I need to be clean." 

"... Alright?" 

"I need to bathe." 

"... I see that... Do you want me to call Kafka?" 

"She's off ship." 

"Oh, fuck." you curse and shake your head. "I-is she going to be back soon?" 

"No. Help me instead." 

"M-me?" Your voice trembles and you take a fearful step back. Ever the skittish thing. something in him— sort of him— vibrates. 

"Yes." 

"Can you— not?" 

"It's cumbersome to wash on my own." 

"I see." You run a hand over your cheeks and adjust the wide collar of your shirt. It’s too big. It’s one of his— probably? A sleep shirt. One that Kafka stole from him to give to you. He knows you own several. "Alright. Okay. Fine. Fuck, I-I can help." 

You shoo him into your bathroom. 

You turn away from him almost immediately, poking around in a cabinet, plucking brightly colored products and muttering under your breath. Kafka mentioned that isolation is getting to you more than you think. She thinks it's cute. 

Blade wordlessly begins to strip. First off is his blood-soaked overcoat, shredded around his ribs and with massive gouges taken out of the back. Then his undershirt. Followed by his pants. One of his belts rings a metallic clink as he undoes it. 

You choose this moment to turn around and your eyes go wide. 

"BLADE!" You cover your eyes, dropping a bottle. "What are you— you can't just do that." 

"Do what?" 

"Get... naked?" 

"You are going to help me bathe. This is necessary." 

"I understand that." You sound exasperated. Your voice is shaky. The tone is pulling something in the back of his mind. The corners of his lips almost want to curl upwards. "But you can't just strip without warning. Aeons, have some manners." 

Blade nearly laughs— good-naturedly. The urge to is something dormant and poisonous. Seldom used. Usually it's a sharp impulse, but it's almost warm now. Tepid and pleasant.  

(All for you.) 

You cover your eyes as you fumble to turn on the tap, "At least go rinse off a little in the shower first, please?" 

Doable, albeit difficult. Blade grunts something akin to an affirmative and finds your shower. He turns the water on (hot or cold doesn't seem... relevant) and steps in. The spray pours down from the ceiling, sending the worst of the gore down the drain. 

Blade does not move for quite some time.  

"Blade?" you ask warily. "You... done in there?" 

It takes him a moment to reply. The cold spray lags him, "Yes." 

"... Can you come out? The bath is ready." 

He idles, thinking about your question. The softness of your voice. The candle that he can smell, lit on the countertop. You yourself, dressed in soft lounge clothes and covered in scars that strangers gave you. He thinks about the way skin and muscle rend under his blade. The way yours could. Under him. Under— 

"Blade." 

You open the glass shower door, worry-eyed. 

He blinks at you. 

Gently, you grab his arm. He flinches with it. Has half a mind to slam you into the tile until you pop like an perfectly ripe fruit— 

But he doesn't. 

"C’mon, bath time," you coax him out, dripping, careful to not look down. It’s a preservation of modesty. It feels useless, Blade thinks, as he pulls away to clamor into the bath. 

... There are bubbles. Fragrant and herbal, with a soft oil shimmering on the top of the water. It is the perfect temperature. It feels... good. He forgets how nice warmth is. He softens. You heave out a sigh and settle next to him, outside the bath. There's a dampened washcloth, already in your hand. 

"Is it okay if I touch you?" You ask. 

"I don't care." 

"Give me a yes or a no,” you press him, glaring a little. You roll up your sleeves and rise to your knees. 

"Yes, then." He does not care. Do you not understand? 

(You probably don't. You definitely don't.) 

Your expression is unreadable as you dunk the rag into the bathwater and begin to wash him. First his right arm, then his left. Gently rubbing him down, taking extra care with his hands. The rag is gentle over his stiff fingers. You check under each of his nails individually. 

You’re meticulous. 

You ask a question or two about how he washes himself, specifically his hair, but Blade can't give you answers. Kafka stocks his bathroom. His bottles are numbered, and he never deviates from their preassigned order. It is easier that way. Even in Kafka’s tub, she tends to use the same order of expensive-looking products that she favors.  

The treatment you’re currently giving him is not routine.  

The ends of your sleeves dip into the water as you stretch over the tub, toward his legs. Your tongue peaks out from your lips, bitten in concentration. (It’s cute.) Blade feels... compelled to assist you. He raises his leg up at the knee. Just as carefully, you scrub him down, and then focus on his other leg.  

The experience fills him with a sense of unease.  

(It’s too tender.) 

(You treat him too delicately. Even Kafka acknowledges the damage he carries, and her touch is only gentle to punctuate a roughness later on. She toys with him— it’s a farce. The way you touch him is too kind. You are too kind for him. It reminds him— makes him feel the ghost of a touch from hands more delicate and powerful than your own. From a different lifetime, blotted by Mara, corrupted and molten in his mind—) 

“Blade—?” Your voice is shaking, shattering. You’re frozen at the side of the tub.  

Blade blinks. 

He has his hand wrapped around your wrist; his grip swallowing the fragile limb. The force of it is bruising. He holds it under the water, forcing you to lean over the tub. You are submerged up to your elbow. Your expression is pinched, afraid. Your pupils pinpricked.  

An animal snared. 

His grip tightens.  

“Let go, please.” You ask, lip wobbling.  

He does not want to let go. He really does not want to let go. Blade cannot trace the feeling, it’s miasmatic. It was a bad idea to have you assist in bathing him. Mara webs itself behind his eyes. His jaw locks and breathes hard through his nose. He wants to sink his teeth into your throat. 

“Please, stop,” You whine— whimper while tugging against his hold. You are half bent over the bath. Your eyes water, all shiny.  

The tone does something to him. Many people plead around him— for their life, mercy, favor. It’s useless. He does not care. He has no reason to care. There are scripts to follow. However— there’s no script here. Just the warm suds, the blood pumping through your veins, and Blade’s tunneling vision. 

With a sharp pull, he drags you into the bath. 

You fall in headfirst. Instantly, you clamor at the side of the tub and his submerged legs to get yourself back above water. You scramble. It’s— cute. Your hair is slicked down around your face and forehead, eyes wide as you pant. His legs bracket your body. He tightens his thighs around you.  

Your thin clothes are soaked and cling to you. Fabric over curves and folds over your flesh. Blade’s half-hard and feels bad about it. 

(He can’t trace why. It’s far from the first time he’s been physically aroused in relation to you. It always makes him feel bad. Not with Mara, but something personal and sour and less mad. He hates it. He’s almost torn out a rib over the feeling.) 

You hover, frozen, between his legs. The only sounds in the bathroom are your panting breaths and the drips rolling off your body, into the bathwater. You swallow, trembling, but remaining otherwise unmoving. It occurs to Blade after a few tense moments that you are waiting for him to strike.  

Always like a little, frightened animal.  

(Something in him writhes.) 

He moves quickly, shooting a hand out to fist into your hair. His grip is unyielding, giving you no slack (though, he doesn’t yank and pull as he could. He could tear out chunks if he wanted. He just doesn’t want you to move.) He wants you closer— maybe. He wants you far away, thrown through one of the ship's thick windows and into the vacuum of space and dead. 

(Though, it wouldn’t be as satisfying for the void of space to kill you. He’d rather do it. He wants to do it, if you’re going to die.) 

You whine and paw at his wrists, babbling something.  

Blade feels disgusting as he drags your body to his, his chest to your back, and he curls over your form. His arms wind around your waist and squeeze. You scratch at him, beg maybe— he can’t tell, his ears are ringing. Your fists that slam into his shoulders and skull feel like swats from a declawed kitten. He doesn’t budge despite your protests.  

You stop fighting when you realize he isn’t hurting you. 

Blade doesn’t... want to hurt you. He thinks. Not really. Not in the way that Mara is screaming at him to. He isn’t content, you’re too warm and too alive to be this close to his body, but it's not bad. Contact both scratches an itch under his skin and aggravates a wound. It’s like a bath with Kafka, but worse— 

(Because part of him wants this.) 

Blade flinches when you go slack against him, chest heaving out breath. Even this little ‘scrap’ has tired you out. You’ve become weakened in your confined state— even if you really wanted to fight him, you don’t have the physical strength to be able to. 

You sniffle, covered in soaked clothes and soap suds. 

“Don’t cry.” Blade says without thinking. His voice is shot, dead-pan.  

Trembling, you shake your head, “I w-won’t.” 

It’s a lie. You’re already shaking in his arms. 

It’s— unfair. You’re most used to him, and less wary of him than Kafka. Part of him, a loud but small part of his mind, thinks that a bath together could be enjoyable— if he wasn’t washing blood and filth from his hair, and you weren’t shivering in your soaked day clothes. 

(‘This could be nice’, it urges.)  

His hands rub over your sides in small circles at the idea. 

You gasp and squirm, looking back at him with wild eyes, “Blade, please—” 

He stops, but his hold around your waist doesn’t waver. You sigh and lean back into his chest, deflating. Your eyes go half-lidded as you look toward the ceiling. They look— dull. Light and life drained. Like how they did when he and Kafka first collected you from that gilded planet. 

Blade knows that look— a dull mind and an active body. Your breath is still a bit too fast. Your heart is the same, running a prey-like rhythm. He assumes that you have left your body, gone elsewhere. 

“Hey.” He shakes you lightly, dragging you back to the cooling bath. “Help with my hair.” 

“... Hair?” You ask, voice soft and dreamy. “... Do you need me to wash it?” 

“Yes.” 

“... Okay.” You nod after a moment and rotate in his lap.  

Your shoulders sag forward as you fumble for shampoo and squirt a generous amount into your palm. Half of it misses and the gel sinks into the bathwater below.  

It’s unfair— part of him says again— he wants to tear it out and shred it between his teeth or under his blade. It screams that it's unfair that you dote on a creature like him. It’s unfair that you must shiver while lathering and rinsing his hair. That your pretty lips tremble with fear.  

The Mara writhes. He has not been human in so long. He does not deserve the gentleness you so often give him. Especially now, when he has dragged you closer, made you filthy with the stench of blood, and forced you so close. He wants to bite out your throat as you tip forward to grab a brightly colored bottle of oil and begin to work through the knots in his air. 

You are frowning. You are crying. 

He wants to eat you. 

Blade reaches for your chest, studying the way that the fabric clings to your skin-gone-gooseflesh. He finds the top button of your soft blouse in his own unsteady hands and undoes it. You freeze when he does, breath catching. 

You don’t breathe as he undoes another button.  

Then another. 

And another.  

You don’t breathe until the garment is nearly off. Just one button secures the fabric. He can see the peak of your breasts under the fabric, nipples pebbled in the cold. You’re so cold.  

(Blade wishes, dead Yingxing wishes, that he were warmer.) 

Your hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist, and in a small voice, you beg, “Please, d-don’t.” 

“You’re cold.” Blade says. He reaches past you, sloshing water, to turn on the spigot for hot water. “You will stay cold if you wear wet clothes.” 

You look at him strangely. At first, it’s wounded. Like you’ve been lanced through with Shard Sword, and now bear the gaping wound. It morphs to one of confusion, then you bite your lip. And grab his hands in your own and stare at them. 

“... That’s all?” You ask. 

“Mostly.” Blade replies. There’s— more. Far more. But nothing that is concrete enough, or important enough, to share with you. It would more than likely aggravate his spitting Mara.  

“Okay.” You reply, looking up from your joined hands. Your eyes are round and watery. “You’re not trying to rape me?” 

He freezes.  

The word ‘rape’ pulls something disgusting and festering up from Blade’s guts. Something he wants to purge. He has the distinct urge to lean over the side of the time and vomit, but he hasn’t eaten in the last forty-eight hours, so there’s nothing to heave up. So instead, he is still.  

It’s like he can feel the rot. He’s not sure why. He knows what the word means, he is pretty sure he has been raped. Probably. Either when he was a young child, a refugee fleeing a massacred world, or maybe when he was the bedmate to a dragon. Maybe, probably, from Kafka, any number of times. Maybe last week. His mind is cloudy.  

What constitutes rape is foggy.  

He knows it would mean that he wants to have sex with you, and you wouldn’t want to have sex with him. 

And Blade— 

(He— He— doesn’t want to have sex with you? Or he does. Maybe. He wants to be close to you, inside you. He wants to curl around you and make you swear to never leave. He wants— he wants so much. Blade is selfish. But—) 

Not like that, he doesn’t think. Others have been, he’s sure— he’s sure.  

Mara pours into his mind, and he remembers then. Pieces of times, fragments of old memories, of rape. Of violation of all kinds.  

(At the hands of borisins holding him down as he screamed and cried, his body too little to do any fighting in the jaws of an Abundance beast.) 

(A tradesman who allowed him to stowaway on a cargo ship, destined for the Luofu. ‘Payment’ — the man had called it. For safe passage and a little sack of rice.) 

(Dan Feng, during one of his draconic ruts. He was the Child of a Cosmic Horror, ultimately. That’s all Aeons are, anyways. Yingxing had been split on his cock so many times, so full, he bled for a day, even with Dan Feng fussing over him with his cloudhymns, lucid-in-mind and torn apart by so much guilt for a wildly proud man.) 

(Kafka, a few days after she first picked him up from the surface of the asteroid Jingliu had been beating him into. Kafka, a few weeks after that— in a hotel that stank of blue emory roses. Kafka, a few weeks ago, draped over his shoulders between missions. There’s more. Memories drenched in the smell of her rich perfume. They tangle in feelings of comfort and revulsion.) 

Blade doesn’t want to do any of that to you. 

(He wants something with you— but—) 

(Not like that. He doesn’t want you to hurt.) 

“I’m not going to rape you.” He tells you. He hardly sounds like himself as the Mara quiets. 

He thumbs over your lips. There’s a scar in the middle of them where they had been split, repeatedly, and then healed over. You’d told him once that one of your old keepers used to deprive you of water if he felt like it. Your breath is hot against his fingertip. 

You say nothing, but your breath is still fast and shaky. Your eyes are wide. A feral, wild animal.  

“I’m not.” Blade tries to reassure you. You flinch with the sound of his voice. “You’re freezing. The bath can be refilled with warm water. Bathe.” 

Tears break over your lower lashes as you stare at him. He stares back. 

(He wonders what you’re thinking. If you have as much trouble thinking as he does— you probably do. You’ve sustained head trauma. Traumas. You’re both torn-up wrecks, maybe. It could provide him with some solace.) 

“... Okay.” You rub your eyes with balled up hands and laugh. “Okay.” 

Blade then helps you peel off your shirt. Then your shorts and underwear. When you’re bare, Blade drains most of the water from the, leaving you both with a layer of clinging bubbles protecting the barest bits of your modesty. You cover your chest and center with your hands, keeping your head down. Hiding your throat. 

He refills the tub with more soap— too much probably. Mountains of bubbles appear as he dumps in a glug of shimmering, emerald-colored oil. It swirls into the water as it rises. You relax as it rises over your chest. Your eyelids droop. You look so tired. 

Blade washes you like you did him.  

You face each other as he does. Your gaze never leaves him, though it goes glassy again. Unfocused. Blade can feel your heartbeat through your skin, slowing more and more with each pass of the warm, soapy rag he is using. He massages products into your hair. He thinks that he may be doing so in the correct order. He hopes he is. 

This close, he can see all of you. Most of you. Feel you too. He feels ridges and bumps of scars. Chunks of flesh that have been torn from you, replaced by cicatrix, uneven and unnatural under his touch. You shudder when he touches you, shivering despite the heat of the room. You’re sensitive. He doesn’t want Kafka to know. 

You feel different like this. Blade is unable to place why. 

When he is through with you, steam and bubbles still rising from the bath, you drag him closer. Your fingers dig into his biceps, latching on and scrambling to get closer. 

“... You really mean it, don’t you?” You ask. Your eyes are still unfocused. “You’re not going to? You’re not fucking with me?” 

“... What are you talking about?”  

An unrestrained smile stretches over your face, “You do mean it. You do. You do.” 

Blade can only guess what you mean. You clearly will not (or cannot) tell him. You shiver against a full body thing against him. It makes him uneasy. He flips you by the hips, so that your back is to his chest, and he can curl over your shoulders. He cast a shadow into the water. 

Indulgently, he presses his nose into your cheek. You smell like fresh soap and skin. He thinks if he licked you, you’d taste like salt. 

He doesn’t. 

When that’s all he does, you laugh.  

It’s a belting thing, the kind of sound that’s punched from your gut with the same force that could break ribs. Blade can imagine the sound and sensation of it obliterating your insides as your laughter bounces around the tile of the bathroom. It’s manic. It’s an unwell sound. You clutch a fist over your chest as you howl.  

You don’t stop for a while. 

It’s clearly too much. Blade can feel it. The sound echoes in his chest. It must be shredding yours.  

His arm wraps around your midsection as you do, and he tries to press you closer— he thinks. He thinks it might help. Your breath starts to shake, each inhale pitching high and sharp. You’re hyperventilating around your laughter. You’re hysterical, but don’t fight his hold. Even as tears drip down your cheeks, splattering into the bathwater. 

Blade says your name— it should come out sharply. He means it to. 

However, it is gentle. His voice is hushed and rough. 

“You’re alright.” He squeezes you until the breath is forced from your lungs, and there’s no fuel for your laughter anymore. “You’re okay.” 

With a choked, quiet sob, you reply, “I know.” 

... 

It’s later— much later. Maybe the next day.  

Your room still doesn’t have any way to keep time other than your little tablet, which has been powered off and charges across the room on top of your dresser, so Blade can only guess. 

He lays beside you in bed, propped up on an elbow. You sleep next time to him, relaxed and soft-jawed. The soft duvet is pulled up to your collarbones, and you curl into Blade. He’s— warmer than the rest of your room. Even if he does run too cold to be properly alive.  

He runs the side of his index finger over your face.  

You had been so tired after leaving the bath, you’d hardly been able to dress yourself— you hadn’t been able to. Blade to pick out sleep clothes and help you get into them. He chose whatever he could find that seemed. Soft. 

(A flowing, soft teal top and white shorts with golden thread sewn in the seams.) 

You fell asleep quickly after that and have been ever since. Blade had only meant to sit on the edge of your mattress.  

That did not happen. 

Instead, he’s tucked next to you. One of your hands fists the front of his shirt, and your body is angled toward him. Seeking. Wanting. 

Blade could take. 

He recognizes that. 

It’s a thought, though, not a temptation. Not after the bath. Not after feeling the ways in which your body has been torn apart and so painstakingly put itself back together. You are not a creature of Abundance, you are not built to live forever and to repair yourself endlessly like he is. Your vitality is finite. Every scar your flesh must restitch takes something from you and it will not be replaced.  

You will end. 

Your bedroom door clicks, five times, then opens with a whoosh of air. Kafka stands in the doorframe. A sickly-sweet smile stains her mouth. Her lipstick is the is freshly applied and glossy. 

“I see you got all cleaned up, Bladie,” her voice is silken and smooth. He could drown in it. “Was our little pup helpful?” 

“... Yes.” 

“Good.” Kafka hums. Her heels click against the floor, and she takes a place next to you. Even as the mattress dips, you don’t stir. “You’re so helpful with training them. Good boy.” 

Blade pauses his petting of you to glare and grunt at Kafka. She looks delighted. 

“I wasn’t aware I was assisting with any sort of training.” 

“It’s all implicit. As long as they’re getting comfortable, that’s what counts. Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything else.” 

Blade doesn’t like that answer.  

“I don’t want to see them hurt,” Blade says. 

“That’s sweet of you.” 

“I mean it, Kafka.” 

“I know, I know.” Kafka laughs. She sighs and falls into the bed, over the cushy duvet. She spoons you, flattening herself to your back and winding her arms around your waist. Your brow wrinkles and a little whimper scratches from your throat. “I’d like to see our new puppy kept in one piece too, Bladie. I’ve grown quite fond of them. However, we are both beholden to Destiny. If one of Elio’s scripts—” 

“I know.” Blade snaps. 

He does not want to think about it. 

His hand that had been petting you winds tightly into your hair and your face scrunches up.  

“Listen, Bladie, everything’s alright. You’re okay.” Kafka soothes, dropping a kiss onto your cheek. It leaves a smear. Kafka works Blade’s hand out of your hair. “Be good and keep them company while I give Elio a mission report.” 

“That’s what I have been doing.” 

“Then, keep it up.” 

Kafka rolls out of bed with a sigh, not a hair out of place. She leaves the room almost soundlessly, the door clicking as it relocks. Five times. 

Blade does as Kafka says. He keeps you company, sinking down into the mattress beside you. He wipes away the lipstick left over your cheek and presses a kiss to the spot. He lingers there.  

Kafka can have— a lot of him. But, perhaps, he will covet you, all for himself.  

(If the Mara in his mind had not been suppressed, perhaps he would have heard: 

(FOOL FOOL FOOL! DO YOU NOT REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU COVET AND CLING? DO NOT FORGET YOUR SINS! DO NOT FORGET HIS SINS—!) 

Instead, his mind is quiet. He pulls you closer and sleeps. Space is dead around him, and you are dead to the world in his undying arms. 

Blade thinks he likes when you bathe with him.  

[jojissalsa]

Perfect body, Pretty face

Warnings: dom!Leon x fem/sub!reader, power dynamics (boss/assistant), daddy kink, mentions of nudes/sex work, taking pictures during sex, facial, condescension, slight praise, mentions of age gap (reader is in mid 20s), clothes ripping (tights), reader is bratty at some point.

hello again :3 i wanna post what i can while i have the time, so i can kinda build this page up. hope u guys enjoy this one even if i feel like i made a few mistakes and lmk where i can improve! constructive criticism, reposts and requests are always welcome :D (minors don’t interact, touch grass.)

WC: 3.3k (proofread)

When Leon first came to the D.S.O, he expected bigger missions and harder work. Not boring ass reports and paperwork. The missions were definitely longer, which meant piles atop piles of paperwork that would take longer than it should. When the D.S.O realized Leon needed more time on his reports compared to the rookies or standard agents, they gave him a hand. You, his new assistant. And god, were you helpful. You were more than a sight for sore eyes, you were distracting at first, but even more so as he got to know you. You even remembered his favorite coffee order, and what he liked most for lunch. To him, you were just doing a good job. But in reality, you just wanted to get in his pants more than anything.

Your last boss was such a douchebag, the typical mansplaining and ungratefulness. But Leon? He was such a sweetheart, and so understanding. He didn’t get annoyed when you made a tiny mistake, a couple minutes late or working slower at the end of your shift. You knew damn well your attraction to him was bad for you and this job, but Eve still ate that apple didn’t she? You were the same, always attracted to forbidden fruit. But when it was Leon, who cares about forbidden? It just adds to the flavor. Obviously being an assistant didn’t make the most money, but at least you got a pretty face to work with. And there’s no shame in a side hustle, right? That’s what you thought when you made a Twitter account when you first became an assistant, well, intern at first. The job was so damn stressful and your shitty boss didn’t help. It was harmless fun at first, posting a few lewd pictures of your cleavage or in cute two-piece bathing suits you got. And then it got even lewder, posting pictures of your bare tits, dim lighting from your computer, things like that until you said fuck it and showed all the goods. Complaining about your shitty boss became part of your brand, as well as the faceless part of your nudes. You never showed your face, only your hair if it was a full body picture, not because you were ashamed of what you were doing. Not in the slightest, actually. You were just worried about word spreading around the office, especially since you were getting fairly popular. No face, no case, right? Plus, it’s not like anyone had x-ray vision to see if you had the same tits. It’s not like it hurt business either, you had a perfect body. You weren’t the skinniest person in the world, average like most people’s bodies. But to you, it was perfect. It suited you and flaunting it made you happy.

Your brand definitely shifted when you changed bosses, less complaining about how much your job sucked to more complaining about how badly you needed your boss to look at you differently. Pictures of you up-skirt under your desk whenever he wasn't looking or left to grab you both coffee or lunch, captions that always mentioned him.

"is it bad that my boss gets me this wet?"

"wish my boss would crawl under my desk and take care of this ;p"

And they would only get more and more risky. Posts of your increasingly skimpy outfits and a courtesy picture of you out of them captioned "you guys think my boss will like? lol". A video of you cumming in the bathroom at work, another where you cheekily slipped your fingers in your cunt, rubbing your slick over your clit before giggling as you turn the recording off.

Leon really didn’t mean to find something of yours this personal, he was just a guy looking for porn where he knew he could find it. He may be old but the man still needs to get off. And he was a man of taste, he liked the amateur stuff, and he knew Twitter had it. When he stumbled across your account, he thought it was perfect. At first he didn't know it was you, but by your most recent posts, it was obvious. You never name dropped him, or even said what he looked like, only saying he was fine and looked like a dilf, which was definitely an ego boost when he figured out it was you. It was easy, really. He was bored at night, couldn’t sleep like usual, and hoped that jacking off would clear his head a bit. It didn’t clear his head in the slightest when he saw your most recent video. It was of you working overtime, fingering yourself on his desk. Biting your lip to stay quiet but failing miserably as your fingers keep rubbing against that spongy spot in your walls, palm slapping against your clit. The best part? You said his name while you came. Maybe not his full name, but the way you let it out subconsciously, saying "Mr. Kennedy" in the most pornographic way possible, realizing you did and then giggling when you felt no remorse. Only an "oh shit" and a cutesy laugh as you abruptly ended the video. He was gonna say something tomorrow. He had to.

The second you walk in the door with that polite smile you always have, cute pink blouse and short pencil skirt, he waves you over to his desk. "Y/n, come here for a sec." His stern tone makes you blush and immediately walk over after setting down your bag. "Yes, sir? Is there something you need from me?" You expect him to say he needs a file or some kind of paper, but he shocks you when he turns his monitor around to show your twitter page. "You know anything about this?" You don't show it on your face, but the way you clench your jaw makes it obvious. You've got a good poker face, he'll give you that. "No sir, am I supposed to?" You get a bit of an attitude, mainly because he just totally called you out. "I don't know, you tell me." He scrolled very little down to your last post, the video. You gulp, knowing damn well you said his name. "Is that you saying my name?" His tone is still stern, but it feels more teasing now, considering his cocky smirk. He has you in a corner. "Don't you think it's a little sleazy to be prying into my personal hobbies?" Your attitude gets more prominent, crossing your arms and giving him a sharp glare. You were more prideful than anything, his smugness starting to piss you off because of how turned on you were getting. "Don't you think it's a bit slutty to finger fuck yourself on my desk?" When he shot back at you with that you froze, face going completely red. Not only was he right, you had no room to talk about his habits, but the way he said it was so fucking hot it lit a fire in you, shockwaves shooting straight to your clit.

You felt uncomfortable under his gaze, your lips parted as you felt your pulse throbbing between your thighs, knowing your panties were soaked. "You gonna say something or just come over here already? Stop wasting my time, I have work to do." It was instant when he said that, hips swaying as you walked to him, holding your hands in front of you as you looked down at the ground. "What's got you all shy? You certainly weren't shy last night." His teasing was really getting to you, making your lips squeeze as you shift your thighs again, your chest feeling so heavy with every breath you took. "Didn't I tell you not to waste my time? Sit on my desk and spread your legs." Your breath hitches at his demanding words, hopping up on his desk and spreading your legs. You thank god that it was a little chilly today, making you wear sheer black tights. Not that you'd be wearing them long, you just hope the wet spot on your panties wasn’t noticeable. "Jesus, soaked through your fucking tights? You're that excited?" His teasing made you go wide eyed, whimpering at his smug gaze piercing through you. "Yes sir.." You finally manage to speak, even if it sounds breathless and needy. Your eyes stay steady on him, taking in every feature you can. You lick your lips from the sight of his hard cock pressed against his tight slacks, not daring to close your legs in the slightest even if you were desperate for friction. "See something you like?" You watch him palm over his hard on, just watching something that sinful makes you moan softly. "I thought you said not to waste your time? What are you waiting for?" You throw any bit of shyness out the window, brattiness taking its place instead. After all, he meddled into something private, why make it easy for him? That’s no fun~

His brows furrowed as he gives you an annoyed look, groaning in frustration as he shoots up from his office chair and grabs your waist, pulling you from his desk and flipping you to bend over. He certainly doesn't waste any time now, pulling your skirt up and ripping a massive hole in your tights, making you gasp and squirm, turning your head to try and see the damage. "Don't complain, no point in denying you like it. Why else are your panties fucking drenched?" You throw him a frustrated glare before grumbling something about those being expensive under your breath. "Sorry, what was that?" You gasp as his hand slams down harshly on your ass cheek, whining at his gentle kneading on the now stinging red spot. "You're trying so hard to be bratty, when you're usually such a sweet girl. Always coming here early, bringing me coffee, remembering my favorite lunch. You don't do that because you like this job, hell, a slut like you doesn’t care about working hard. You do it because you want my attention." His hand keeps kneading the fat of your ass, making you back up into his palm for more. That doesn't stop your attitude though. "Oh boo hoo, as if you didn't love every second of it. How'd you even find my page? The nursing home gives you internet after 10?" Your bitchy tone doesn't go unnoticed by him, and neither does your smug smirk that is clearly challenging him, if anything it lights the same fire inside him, dick twitching under his slacks. He shoots you a glare that says "you really wanna do this?", as if you care about that silly warning. What's the worst he could do? "Y'know they shouldn't give a pervy old man like you access to stuff like that, it rots your brain~" You get cut off by another slap on your ass, harder than the last one, he doesn't even bother to soothe the sting with his hand. "Pervy old man? Then what are you? Some slut thinking of her boss's cock all day. How high and mighty." Another slap, and you're already unraveling by the second, the tingling sensation from his spanks sending shock after shock to your clit.

"You go on and on about me on that damn site for thousands to see, so why not take what you want? You're getting nowhere by being an ungrateful brat." He's really starting to make sense with how desperate you are to be touched, for that release you so desperately need. And with how hard his spanking is getting, it's making your head dizzy. He presses his hard-on against your ass, making you whine and grind against him. That's not enough for him though, he needs you to say it, the same way you said his name last night. "C'mon pretty girl, get what you want and ask for it, I know you can." He grinds against your ass, finally snapping through the sane part of your brain. "Fuck! Fine, please, please give it to me, I can't wait anymore, please Mr. Kennedy.." You beg in a gravelly voice, nails digging into his desk as the neediness in you builds. "Need what? You can say it." He slaps your ass again, a little gentler now that you're finally getting there, sliding his hand down to press his thumb on the gusset on your panties, hissing at how wet it felt. "Your cock, Leon, please, I need your cock so bad.." You whimper in broken fragments from your voice breaking, sighing in relief as he finally pulls down your panties, feeling your slick connect to them in strings and the cool air contrasting how hot you feel. As you heard the sound of metal clinking and a zipper pulled down you wished he flipped you over, because you really wanted to see his cock, turning your head in a desperate attempt to steal a quick glance. "Don't worry baby, you'll get a good look later." You don't care enough to question him, you care more about his tip pressed against your folds, threatening to stretch you open.

The coil of anticipation that's released when he finally slides inside you is the most euphoric feeling, growling as he fills you completely, balls nestled right against your clit. "Fuck, barely had to do anything and it slipped in so easy. Like you were made to take this cock, huh, sweetheart?" He goes slow at first, letting you adjust to his thick size, agonizing in how slow he drags his cock along your walls. All you can mutter is 'yes' like a mantra to keep you in reality, but every stroke is sending you further into that cloudy part of your brain where all you can think about is how you can feel everything. His hands on your hips to keep you in place, the way his cock kisses right against your cervix then pulls all the way out just to make you drunk off the feeling, his low and heavy grunts dangerously close to your ear, and it's all getting you even more impatient and needy. "Leon, please, go faster, need it faster." You speak through broken sobs and high pitched whines, looking back at him with a pleading pout. You can't say no to this cute face, can you? His nails dig into your hips, finally fucking you faster, and so much harder, you can feel the air in your lungs get choked out with every harsh thrust. "Just can't help yourself, can you? So fucking impatient." He can hear you getting louder, and between you and the sound of skin slapping against wet skin, he can at least silence one. "So loud, the whole fucking office can probably hear you." He puts his hand over your mouth and pulls your head up, body arching backwards as your head meets his shoulder. You can barely make out his smug grin as he looks down at you, glossy eyes with blown out pupils, your cheeks flushed a deep red.

"You look so pretty like this, looking up at me without a thought in that pretty little head. Just needed Daddy to fuck you stupid, huh?" He gets a wicked chuckle at your wide eyes, the way you clench tighter and move your hips to meet his rhythm. You curse yourself mentally for tweeting about that godforsaken daddy kink you have, or any of your kinks because now he knows every little thing that makes you tick. How frustrating. "Ohhh, didn't think I would look that far? You have no idea, spent hours looking at your stuff, even during missions I couldn't help but think about this sweet pussy wrapped around my cock." Your expression goes blank at his words, completely cockdrunk. You know you shouldn't do any of this, you can only imagine how much trouble you’d be in if someone walked in right now. But who could blame you? You couldn't name a single person who would throw away an opportunity like this. Who needs responsibility when you could have the simple yet intense pleasure that Leon Kennedy brings?

"Almost went crazy when I heard my name in that dirty fucking mouth, never been that hard in my life. Gonna make sure that mouth is full of my name every chance I get." You scream and whimper, the sound rumbling against his hand as you get closer and closer, toes curling into your heels. The sight is so damn beautiful to him, and he just has to see what you look like when you cum in person. When you cum on his cock, not some silly toy that could never satisfy you the way he can. His free hand takes its time sliding up your blouse to palm your tits over your bra, his fingers raking over the soft skin of your stomach before stilling at your bunched up skirt around your waist, right above your clit. "You wanna cum, don't you, baby? You're gonna be good and ask nicely, yeah? Go ahead, tell Daddy you wanna cum." He moves his hand away from your mouth but keeps your head up, gripping your face instead, watching as you greedily suck in air between mindless moans. "Please Daddy, please, please, please let me cum, need to cum so fucking bad-" Your pathetic babbling cuts off when his fingers put pressure on your clit, rubbing fast circles that make your brows frown as your walls clench, the knot in your stomach slowly coming undone. "There you go, such a good girl, asking me so nicely. Cum for me, sweet girl, cum on my cock for me." And you do, harder than you have in a while, squeezing your eyes shut so hard you see white spots, those sweet, broken sobs leaving your lips involuntarily, moaning his name as he slows down.

Before you know it, you're on your knees in front of him, finally getting a full, up close and personal view of his fat cock. He's thick, pre-cum pearling at his tip as he uses your slick to finish himself off, fisting his cock feverishly. "Told you you'd get a better look, now open up sweetheart. Gonna cover that pretty face in my cum, maybe even take a picture for those depraved little boys that get off on you." He’s one to talk.. His grunts and soft whimpers between his words make you bite back an eager grin, lolling your tongue out and getting blessed with the salty taste on his tip. You keep your lips pursed on his cock, looking up at him with doe eyes that make his cock kick in his hand, your own hands resting on his thighs. He pulls some hair away from your face with his free hand and keeps it there as he finally coats your cheeks and tongue with pools of cum, chuckling through breathless moans as he slaps his cock on your tongue. He grabs his phone as his free hand leaves your hair to press his thumb on your tongue, keeping your mouth open. He groans with a smug smirk as you look up into the camera, a clear, empty head as drool dribbles down your chin and onto his fingers holding your chin. "You'll get this picture tonight when I drive you home, 'kay?" He helps you back to your feet, cleaning off your face with his handkerchief and pulling your skirt down, fixing your wrinkled blouse. “Now go finish those reports for me, try not to work too slow, don’t wanna work overtime, do you?” He softly strokes your back, coaxing you closer to your desk. "Yes, Mr. Kennedy.." You breathe out, still wobbly on your feet as you walk to your desk, feeling the sting on your ass as you sit down, shivering at the tingle. Worth it.

[pinkaditty]

How will the TWST characters react to you having to leave? (Pt 1)

summary: Crowley had finally lived up to his promise. You were going to go home. All he needed was around a month to get the mirror set up for your return. Your eventual departure made each of the TWST boys turn into a ticking time bomb.

a/n: okay. so. i watched a tiktok today on my fyp. and i was inspired. i wrote this in hours and grappled with whether or not i should post it bc... well, i have a lot of requests piled up...! but, in the end i decided, why not? its my blog and ill do what i want with it. not to worry though, i am still working on your asks, i promise. i won't post part two of this (even though it's already written) until i've done at least 2 more asks, so no worries! i do see your requests, and i am working on them!

cw: creepy behavior (kinda), drugging, manipulation, and angst. i think that's all!! mc is mentioned but has no pronouns nor physical attributes mentioned.

minors... are actually allowed to interact with this post specifically. i don't mind it this time. NOT THE REST OF MY BLOG THOUGH. MINORS THAT INTERACT WITH MY NSFW POSTS WILL BE BLOCKED. thanks!

HEARTSLABYUL:

Ace:

He really has a hard time with it. Like, a really, really hard time. Once news reaches him, he almost can’t handle it. The anxiety that the thoughts of your departure cause will eat him alive. It will eventually get so bad that it prevents him from living in the moment, or enjoying his time around you. He falls into a depression, losing motivation to go on, keep living, or keep having fun. The wind has been taken from his sails. His grades slip as the weeks pass, but he can’t be bothered to care. He won’t show up anywhere unless it’s where you are. Despite his inability to enjoy anything anymore, he still spends time with you because, somewhere in him, he hopes you will be too attached to leave. He won’t do anything to damage, destroy, or hide the mirror, but when it comes down to it, he will plead with you not to leave right in front of the mirror on the day you are to go. He will also look the other way, should it end up mysteriously disappearing or broken. He refuses to be the culprit, but he will do everything in his power to make you stay, so long as it’s within the rules. Even begging. Please don’t go. You’re not all he has, but you’re all he wants. Please don’t leave him. 

Deuce: 

Recognizes the importance of family and knows what it’s like to disappoint them or be separated from them. He doesn’t want that for you. But at the same time, he considers you family. The real question is whether he will put himself and his feelings for you first, or if he’ll put you and your feelings first. He grapples with this a lot. He’s not selfish, and has no desire to be, but he found himself wanting to be selfish with you. He wants to keep you around, at least for a little while longer. A month is not enough. Whenever he passes by the summoning room, and sees that dreaded mirror, a rage awakens in him. The urge to return to his old ways burns within him, and for a moment, he can see himself punching the mirror, shattering it to pieces, forever ruining the chance you have to return home. But then he imagines the despair you will feel, and he is left with an empty hole in his heart. Should that mirror end up missing or broken, he will do everything he can to help fix it or find it. He knows he must let you go, and he will, but he will not be happy about it. He will clench his fists and mumble goodbye and try to act like it is all right. It is not. It is not alright. 

Riddle: 

He also recognizes the importance of family, but to a lesser degree. Rather values friendship and found family more, which is what spurs his desire to keep you around. You were a part of his found family, the one he desires to keep. Sure, he had to get used to having you around, but you had grown on him a lot. Far more than he wished to admit. His heart breaks at the news. What was he going to do? He’s uptight. Can’t bring himself to break nor bend the rules, so he won’t. Instead he puts on a mask and slightly distances himself. He acts pleased for you, happy that you have a way to return home, at last. The thought of sabotaging you doesn’t even cross his mind, but should he find out you have been, he will help you. He knows what is best. Come the dreaded day, when he watches you walk away, his heart will crumble. He will spill enough tears to create a river. He will not beg you to stay. He will not convince you. He will not do anything to prevent you from going. But he will cling to the sleeves of his ceremonial robes and bawl quietly. Why did his found family have to leave him all over again?

Trey:

His heart just sort of… sinks. It doesn’t hit him immediately, the despair of you leaving, but it approaches. When he finds himself baking sweets, and thinks of you, it hits him. When he finds himself scoring well in class, and thinks of you, it hits him. When he’s hanging in the Heartslabyul common room, and thinks of you, it hits him. It hits him over and over and over again until he can’t do a single thing without somehow connecting it to you and thinking about your eventual departure. He starts to spiral internally, despite usually keeping a cool head. Just the thought of you leaving will have him grip his pen so hard it snaps, pouring far too much sugar into his sweets and staring down at the ruined mixture, staring up at the ceiling of his dorm at night wondering how time continues to pass. He’s so far gone, so out of it, yet no one else seems to notice because they’re all so wrapped up in their own heads. He won’t beg, he won’t cry, he won’t plead, he won’t break anything, so long as it’s someone else breaking the mirror. But if you leave, the blood may rush to his head and he may find himself fainting, the shock of it all finally reaching him. Is this what loss is? What it feels like?

Cater:

No. Oh god, no. Immediately his spiral starts. He already knew he shouldn’t have become attached to you, knowing that you would have to leave. But the longer you stayed, the more he opened up to you. And the more he opened up to you, the more he liked you. You were Ramshackle dorm’s Prefect, or more like “perfect” if you asked him. There was something so fitting about you to him, and having someone leave all over again… At this point, he should be used to it. But he’s not. He never will be. He knew opening up was a bad idea, he knew indulging himself in this friendship would lead to nothing but despair, he knew, he knew, he knew. The guilt and anger at betraying himself and the building feelings he harbored for you eat him alive at night, and haunt him during the day. However, should that mirror end up broken, he won’t exactly do anything about it. If it doesn’t break, of course, he puts on a brave face, acts like everything’s normal, but he’s so far in his own head he doesn’t even realize how clingy and attached he’s become. He will act normal to the end, even wave a final goodbye as you leave, and will return to Heartslabyul like nothing’s happened. When he’s alone, the tears come. He cries harder than he’s ever cried before. Everything’s back to normal, but now he realizes he never wants normal ever again. Every day, he misses your chaos. Why can’t you come back to him? You were perfect, not normal.

SAVANACLAW:

Leona:

To hell with rules. This herbivore may not have been his favorite at first, but it’s not quite like he can imagine a life without them now. Instead of fear or sadness, he feels anger and entitlement. He should be getting what he wants. He’s a prince, for seven’s sakes. He may not be any type of inherent heir, but he had his rights, and the way he saw it, that also gave him the ability to do whatever he pleased. It’s not like you even spoke about your past a lot anyway, or the world you came from. It didn’t matter more than him and his need to have you nearby. Nothing mattered more than that. He soon hatches a plan to try and destroy that mirror; either through breaking it with his fists or turning it to sand, he would do it, and he wouldn’t care if you knew it was him. As long as you were here, by his side. If all else fails, he will prevent you from even approaching that mirror. He won’t kidnap you, he’s not crazy, but he might just block your way or try to convince you to reconsider. If you remain hard-set, he may become angry, but the more stubborn you are, the more the despair will finally grip him. He may even break down and beg, hoping that the humility of a prince will force you to feel guilt and regret. He could never have cared for an herbivore this much, but it was you. He can’t let you go. And if you really do leave, he won’t sleep at all for weeks.

Ruggie:

Will 100% act nonchalant about it, but on the inside he’s freaking out. He immediately goes into hyperdrive, and will do anything and everything to get you off his mind. He studies until his mind melts, stays after classes for extra tutoring, idles in the cafeteria, hangs out with friends, and whatever else he can possibly think of doing that means he gets to avoid you and the thought of you leaving. May even go as far as starving himself so he can think of food and water instead of you. Of course, this all fails because no matter how much he denies you, he still sees you. He still knows you’re around. He caves at long last when he cannot ignore your presence any longer. He goes to see you all the time, to make up for time lost. Every minute he can spare, he’s with you. Doesn’t think of breaking the mirror, but won’t stop Leona if he tries. He’ll look the other way, because just as badly as you may want to go home… he wants you to be here with them. If you do end up leaving, his heart will be empty as he watches you go. He won’t so much as hug you, but wave a weak goodbye and wish you well. He crumples in the time that follows and is a hollow shell of who he once was. It could’ve been different. You could’ve stayed.

Jack:

He’s an upstanding character. He has a moral compass and knows what is best. He is also stubborn and hard to sway. That said, every single day of the month that leads up to your departure, he finds himself standing in front of that mirror for some time, contemplating. He could break it. Technically, he could. He could just punch it and no one would be able to pin it directly on him, at least not immediately. That way, you would be here. You would have to stay. It may not be the best outcome for you, but he could be a shoulder to rely on. However, he shakes his head to rid himself of such thoughts and ends up scampering away from the mirror, lest his thoughts get the best of him. Every time he lays down in bed, he tries to resist it, but then he finds he can’t sleep. So he creeps around to the summoning room, looks that mirror head on, and battles with himself. In the end, he does not break it. He has a hard time not doing it, but in the end, he knows what’s best. He will inevitably run into someone attempting to sabotage you, but he will be far too caught up deciding what to do to stop them. He will inevitably fail to stop a sabotage, but the guilt will claw at him, and he will do all he can do to help. Should you go, he will feel happy that you are returning home, but squeeze you very tight for a little longer than usual. The tears will come when he is alone, contemplating on that mirror, staring at his fists and imagining if they were bloody and stuck with glass. What would have changed?

OCTAVINELLE: 

Azul:

Is as cool as ever externally, but freaking out internally. He tries to play it off to himself as being concerned about outstanding debts, or bemoaning about less free labor, or even worrying about what will happen to Ramshackle if he can’t get his hands on it when no one but Grim resides in it? Oh, the horror…! Or, so he tries to say. In reality, he actually can’t stand to see you go. Sure, it hadn’t been very long, but you’d been through quite a lot together, and you had become quite reliable. It was nice having someone he could depend on, trust in, and enjoy one another’s company without the looming threat of becoming disinteresting, like Jade and Floyd. He’d actually come to like you. Perhaps more than that. Before long, he stops moping and starts thinking of ways to get you to stay. He even enlists Jade and Floyd’s help, fully aware they already have their own tactics in mind. He doesn’t care what works, he just hopes something will. He scribbles up contracts, some that would be appealing to you, and give you more benefits than him, but in small fine print reads: “Upon signing this contract, the signer agrees to remain in Twisted Wonderland for as long as the contractor sees fit.” He makes so many that you feel guilty turning him down. It gets to the point where he is begging and pleading with you not to go through that mirror. Not to leave them all behind. If it all fails, he collapses as he watches you go. He returns to his office and rips those contracts to shreds. It was all for naught. All for naught. For the first time in his life, he feels as though he’s drowning.

Jade:

Oh, he cannot let this happen. He cannot simply let you leave. Not when he’s grown so fond of you! He’s not letting you leave him behind. He puts on a brave face, as though he’s self-assured, but in truth, he’s shattered. He feels hopeless. Of course he knew you had a home, but he did not expect you to leave, so soon, and so quickly. Maybe he didn’t want you to leave at all. No matter though, this could be fixed. When Azul entrusts him and Floyd with similar tasks, he can tell that Azul is just as desperate to keep you here. They work mostly independent, but as long as something works, none of them mind which one’s plan did the trick. Jade uses his signature spell on you to pry the truth from you. When he finds that even the smallest part of you does want to return, he finds himself sinking. He must stop this, he has to. A twisted idea is born and soon enacted on the day of, when he encourages you to have a final meal he’s prepared. When you finally collapse, he takes great care to ensure that you won’t make it. But, should you be found and carried to the summoning room, assuming you are in a deep sleep, it will have failed. No surprise will show on his face, and when you finally wake to leave, he will nod and smile, wishing you well. His hands are curled into fists and he is boiling with anger. His room will soon be trashed and he will be shaking with rage. This could have changed. It could have all changed.

Floyd:

Little Shrimpy? Leaving him behind? No way! He’s already pouty about this, but somehow he is assured that you won’t leave. As though he trusts that whatever plan he puts into action specifically will stop you. This is why he is the only one seemingly totally carefree. For everyone else, the stress shows somewhere: in their eyes, in their expressions, in their hands, in their jaw, in their movements, in their behaviors… somewhere. But for Floyd, it just can’t be found. He is 100% carefree and confident that you won’t leave him behind. He intends to make sure of that, no matter what he must do. Of course, he does pout for show around you, complaining about how you have to leave, and might even blubber about it to earn your sympathy. When Azul puts him and Jade up the task of making you stay, he’s elated because he already has the ball rolling. You have to stay - no ifs, ands, or buts about it! And he does his best to convince you. He earns your guilt and remorse in every way he can, even popping up at the most inconvenient times to hang out so you can turn him down and he can pretend to feel bad about it. He lets the guilt fester in your heart, playing the long game. At last, when he’s certain he has you under his thumb, he waits until the day you are to leave. As you are stepping towards the mirror, he grabs your arm, looking at you with false pleading eyes, and begs you to stay. He watches the turmoil boil in your eyes, and almost feels that he has won. But if you ultimately tell him you have to go, he will go blank. His face will lose all emotion, and he will let go. In the coldest voice ever, he will murmur his goodbyes. And some time later, when he’s swimming through the cold, deep sea to get his mind off of everything, he will wish he didn’t have gills. He will wish he couldn’t breathe. He will wish he could drown.

a/n: wowie this was soooooo much fun!!! i totes forgot how much i ADORE writing angst ouuuugghhh!!! best thing ever awaaaaaa!! anyways, i hope you all enjoyed! leave a like, comment, or just reblog if you liked it!! please tell me how much you enjoyed it, i love catering to you all! shameless bit that i do adore asks just as well, so if you come up with a request, my asks are open! thank you!

[pedropascallme]

People Worth Saving

Pairing: Emmett x f!Reader

Summary: "You bit the bullet and wandered closer to the dome, quiet footsteps aided by your worn-down sneakers and a strong will to find some security in this new space. Before you managed to lean down, to open the hatch and slide down into the waiting abyss below, something grabbed your jacket and pulled you back. The urge to cry out was tamped down by your will to live, and by the hand that quickly covered your mouth."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) age gap (reader is 19-20), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), mentions of death, child loss, general Quiet Place II angst, you know the drill, etc, etc. If I missed anything please let me know!

You had distant memories about your childhood, and the hammock that your father set up in the front yard between the two tall trees that had been there longer than the neighborhood had. He had gotten lazy, setting it up one summer and then never taking it down; it sat through sleet and snow and sunshine in the same spot.

Even if it got wet, you didn’t mind. You loved that hammock.

You realized early on that if you swung your legs over the side and swayed back and forth, you could use it as a swing. Pumping your legs hard and building up momentum only to leap off at the last second and fall in a heap at the end of the lawn. It drove your mother crazy with worry about skinned knees and concussions, but you were so full of joy in the moments of adrenaline leading up to the landing.

In the fall, when the leaves changed and fell and the trees became dormant, your father brought out the rake to clear the driveway and the path to the stairs. He piled the leaves high, and you always managed to completely destroy his hard work; swinging in the hammock and launching yourself into the dry, dead leaves, you created an explosion of autumn colors around yourself, feeling the solid crunch under your body. You’d laugh and laugh, and when your father had seen what you’d done, he would laugh, too, raking the leaves back up to repeat the cycle again.

You didn’t even care that for the rest of the day you found small twigs in your Pippy Longstocking-style braids, or that the leaves made your clothes smell musty until your mother threw them in the wash. You were too young to care about anything but having fun.

Now dry leaves terrified you.

Walking through the field felt like a death sentence, and every step you took was carefully calculated to avoid detection. Your heel would land softly in a patch of dirt, then your opposite foot would land sideways on the grass surrounding an obvious booby trap. You had no idea if it was still operating, if whoever had put it there was still checking it or if they were even still alive, but you didn't want to test any theories.

You longed to crunch the leaves under your feet, to feel the simmering nostalgia under your skin come to a boil and create your own pile to jump into—to feel free again from the burden of the world and of survival.

You made it to the entrance, concrete and dry, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Though the building was huge and likely easy to hide in, and the interior was empty enough to create a dull echo with every step, you still found solace in solid footing. Part of you wanted to scream out a greeting, to see if anybody would reveal themselves—perhaps the creator of the traps outside, or someone who had found said creator and done to them what most people do now when they come across an unsuspecting second party.

Screaming was off the table, for obvious reasons, but that didn’t stop the voice in your head from repeating hello? Over and over until you couldn’t remember if you had said it out loud or not.

You took several light steps to explore your surroundings. It had been a factory, maybe, or a foundry; it was mostly machinery and empty space, but you could imagine the people that must have once taken up space on the now-empty floor around the large pillars and appliances.

You couldn’t imagine that many of them were still breathing.

There was a dome shaped trap door on the far end of the building, and you felt the urge to explore further; it had been too long since you’d been able to rest in a sturdy, isolated place, and the itch to know what was behind the hatch made you feel unreasonably confident in finding safety with whatever it was. A bed, maybe. Something soft and warm and capable of helping you forget the constant state of fear you lived in.

You bit the bullet and wandered closer to the dome, quiet footsteps aided by your worn-down sneakers and a strong will to find some security in this new space. Before you managed to lean down, to open the hatch and slide down into the waiting abyss below, something grabbed your jacket and pulled you back. The urge to cry out was tamped down by your will to live, and by the hand that quickly covered your mouth.

You breathed heavily into the warm hand that now sat on your lips. The other hand of the person who now held you captive tightened around the base of your jacket, pulling you further from the promise of any dream you had created that lay beyond the underside of the trap door. You couldn’t turn your head, relying now on your eyes quickly darting side to side, trying to use your peripheral to catch a glimpse of whoever the hands connected to.

“No.”

It was a man’s voice, shaky and frightened but clearly attempting to reprimand you. You kept breathing, trying to find a way out of the situation, or at the very least a way out of your current position. You slowed your breathing, trying to still your body, making yourself malleable and light in his hands so that he assumed you would submit. You felt his hand loosen its grip on the fabric around your back, and in the same moment you swung your leg back, digging your heel into his shin as best you could from the angle before stomping on his foot when your leg came down.

His hands flew to his face, covering his own mouth in an attempt to silence his yelp at the sudden pain in his leg. You turned around, grabbing his wrists limply and forcing your fingers into his short hair to pull him down to you. You saw him wince under the handkerchief he wore across the bottom half of his face, bright blue eyes, worn down and tired, narrowing at you. You stared at each other until he gathered his bearings, straightening his legs and overcoming the pain you had caused him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You whispered as menacingly as you could, refusing to become a shrinking violet in the presence of this stranger after everything you had gone through. He moved his hands slightly, as if to shrug, before you realized you had him trapped with his palms over his face and thus left him unable to speak. You dropped his wrists, and his arms fell to his sides, but you kept a vice-grip on his scalp.

“Get out.” He kept his sentences short, you noticed from the three words he had spoken, and you understood why.

“Why?” You weren’t going to make this easy for him.

“You can’t stay here.” Four words. New record.

“Why?” You pressed, bothered that he seemed to think he had a right to the entirety of the building despite its size.

“It’s mine.”

“Don’t see your name on it.” He rolled his eyes at you, and you tightened your grip on his hair, earning another pained look from him. “And you don’t seem to be in any position to be giving orders.”

“Took me by surprise.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” You were dry, not wanting to give in to any banter he might try to pry from you. “Look, I haven’t eaten in two days, haven’t slept in three, and I don’t think either of us wants to make a scene given the current climate,” you nodded your head toward the door, implying that you’d leave him for the wolves if you had the chance. “Let me stay. One night. Then…”

“One.” He repeated, not bothering to acknowledge your sob story or the implication that this would be a fight for later. “Can you let go of me now?” You let go of him, pushing his head slightly as you loosened your fist. He straightened to his full height and rounded you. “Were you followed?”

“If I was, we’d be dead by now.”

“By people?”

“If I was, we'd be dead by now.” You persisted.

He let out a long exhale before nodding, bending to open the hatch and offering a hand to help you into the room below. “Ladies first.”

You exhaled sharply, biting your cheeks, and grabbing his outstretched hand before lowering yourself into the fluorescent lighting that awaited you. You retracted your hand as soon as you made it down one rung of the ladder.

It was small. Not small—it was actually bigger than most rooms you’d slept in for the past few months, but it was built like a classroom; high ceilings and minimal furniture, the lights flickered above you and you jumped when you heard the hatch close with a loud creak and crash.

“S’alright,” the man dusted his hands off on his jeans, “can’t hear us down here.”

There was a tunnel built into the wall, and you noticed a rag tied to the handle.

“What’s this?” You fiddled with the fabric before he came over to brush you off of it.

“Even quieter in there.”

“How’d you figure that out?”

“Trial and error.” He said simply before turning his back to you and slumping into the couch that lay in the middle of the room. He removed his handkerchief, sharp features only slightly hidden now by his unkept beard.

You wandered around, taking in the meager furnishings and the machinery. You had no idea what this room was meant to be in the building’s prime—maybe some sort of safe room, some sort of storage area. Who cared, really; now it was just another waste of perfectly good silence.

“So,” you started, still speaking softly out of habit and mild distrust, “are you going to, uh, get me to let down my guard? Kill me in my sleep?” You picked at the paint that was peeling off the wall.

“Not as long as you’re out by tomorrow,” he almost smiled, “and for the record, I’d only kill you if you were awake. Only fair that you see it coming, at least.”

“Cute,” you huffed, “And now that I’m down here what makes you so certain I’ll leave?” You were testing him, trying to see if there was any truth at all to what he was saying. He didn’t look like a killer, granted neither did you before day one; he was tall, compared to you, at least, and lanky. He clearly hadn’t had access to a razor since he’d been down here. He folded his arms where he sat on the couch, pleasant-ish small talk paired with closed off body language. You couldn’t see any weapons within arm’s reach, and if you had to guess you would say he only learned how to use whatever gun that he owned—if he owned one—when everything went to hell.

“Guess I’ll leave it up to trial and error again.” You liked his eyes, you decided, and the way the blue of his irises was so pronounced against his pale skin and brown hair. Maybe you even thought he was handsome, and if the circumstances were different, you might let him buy you a drink and see where it took you. You kept walking in circles around the room in silence, figuring that if he had anything worth saying he would come out and say it.

You stopped at a small table, something your mother would’ve gawked at in an IKEA as if she would actually ever buy it after looking at the price tag. There were pictures, hand drawn sketches and scribbles and faces in black and white. Some of them had color, faded, and worn by time, but still clear as day in the part of your brain that bothered to register the details.

“These are nice,” you were first to speak again, “you draw them?”

“No…” he looked like he was struggling to find the words to say what he wanted to, “My—my wife…” He trailed off, and you knew immediately that she was no longer in the picture, whether it had been before or after the invasion. Still, you felt a twang of disappointment; maybe for him, for his lonesomeness—or maybe for you, for your own.

You picked up a sketch that looked to be of two young boys, and even on the washed-out paper they looked like the man behind you. You turned, paper in hand, unsure of whether you wanted to speak to him about it, dredge up his memories.

But what's a little friendly conversation between new anti-companions?

“Yours?” You leaned over the back of the couch, holding the sketch in front of you so he could see what you were talking about. He reached for it, and you noticed a slight tremor in his hand before he took the paper from you.

“Yes,” he breathed, “yeah.”

“Look like you.”

“Better looking kids than I ever was,” he chuckled, low and solemn, “better behaved, too.” You watched on as he studied the picture, before he stood up and placed it back on the table behind the couch. “I was—um…y’ever seen the movie The Mist?”

“Yeah…” You wondered what exactly he could be building up to.

“When they—my sons—they…the first day…" You could feel his breath, not because of proximity, but because you knew the same pain. "And I was so, so scared that I would wake up on day two to find that everything had returned to normal, and everything was going to be ok, but they would still be…like at the end of that movie.” He folded his arms again, “but now I, I mean this is—god, I guess I’ve never said it out loud, uh…maybe…it’s good they didn’t have to see…this.”

You nodded, remembering how that movie ended; your parents had let you watch it, not knowing what it was about. You had nightmares any time it got foggy until you were ten or eleven. “Yeah,” you looked at him, making eye contact for a solid few seconds before averting your gaze. “I—my parents, and…my brother…” you didn’t know how to phrase it, feeling as though he had already said it all, “I get it.”

You didn’t tell him you had turned 19 in the week leading up to doomsday, that you had been sitting on the hammock that shaped your childhood and thinking about the joy of being small enough to jump into the leaf pile your dad was raking when you saw the first meteor strike town, or that the last words your mother screamed were “I’m sorry.”

It just didn’t seem right; sometimes grief is better explained through the silences.

“I’m Emmett,” he broke you from your thoughts, “And I’m…sorry for—if I scared you. Up there.”

You said your name, realizing it was the first time you had introduced yourself to anybody in over a year. You reached out your hand and he took it in a firm shake. “Pleasure.”

He smiled, a genuine, full smile this time. You decided it suited him well.

“You sleep on the couch?” You broke free from the way he was analyzing your features, trying not to focus on what he might think of them.

“Usually, yeah,” he leaned against the arm of the sofa, “but I’d be ok to sleep on the floor if you want.”

“No—that’s nice, but no, you don’t have to.” You hoped he saw through your lie, how desperately you wanted to rest on something soft. “I’m only here for the night, anyway, remember? Don’t want to…shouldn’t get too comfortable.”

“You can…” Emmett looked at you, then over his shoulder toward the couch, “I’m sorry.” He ran a hand over his forehead, lifting his messy hair before trailing down to stroke his beard, “you can stay, I just—can’t be too careful, you know? And I didn’t, I was worried you were—”

“Gonna kill you?” You smirked, and he smiled again.

“A little, yeah.” He looked at you, and you realized how close you’d gotten to him over the course of your conversation, “Stay as long as you want.”

“Does this mean I get the couch?”

“I think that’s fair.” He moved, grabbing several pillows from the couch, and dropping them on the floor underneath it; his makeshift bed would, at least, be mildly comfortable if he could help it. “You got here when the sun was setting, I’ve been up since it rose,” he sat amongst the pillows, trying to lay them out in a manner suitable for him to rest on, “So, if you don’t mind, I’m about ready to get some sleep.”

You nodded, dropping yourself onto the couch and grabbing the thin blanket draped over one of the cushions; it was threadbare, and fraying, but you didn’t care—too focused on the fact that you’d be able to sleep in a quiet, comfortable spot. You watched Emmett flick a switch in the corner of the room before he returned to his mess of pillows, and the lights dimmed. If you squeezed your eyes shut you felt like you might be able to hear your parents watching television in the other room, like you were in your own bedroom eavesdropping on their hushed conversations; safe, known.

But it wasn’t any of that—not really. In the back of your mind, you worried about the lack of exits in the room, the fact that you still didn’t know whether or not Emmett had a weapon, the looming threat that remained just above you. You looked at the ceiling when you opened your eyes, wondering if anything had followed you, wondering if they would figure out how to unscrew the hatch and find you in this echo chamber of a building.

“Emmett,” you managed to whisper through your anxieties, “Are you awake?”

“It’s been five minutes,” he sounded tired, and you realized that the dryness of his voice wasn’t due to any disinterest in you, but lack of use. “I’m still awake.”

“How do you know this is safe?” You picked a loose thread from the blanket and watched it unwind in your hands.

“It’s safe.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

You tried to drop it after that, ignoring the fears that you carried with you from past encounters where you were assured of your safety, only to wake up and find that you had to keep running. “And they can’t hear us?”

So much for dropping it.

“They can’t hear us.” You heard him turn over on the floor, and you shifted to face him. Even in the darkness, his eyes were piercing, and you had no trouble finding them with your own. “I’m certain. I promise.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” he shook his head, “only fair to be nervous.”

You nodded, lying back down, and pulling the blanket to your chin. It didn’t really do anything, and the chill of the room seeped into you even after you shifted to make yourself more comfortable. Maybe it was because you kept moving, or maybe he felt it too, but Emmett addressed you again.

“Cold?”

“Yeah,” you didn’t bother hiding it. Once the world went to shit there was no real reason to keep up the niceties of denying discomfort to your host. At sleepovers hosted by your friends, you would’ve said no, I’m perfectly comfortable, and breathed into your hands until the sun rose, and your mother picked you up with a sweatshirt and a bagel fresh from the toaster. Now? Fuck it.

“Would’ve been warmer in here when the building was still in use,” he began to ramble, and you thought it was so dad of him to feel the need to explain the history of the building you slept in when all you really wanted was some comfort, “machines and bodies moving, and, I mean, the heat generated from these things would’ve been crazy.”

“Emmett,” you cut his monologue short, your face peering over the couch cushions and down at him, “are there more blankets?”

“No…” He seemed embarrassed, almost like he was worried he was disappointing you.

“Are you cold?”

“Not really.” He closed his eyes.

“Emmett.”

“A little.” He sighed; his eyes opened again.

You sat up and patted the couch, unsure of why exactly this was the solution you had landed on, but feeling like it was worth a shot. “Come.”

“Are you sure?” He hardly seemed hesitant, moving to join you almost immediately, but still trying to gage whether or not it was an empty offer.

You nodded, moving to make room for him behind you. When he first settled onto the couch, you recognized that this was the first time in ages that anybody had touched you—that anybody had come close to you. Heat radiated off of his clothed body and you couldn’t help but inch closer to him, bodies tangling together on the small sofa, trying to find peace. You wondered if he felt the same catharsis that came with sharing a sleeping space; if he was just as in awe as you were at how perfectly your bodies seemed to fit together, curving to appeal to the needs of each other and your individual comfort. Emmett’s arm draped over your abdomen, his hand brushing the hem of your shirt, and you sighed, unable to hide your content at the feeling of him shielding you from the wider world.

“When was the last time you…” you whispered, trailing off when you realized how awkward the question would sound.

“Hm?” His response was muffled, his face all but buried in your hair.

“When was the last time you touched somebody?” You but the bullet.

“I…must be months, now.” He didn’t think too long about it, “What about you?”

You turned in his arms, careful to not disturb the cushions too much under your weight. You were face to face with him now, with little room to do anything but breathe. “I don’t remember.”

You didn’t mean it in any sexual sense; really you were just curious as to how much physical affection anybody was getting given the current state of things; how long had it been since any two people had the time to just hold hands? And really enjoy the touch and weight of the other’s hand in their own, fingers interlocked? But deep down you knew there was an implication to your words, a desperate implication that you hoped he would pick up on, and that, if he did, he would understand your want, and fulfill it wholeheartedly.

Emmett’s hand strayed from your waist to brush your cheek, the back of two fingers caressing your skin, and your patience broke; you held his wrist with both hands, a parallel to the way you had trapped him earlier when you considered him a threat, and lowered it to your lips. You could feel the callouses he had built up, the roughness of his palm versus the soft skin of the back of his hand. You gave each finger a delicate kiss, waiting for him to break away, waiting for him to move back to the floor and tell you that you absolutely had to leave tomorrow, to hell with what he had said earlier.

But he didn’t.

He watched, transfixed, as you slid one finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip and releasing it with a quiet pop. You let go of his wrist, and looked up at him with hooded eyes, half-expecting a look of disgust.

His mouth was open just enough to see the edges of his top teeth, eyes focused on your lips, and you felt that his breathing had picked up, though that could have been a trick of the surrounding quiet.

“You like that?” No, he was definitely breathing harder. You could hear it in his words.

“Yeah,” you sighed, relieved by his words, the bright eyes staring back at you in the dark room seemed entirely untroubled with your actions, “Do you?”

“Yeah.” His fingers moved to trace the shape of your face before landing on your chin, lifting you slightly higher to allow him access.

No time was wasted in the moments that followed; his mouth attached to yours in one natural movement, and he immediately granted your tongue access to him when you began licking gently at his lower lip. You felt spit and teeth, and you could hear your heart in your ears, its rhythm in your face as he nipped gently at you, your lips getting puffy from use.

Arms wrapped around your waist again, this time to haul you up and over Emmett’s body, his motion encouraging you to straddle his waist. You planted your hands on his chest before reconnecting your lips to him, determined to explore every inch he offered you from your new vantage point. His t-shirt, stretched and worn, exposed a sliver of his chest, and you were quick to suck marks onto his collar bones and just below them. He groaned at the contact, hands traveling lower down your body in order to undo your jeans.

“Work with me baby, c’mon,” Emmett clumsily undid your fly as you licked over any skin you could reach. He pulled at your hair to bring your line of sight to his, and the stinging pressure on your scalp made you moan, “Help me out here, I’ll give you what you want.”

You straightened out above him, grinding your hips into his as you stripped down; jacket, shirt, and jeans following once you had made enough room for yourself to remove them. You returned to your rightful place on his lap, continuing to grind down onto him to relieve the building ache in your core. The friction he gave you was just right, and it helped to hear him groan when you dragged your hips up and down at just the right pace, his cock twitching in his pants at the weight and the angle.

His hands came up to paw at your chest, squeezing the tender skin before leaning forward to wrap his lips around your nipple. Your back arched, and you could only guess how pathetic it looked, coming so undone, so easily, for a man you had just met, clearly more than ten years your senior.

It was desperate and needy, and you didn’t care; you deserved this. Both of you deserved this.

You felt teeth brush against your pebbled skin, making you grind down harder atop him, letting the tip of his clothed cock catch your naked cunt and relishing in the sensation. He removed his mouth from your nipple, pulling you down to him to reconnect your mouths and give you a deliberately sloppy kiss full of tongue.

“Off,” you pleaded between gasps of air, fingers skimming the edge of his pants, “Take them off.”

Emmett huffed, and you sat back on your knees, giving him the space to sit up and remove his shirt, before he stood to take off his jeans. You waited for him to rejoin you on the couch, to continue what he had started there, but he kneeled in front of you instead, pulling you legs apart and holding them wide open.

“God,” one of his hands fell forward, gently placed low on your stomach, his thumb toying with your swollen clit and puffy lips, “Fuck.”

He dove into you, mouth open and wanting; you felt him come into contact with your hole and you jumped, head back and eyes closed as genuine pleasure washed over you. You placed a hand on the back of his neck to stabilize yourself as he began to fuck you with his tongue. The muscle lapped up your slick, pushing back into you, and repeating the process, his thumb still massaging your clit.

“Yeah, like that,” you whimpered, back arching off the couch. The hand still on your thigh ensuring that your legs would stay open for him reached up to squeeze one of your nipples; it was rough, and all the movement and friction he was giving you was utterly relentless. The overstimulation left you reeling, and you put your own fingers in your mouth to muffle the screams you wished you could let him hear. “Just like that, Emmett.”

You felt yourself teetering on the edge, one breath and you were a goner, bound to free-fall.

"I feel you," he let a trail of spit fall over your cunt, and when he spoke you could feel the prickly hair of his beard against your thighs, "squeezing me so tight—cum for me, baby, c'mon."

He sped up his movements on your clit ever so slightly, and you felt your legs begin to tremble, body light and head full of stars. You came with ease, the most relaxed you’ve felt in ages was with Emmett’s face buried in your cunt, lapping up what dripped from you like it was his only water source.

You nearly had to pry him off of you, fist in his hair while you came to from your high as he continued to enjoy himself vicariously through your pleasure.

“Come,” you steadied your breathing, “come here.” And he listened, but not before allowing himself a final taste, dipping his tongue into your center, rising to meet you face-to-face in another deep kiss. You could taste the sweet tang of your cum on his tongue, and it only drove you further into the fucked-out fugue state you were experiencing; you gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer and moaning into his mouth.

There was no rush, no bell to beat or timeframe to fit into, but you wanted so badly to see him come undone for you; you raised yourself up on your knees, and you felt them dig into the couch, the pattern of the fabric marking your skin as you pushed Emmett down. He sat, beckoning you to straddle him. You felt a shred of embarrassment, clambering to position yourself on top of him, an awkward feeling you hadn’t felt since high school, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered right now except him.

“Slow,” you finally settled, feeling his length brush against you from below, and with your head resting against his shoulder you could feel your own breath rebound against your nose. “Need you to go slow.”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, reaching down to fist his cock and line himself up with your entrance, “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You began to lower yourself, the feeling of his swollen head nudging your hole made you suck in a sharp breath; you bent your legs further, taking more of him, letting him fill you completely on your own terms, and he guided you every step of the way with his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, breathing hard against the crown of your head.

Maybe it was because of the tension, or because you so craved the connection—to hear him respond to you and what you alone were doing—but you dropped down quickly on the last few inches, feeling him deep and rough against your cervix, earning a choked groan from Emmett in your ear.

“Fuck, good, baby, that’s right.” You preened at his words, holding your position for a while longer to get accustomed to the stretch you felt before finally raising yourself up slightly just to inch back down his shaft again.

You felt full, stretched out and used—but in a way that was so positively welcomed; it had been too long since you were able to enjoy yourself in any capacity, but this act was certainly the most fun.

“Feel good? Like riding me like this?” Emmett tilted his head back, grabbing a handful of your hair to pull you from the crook of his neck. You stared at him, and he at you, hellbent on watching as you liberated yourself from the nerves and anxieties of the world around you—he craved your bliss as much as you did.

“Yes,” you squeaked, still bouncing on his cock, legs getting sore at the exertion in such a tight space, “So fucking good, Emmett.”

He moaned, eyes fluttering closed and hands moving to grip your ass. You could feel his blunt nails dig into your skin, and you expected—hoped—that there would be bruises to show for it tomorrow.

“Getting tired?” He whispered when he noticed the short breaks you took between moving up and down on his cock to simply grind down onto him, moving your legs around his chest awkwardly in an attempt to shift your weight. You nodded, thighs burning from exertion, and he sat up, kissing your forehead before lifting you gently off of him and moving you to lie back on the couch. Emmett took his time crawling over you; he kissed your thighs, your stomach, the space between the plush skin of your breasts, before finally he had you completely engulfed underneath him, giving you soft kisses as he slid himself back into your warmth. You lifted your hips to meet him, moaning at how he fit with you, how you could memorize every ridge and vein of him like this.

And then he started really moving.

You felt him pull out, the slight pressure of the tip of his cock pressed gently against your entrance, taunting you, before he slammed himself back into your waiting cunt. It was deep, and rough, and you clawed at his bicep to ground yourself to him.

Emmett let out deep moans, forehead pressed against yours while he drove his cock as far into you as he could, and your logical side went completely out the window; you whined, yelped at the pleasure coursing through you, mewled for him louder than you should have, but neither of you seemed to care.

“That’s right,” he closed his eyes, focusing every part of himself on you, “give me another one, let me feel you.” His fingers latched onto your clit, watching intently at the way your face contorted at the friction combined with the feeling of his cock inside of you. He drew tight circles over the bud, letting you buck your hips up into him to signify how much pressure you needed at a given moment.

“Gonna—I’m gonna cum,” you whispered, then, louder, “Emmett, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

He didn’t say anything, just applied more pressure to your clit and gave you longer, slower thrusts. He watched as you began to tremble, your mouth falling open with small whines of his name. He sat up, cock still buried in your heat, thrusts slowing as you opened your eyes to the white-hot satisfaction of your orgasm. Overstimulated didn’t begin to cover it, but you didn’t want this to end.

His thrusts were getting sloppier, not in the sense that you could feel his rhythm falter, but his hips stuttered slightly every time he was fully sheathed in you, and you could tell he was holding back, trying to make this more about you than about his own release.

You pulled him down, nuzzling his neck and placing sloppy kisses on his pulse point as you whispered to him: “Want you to cum,” your lips grazed the shell of his ear, “Please, Emmett.”

You were proud that it seemed to only take your pleading whispers for him to lose himself to the finish he longed for; his hips snapped rough against you, and you could feel his chest heave against your own when he allowed himself one more moment inside of you before pulling out to finish in his fist.

His cum was warm, a perfect contrast to the sweat cooling on your skin, and his growl of your name was music to your ears. He fell forward, head cushioned by your breasts while you both focused on your breathing. Your fingers found the hair on the nape of his neck, thumb brushing the part of his beard that curved just under his ear.

You were in the perfect space between tired and satisfied.

“Thank you,” Emmett murmured into your skin, punctuating his words with soft kisses.

“Thank you,” you echoed, unsure of what to say now that the heat of the moment had passed. “I…I needed that.” You paused, “I liked that.”

“Me too,” he whispered.

“I don’t want it—I don’t want this to be the only time.” You felt immature for some reason, all but begging for this to happen again when you didn’t even know if you’d see next week.

“Doesn’t have to be,” he whispered, “we don’t have to leave,” he looked up at you, tracing your features with his eyes, “You don’t ever have to leave.”

You grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. He squeezed it back.

You fell asleep without a care, thrilled to be in the position you were in, in every sense of the word; Emmett stayed on your chest, the weight of his body on yours only adding to the reassurance and calm you felt.

You had a dream that you raked your own pile of leaves, and jumped into them.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #8] Washi Tape

warnings: THE BIRDS!!!! the most important plot device of the story!!, mentions of jk’s former fwb (grimacing as i type)

soundtrack: are we having any fun yet? - larkins; beach side - kings of leon; toroka - christian kuria

wc: 8k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

When Jeongguk wakes up in a dark room, he's confused. He never sleeps in pitch-black darkness. Even when his curtains are drawn, he usually has a lamp running throughout the night. It projects a galaxy onto his ceiling. Makes him feel like he's surrounded by stars.

Had no need for it last night, mind you.

After all, you were there. He was already surrounded by stars.

But now, he's not.

His eyes hazily focus on the pile of pillows next to his bed. He's kind of glum when he notices you're no longer buried within them. Pouts. Thinks you've done it again.

Thinks you've succumbed to your typical routines; done to him what was so unfairly done to you in the early hours of that very morning.

Would make sense, and yet he still feels a little vexed. Feels like it's a bit of a dick move on your part. Thinks that at the very least, you could have woken him to say goodbye.

He can't bring himself to be annoyed though. Is too concerned. Fears that the cold light of day will have left you embarrassed about your upset, and more than anything, he doesn't want you to lament the choices that led you to his place.

Doesn't wanna be another one of your bad decisions.

But then his bedroom door clicks open, and he closes his eyes, trying to pretend as if he'd never been mentally chewing you out for 'leaving'.

He's lethargic as he turns to hook a leg over his duvet, rolling onto his front. He's in shorts, the shirt he'd gone to bed in discarded during the night after he'd gotten a little too hot.

It's bunched up next to the towel that's crumpled by his head. He's not resting on it anymore, but it was always inevitable. He gets restless in his sleep.

Back broad, the ridge of his spine is on full display, muscles framing his skeleton like a work of art. He's got the kind of body the Greeks would have sculpted; Renaissance artists would have painted. Maybe one day you'll fill a canvas at the cafe with a study of his back.

He groans, an incoherent murmur sounding in his throat as he rubs his face into his mattress.

"Thought you'd left," he grumbles, voice slow and lethargic, eyes still closed. This is exactly why he sleeps with his curtains open. It makes it so much harder to stay in a state of slumber when he's being blinded by sunlight.

By the door, you're smiling. "Sorry. Didn't leave. Just went to get some water."

"Gimmie."

He pushes himself up, palms flat on the bed as he twists to face you.

Your hair is a little lopsided from where you've slept on it, but his is just the same. Even worse, maybe. In fact, he actually looks like he's just stuck a fork in an outlet with how unruly it is. His eyes are puffy, and he really doesn't want to keep them open, but he's trying to get a read on your mood.

He's pleasantly surprised to find you smiling, delicate as you tiptoe around his bed with two glasses of water. "Here."

Sitting up, duvet pooled around his waist, Jeongguk takes the glass from you with two hands and chugs on it as if he's spent his dreams in the Sahara without a flask. The way he glugs it down is actually concerning - and the fact he doesn't stop until he's practically poured all of it down his gullet? You're surprised he doesn't drown himself.

He finishes with a slight gasp, and when he opens his eyes again, they're not as puffy as they once were. "Cheers."

You've only taken a single sip. Too busy looking at him with sheer bewilderment.

"Thirsty?" You laugh.

"Nah," he grins. The lies he tells are so sweet when he's looking at you like that. Makes you want to believe them. "Not in the slightest. Sleep alright? What time is it?"

"Really well, actually," you nod, taking a sip on your water as you sit back down into your pile of pillows. You notice his lack of cushions, and toss one up to him. It lands in his lap with a soft thud. "And it's just gone eleven."

He grumbles, taking the pillow beneath his arms, on top of his lap. No matter how late he gets home from work, he hates sleeping in late. Feels like he wastes his days. So much life to live in such a short amount of time. Wants to make the most of it.

"Not fancy the gym today?" You ask as he rubs his eyes, trying to shake himself from his drowsy slump.

"Figured you didn't need it," he says with an indifferent shrug. His lip ring glistens in the small stream of light that creeps in through the gap in his curtains. You lean around to pull one of them open a little further. He winces. Whines. "Bright."

"I didn't need it?" you ask, a little confused by what he means, ignoring his discomfort from the light. It's not like his visits to the gym have anything to do with you.

"You're not hungover," he shrugs, letting his body relax back down onto his mattress, pillow now beneath his head. "You don't need to walk it off."

"But you work out without me," you remind him. "Still could have gone."

He snorts now, eyes closed, lips pouting as he purrs a jibe in your direction. "I always workout without you, because you don't actually work out-"

"Fuck off, yes I do."

"Don't," he grins, opening one of his eyes, just to ignore the outrage on your soft features. He's glad you're eating up his bait. He's trying to move the direction of the conversation. Doesn't want to have to explain that he actually stayed home from the gym so that you wouldn't have to wake alone again. Would rather his kindness go unnoticed. "It's fine, though. Had a late night last night. I can go this evening instead. No work."

"Sorry," you whisper as you throw him a smile, aware that you've disrupted his plans, but he just shakes his head.

"S'cool," he shrugs. It's no hardship. No skin off his back. "Honestly."

His toned muscles tweak in the morning light as he reaches for his shirt, and you find yourself looking away. It's not like there's any need for it - his body is probably the thing he's most confident of - but the fact he's trying to cover himself makes you think that maybe you're seeing something you're not supposed to.

There are a couple of tattoos he'd rather not explain, and a tiny white scar just below his ribs from a wheelie gone wrong during his childhood, but nothing too revealing.

Still, you're in his space, and that in itself feels incredibly personal. Not uncomfortable, just a little less casual now in the broad daylight that's pouring in through his windows than it had been in the dark of night.

"I should probably get out of your hair," you offer, not wanting to overstay your welcome.

Jeongguk disagrees. Thinks you're perfectly welcome. "No rush."

"It's fine," you smile, pulling your hair from the bun it's tied in and shaking it out. It smells like strawberries. Smells like Jeongguk. "I really appreciate you being around last night. The least I can do is not derail your entire Sunday."

He wants to say that taking an alternative route wouldn't be derailing, and that it really doesn't matter if he ends up at the same destination, but locomotive metaphors feel lame, and he also doesn't wanna have to explain that chess wasn't the only slightly nerdy pastime he'd indulged in a child.

So instead, he just says, "if you're sure?"

Your clothes hang over the back of his desk chair, just as slouchy and comfy as the shirt of his you're wearing, but somehow a little less appealing. He reaches over for them and tosses them your way, because he doesn't want it to look like he'd quite like you to stay.

Just feels bad that you'll be going back to your apartment, knowing it will smell like your ex. Knows that the reality you ran away from will be just the same as you left it. The bed will still be unmade, the clothes Seokjin had stripped you of will still be crumpled on your floor. Maybe the indent of his head will still be on your pillow, condom wrapper still by the foot of your bed. The sound of his laugh could be trapped beneath your duvet, the feel of his hands on your skin could be heavy in the stale air of your unventilated bedroom.

Should have opened a window before you left.

And Seokjin never should have left in the first place, but it is what it is.

"I'll let you get changed," Jeongguk says, drawing you from your senseless thoughts, eyes soft, not really waiting for a response before he heads for his door.

You say a small thank you, but it's muffled slightly by the way it catches in your throat. He doesn't acknowledge it, slipping out of his room without turning back.

He's conscious of the fact that you've been rolling dice and landing on chance cards for a little while, now. Your friendship had been chalked up to lucky encounters and serendipitous endeavours.

Last night was much more deliberate. Felt like you'd looked through the chance cards before picking one: Go to a square of your choice. Collect £200 if you pass go.

He doesn't have a full set of cards yet. Can't put down houses, nor hotels - but you landed on the waterworks last night, and he landed on the electricity company. You're level. Both winners; both losers.

Muffled chatter has you slightly on edge as you hear Jimin's sleepy voice spliced in conversation with Jeongguk's. Hadn't considered how strange it could look for you to be leaving Jeongguk's room, when all three of you know the last time you'd been in their apartment, it was Jimin's room that you'd tried (and failed) to sneak out of.

And while there's no need for you to sneak around now, you know it will look a little precarious if you slink out of Jeongguk's room with a look upon your face that will no doubt reek of guilt.

It's not because you've done anything wrong, but just because you understand the dynamics of friendship. If Jimin emerged from Danbi's room without warning, you'd be a little confused. Not upset, per se, but definitely awkward. It's easier for everyone if your current whereabouts are unknown.

You fold Jeongguk's shirt neatly and smooth his bed sheets, trying to make his room look a little bit more presentable.

As you're stacking the mountain of pillows towards the top of his double bed, you can hear Jimin query where the sofa cushions have gone. Jeonggul lies. Says he was building a fort for gaming. Promises he'll bring them back - but Jimin just says not to worry. He'll bring his pillows from his bedroom into the living room for the time being. Jeongguk can keep the fort up.

There's a smile on your lips. It's nice to hear them chatter; nice to hear Jimin in a normal setting outside of a club or a bedroom. Even nicer to hear that Jeongguk is just as tender with his housemate as he is with you. He's kind. You think it's your favourite thing about him.

Which is strange, because normally kindness makes you run for the hills - but as you cross your legs, sitting at the end of his bed, you realise there's no need. The reason you're not running is because Jeongguk isn't chasing you. He walks alongside you, like your shoelaces are tied together.

Maybe one day you'll trip, but for now, you have a good pace set.

When he returns to his room, he's holding a finger to his lips. Shush, Byeol. Keep quiet.

And yet he vaults a packet of crisps at your face without much thought. The thick plastic of the packet crinkles against you, and Jeongguk seems to be in a pleasant state of surprise as he witnesses the impact, brows raised, mouth circled like a polo.

You say a thousand words with just a single gasp.

"Sorry, sorry," he whispers with a hushed giggle, the door now shut, realising how much he underestimated his throw. His palms are raised like he's holding white flags until he reaches the bed. You go to kick him, but he catches your ankle just in time. "Hey, hey!" He's still whispering. "I said I'm sorry!"

His thumb strokes against the bone of your ankle as he apologises, and the sweetness of his smile is hard to resist. You yank your leg back from his grasp and narrow your eyes.

"Couldda blinded me."

"Don't be dramatic."

"Never tell a dramatic girl to stop being dramatic, Jeongguk. You don't know what you'll unleash."

He rolls his eyes and flops down onto his bed beside you. He's looking up at those damn birds again - so you do the same. His patchwork arm folds behind his head, ink-free arm resting over his stomach as he waits for you to shuffle into a comfortable position. There's only a little distance between the pair of you, but it's enough to reinforce that line you've drawn in the sand.

"Jimin's just put The Notebook on," he says without much animation, as if it were an inevitability he saw coming.

"So..."

"So, it means two things," he says with absolute certainty - because it was an inevitability. "Number one? He didn't get laid last night."

You laugh, not picturing Jimin as much of a romantic- especially when you know how he likes to fuck. Must have been why he offered you the chance to stay over. It could be that your least favourite part of a hook-up - the intimacy - is his favourite.

"And two?"

"Two is that we've got two hours until he leaves the living room."

"Shit."

Jeongguk turns his head to face you, seemingly affronted by your exclamation. "Ouch. Rude. My company isn't that bad."

You let your gaze drop to meet his, the side of your head now resting his duvet. You smile. "Yes, it is."

"Dickhead," he laughs, but doesn't let his gaze linger on yours for too long. Something so damn fascinating about those birds. "Nah, it's up to you. If you really have to get gone, I don't mind telling him you're here. I don't think he'll make it weird, or anything.

"I'd rather not," you admit. "Just means... explaining things, doesn't it? Don't really want a guy I hooked up with once knowing the ins and outs of my dating life."

He nods. Understands. Things are simple between the pair of you, but there are complexities when it comes to your mutual friends.

"Told him I'm not feeling great, so he's not gonna disturb me for a bit. I'll get Netflix up on my desktop or something, you can watch whatever you fancy. I've got some coursework to catch up on, so I'll be doing that."

You watch Jeongguk as he reaches over you with a muffled sigh. He's retrieving the iPad from his nightstand. He's never mentioned his studies before, but there's something incredibly confusing about the concept of him - bartending gym rat, heavily tattooed Jeongguk - doing homework.

But then you're feeling bad again, knowing surely you'll be a distraction to his day.

"Sure you don't wanna use your desktop for your coursework?"

"Nah, nah," he smiles and raises the tablet. "S'what I use in class. All my notes are on here."

It's the first you've discussed his studies. Didn't even realise he was still in school. Still so much to learn about one another. It's okay, though. You've all the time in the world.

"Watcha studying?"

He presses his lips together, not quite smiling. Finds it a little bit awkward talking about his endeavours, knowing that there is a weight that comes with a degree. Doesn't want to get one and then end up never using it in his life - kind of like you.

"Business and events. Study part-time. Had to work alongside it. In my final year."

"Oh wow," you say, genuinely surprised. You just never assumed he had any free time, because you only ever actually see him when he's busy. You've never seen him on a Tuesday and nor a Thursday, though, which is when he's in lectures. "That's impressive."

He rolls his dark eyes, but his smile is ever-present. He awkwardly sucks a little air between his teeth and knocks his head to the side. "It's not. Everyone has degrees these days."

You want to argue back, but then he's asking you about your degree, and how you ended up working in an art cafe. The answer is simple yet feels complex - a saturated job market is where you place your blame, but the internal feeling of inadequacy is why you actually think you never got one of the lucrative roles in your chosen industry. Just don't feel like you're good enough. It wasn't for a lack of trying.

He tells you it's impressive that you've got a degree, with a bit of a shit-eating smile, and it has you rolling your eyes, too. Makes you realise how dumb you sounded saying it to him.

"C'mon," he nods towards his desk. "Let's pick something to watch."

There's a casual nature to the way he lets you sit on his desk chair, chin resting upon your knees, as he leans over you; hand on the mouse, navigating through his desktop.

You ignore the fact he opens up chrome in incognito mode. He just hasn't deleted his history in, like, forever, and fears what could be on display. Knows that there's a high chance it could be something unsavoury. Could also still have a tab open with your name in the search bar.

He just got curious. That's all. No biggie.

His keyboard is one of the tippy-tappy kinds. Goes click-clack as he types. You don't know the name of the keyboard model, just know that you like stumbling across videos of them at two o'clock in the morning.

It sounds so comforting when Jeongguk enters the web address. His password, too, and then your name into a new user, because he doesn't trust you not to fuck with his Netflix landing page.

He restricts your access to 'kids only,' for no reason other than to have you whining in his direction. He refuses to change it back. Tells you to suck it. Keeps it up until you pinch some of his hair between your fingers and threaten to pull.

"Alright, alright!" he exclaims in a hushed whisper, still conscious of Jimin in the next room over. He clicks through the settings and restores your access - but also then picks the ugliest-looking character he can find for your display picture, too. "There. Happy?"

"The happiest."

And somehow, it doesn't feel like a lie.

See, when Jeongguk's focus is on you - his laugh in your ear, smile in your eye line - you forget the ache in your chest left by Jin.

He's a distraction, but not in the sense that Jimin was. Not how any of your hookups have been. He doesn't offer what they did - and he won't, which is likely why the distraction is so welcome by you.

He's sticking dry ramyeon in your cracks and sanding it down. It's not perfect, and it's not permanent - but it does alright for now.

You look over at him in the mirror by his window, intently observing him as he gets to grips with his notes. There's a swell in your chest. It's so nice to have a friend. To not have expectations. To have someone value having you around for no ulterior motive.

Jeongguk doesn't really think much of it. He likes having you around, too. Likes your company. Likes that he doesn't have to worry about you crushing on him, because Jimin's already taken your fancy. Likes the lack of pressure.

Doesn't like it so much when you start asking him about his origami birds again a little while later.

You've just finished an episode of some crime drama he doesn't recognise, but didn't choose to start the next one up. Instead, you waltz to the end of his bed and lie down to look at the folded figurines.

You get why Jeongguk seems to like doing it so much. There's a subdued serenity to their soft movements in the stream of air blowing from his aircon unit.

"How'd you make them?" You ask, eyes concentrating up at them. They're two-tone - white on top, black from beneath. All the same. Uniform. Identical.

He knows what you're asking about, so he doesn't look up from the notes he's making. "Easily."

"You're the worst," you say, and he can almost hear the fact you're smiling.

"Nah," he retracts his statement as he glances over towards you. "Really wanna know how?"

You turn your head to meet his gaze. He looks far more awake, now. "Obviously."

He shrugs. Has that shit-eating grin on his face again. "Folded some paper."

"I'm leaving," you say, and yet you don't move a muscle.

"Jimin's still in the living room," he reminds you.

And so you decide to play up to the narrative he's already decided for you and his housemate. "Maybe I'll just go to his room for round two."

"Told you it wouldn't just be a one-time thing."

"Literally fuck off," you laugh, knowing there's no way you'll ever win against Jeon Jeongguk.

"It's my bedroom, where exactly am I meant to fuck off to?"

"The floor."

And so he does. Takes his iPad, sticks his apple pen behind his ear and crosses his legs on the shagpile rug that's next to his bed. He's challenging you as he raises his brows.

You don't wanna bite the bait. "God, you're so ridiculous."

"You love it," he jokes, and then he realises that he might be flirting a little bit, so he tries to draw it back. Decides that maybe it would be good to tell you why he's got them up. You shared a lot last night. His turn, now.

"No, I... I dated a girl for a bit who would always fold things up into butterflies. Guess I wanted her to think we had a similar quirk, or something like that."

He's so sweet that it's devastating. Must have broken his fair share of hearts, you think.

"Did she fall for it?"

You know you would have.

"She never knew," he admits. A blush creeps across his cheeks and atop his nose. Pretty. "It was a bit of a weird situation."

"You? Weird? Gasp. Sounds unlikely."

"Shut up," he laughs, briefly meeting your gaze before looking down at his hands. "No, we were friends for the longest time. Still are, I guess. Same group of friends, at least. We were never official. Just a couple of friends who fucked about for a bit. Anyways, to cut a long story short, things didn't work out. So. She hasn't been here to see them."

"But you're still friends?"

Depends on how you define friends, he thinks. There was never any big fight. The last time he saw her - a night out to celebrate another friend's birthday - they'd spent the entire night goofing around together.

It's funny, really, how Jeongguk thinks you're the epitome of stars, but he's never had more in his eyes than when he looked at her. You've never seen him like that. The only time you see stars in his eyes is when you catch your own reflection.

You think it would be nice, though. Think he'd look sweet all loved up, boyish and bashful in the presence of someone whose beauty encapsulates everyone around them. To see him in love would almost feel like experiencing it yourself.

"Kinda," he shrugs. "Don't see her much. She's got a boyfriend up in Seoul. Spends most of her time there."

The melody of his voice is melancholic. He doesn't sound regretful. Maybe a little resentful. Sad, more than anything. It's a shame.

"You really liked her?"

Jeongguk decides he's said enough. He puts on his best smile and shakes his head. Plays it off like it's no big deal. Pretends as if he didn't make a single-at-thirty marriage pact with her. Acts like he doesn't wish things had worked out differently; like he doesn't kind of hope he'll still be single at thirty, just in case she is, too.

"Why are we even talking about this? Really doesn't matter," he says, voice a little harsher than he intends. You feel guilty for pushing the subject. Glad to know him a little better, mind you. "I think I get it, though. Your whole... never staying thing."

He's the first person to say that to you. Everyone else has made you feel a little weird for it; as if your one-night-stands are somehow even sleazier because of it.

Your voice is quiet as you look at your hands. "You do?"

"Kind of," he shrugs. "I always stay - but only cause I only tend to fuck girls I actually like. I just... since her I haven't really let it get that far. Scared of staying and then the girl leaving, like she did, I guess. You 'n' me? We're two sides of the same coin. Doesn't really matter, though does it?"

Jeongguk surprises you. You'd have never thought him to be as much of a defeatist as he appears to be, now.

"No," you acknowledge as he comes back to sit on his bed. He lays down, head by your ankles, feet by your head. The birds above him are none the wiser of their impact on him. "It's just, I came to you crying over my ex last night, so it'll be nice to have a heads up if you're gonna come crying to me."

There's humour in your voice, and he appreciates it. Likes that he can be serious with you, but that you try and lighten the mood for him. He doesn't like talking about things like this. Always gets a heaviness in his chest. Only ever had a panic attack once, but he remembers how it started. Remembers it feeling a lot like this.

"She's not an ex. We never dated, so. Won't be crying. Don't worry."

You both know that titles count for nothing. Both know he cried plenty.

"Ouch," you grimace, to which he just smiles, now. No point in letting himself dwell upon it all.

"It is what it is."

"Bit more than that," you counter, because apparently you don't know when to shut up. It's not that you want him to have to rehash his bad memories. You just think they're eating him up. Think it will do him good to exhale.

He hums in confusion, the noise light and airy. Almost like he's chirping. Maybe he's secretly one of his little paper birds in disguise.

"Well, if it was enough to put you off dating for good," you rationalise. You know why he's downplaying it, but he'll do himself no favours by living in denial. "It shouldn't be dismissed as nothing."

"Not for good," he objects, and taps your head with his foot. You bat him away, but there's a weightlessness to the way you both start laughing. "Just for now."

"How long has it been?"

"Does it matter?"

"No."

He kind of hates how many questions you ask. Kind of likes it, too. Likes that you don't know the Jeongguk that came before her. Likes that you never had to see him when he was struggling with it.

The only person that had ever seen it was Jimin. So good at putting on a brave face, the rest of their friends barely knew. Even she didn't realise how badly she hurt him. It's why she still tries to be his friend.

Makes sense. They were best friends. Always said things would never change. In her eyes, they haven't.

"Just over a year," he finally sighs. "Confessed last spring. Was also subsequently rejected, but not till the summer."

You chirp in confusion now. Think about how long it must have fucked with him, never knowing where he stood. You feel awful for him.

"Well, she said she wasn't sure what she wanted. Anyways, ended up not being me. And so now, I never let myself get that deep into things. Don't wanna repeat history. Make the same bad decisions. Y'know?"

It's the SparkNotes version.

He won't bore you with the way he accidentally said he loved her after one too many shots, and how she'd told him that he didn't mean - only for him to fuck her that evening like he really did. Won't tell you how she asked him about it in the morning, and when Jeongguk nervously asked, 'well, do you want me to be in love with you?' she'd said, 'no. I think that would ruin things.'

And so he'd just laughed, and told her good. Said he'd never be in love with someone as ugly as her with a smile on his face reserved for only the most beautiful of people.

He won't tell you how she began to playfight with him, and how he ended up fucking her again. Fucking her like he meant it. Fucking her like she put the stars in the sky and stole the wind from his sails just to turn the tides. Fucking her like he never had done before. Fucking her like she wasn't just a friend, and he wasn't just a little horny.

The difference was, sober now, she felt it. Felt his intent. Knew that his slip-up had been the product of a fall.

He was confused, but so was she. He hadn't meant to fall - but she hadn't meant to trip him. No one was to blame.

And so he just blames himself. Shies away from love, 'cause he thinks that maybe he isn't right for it. If even the person who knew him better than he knew himself couldn't bring herself to love him, then what hope did he have?

"God, what's wrong with us?" He laughs, still tapping the side of your head with his foot. It's annoying, but you let him.

"Fear of intimacy and fear of rejection," you muse. "Make quite the pair."

He smiles in such a way that it doesn't feel like a smile, but he hopes that the hormones will play tricks on him. Make him at least think he's happy. "Anyways, I keep the birds up as a reminder, I guess."

"Of?"

He just shrugs. "Gotta set people free."

It's a nice idea. One you think you'd quite like to indulge in, too.

"You got any more paper?"

"Fuckin' loads. Accidentally ordered, like, a thousand sheets."

Your voice is delicate as you say, "show me how to make them?"

There's hesitancy from Jeongguk. Not sure he wants to share such a personal part of himself.

But then he thinks maybe it would be nice. Thinks that just because he wants to be alone romantically, doesn't mean he has to be lonely.

He tells you where the paper is - the top drawer beneath his desk - and begins to instruct you. They're simple enough. Only a few steps. He's made so many that he relies mostly on muscle memory.

Your first attempts are terrible. He questions whether or not you really work at an art cafe, because he can't comprehend that you're so bloody awful at crafting. You tell him that painting is an entirely different discipline, and he tells you that you're making excuses.

Eventually, though, you get the hang of it. Can make them without getting paper cuts. Almost. He still laughs every time you wince and mutter 'shit' beneath your breath.

You're about ten birds deep into your new flock when you walk to his desk to retrieve a pen. Jeongguk raises a brow, catching the biro effortlessly as you toss it towards him.

"Can't just set people free," you say, an idea brewing in your head. "Gotta set your fears free, too. It's the only way you'll get over them."

"Okay," he bites. "So?"

"So: go on," you nod towards the sheet of paper in his hand. "One of the things you're scared of. Rejection right? What are scared to do because of that?"

It's a big question. He's not even entirely sure he knows the answer.

And so he deflects. "What are you scared of?"

You take a moment to think, uncapping a pen with your teeth and scrawling down an answer on the sheet of paper. When you're done, pen cap still between your teeth, you turn the page to show him your answer: Staying the night after a hook up.

"I don't do it," you say candidly, as if it's news to either of you. "What don't you do?"

He takes a moment now. Really considers how his complexes conflict with his life. Some are easier to confront than others, though, so he scribbles one down and holds it up: following girls back on instagram.

A smile tugs at your lips. "Sorry?"

"Well, what if they strike up a conversation in my DMs?" He says as if it's a totally rational and reasonable response.

"You followed me, though?"

"It's different. I was just trying to get you your phone back - and not being funny, Byeol, you'd just fucked Jimin? Didn't really think you'd be trying it on with me?"

You snicker a little. It's kind of nice how he sees you as this strange entity all because you got a little frisky with Jimin. Writes you off. Doesn't consider you a 'girl' anymore, apparently.

But all you can do is laugh and say, "yeah, fair enough. Suppose that's true. Alright, now you're done, fold it up."

You both do it in unison, the folds coming easily now that he's shown you the ropes. He's almost a little bit impressed that you finish just a second or so after him. Isn't actually impressed 'cause it's the simplest origami known to man, but it's sweet how pleased you seem to be with yourself. Cute.

"And set it free," you finish, tossing it down into the pile of birds gathering by the foot of his bed.

"And set it free," he nods with a grin, twiddling his lip ring with his tongue as his gaze lands on yours; his bird landing in the pile.

Such a simple act, and yet it is freeing.

"Again?" he asks, to which you repeat his word back to him.

"Again."

The pair of you sit in comfortable silence, scrawling out your fears onto the papers. You choose to write all of your fears out first, and then fold them up. Jeongguk writes a fear, folds, and then repeats it. Different methods, same end goals.

He runs out of fears before you do, but it's okay. Not like it's a competition. He thinks it's interesting. Wonders what you're hiding up there behind your starry eyes.

"What now?" he asks as you toss your final bird into the pile.

Your purse your lips together, contemplating the next step. There's only one that really makes sense.

"You got any string?"

And of course, he does. Not only did he order far too many sheets of paper, but also far too much string. He gets it from the drawer beneath his desk, and a couple of rolls of tape. It's washi, dark grey, and he worries that it's been sitting for so long that it could have lost its tackiness.

You don't seem phased though as you stand on his bed and struggle to reach the ceiling. It's all very endearing. He comes to stand behind you, and doesn't really think much of it as he reaches for your hips and pulls you off of his bed. At least, he doesn't think anything of it until you shriek a little in surprise - and then he's covering your mouth with one of his hands, the other still on your hip.

"Shush, shush, shush," he coos with a small laugh as you swot him away. "You stick the string to the birds. I'll put them up."

Routines come as bread and butter to the pair of you. It's so casual how you work together, like the tides and the moon, it just... works. It doesn't take long once you fall into a pattern - string, stick, pass, stick - and soon enough, his bed has a canopy of so many birds that it's almost hysterical.

"Got a whole flock now," you smile as you both come to lay back down, heads by each other's ankles. Opposites. In tandem. Yin and Yang.

It's kind of a mess, but in such a way that it feels entirely right. There are a few incredibly lopsided birdies, all thanks to you, but Jeongguk finds a certain charm to them. Likes how you somehow managed to make perfect birds and also ones that belonged in the bin - and how it was those slightly wonky ones that you seem to like the most.

It's as you're praising how pretty the birds look that the washi tapes loosens on one of them, falling onto your tummy.

Jeongguk groans. "Told you the tape wasn't strong enough."

You scrunch your nose. He's right, but you don't want to acknowledge it. Don't like 'told you so' moments - so instead, you pretend as if it was meant to be.

"Must be that you're ready to set that fear free."

"Hmm?"

"Well, it definitely isn't one of mine," you grin, holding the bird up to look at it. The folds are sharp and pointed. Pristine, almost. It's too well-made to be one of yours, so you pass it over to him. "What does it say?"

"None of your business," he declares, holding it tight to his chest.

But he's curious too, and just laughs when he opens it. Holds it open. Gives you a peak.

Following girls back on Instagram.

"You've already seen it," he says, explaining why he doesn't mind you looking at it.

"And I still don't understand why you think it's such a huge thing," you tell him softly - not because you want to invalidate his fears, but because you want to understand them.

"A lot of girls find me through the club's Instagram," he admits, sensing that your confusion would only be remedied with honesty. "Feels a bit sleazy to follow them back when they were probably drunk."

"It's an insta follow back, Gguk. You're hardly making a move," you say. "It really doesn't have to be a big deal. If they're already following you, then you're the one rejecting them."

"But what i-"

"But nothing. Gimmie your phone," you say - and you're surprised when he does. No hesitation. Makes you think that maybe just he needs a push. Wants this.

He's pleased when he notices a slight sparkle to your chipped nail varnish. It's midnight blue, and you bought it because it reminds you of a twilight sky, but it just confirms that you're made of stardust to Jeongguk. The shine prevails even when you're without your trusty glitter.

You pull up Instagram and head to his notifications. He's got a solid bounty of new followers - 68 since he last checked.

"Okay, what about her?" You pause your scroll on a brunette - slim build, hair cropped to just above her shoulders. She's wearing a little glitter too, from the looks of things. Jeongguk wonders if that's why she stood out for you. Wonders if maybe you saw a little bit of yourself in her.

"Yeah, she's pretty," he admits, but glances over to you to check he isn't speaking in a way that makes him seem like a dick. He doesn't want you to think he'd objectifying anyone. "I'm not so sur-"

He doesn't have a chance. You've already pressed on the little blue follow button.

"See! Not so hard."

Jeongguk disagrees.

There's a feeling in the pit of his stomach. What if the girl shows up at the bar and tries to strike up a conversation? Then what? The first step is all very well and good, but you seem to have forgotten that his life goes on after the press of a follow button.

But then the moment passes, and he realises that the world is still turning just as it always has been. Nothing has changed. Maybe it is okay.

And so he takes a little bit of a lead.

"Who next?" he asks, trusting your decisions.

"Her?" your thumb points towards another brunette. She's gorgeous. Face straight out of a magazine, body off a catwalk. How on earth he wouldn't have noticed her at the club is beyond you. She's not the kind you'd forget easily.

"I remember her," he says, confirming your suspicions. He does notice girls, and he does pay an interest in them. You think it's sad that he's stopping himself from pursuing any of them.

His voice is flat as his lips sneer a little, though. Had noticed her for all the wrong reasons.

"She was a grade-A wanker to Yeonjun," he explains. "Literally was last night. He messed up her order, and instead of just asking for a redo like a normal human being, she pretended to knock it over. Got vodka lemonade all over the counter, which is like, not an issue, but when it's peak time and you do it just to be a dick? Yeah. I served her for the rest of the night so he wouldn't have to deal with her. She follows me?"

You nod, a little embarrassed that you suggested her. It almost feels like you're the one being scolded. Kind of like seeing him like this, though. He looks good a little heated. It's so different to how mild-mannered he typically is.

"Force her to unfollow me."

The look on his face as you glance over at him is hard to read. He faces you, eyes focused on yours. They dip quickly to where your mouth rests ajar in surprise, then back up. "What?"

"Nothing," you laugh. "Just... I dunno. Strong morals."

"That a bad thing?"

"Not in the slightest," you say, voice soft, smile faint but sincere.

He goes to speak, but stops himself. Changes the topic. "Who next?"

And so you scroll, because you don't want to dwell. You make your way through a few of his followers, almost like you're playing an insta-tinder-hybrid.

"Oh, what the fuck," you snort as you reach a profile towards the bottom of the list.

"Hmm?" He asks as he looks at the profile you tap through to.

Ciara, her profile reads, and the instant you see her tight curls that delicately frame her face, dyed a caramel blonde to contrast her dark eyes, you recognise her. Like most of the girls in his notifications, she has the kind of beauty to leave an impression.

Unlike the last girl you'd done a deep dive on, she actually is a sweetheart, you think.

From what you remember, at least.

"Ciara," you hum, scrolling through her feed. It's dappled with pictures of friends, books in coffee shops and adventures from her time in Korea. She's Irish - not that her profile really gives it away - and you can almost remember the way her accent tastes. "It's definitely the club where she first saw you."

"She did?" He asks, not really sure how you know this with such certainty.

"Uh-huh. I met her a few weeks ago."

Jeongguk doesn't interrupt. He senses more coming.

And then you shrug.

"Hooked up with her, actually."

"Oh," he says with a little surprise. Doesn't sound negative, but it doesn't sound entirely positive, either. You glance over to find him looking at you, and question his surprise. "I just didn't know. That's all."

And then you laugh. "Why do men always seem to think women's lives revolve around the male species?"

"I don't," he quickly protests, not wanting you to think ill of him.

Though he's pretty set on his sexuality, he's also no stranger to a little experimentation. Wouldn't judge anyone for their sexual endeavours, nor who they choose to engage in said endeavours with. Consenting adults are consenting adults.

"Literally just didn't know," he adds on. "It's no different to you being surprised when you found out I was studying for my degree."

You narrow your eyes but it's all in jest. You accept his response. Have had far worse in the past.

"Do you mind me asking?" He continues, getting a read on your expression before he clarifies. Doesn't wanna overstep the mark, but also isn't asking you anything he wouldn't be comfortable with you asking him back. "How you, like, identify?"

It's delicate, how he phrases it. Tender. Airy. Makes you feel quite safe, actually. His voice is so calm and neutral, that he may as well be asking what you'd like for dinner.

You simply shrug, shoulders lifting and then pressing back down into his duvet. It's something you've given a lot of thought, but always find hard to draw conclusions on. "Always just used to say bi."

"Used to say?"

"Had a boyfriend for a year, so people never cared to ask," you purse your lips, reminded of your least favourite aspect of dating Seokjin: erasure. Not just of your sexuality, but of your identity outside of the relationship. You were 'Jin's girlfriend' to so many people. You hated it. Wanted to be a person in your own right. "Maybe it was self-inflicted, but people seemed to forget I had a life before him. Maybe I did, too. When you lose your sense of self, it's hard to define it, yanno?"

Jeongguk nods. He doesn't entirely understand, but tries. Recognises it was difficult for you. Feels bad. "Sorry."

"Not your fault, is it? Anyway, it's okay. I'm trying to rediscover myself, almost? Trying not to tie myself to anything too definitively. Scared I'll get it wrong."

"You're allowed to not know," he says. His brows crease above the bridge of his nose like they always do whenever he's speaking with a little passion. "And you're also allowed to know and not want to define it. Fuck what anyone else thinks."

"Either way," you deflect, not wanting to dwell. "Would be weird if you started chirpsing a girl I've been with."

"Agreed," he laughed. "Would make a double date with Jimin interesting."

"Jesus, give up the Jimin agenda," you smile. "It's not gonna happen again."

"Sureeee. Okay, next girl," he says - but is interrupted by a second origami bird falling.

It's on the outskirts of the flock - the one impacted the most by the breeze of the aircon - and Jeongguk can tell immediately who made it.

"Oh this is definitely one of yours," he laughs, holding it up to study it. "How is the wing so bloody wonky?"

"He's poorly," you pout. "Like Jacquimo from Thumbelina."

Jeongguk doesn't even pretend to know what you're referencing, so you just tell him you'll show him later. It's one of your favourite films. He says he'll watch it if you win a game of chess against him. You've no idea how to play. Tell him your agent will be in touch to schedule a tournament. He says he'll be waiting.

And then he's thinking. Voicing his thoughts. "We faced one of my fears-"

"And no one died."

"Exactly, no one died," he smiles. "So let's face one of yours."

"Wait-" you say quickly, going to grab the bird from his grasp, but he holds it above his head. You panic. "Look, Gguk, I didn't plan on you ever seeing any of mine."

"So?"

"So... " you cringe. "Fear of intimacy."

"Sooo?"

"So... intimacy??"

"I'm lost?"

God, he couldn't be more of a boy if he tried. You half think that sometimes he plays dumb just to get you squirming. If he does, it works.

"Some of them aren't exactly PG," you say, your face scrunching even further up, as if you're preparing for a shot. Alcohol or medicinal. Doesn't matter which. Both would be less painful than this.

The way Jeongguk laughs has you covering his mouth. It's a role reversal, with you reminding him Jimin is just next door.

"Sorry, sorry," he says as he recovers his breath. His teeth are on show, nose blushed, skin dewy. He's so pretty like this, you think. Handsome when he's happy. "I just - how bad can it be?"

The look on his face as he opens it says it all.

Yep.

You groan.

"Jesus Christ, Byeol."

Pretty fucking bad.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[inner-viper]

What are their kinks? Their sexual intimacy? An overview of their sex life FS (18+ ONLY) PILE 1!

ORIGINAL POST HERE

Hello, my name is Viper and I am an intutive seer/oralce tarot reader. I am well versed in finding information through divination and using my intuition~ Today I wanted to do a spicy topic because its so fun. I haven't started explaining some piles and I already feel the heat. Damn, a lot of passion and fiery enegy in this reading.. Its making me horny LMFAO. THIS TOOK ME 2 DAYS AND I WAS NOT EXPECTING FOR IT TO TAKE THIS LONG. All three of these piles wanted me to do MORE DETAILS. My channeling DRAINED ME. That’s why I took so long because afterwards THEY SUCKED MY ENERGY. (Do not worry, I just received loads of messages. It gets overwhelming). Anyways, remember nothing is set in stone. This is for entertainment purposes only. NO MINORS. 18+ ONLY.

TW: MENTIONS OF KNIFE PLAY, and CHOKING. SEXUAL CONTENT!!

CHECK OUT MY SHOP AT: https://innerviper.etsy.com

I’ll be adding cheaper options in the future. I will be updating descriptions too, so SHOP WILL HAVE A NEW LOOK🔥.

Classical Tarot Deck: Seven of Swords (in reverse), Eight of Cups, Strength, Knight of Wands (in reverse), Nine of Swords, Queen of Cups (in reverse), King of Pentacles, Queen of Swords

Oracle Deck: Seventh Chakra/Archangel Uriel, The Thinking Man, Second Chakra/Archanhel Ariel, Angel of Strength, Door To Personal Healing and Happiness, Angel of Balance (in reverse), Walking Away, All Tied Up

Ok, this person is the dominant. If you aren't the submisive one then this might not be for you. This person is hot asf in bed. LIKE DAMN they bringing this heat towards the bedroom. Also, STRENGTH SHOWED UP TWICE IN THIS READING. They got STRONG STAMINA. They can go for multiple rounds, they are expreienced. Some of them are not that experienced but they know exactly what to do (This applies to a VERY small minortiy). They aren't emotional when it comes to hdoing the act. I see that they like to let loose and an almost animalistic side of them comes out.. LIKE DAMN. Going back to doing multiple rounds, they definitely like to take their time. They like to dominate bratty submissive people. They like to see you being fucked by them. Not to say they can’t make love but they are just into fucking you. They definitely like receiving head as well. They like to push their partner down on them or take control of their hair. I see that they definitely like to let their partners let loose as well. They love it when their partners are in the moment instead of wondering off in thoughts.. They take their time too, they don’t like feeling rush and they have a thing for dirty talk as well. They are nasty asf bruh(💀). They like bondage and are into BDSM. Some of them might be into some power play here. Like an older man with a mature beautiful partner. What I mean is they like to see power dynamics but it’s not weird (Like not in a creepy way😂). They want to see their partner in lingerie. They want to type them up in specific rope, red rope? They like to be teased by their partner. They want their partner to try to seduce them. Try to make them fall for you as you tease them in a public setting. They definitely like your legs, specially your thighs. They love to see you reveal your thighs with thigh highs? This can apply to all genders. I’m seeing the bottom wearing thigh highs for gay men. If you are gay, they are into femboys.. 🫣 They also like to make their partner moan out their name. They know how to talk in bed. Watch out this person will seriously have you blushing and you won’t be able to think of something fast enough to reply. A real charmer! They will fuck you into you no longer think of anyone but them. Until you can no longer say any words or slurring out words, only moaning their names loudly. Saying that your attempts of seducing them are cute. They like to see their partners on edge. They like to do it in private area with semi-public areas too. Like maybe getting fucked by the window that’s tinted. 🔥 They like to test yours and their discipline. One of their secret fantasy is to dominate someone into submission and to fuck them hard. They like to kiss deeply rather than lightly though. They also seem to have a nice body. They watch a lot of porn. Some of them are into anal and using a toy in the bedroom on you. Yeah, they are very horny individuals. LMFAO

They like to connect with their partners on a deeper level too. They like to do acts with partners that they can connect to. They prefer doing the act with partners they know rather than hookups. During hook-ups, they aren’t as caring and not much love making. They still like to be pleasure at their own pace though. They love switching to multiple positions. They switch positions before they come to bring their partners' pleasure as well. They can come fast if they really focus on themselves, but they won’t do that. They also like missionary, froggy position and seated oral! They like it when their chest is being touched too, it’s a sensitive area in their nipples. Watch out for that tongue, they know how to give very well. “How cute is it to watch you squirm underneath me? What? You can no longer say anything? Haha, let me continue” SO COCKY-

Aftercare: They are very attentive and nice. They will like to clean up and go to sleep because you will be tired. They view sex as healing and very relaxing. They want to make sure to bring that towards you feel like they do.

Thank you for reading. Send suggestions in the ask box!~

[ratgrinders]

I’m not super into the fandom side of d20 but I do watch religiously so i dont know where to really ask this but what do other people think about the downtime mechanic? Earlier in the season I really liked it bc it felt like a good way to include a bunch of less critically important things in the narrative (like going to classes and extracurriculars) without it feeling like the narrative was dragging. But the last two downtime episodes have been deeply unsatisfying to watch bc the plot is so much bigger now and successful rolls can no longer be addressed as they happen and they have to be put off until we’re out of downtime, and so the episodes end up feeling like filler? I don’t I feel like it’s great Fabian and mazey went on a date but this episode really kind of ground to a halt any momentum the end of last weeks episode built for me.

Thanks for the ask!

Tbh while I enjoyed this latest session of downtime, I do kind of get what you're saying. Earlier sessions of downtime I thought worked really well as a way to have the Bad Kids move through the year in an organic way while also introducing a prioritization mechanic that I thought really fit with the theme this seasons of stress and responsibilities piling up. I think its natural though that since now we're moving in to the crux of the mystery and the climax of the story that we'd naturally expect an escalation and things moving very quickly rather than the slower pace downtime was made for.

I think Brennan removing the need for an academic track was his way of addressing this shift in priorities, since like he said now they have more time to devote to the mystery. And for what its worth most of the rolls made in this downtime were in service of this mystery, as even the relationship track rolls revealed new info about the plot.

i do think the downtime mechanic has served its purpose and won't be used for much longer anyways. If I had one minor note its that without the downtime mechanic the Bad Kids most likely would have immediately followed up on the Rat Grinders and their Mountains of Chaos trip, but we'll be getting that next episode anyway so I think this last bit of downtime was just to have the teacher evals (which I thought were really fun lol) and give space for any last relationship goals before heading in to the finale.

[elvisabutler]

can i request #5 and #17 angst prompts for professor presley universe? i dont mind if you do it in one all together all i ask is that you end it in fluff 😊

your love was unmoved

fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: t for some implications pairing: elvis presley ( professor big daddy ) x female reader ( nicknamed belle ) word count: 1998 warnings: no use of y/n. student/professor relationship ( former ). talk of babies. talk of pregnancy and complications. minor sexual implications. talk of death. arguing. author’s note: thank you for this anon! i had a completely different version of this written before i got talked out of it for good reasons. i think this one is better in any case. hope you enjoy! this is done for my 1k gala, based on angst lines “i’m not going with you." and "please, answer me!" y'all know the drill, real elvis or austin elvis works fine for this despite the moodboard. also part of the professor presley universe that keeps growing by the day.

Elvis is the love of your life, this is a fact you've known since before you had your twins. Since before you got married. Since before your third child and now the fourth that has given you so many problems and health issues that Elvis had been worried enough that you had made a joke telling him you'd carry this stubborn little baby to term even if killed you. The look on his face and his reaction was one you weren't soon to forget. His reaction of holding your face in hands and nuzzling at your nose whispering that if he can't joke about dyin' neither could you. His reaction later on while you you were in and out of sleep with him talking to your belly.

"Ya gotta treat ya mama a lil nicer. She's- she's gotta stay here for your siblings and- and I don't think I'd take losin' her all that well."

Somehow little Judy had taken those words to heart. Oh sure she had been a bit of a hellion still, making you stay on an extended leave of absence that Elvis had fought tooth and nail for just so you could keep your job and he wouldn't be forced to hire someone else- someone else he knows wouldn't be as good in his department. And sure, you had been forced to have a c section on account of her being feet first but was fine. You were fine and she was fine and your family was complete and happy. It takes you longer than you'd like to get back to normal, a product of your age and of what you had gone through to bring your daughter into the world but eventually eventually you found yourself back teaching, admonishing your students who didn't do homework and who would like to treat your class as a nap time among other things.

There's something different about Elvis- something that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention in concern and worry. Maybe it's from everything you've gone through with your other partners or maybe it's because you know Elvis well enough but something is bothering you. Something feels off and you can't put an exact finger on what it is. You can't put an exact finger on what it is until you have to grab something out of his desk.

He's trapped under the pile of your oldest children while little Judy is sleeping in her crib. The idea had been for both of you to get some work done while the children played around you but the older ones seemed to have a different plan as per their usual. Your own papers you have to deal with are safely sitting on the table and Elvis's- well you end up asking him where his arm between shouts and squeals.

"I'll wrestle them back t' normal, jus', can ya go grab my things from my desk, darlin'? Should be in the middle drawer." Elvis asks before his hands become preoccupied with trying to keep Wes from pulling at his hair- or perhaps it was Wendy, you couldn't quite tell. It didn't matter though, after all, you knew better than anyone that once they had their fun that he'd make sure they were all acting exactly as they needed to. You can't help the way a smile stays on your face as you walk into the office, settling down in the chair as you pulled open the middle drawer. The papers are in a folder, easy enough to grab but your eyes drift to one of the side drawers with the drawer partially open and what looks like a set pages not bound with a staple or paperclip or anything. You know better than to look, know that there are some things even now after being married that you and Elvis keep from each other. Keep private, because they don't concern the other person, nor are they important. Yet there's that feeling, there's that feeling again- the raised hair on your neck and the sickening feeling of dread as you stare at it. You shouldn't look and yet you do. You want to throw up after you do.

Your body cycles through hot and cold, hot and cold and hot and cold before it settles into a bone aching chill as you read. This is a contract for another school, a school in California of all places. It's a contract he's already signed and hasn't bothered to tell you about. It's a contract that pays better than the one he has in Memphis but- Memphis is your home, Memphis is where your job is- Memphis- it's supposed to be where you stay, after all, taking this would mean selling Graceland and Elvis has always told you he bought it for his mother. He would never sell the property. It's then that it hits you like a ton of bricks and you shoot up out of the chair, his folder of papers in one hand and the signed contract in the other.

The living room is quiet but you can hear your children outside whooping and hollering so you know Elvis has shooed them outside to try and burn off their energy. What great timing, he shooed them away so you can have a discussion with him about this- this whatever it is. His folder is tossed onto the table carelessly before you toss the contract in his lap.

"I'm not going with you, am I?" Your words are spat out as Elvis pales looking over his glasses at you- realizing what you tossed at him. It's written all over his face that you're right, he has no intention of taking you with him, instead forcing you to be a single mother here in Graceland with your four kids. "Were you just going to pack everything in a bag one day? Pull a 'cilla and leave me without warning? Oh wait, did you plan on taking the twins too?"

"Belle, honey, darlin', Y/N, I-" He states before you cut him off.

"No, no, no nicknames today Professor Presley. Please, just answer me, have the decency to do that for your wife." You move to sit right in front of him on the coffee table, eyes blazing. You want to kick and scream and hit him and for a brief moment you're taken back to when you first got together, your anger and embarrassment and depression all coming to a head.

His body recoils back at the use of a title he hasn't heard come from your lips in a non-playful way in nearing a decade now. This- This isn't how this was supposed to go, you weren't supposed to find out this way, he was supposed to ease you into the idea, butter you up for a move to California while he arranged for the Mafia to take care of Graceland. It was only a temporary assignment.

He moves to cup your face only to have you grasp at his wrists. "Stop trying to be sweet and tell me what that's about. Tell me I'm wrong, Elvis."

There's a part of him, the part of him that knows you well enough that in a good mood you're liable to smack him gently upside the head if he told you that know, you're not wrong, that yes, he's that horrible person you think he is who planned on doing what your brain thinks he's doing. He knows you're liable to smack him gently upside the head if he told you that you're being silly and he'll be sweet to his wife if he wants. He knows these things because he knows you so he settles on looking at least a bit admonished before he speaks.

"You are wrong. I- I meant t'tell ya sooner, or at least, meant to tell ya soon. Jus' couldn't really figure out how." Elvis can feel his leg bounce a little in spite of everything before he continues. "I-I got offered a temporary job in California. University basically wants to let them borrow me. Sort've a guest lecturing thing. I don't- I don't know the exact details cause I haven't been to the university there but- you'd be comin' wit' me. Leave the boys to handle Graceland, while take the kids to California for a year. Give 'em a change of pace."

"A change of pace." Your tone is deadpan as you still continue to glare at Elvis. "Memphis is our home and you want to go to California just because they offered. You're joking, you have to be because I know my husband isn't someone who decides this and signs the paper before talking to me about it."

He starts to open up his mouth to defend himself before you both hear the backdoor open and hear the yelling of your three older children followed by the piercing cry of your youngest. You shake your head and wave Elvis off. "I have to go help her, feed her. Just-"

"I got 'em, Belle."

Those are the last words he says to you until your nightly shower. Everyone is in bed but you and him and you found yourself entering the shower before him, not waiting up as you usually do. After a few minutes you feel the door open and feel your husband against you nuzzling your neck. "I hadn't sent them back. I didn't- Everything's gotten a lil' complicated here in Memphis, thought, thought we could see how it is. See if it can be like Hawaii for us, ya know? We've jus' both been busy. Shoulda talked 'bout it fore I signed 'em but can ya trust me on this? Trust me on us goin' there? Jus' for a year."

Your shoulders relax as you lean against Elvis, allowing the water to fall on your joined bodies. There's tears falling you think, but you can't quite tell as you speak. "My tenure, though. I'll lose my job."

"I'll get it back if ya do. Pull some strings nearby. Darlin'- I think we need this. Think it'll do some good and-"

You cut him off with a sigh. "If you can convince them that I get my job back when we come back, I will go. We'll go together and they can enjoy California."

Elvis grabs your waist and turns you around to face him in the shower before he cups your cheeks. "Ya promise, ya ain't jus' sayin' this t'make me happy? Ain't jus' agreein-"

A snort leaves your nose before you laugh, sniffling slightly. "Elvis- When- I've never been that sort of woman and you know that. I'm- I'm trusting you because you haven't led me wrong lately."

He pulls you in for a kiss and bites at your lip before pulling away. "Lately, she says. Try ever, Mrs. Presley. I'll see what I can do, a'right? Ya- ya wanna finish the shower and go to sleep? Catch an hour before Judy wakes up?"

You nod, nuzzling at his chest, relishing in the feel of his chest hair against your cheek. "Shower and sleep- that- yeah. I'm- sorry about earlier."

Another kiss to your lips before he kisses your forehead and pulls away. "Don't be, kinda blindsided ya. Now, pass me the soap?"

Your hand reaches to grab the soap, but you don't hand it to him instead choosing to keep it in your hand and smirk. "I think you're gonna have to come and get it from me."

"Careful what ya wish for, darlin'."

taglist: @thatbanditqueen and @softsatnin

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Twelve - Return to Previous Save Point?

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Fem!Reader, (3rd Person)

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad's boss's son. He was the creep that stole girls' underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it's not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn't sleep with him, right? ...right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity Kink, Groping, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Animal Death

Read Full Chapter on AO3

[excerpt]

The calm she’d achieved through her revelation at the diner was very short-lived. As soon as she saw her house on the walk home, her anxiety and dread came back in full force. She didn’t want to go inside. She knew what was waiting for her there — the same thing that had been waiting for her the last time she’d called Shigaraki’s bluff, if not worse. Honestly, the brutal scolding she’d received from her Dad that day would be the best case scenario.

The worst was that he was already out of a job.

Mirio squeezed her hand, “Hey? Are you sure you’re okay now?”

She looked up at him. He wasn’t nearly as concerned as he had been earlier — didn’t have the reason to be— but he could obviously tell that everything wasn’t quite back to normal yet.

Should she tell him? She should, right? She didn’t even need to give the full details, just something like “I’m worried my Dad’s going to lose his job”. If she was really going to try to invest herself in this relationship again, she should be confiding that stuff in him.

She squeezed his hand back and smiled, “Yeah. Just kind of emotionally drained, you know?”

Baby steps. There was no need to worry him unnecessarily. She’d confide in him about this when there was actually something to confide about. She wasn’t lying at least, she really was overwhelmed.

“Of course,” he brushed her hair back over her ear, hand lingering to hold her cheek. She stared up at him, captured for a moment by the way he looked at her. The love in his eyes. She knew that whoever could reciprocate that one day would be one lucky person.

He leaned down and pressed his lips sweetly to her own. They were full and gentle, warm and still subtly sweet from the slice of cheesecake they’d shared at the diner. Free of roughness and scarring, undemanding, and not a hint of energy drink on them.

Mirio pulled away just a little bit, the tip of his nose still brushing her own, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“More than that?” she grinned, “I don’t think so.”

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss her again, this one just as sweet as the last.

They didn’t linger much longer than that. Mirio Togata was a gentleman that would never think of copping a feel or even slipping her a little tongue in her parents’ driveway. Instead, he stood fast on the sidewalk and waved her off, not turning to leave until she was closing the front door behind her. She had no reason to complain, he was just being a good boyfriend and making sure she got home safe. But it did make it impossible to let her guard down and brace herself before she was actually in the lion’s den.

So, she didn’t announce when she was home — easing the door open and closed and slipping off her shoes as quietly as possible. She glued herself to the wall of the engawa, listening for any hint to her family’s fate. Crying, yelling, hopeless silence. She was not expecting:

“Three sixes.”

“Bluff!”

“...you sure about that?”

“YOU’RE KIDDING ME!!”

She walked into the living room to see the scene for herself, moved forward by confusion alone. Confusion that only skyrocketed when she saw her family at the dining table, her little brother grumpily pulling a center pile of cards into his hand.

“You know, it’s wrong to lie to your kids!” her brother whined.

“But it’s so fun though,” her Dad laughed, bopping him on the nose with his own two-carded hand.

“Hey sweetie,” her Mom greeted her, “Have a nice date?”

“Y-Yeah…” she answered cautiously, scanning for any sign of distress from the trio, “Lots of fun.”

“Not too much fun though, right?” her Dad joke-warned, earning a playful swat from her Mom.

“PG Rated fun only, sir,” she ‘joked’.

He shot her a playful salute and laughed, “Come on over, Peanut. I’ll deal you in.”

“I-I’m okay, Dad,” she said, “I should actually try and get some studying in today before it gets too late.”

He smiled at her, “Atta girl. Holler if you need anything.”

She nodded and swung by to give both her parents a kiss on the cheek and her brother a hair ruffle before slipping down the hall. She snuck another inquiring look back at the table as they resumed their game in earnest.

It was obvious that her Dad at least still had a job for now. She knew that she couldn’t get too comfortable though. The other shoe would certainly drop soon.

Continue on AO3

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[kelmcdonald]

August Newsletter: Back From Comic Con

Hi everyone! And welcome to everyone who signed up for my newsletter at San Diego Comic Con. It was fun to see a San Diego Comic Con where comics were the focus again.  If you're new here I'm making these comics:

Blue Moon is a werewolf romance gn I'm writing and Meredith McClarren is going to draw. I'm late on its script. 

The City Between is my webcomic about werewolves in the future. It updates Wednesdays. The current story is called Shards of Reflection. 

You are the Chosen One is a fantasy comic about 23 kids who got the same prophecy dream. It was posting on Fridays on my Patreon. But my editorial work has been piling up/overwhelming me lately. So it's on hold until I finish up some other stuff. 

My day job is an editor at the manga company Seven Seas and the indie comic publisher Iron Circus Comics. I like folklore, fantasy, and especially like werewolves. 

This month I'm making tweaks to my website. So we finished some more minor switches like adding more social media buttons to the top bar. But this month we are gonna revamp the store section. Speaking of the store, Misfits of Avalon volume 1 is out of print. I just sent the last ten copies to White Squirrel who handles my store fulfillment. I'm not gonna sell it at cons anymore. In about a year or so, I'll probably talk to Darkhorse about putting it back online and printing an omnibus. 

This month's werewolf movie is The Howling 2. I'm showing it in my discord server August 30th at 5pm PST. Pop in to join if you like!   

As always I'll be streaming art on Twitch. My schedule is currently the following:

Tuesday 8pm-10pm PST

Wednesday 8pm-10pm PST

Thursday 6pm-9pm PST (during the Iron Circus Geekshow)

On August 24th, we'll have Tracy Butler of Lackadaisy Cats on Iron Circus Geekshow as a guest to close out the wildly successful Iron Circus crowdfund for Lackadaisy Season 1.

So last month I was too wiped to post photos of going to the Del Tor that I went to in June. But I sat down and put them in a drive that anyone can browse. So have a look if you wanna see some of the puppets used in the Pinnocino movie. 

While I was at San Diego Comic Con, I went to a Junji Ito exhibit. It was very cool seeing his originals. I always think its cool to see how different artists end up using white out or what needs correcting. All the photos I took during SDCC are also in a drive for you to browse. 

If you just want to see cosplayers though and not horror art I posted cosplay photos on my instagram.

As for what I'm working on, I'm still playing catch up on stuff from shake ups at Iron Circus Comics. So I'm officially putting You are the Chosen One on hold until I have Blue Moon scripted. I might put it on hold longer because I realize I'm almost half way through Shards of Reflection and haven't finished the next City Between stories's script. I'm pretty sure more people read/are interested in The City Between than You are the Chosen One. So it's got to take priority. 

Some time this month I need to find time to clean up Murky Water. It got it's first proofreading pass and I need to fix text. Then I need to start building a crowdfund for it and decide when and where to run it. Iron Circus has been having good luck with Backerkit, but it's back end is overly complicated in my opinion. Meanwhile, I said last year that I probably wasn't gonna use Kickstarter again because of them moving to the blockchain. They have kinda walked that back, but not 100%. Either this month or next, I'll type something up and ask what you all think of both platforms. 

With all this on my plate, I haven't had much time to check out new stuff. Plus with the writers/actor strike, I don't want to promo any TV or Movies I've been watching. The makes my what I've been checking out section pretty focused/brief. 

I started reading Berserk. 

And it's really really good.

If you are unfamiliar with Berserk, it's a classic manga/anime. And about a year ago it's creator, Kentaro Miura, died. Since then more and more people online have been giving it new attention and encouraged people to sit down and read it. The youtuber Super Eyepatch Wolf had a video that got me interested, Then FD Signifier brought it up in his videoessay about masculinity and anime. And then War Rocket Ajax reviewed it on Comic Catch up. So I pulled the trigger and read a big chunk of it. 

And like I said, it's really really. It's extremely violent and frequently indulges in edge lord levels of grim dark. So skip it if you don't like extreme violence. But there is some beautiful character moments that are all the more touching because they contrast the violence. 

It's just some really good comic storytelling. 

That's it for this month. Thanks everyone for your support!

[art-of-secret-dark-heart]

How would a relationship between an istp and a yandere intj work?

✨Yandere INTJ (AMAB) x ISTP (GN)✨

———

Disclaimer: The mbti types as Yanderes are done just for fun and I’m not an expert in MBTI. It’s all exaggerated so I hope this doesn’t offend anyone. This is more like ramblings for me to de-stress. DNI if you’re a minor.

————

At first, it’s awkward. Neither one has a reason to chat with the other. Truthfully, INTJ might first quickly dismiss ISTP as someone who is not on their intellectual level. It’s only until they’re at some kind of event or conference that pertains to their overlapping interests/ongoing projects, do they finally say their first words to one another.

Yandere INTJ would be curious to hear what ISTP got cooking up with their own project. Especially if it’s something that he’s not familiar with. After a few minutes of talking, ISTP would offer INTJ to further continue their discussion elsewhere.

ISTP would want a change of pace/environment, make something happen, and if they have to, they will take it into their own hands to do so. Secretly, they also want to see how INTJ will react. Example…could be something like going for a run, or if feeling like a daredevil that day, inviting INTJ to something as risky as a skydive. Then having the discussion afterward, or …. possibly during the dive. (Or you know, maybe cause a fire. That’s it. Fire solves everything). Or just simply enthusiastically show INTJ, their mechanical creations up close. They can claim something like the adrenaline helps focus and memory. After hearing such a claim, INTJ would be reluctant, but also too curious to not take up the offer.

ISTP will make interesting points, keeping INTJ engage (even though he might disagree with/raise an eyebrow at some of the impracticality of their ideas). The next thing he knows, hours have already passed and although exhausted by ISTP’s antics, there’s something appealing about them.

INTJ will later ponder to himself that ISTP is not only just an adrenaline junkie. They do have a brain under that hood, an interesting creative mind. Backed up with knowledge that intrigues INTJ due to its novelty, hooking him to keep going back for more. Slowly getting obsessed with what ISTP has to offer.

-When in love but not together yet, INTJ will be carefully observing ISTP, even analyzing what they have created (Like trying to find meanings in them that goes beyond surface level appearance). All in hopes to better understand them. Thinking it will then be easier to romance them and to satiate his own curiosity.

-With how free sprited ISTP is, after spending time with them then falling in love, INTJ will start to take on a more risk taking mindset. Less inhibition to give into his deepest desires. Perhaps that’s what pushes him to finally kidnap them. 

-After the kidnapping has already taken place, INTJ will give their “partner” a work area of their own. Both will have their own separate space/room to work on their projects. (He sometimes needs his own space. Although he would want them to eventually think his project/plan is the better one, so then they will hop on board with what he wants to do.) But if they “misbehave”, he will be displeased and punish them by taking that privilege away. (And besides, it’s like he’s asking them to escape by letting them have access to tools to make their getaway…. Probably thought that they will “wake up” and realize being with him is the best thing to do.) 

-ISTP can be quite messy with their belongings. Piles of papers and tools strewn all over their work table. INTJ will be disapproving of this. Wouldn’t understand how anyone can work under such conditions. He’ll pointedly remark that this is why they have so many abandoned projects, and trouble with committing to longer ones. This is why they need him. They can do, be better… with guidance of his “teachings”.  (ISTP will vehemently disagree with all of it. And not just because they were kidnapped by them. They don’t like being control or conforming to ways of doing things by others.) 

-Both will be constantly fighting over control. INTJ wants to “help” them. (He will consider his help a priceless gift. If it was any other person, he wouldn’t have much patience to lend his help. ISTP is special and in his mind, should be thankful for the help.) Awhile ISTP would be fed up with the lack of freedom given by INTJ. 

-When INTJ’s stress is high, he’ll get touchy with his beloved captive. One might think ISTP will lash back and venomly reject this. But…actually, ISTP can quickly be touch starved enough to give into those touches. And if they find INTJ to be physically attractive, then it’ll likely won’t take long for them to completely give into the hungry touches of INTJ.

——————————-

Important end notes:

Hey, thanks for the ask! It was fun to figure out how this would work out (It was actually pretty tough in some ways though…). As I was typing this up, I soon realize that this will turn into a full/super long post. As much as I wish I can freely have the time to do such a post, I can’t. Got to control myself lol. So, I finished typing the “first meeting” part (started to type that earlier today), then i decided to make the rest to be random bullet points. Which are just… more ramblings. But I had to cut out quite a bit of things I wanted to write for this. Hope that was ok.

After making this post, I’m thinking that for future asks (which I guess this one, essentially turned it into a “request”), I would like it if it was asking for a more specific scenario. Like asking what yandere *mbti type* would do if their darling was sick.

If anyone wants a full post/ and something more general, like asking for pairings such as this one, then please check out this (the interest check for commission/tips).✨ Thanks! (And thanks for bearing with me, just a noob with all of this lol)

[thegamingmonk]

Encanto Headcanons #3

This family gives me so much brainrot, it's not even funny.

Dolores heard of ‘Ignorance is bliss’ and thought “Damn, must be nice-”.

All the triplets are one minor inconvenience away from snapping. Especially Julieta. Pepa and Bruno not so much since they let out their chaos more often than their sister.

Camilo gets his knife cat face from Pepa when she was younger.

Camilo is a full blown mommy's boy, born and raised. Nobody could hold him longer than 5 minutes unless it was Pepa when he was a baby.

Antonio more of a daddy's boy, Félix always helping his son adjust to his newly acquired gift. Dolores is close to both her parents; spoiled rotten by Félix and relating the most to Pepa.

Out of boredom and fun, Félix and Agustín would try playing cards (Go Fish) with each of the baby grandkids to see who would get the concept faster. Mirabel was the fastest to understand.

For personal reasons, Isabela is banned from playing uno, monopoly, and any other family-ruining games.

Pepa, Dolores, and Julieta can only play for so long until they become problems too.

To everyone's surprise, the Cool sister's competitive nature comes from Julieta. Agustín doesn't have a single competitive bone in his body. Meanwhile Julieta gets so invested in a game of Monopoly that it's slightly terrifying.

Nobody knew where Mirabel got her sassiness from until they encountered a very tired and almost-done-with-life Julieta.

The Cool sisters have moments where they inherited Agustín’s accident-prone nature. The amount of convincing Isabela has to do to get Mirabel and Luisa to not laugh about her tripping over her own plants.

Now that I think about it, all the Madrigals are clumsy in their own ways (we see from young Alma, Bruno, Camilo, Pepa, Mirabel, and of course, Agustín our accident prone king). It just runs in the family. Thanks Alma.

When Isabela started experimenting with creating four leaf clovers, best believe Bruno was on that market.

For the first couple of weeks that Bruno came back, Luisa became his Madrigal-assigned bodyguard to protect him from the weary/angry/jackass villagers reacting to his return. Really, she just wanted to be around her tio again and volunteered to do it.

Bruno didn't mind too much, but it does do something to your confidence when your sobrina ends up being your protection.

More or less, this led to a lot of uncle-niece bonding time consisting of the two helping around the village, sitting under trees, and relaxing during Luisa-mandatory breaks.

Luisa starts to really like rats. She finds them so cute and tiny with their weird tails.

Anytime Pepa snows, Camilo thinks its funny to just make her a mini snowman army in the snow piles she leaves. At first she didn't find it amusing to just turn around and see a bunch of snowmen but now actually turns out quite fond of them.

You know how when Elsa is sick, she makes snowgies? That but it's Pepa being sick and she makes "cloudbebes".

Dolores, Félix, and Antonio adores them. Camilo finds them annoying since they always zap him with static.

That's only if she has a small cold. Pepa with a fever probably sets up the movie "2012".

Mirabel, Félix, and Dolores could honestly be a band if they wanted to. Félix on guitar, Mirabel on accordion, and Dolores on piano. Abuela is considering Madrigal concerts with the three.

During a card game with Camilo, Mirabel, and Dolores, Alma decided to join it. Halfway through the session, it turned into Alma teaching the kids her skills on how she wins every game. You don't live this long and don't learn a thing or two.

Mirabel knows a few magic tricks from wanting to prove she can do magic as well in the family.

The trick where a card appears out of thin air always gets Camilo.

Dolores is still trying to figure out how in the world that peso got behind her ear without her hearing it.

Sometimes when everyone's schedule is just absolutely flooded, the adults trust Casita enough for babysitting duty (Casita the best babysitter).

Casita was the mvp of the whole movie.

Casita "Imma be Mirabel's main supporter through the entire movie" Madrigal.

Mariano instantly fit in as one of the grandchildren, nobody even questioned it.

He starts to hang around the Casita and stay for dinner more and more often. Abuela doesn't know if this is purely for Dolores or just because he's attached to this family.

Catch Mariano letting Antonio sit on his shoulders ever so casually at almost a constant basis.

A whole family discussion could be happening and Mariano is standing there with Antonio playing with his stuffed jaguar on the Guzman's shoulders.

Bruno is not one for confrontation but if anyone was to mess with any of his family, he's ready to whip up the most horrific prophecy to scare the life out of the person at hand.

One would think Bruno is not good with kids due to his social anxiety, but he's fantastic with them. He misses all the time he could've had with his nieces and nephews during his time in the walls.

Bruno regrets missing out on his sobrinas' quinces. He wishes to make up for that lost time and dances some day. (Unsure if males have a similar thing, but if so, he'd regret missing Camilo's as well) (also also let me know cause I'm genuinely curious and don't trust Google).

Everyone fears Bruno disappearing again, but one of the Madrigals who fear it the most is Antonio. He just got his tio, that he didn't even know was around, back and is firmly attached to the man. If Bruno can disappear once, he could again, and that's what scares Antonio the most. If he goes without seeing Bruno for a whole day, he starts to panic and worry. This often leads to a Bruno-Antonio sleepover in the youngest's room; rats invited!

If anyone tells me Casita is not a Madrigal family member, we fighting on sight. Anyhoos~

If anyone Colombian or Latino would like to let me know more about the culture, I would absolutely love that! Movies like Encanto gets me so interested into learning about other cultures (a reason why I want to travel the world one day). That's it for now!

[peachsayshi]

Hi peach! Congratulations on your milestone!! ✨✨ and for the event, this is my request if you accept:

How Nanami would react to seeing you, a former student who had a crush on him before he leaves jujutsu to become a salaryman and now he's back and you've grown.

this is me requesting soooo I cant help but I hope u put on spice :3 hehe ily

// @eru-lloyd

🍑 Peach's Pot Luck Party 🍑

Imagine: How Nanami would react to seeing you, a former student who had a crush on him before he leaves jujutsu to become a salaryman and now he's back and you've grown.

Tags: (please note, reader is 21+), age gap [six years], alcohol, fingering, dry humping, forbidden romance(ish)?, f!oral receiving(ish), praise kink [[minors & ageless blogs DNI]

A/N: Eru, my darling, thank you!! ❤️ I don’t usually write age gaps so I hope this turned out okay! I love writing spicy Nanamin👏 Thank you for sending me this idea to write! It was a fun one!! 😏 I hope you enjoy this! 

“Nanami-sensei...” 

The man smiled against your neck, placing a delicate kiss just below your jaw as his thumb swipes over your clit from underneath your panties. 

“I’m not your sensei anymore,” he breathes, “you shouldn’t be calling me that...” 

The sound of the bed creaked when you rolled your hips against his, your skirt bunched up to your waist as you straddled him with only half your clothes on.

The blonde was still dressed in his uniform suit, his blazer and tie piled on the floor as the fabric of his blue shirt rumpled against your clenched fingers. 

You gasped from his touch, the pad of his finger lightly pressing your clit as his lips traveled to your collarbone.

“You should call me by my name…”

“I can’t…” you whine, your body trembling when he tugged your panties to the side, and allowing yourself to rub over his clothed bulge.

“Why not?” he cheekily whispers under his breath, watching you melt further into him as he leisurely strokes your tender bud.

“It’s…it’s disrespectful,” you insist innocently, snaking your bottom lip between your teeth as your lids grow heavy.

Nanami lifts his head back, resting it comfortably against the frame of the bed as his own eyes narrow their gaze towards your very wet pussy massaging his erection.

“I’ve taught you well, it seems…” he hums, his hand gripping onto your hips as he motions you over his length. “…but you are not my student…and-ugh…there is no place for honor with what I’m about to do with you…”

You purred; the softest, prettiest mewl escaping your lips as you continued grinding against the blonde’s lap.

You had not anticipated the night to end this way.

You were only eighteen when you transferred to Jujutsu Tech, adjusting to life in an unfamiliar city and taking the time to make connections with your peers who eventually grew into your new family. Along the way you experienced new things, learned about your own personal skills while sharing moments of triumph and failure.

You also began developing an unsuspecting crush on your mentor. 

You knew from the first moment that you laid eyes on Nanami Kento that you were in trouble.

You tried so hard to ignore the way your heart raced whenever he stood too close and took the time to focus on speaking slowly in order not to stammer over your words when conversing with him. You hated the way goosebumps rose all over your body whenever he would casually touch you, and grew frustrated anytime he showed you any ounce of care.

For so long you convinced yourself that it was just a little crush which would eventually disappear, but you did not know how to resist him.

Nanami Kento was a man you only ever fantasized about. He was exceptionally handsome, full of experience and above all, a genuinely good person. The longer you spent around him, the more you validated that your infatuation wasn’t superficial.  

You were, without a doubt, completely and utterly in love with him.

You spent exactly eight months by his side until one day he disappeared without any reason. When Gojo-sensei announced that Nanami had quit to find work as a salary man, the news left you heartbroken.

The one person you respected and admired was no longer in your life, and your unrequited love was all that you had to hold onto.

You spent the next three years desperately trying to forget about him. You allowed yourself to move on in life, finding love in the arms of others who never actually fulfilled what you were truly looking for. Eventually you began assisting in teaching new students who arrived at the school. You embarked on your missions and fought battles alongside the sorcerers who once guided you.

You became stronger, smarter and more capable by exceeding the expectations that the others had of you.

You knew for a fact that your former instructor would be proud with how far you’ve come.

What you didn’t expect was for him to return to his old job, nor did you anticipate that you would be working alongside the one man who unknowingly strung your heart.

Participating in missions with your former teacher meant that the two of you were constantly in close proximity to one another, making it exceptionally hard for you to run away from your own feelings.

Tonight was a success with the two of you defeating a special grade curse and to celebrate you returned to your hotel room to share a couple of drinks.

Maybe it was the alcohol that gave you the liquid courage you needed to confess, but you didn’t expect Nanami to gaze at you with heated eyes upon hearing you say:

“I’ve always liked you. I’ve always…thought of you as…more than just my mentor…”

You had no idea that the man had been hanging on by a thread ever since he’s returned to his old life.

From the moment he laid eyes on you, his former student, he had been fighting a forbidden need that waged an internal war inside him.

A part of him felt shameful for looking at you through a different lens. You were not supposed to be the object of his desire. When he had you left you were merely just another one of his students, but now…you were the intangibly beautiful woman that consistently clouded his mind. And the minute you leaned to kiss him on the corner of his lips, Nanami knew that there was no point fighting a losing battle.

A shaky breath escapes him, watching you rub over his bulge and staining his tan pants with your slick as you ran your hands up the back of his head to catch onto the golden strands of his hair.

“Nanami-sensei,” you carry on, feeling his palms move to cup your mounds as he lightly tugs your bra and allowing your breasts to hang free. “You make me feel so good…”

The man grunts from your ministrations, bringing his lips to your chest as he looks up at you from under his lashes.

“Why are you still addressing me with that title…” he growls with mild annoyance, flicking his tongue hungrily over your nipple as he watches it harden. “… when all I want is to hear you say my name…”

You gulped, the weight of his body shifting underneath you as he positions you on your back in one swift motion. Your eyes widen from his agile movement and sheer strength, as you lay spread under the scrutiny of his gaze.

He looks down at you with a smug expression, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he holds your thighs apart.

“I guess I’m just going to have to coax it out of you,” he teases with a shrug, his head dipping down as he draws his lips closer to your sex. You could feel him ghosting over you, sharply inhaling as he presses a gentle kiss on your clit. You sigh as your body relaxes, feeling the warmth of his tongue when he tastes you.

“You were my best student, did you know that?” he rasps, his lips circling over the swollen bud to suck on your clit softly. “So eager to learn, and eager to please…”

“Anything for you,” you blurt, you voice trembling from the sensation of his mouth pleasuring you between your legs.

Nanami hums with approval, tracking his way up as he leaves trails of kisses across your semi-naked body. You could feel his hot breath on your neck, fidgeting impatiently from how much you wanted him inside you.

“Anything, huh?” he murmurs, guiding his lips to your ear before whispering. “You know, there is still so much that I can teach you…”

You whimper as his hand travels back down to your pussy. He starts rubbing small circles over your clit, pressing his knee between your legs for added stimulation. He smiles with approval when you start nudging into him, unable to disguise your obvious desperation.

“Look at you,” he shakes his head in disbelief, “you’ve been soaking all over me. You really need me to fuck you right now, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you cry out in distress, your fingers moving to hold his jaw as you tilt your head up to plant a kiss on his lips.

He lingers into the kiss for a moment before speaking.

“I’m going to train you to take my dick so well, but I’m a patient man and I don’t like rushing into things…” he informs, his other hand circling your neck as he squeezes it lightly.

“You were always so obedient during our training sessions. I wonder how well you still listen to instruction…”

A warmth heated your lower belly as he presses firmly into your bud every time he increases the stimulation on your clit.

“No matter what I do,” he mumbles into your mouth, “You’re not allowed to cum until I’m completely inside you. Think you can manage that?”

“Mhmm-ahh, y-yes…”

“Excellent,” he approves, his eyes taking in the way your shoulders shudder against the mattress. “And remember, the better you perform, the more inclined I am on rewarding you…”

He uses this opportunity to push two of his thick fingers deep in your drenched cunt, while kissing you lovingly before confessing in a low whisper:

“You were always my favorite, sweetheart.” 

You smile into the kiss, your tongue flicking over his own as you gently snag onto his bottom lip.

“Just want to please you, Ken…”

The man could feel himself leak from the tip of his throbbing cock, the sound of his name escaping your lips nearly forcing him to cum at that very second.

“Fuck, if you do that for me then I’ll spend the rest of the night eating out your pretty fucking pussy. How does that sound?”

You nodded your head, your lashes fluttering as you were losing yourself into a blissful trance from how good his fingers felt fucking you, and deliriously muttering “I’m your good girl”, every time he brought you to the brink of your release.

***

TAGS: @damn-geto @pensivespecter @hatake-uchiha @ekaterinatepes @jelly-jellx @lollipopd @rosenkow @shuxjodie @mikasackrmann @alreadyblondenow @nanamikentcs @sabyss @mrsmorgenstern @artemisthestar @velvetlight333 @sluttoru @smoothy-ve @bisexualwomanofcolour @gl00mcore @tojisqueen

[storiesofsvu]

Sickeningly Sweet

Heather Dunbar x fem!reader Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, very minor intoxication. a/n: i think for the sake of this her hubs/kids never existed. It’s just pure fluff. Also COMPLETELY unedited so…yeah

Heather wasn’t surprised when she’d gotten your call, it honestly wasn’t even that late, and she always told you to call her or at least text her if you needed a ride before calling her car service. And that was whether you were going home or coming over to her place. Occasionally it was on a work night for her, so she’d send a driver and have you dropped off at your apartment, followed by a delivery order of some greasy food to soak up whatever you’d been drinking and a Gatorade for the morning. If she was feeling particularly generous, there was usually a lavish and healthy brunch delivered around noon the next day.

Today was Saturday though, which meant you were all hers for the rest of the weekend, and she was more than eager to actually get so spend time with you again. Usually she’d just send the car for you, but she was still relatively dressed, and a few glasses of wine in herself, having just finished a later dinner. Normally the call came in later, but you’d been out with a stagette with friends from college that started with drag brunch while she was still stuck working on paperwork on her day off.

You didn’t sound too far gone on the phone, so she had the driver pull into a parking spot, deciding she’d actually make an appearance this time. There was no missing which table was the bachelorette, she didn’t have to search for you much longer than the instant she walked in the door. Although you were gladly stepping away from the fresh round of shots that was being dolled out and taken over shrieks and giggles. She chuckled at the way you turned around as you pretended to take the shot, passing it off to the table beside you, the empty pile of shot glasses apparent that this wasn’t your first time doing so. Your eyes met hers across the bar and your face lit up, having no idea she was coming much less coming inside.

“What’re you doing here?” You nearly shrieked as you teetered toward her and she caught you in a chuckle and a kiss.

“You texted for a ride, remember? Or are you way more gone than you seem?”

“No!” You laughed, pecking her cheek, “I just thought you’d send a car, send me home.”

“And what?” She smiled, caressing at your cheek, “lose more time with my favourite girl?”

You ducked your gaze, heat taking over your cheeks as she wrapped a possessive arm around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Before you could even speak again one of your friends was dragging you back to the table, shrieking over getting to meet your girlfriend. Conversation passed easier than you thought it would, Heather accepted a gin and tonic, but denied the shots that were being pried your way. Once you’d completed that round of drinks, you were heavily nestled into her side, not out of intoxication, but simply out of missing each other from the last couple of weeks.

Heather, being Heather, pressed a kiss to your cheek and snuck off to settle the entire group’s tab up to that point. An action you only caught her in when you looked up to her and the server standing off in the corner with the debit machine between them. You did your best to send her a scowl, but she simply laughed and shook her head in response. Upon returning to the table, her arm wound around you once more and you bade goodnight to friends you hadn’t seen in years and ones you probably wouldn’t see again until the wedding, letting Heather lead you out to the car.

“You have fun tonight?” She asked as you nuzzled into her shoulder, letting out a happy sigh.

“Yeah.” You huffed, “would’ve had just as much fun at home with you, pj’s and pizza though.”

“Well it was a special occasion.” She laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple as she soothed back your loose hair.

“Thank you for coming in. You really didn’t need to.”

“Honey just ‘cause it’s a bit of a wild night doesn’t mean I don’t want to be involved in your life.”

“Heather please.” It was your turn to laugh, “I’ve only seen one of those girls since I graduated college, and that was nearly a decade ago. You’ve met most of the important people in my life.” You let out a little sigh again, snuggling deeper into her embrace, “‘sides…you’re the most important person.”

“You are sickeningly sweet you know.” She teased and you scoffed, “I think that last drink has hit you now.”

Instead of responding, Heather felt your hands come to fold on her shoulder, supporting your chin as you gazed adoringly up at her. She knew this move, you weren’t asking for anything, you were just being fucking cute. From your view, she was absolutely stunning, the moonlight bouncing off her skin and reflecting in her eyes as they shifted from out the window to down at you, a small grin on her cheeks. You hummed softly,

“Have I ever pointed out how beautiful you are?” You asked, a now dopey smile on your face and she smiled warmly at you, kissing your forehead before replying nearly dryly.

“Yes. All the time.”

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” You asked with a rather dreamy look on your face and Heather felt herself melt as she looked back in your direction.

“No…that…you haven’t.”

“Well I do.” You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to her lips, “and that’s not the cocktails talking!” You were quick to jump up, your eyes wide and she laughed softly, her hand clasping with yours, “I mean it. Heather, you’re so fucking wonderful, and I will be forever thankful that you came into my life. When I said you’re the most important person in my life I meant it.”

“I know you did sweetheart.” Her hand cupped at your cheek, pulling you in for a small kiss, “because you were without a doubt the single most sweetest, loyal and wonderful thing that has ever come into my life. And I consider myself incredibly lucky to know that I get to come home to you at the end of a long week. That you’re the one I get to spend my time with.”

“And you called me sickeningly sweet.” You teased, tears threatening to blur into your eyes.

“You know…I’m starting to think you were faking how drunk you were to make me sappy.” Heather laughed and you rolled your eyes.

“All I did was ask for a ride home.”

“Which is one I will always make sure you get sweetheart.”

With a very happy smile, she leant in, kissing you once more, one that got a little deeper than the last, relishing in those last moments before the car finally pulled up in front of her house and you were able to scramble out of it and upstairs, incredibly thankful to bury in each other’s arms in the warmth of the bed.

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