#Woven is almost done for a while.

[painted-bees]

time to start thinking about these two again...

[suguann]

He has a feeling that the new girl running the front desk at the gym is going to be a problem—a distraction disguised in a gym uniform polo and khaki pants.

It starts with you smiling too brightly as he walks in one morning, all teeth and that little twinkle in your eye that feels like trouble when you scan his membership card.

“Good morning, Mr. Riley.” 

“It’s just Simon,” he tells you as he takes his card off the counter. 

The following day, it’s the same, except Johnny is there to make it worse.

He nudges Simon with his elbow. “She’s kinda pretty, huh?”

“Say it any louder, and she’ll hear you, mate,” he grumbles.

Simon’s not blind; of course, he knows you’re pretty, but he doesn’t have time to commit to anything outside of work—even if you smile at him like you’re happy to see him and how he’ll think about it later: on missions, at his desk, during morning runs. His head is nothing short of woven webs with thoughts of you stuck in the middle.

Honestly, it’s that you—

(You try to make small talk with him every morning, and Simon is starting to think it’s just for him because on the days he doesn’t come alone, you merely scan his card and go back to reading the open paperback book on the desk.)

It’s weird because it’s almost like you—

(He bumps into you at the supermarket and makes a dumb joke about carrots that makes you laugh. It makes him a little tongue-tied and awkward afterward because he realizes he hasn’t talked to a woman outside of only wanting a quick fuck in a really long time, but more importantly, he wants to hear it again. 

Instead, he tosses potatoes in his cart and walks away.)

He tells himself it means nothing, or not how Simon wants it to.

You’re just…he’s not even sure; acquaintances? Maybe more than that, but less than friends. Somewhere in that odd in-between phase where he only knows bits and pieces but not the whole picture.

Sometimes, he wishes—

(Simon doesn’t know what he’s doing the first time he invites you to meet the guys from work on a night out. He’s dated around a few times and had his fair share of hook-ups, but this isn’t like that. His palms are sweaty, more than usual, and no amount of wiping them on the thighs of his jeans keeps them dry.

Then you walk into the bar in a dress that’s probably too light for early spring in London—even though he stares appreciatively at the long expanse of your legs as you walk up to the table—and he wishes he wasn’t introducing you as his friend.)

But you—

(A new development happens after you slip him your phone number on one of the gym’s business cards—it’s weird that we don’t have each other’s numbers, so message me sometime or whatever—and he messages you ‘hey’ right before he leaves for a mission a few days later. 

It slowly shifts and changes over time.

You start sending him texts in the morning. Never an actual good morning text, but of the dogs you take on walks, the sunrise, the new flower box in your window. Somehow, it’s better.)

You really are—

(His house feels too hot, and he’s distracted from the movie by how close you are, how your leg drapes over his under the blanket, fingers fisting into his sweater at his stomach that clenches. An ache that grows, throbbing, spreading from his abdomen to his groin.

It feels monumental—something more than the gentle touch to the elbow to squeeze by each other in his entryway earlier or giving you his jacket that night at the bar—a tilt of the axis that makes the messy pieces fall neatly into place. 

He must be staring because you glance up at him, smiling, and the sound from the TV turns into white noise in the background.

“Can I…would you—fucking hell,” Simon runs a hand through his hair. “Can I kiss you?”

When your lips press against his, and his hands are pulling you onto his lap, where you settle hotly against his dick tenting in his jeans, he wonders why neither of you has done this before. Just kissing—him licking the seam of your mouth, and you panting his name.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you mumble, lips brushing his.

“Me too,” and he fists his hand into the hair at your nape and pulls you back to his mouth.)

“I knew you’d be trouble,” he tells you one day, glaring at the bloke further down the bar who tried making a swipe at your ass before Simon showed up, towering over his shoulder with your fruity cocktail in hand.

“Oh, yeah?” you giggle, leaning into his side.

“Yeah,” the corners of his mouth quirk, though he hides it when he presses a kiss against your temple. “A real pain in my ass, love.”

“But yours.”

This time, he does smile. “Yes, but mine.”

Masterlist

[demonicbaby666]

Dom Emily prentiss x intern fem reader is all i ask!! Smutty ofc, a lil bit of a humiliation kink if you’re comfortable!!! Thank yewww

Packing Heat

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 4.8k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, strap-ons (r!receiving), semi-public sex (office sex, again…), praise, degradation, mommy kink, kind of dub-con at one point, top!Emily, bottom!reader

Summary: Interning at the BAU means you don’t interact with the person in charge a lot. Of course, this doesn’t mean you haven’t seen the section chief in passing or exchanged pleasantries; it's that they’re simple, short-lived and often anti-climatic. However one evening, you find yourself in the desolate office with no chance of going home, work to be done, but no one to sit with you through the process. With only one other soul residing on the sixth floor, it seems Emily may be your best bet for company.

A/n: Listen, could she be more dom? Yes. Is there any humiliation? Not really... But I got lost while writing, so please don't be mad at me... Hope you still enjoy!

When you'd first started at the BAU, it was safe to say you hadn't seen much of the woman calling the shots. There were always updates about when the team were taken out of state, what their cases would entail, the steady progress being made, and the brief comical encounters Garcia spewed around the office. When they were back, everyone made an effort to small talk. They welcomed you well and continued to appreciate the little things you did for them daily. Emily, however, was constantly on the go, meaning every encounter you'd had with her consisted of one-way glances and hopeful smiles in the event she decided to notice her surroundings and the human lifeform less than two metres away. 

She never did, though, until one uneventful evening. 

Almost everyone had vacated the building. The only remaining souls left on the sixth floor were you, Emily, and a one-person cleaning crew—whom you watched exit through glass doors before approaching the brunette's office with shaky knees. Peeking through the window, you saw her attention dart to and from the bright computer screen to the mountains of bureaucratic paperwork lying atop her desk. It was easy to get lost in the little creases between her eyebrows, brought out by the deep scowl she wore, the delicate way her fingers were woven together, and the pads of her thumbs skirting against one another as she pondered in deep thought. 

It was nearing eight, and you were struggling to understand how someone could appear so put together at this late hour, given that their day was most certainly jam-packed with non-stop slog. 

Emily's eyes suddenly flashed up. She squinted toward her door, trying to figure out who'd be here this late other than herself. When she appeared to have worked it out, she leaned back victoriously in her chair, a smug smile on her face, when she called out, "Are you going to stand out there all night?" 

You could have done two things: scurried off like a teenager caught peeping or held your chin up high and walked into the older woman's office with little to no shame. Somehow, you managed to do a mix of both, scurrying in with sagging shoulders, a guilty smile plastered on your face and trembling hands clasping your laptop over your chest.

"Well, it's eerily quiet out there, and I would go home to write this paper. It's just that my roommate and her boyfriend have an awful tendency to forget about volume control when they're—" You cut yourself off, realising it probably wasn't appropriate to talk to your boss about your roommate's over-the-top borderline pornographic soundscape. "I was wondering if I could, you know."

Emily, satirising as ever, waited with a raised eyebrow and a relaxed smile for you to continue your purposefully unfinished question. 

"Sorry, I should let you work." You surrendered to your weak resolve with flushed cheeks and began to turn around.

"Sit," she ordered before you had fully turned back around to the door, nodding to the available chair on the other side of her desk. Her eyes followed your journey to the seat, watching as you placed your laptop down and opened it with shaky fingers. Satisfied, she turned her attention back to her work. "I could do with some company." 

The following silence, starting as unsettling and stagnant, blossomed into something warm and comfortable. There were occasional glances thrown your way and vice versa. Their acknowledgement and appreciation were shown in the form of timid smiles on your end and double takes followed by teasing smirks on Emily's. 

When half an hour had passed, your shoulders had finally relaxed, your fingers had stopped their infernal twitching, and your paper neared its completion. There was a proud smile cresting, and you were trying to prevent it from forming, knowing how dorkish it made you look. But you knew there was no hope when your cheeks ached and your jaw locked. You granted yourself the freedom to display your gloating smile. 

Just as expected, Emily had a questioning look on her face when you dared to look up from the document. There was a playfulness to the upward quirk of her lips - the superiority of a predator knowing the power they have over their prey, ready to prove it at any given moment. 

"I've almost finished," you timidly admitted, feeling obligated to explain as heat infiltrated your jutted-out cheeks. 

Without a second thought, the ravenette stood up and made her way around the desk. She could have easily chosen to turn the laptop around. Instead, she took the far more intimate route. 

Soft curves grazed your shoulder blades, causing you to shiver. The weight finally settled, soft padding pressed flat against your back as Emily read your paper, and suddenly, your stomach had worked itself into looping knots, and your heart was racing. 

The struggle continued as you fought not to fidget, if only to alleviate the growing tension mounting between your thighs. This was only made worse when Emily's right hand left the back of your chair to drop down over your shoulder and land comfortably on your thigh. 

"Such a smart girl," she whispered sultrily into the shell of your ear, squeezing generous flesh between her fingers. 

With a scrambled brain, there was little fight to be put up against the meek whimper that crackled against the constricted lining of your throat. Subconsciously, your thighs tensed, and your pussy fluttered as you were reminded how close Emily's hand was to where you could only dream she'd touch. 

You'd thought you imagined it—the subtle shift in the room from breezy and light to torrid and all-consuming, but with Emily's fingers veering off course, inching higher and higher, reality came crashing down. 

"Thank you," you struggled to get the words out, and when they did come out, they were tremulous and feeble. 

Turning to look at her may have, in hindsight, been a mistake because where her gaze should have been fixed on the laptop screen, it was glued to your lips. Unexpectedly, your stomach flipped, and you felt dizzy. She was still superbly perfect up close, skin smooth like silk, cheekbones sharp as a razor, and lips cut from velvet. It was too close, dangerously so, you had to look away. Outside the window, you spotted a swarm of birds barely visible against the night sky. You ignored the clanking of your heart as you focussed on their synchronicity, watching them circle each other until they became one big blur of messy movements. 

The hand resting on the leather backing of your chair rose, skirting up and over your neck, until a firm grip was established around your dangling ponytail. She was gentle when she tugged, aware that though she wanted to educate you in the art of being owned, you were delicate.

"I think a pretty thing like you deserves a reward," she baited. "Don't you?" 

Her grip on you may have been physical. However, a stronger pull was coming from deep within you, an unimportant piece of scrap metal drawn in by a powerful magnet. It was useless to deny her. The mesmerising glow of her chocolate eyes and the promise of being made to feel special was too powerful. So, you nodded slowly but eagerly, desire painting your eyes dark shades of lust. 

"That's a good girl." 

Emily didn't miss how you preened at the praise and safely stored that information away for further use. She shifted to your side, hands migrating to the small of your waist, guiding you to your feet. The act of it was far gentler than you'd expected, like a gentleman asking a maiden to dance, sweeping her off her feet to whisk her away into a fairytale land filled with magic and romance. 

Certain the benign treatment would be short-lived, you granted yourself the leniency to enjoy it whilst it lasted, refusing to get too caught up in the dull ache between your legs that craved the form of savagery Emily displayed in the field. 

There was nothing short of passion in how she worked. It drove you crazy. As wrong as it felt, you couldn't help but envy the dirtbag the team was working to catch because you saw how badly the brunette wanted them. The look in her eyes, gratification and disgust all at once, when she'd achieved what she set out to do and was staring the devil right in the face - it made your heart race, your palms sweat and your cunt throb. 

The memory kickstarted what could only be described as a brutal attack upon the older woman's lips. To her credit, Emily indulged the outburst for a lot longer than you'd have thought. As if she'd expected it, she quickly responded, pulling you into her body and tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss. The lead was stolen promptly from your grasp when Emily wedged a leg between your thighs, backed you up against her desk and tactically slid her tongue into your gaped mouth. You would have gasped if not for the fact you were immediately indulged in the minty taste of your boss's tongue skirting over the roof of your mouth. So much so that you scarcely noticed the pressure coming from your core was no longer just a phantom need manifested but taut clothed muscle pressing you further and further into the sharp wooden edge of the desk. 

"Emily," you breathily moaned, pulling back and separating your kiss-swollen lips from the brunette's. Ordinarily, you wouldn't have allowed what happened next to occur, but this was Emily, after all, the BAU section chief, and if you were to let anyone order you about, it would be her. 

She backed away from you with a final nip to your bottom lip, letting it go with a pop, and you fought the urge to reach out and pull her back to you. You knew you'd already tried to take things into your own hands once, and doing so again may undermine any chances you had of keeping the ball rolling on tonight's affairs. 

You could feel the tight pull of your ponytail and all the places where hair had been lead array from the confines of your hairband, and it truly dawned on you how out of sorts you must have appeared. Tracing your fingers over your lips, you could make out how swollen they were - puffy and hot, yet desperate and pouted, begging for more. Your breathing was laboured, filling the room's silence, and your shirt suddenly felt too tight as your chest expanded with each intake of oxygen. It almost came as a relief when Emily opened her mouth to finally speak until you heard what she'd said.

"Take your clothes off," she mindlessly ordered, walking around to her chair and sitting back in it. Her eager eyes trained over your body with the faintest shimmer of mirth. 

Initially, it was a shock. Of course, it was. You were in an official government building, personnel still sparsely spread throughout, and a goddess of a woman was asking you to bare yourself to her. 

For the longest time, revealing your body to someone always felt like giving up something. Perhaps some kind of purity. The moment you gave it up, it bred only guilt and shame that twisted and pulled at the pit of your stomach until you felt sick. You stood there, waiting for that feeling to come. It never did. 

Remaining still, your body pulsed not with nerves but with exhilaration and anticipation. It took a few seconds to realise this was precisely what you wanted. You wanted to give this false sense of purity away. There was not a sudden influx of courage soaring through every living cell of your body. However, there was enough for you to put on a front and do as you were told. 

"Slowly." Emily sat further back and placed her elbows neatly over the arms of her chair. She laced her fingers together, offered you an encouraging nod, and then was back to watching you raptly.

Feeling like a glutton, you followed a path of desire and heeded Emily's request, fingers increasingly fumbling over each button of your shirt. 

"So obedient." And in no way was it said negatively; the adulatory smile she gave you only sought to prove that further. 

The way she looked at you made you feel as though you were already naked. Maybe that was why it was so easy to get lost in the subtlety of undressing. It was art, and you were a performer. That's what you told yourself. And for the most part, it worked. 

With closed eyes, you trailed your fingers over your shoulders, letting your shirt drop to the floor. The AC raised goosebumps over your chest, pebbled your nipples under your plain bra, and you smiled. You smiled because this was the most alive you had felt in months. The thrill of moving on to your slacks and deftly unclasping your belt felt like being on a rollercoaster, like missing a step and laughing fear in the face afterwards. You felt utterly fearless. 

In the back of your mind, you could sense Emily's eyes still on you. You could hear her moving around but didn't think to check her reaction. You were in your element, and far be it for a look of appraisal, or lack of, to stop you. That was until your trousers hit the carpet with a soft thud, and a sharp breath was heard from across you. 

Your eyes snapped open, and you found Emily's smile was absent. The brunette now had her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she looked you up and down, knuckles white from her deadly grip over the armrests. 

She lifted a hand, palm facing the ceiling as her index and middle finger crooked. "Come here so I can get a proper look at you," she said, slightly breathless. 

The desk had conveniently covered the lower half of Emily's body, which meant that when you circled around and came to stand next to her, you could see exactly what the earlier ruffling had been about. 

"Is that?" You froze, both shocked and utterly intrigued by the thick black dildo jutting out from the older woman's opened slacks. 

She didn't need you to finish the question, already nodding as she followed your line of sight. Leaning forward with an outstretched arm, Emily coiled her fingers around your wrist and pulled you forward, causing you to almost stumble over your own feet. At this closer distance, you could tell the faux cock would give you a run for your money. It was thicker than anything you had taken before, though that was not a hard trophy to earn, given that the most you had let anyone put inside you was three fingers. 

"Do you want to come sit on mommy's lap?" Emily asked with a tilt of her head. 

She didn't miss how your breath caught in your throat, how you seemed to stop blinking, stop moving, stop existing.

"Are you scared?" the lioness asked, sights set on her prized fawn. 

You shook your head and placed one foot in front of the other, eyes downcast as you took in the size of Emily's additional appendage. The shake of your jaw gave you away. 

"I don't like being lied to," she snapped, eyes dimming to an even darker shade of brown. 

She pulled you in by your waist and sat you on her lap, cock brushing over the thin material of your underwear. Instinctively, you wedged your bottom lip between your teeth to quiet yourself. But Emily wasn't having any of it. Her thumb came to your captive lip, where she helped release it with a soft flick. 

The smooth texture of Emily's cock through your sodden panties was a needed relief. Its head purposefully pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves evoked a flurry of shivers to run down your spine. And with nothing holding you back, you moaned in gratitude. 

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Emily smirked, watching you rut against her. 

"Yes," you uttered, breath caught in your throat. 

Happy to watch, Emily relaxed her shoulders and leaned back, enjoying the show you were putting on for her. Only when she recognised the tell-tell signs of frustration wash over your features, from your creased brow to the bite of your lip between your teeth, did a sick smirk lick the edges of her lips. With a mischievous glint shining in her eyes, the older woman shifted her position, pointedly ignoring the sound it pulled from you. 

"Something wrong?" she asked with a hitch of one eyebrow, adamant to appear oblivious. 

You gave no reply, only held tight to her shoulders in defiance and continually ground down on her, trying so hard to pleasure yourself to no avail that your eyes began to sting with the emergence of tears. 

With sweat threatening to spill down the side of your face, the tension between your legs starting to ache, and your release nowhere near in sight, you threw your head back with a sigh and whispered a quiet 'please' to the ceiling.

"Please what?" Came the dull reply, tone bored, unamused, unimpressed.  

You tried to impale yourself, failing as strong hands held you down. It was driving you crazy—pleasure being so close yet so far. 

With one hand removed from your hip, Emily gripped your jaw and turned your attention solely to her stern gaze, "Are you going to stop being a brat and tell me what you want?" 

When no answer came, she let go, jerking your head back as if disgusted with the lack of compliance. 

"Get up." 

Ice, you were made of ice. Sat still, shocked, speechless and slightly mortified. 

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Emily's voice was no longer flat; it was not roaring either. Instead, it was layered, resembling the same barbed tone a teacher might use with a disobedient student. It was enough of a motivator to get you to rise to your feet. 

Following you closely, the older woman, too, rose to her full height, hands meticulously reaching behind your back to expertly relieve you of your bra. Never once did she look you in the eye. 

With the same callous approach, you were turned and pressed against the desk, papers sticking to your heated chest. Emily was quick to loop her fingers through the hem of your underwear and slip them down your thighs, allowing gravity to do the rest. 

The full-bodied presence behind you lessened, and you took it as the opportune moment to glance back. 

The brunette had let her trousers drop to the floor, allowing you to see how her porcelain skin was directly contrasted by the black leather of her strap-on. Unlike yourself, she did not appear nervous or afraid. As she kicked the tailored pants aside and met your gaze, you realised how in control she was. 

Her gaze moved down your body, hands running down your back, until finally, she pressed herself against you and lowered her body atop yours. 

"I can feel how wet you are," she teased, running two fingers through the mess between your legs. "Are you always this wet?" 

"Emily, please," you begged. 

"I asked before, please what?" She raked five fingers down your side, moving them back up till they wound tightly in your hair and gripped your neck to an uncomfortable arch. Two fingers pushed inside you but did no more than that, remaining still as stone. "If you're going to be a baby and refuse to tell me what you want, you'll get nothing." 

"Fuck me!" You no longer had the sound of mind to acknowledge shouting something vulgar could attract attention. Logic had evaded you, allowing you to play right into your boss's hands. "Please just fuck me."

Sliding her slick fingers out of you, she proudly stated, "That wasn't hard, was it?"

If the older woman wanted an answer, she did not allow for one. In one fluid motion, she rose from over you and snapped her hips forward, sheathing the entire length of her cock into your cunt. Your breath caught in your throat, resulting in a strained groan tumbling out of your open mouth. The pit of your stomach dropped, and try as you might have not to clench around the toy inside you, you did precisely that. 

It was new, the foreign feeling of being filled so fully that one slight move would summon pleasure that sent shivers through your whole body. It wasn't unwelcome, especially when Emily started to move, and heat engulfed your entire body. Her pace was languid, allowing you to feel each slide of her cock along your slick walls, how each push of her hips ended in the tip hitting the spot within you to cause the furling in your stomach to expand tenfold. It was all you could do not to scream when the push and pull and Emily's hips moved with more purpose, jerking your body into the edge of her desk. 

"I've barely started, and you're already dripping down your thighs." Her voice was laced with mirth, finger smearing your mess as if to prove an unnecessary point that had your cheeks burning up. "How long have you been thinking about this?" Emily finished her question with an arduous thrust. "How many times have you sunk your fingers into your pussy and thought of me?" 

The questions continued, each hitting the nail right on the head. Your cheeks were scorched with the embarrassment that comes with having your desires known and exposed, but it did not take hold of your conscience as the event of falling in front of a large crowd might have. It was comparable to how a blushing maiden may feel when caught by a suitor in only their undergarments. It excited that small part of you that gave in to demoralisation and encouraged you enough to meet Emily halfway as she thrust into you. 

As your pleasure mounted, the need for more grew. Your clit, swollen and needy, begged for relief, and you beckoned to its call, sliding one hand from above your head to the juncture between your legs. It was when the tips of your fingers brushed against your sensitive pearl and you gained the briefest taste of the euphoria that Emily removed her hand from your thigh and snatched your hand away, halting all movement. 

You could have cried, having everything, then nothing, so quickly. 

"Did I say you could do that?" 

Abruptly pulling out, Emily stood tall and proud, staring down at you with curiosity and disappointment lining the brown of her eyes. She heard you whimper and acknowledged your sniffle. 

"There's no need to cry," she tutted, flipping you onto your back and lifting you by your shoulders. "You're going to listen to me from now on." 

You nodded, and she once again lined her cock to your opening, only now she waited, taunting you with possibilities. 

"Beg," she instructed. 

And you heeded. 

"Please. I need you." 

"You can do better." She sounded bored, and this struck a nerve within you, one that begged you to impress her, show her you could be a good little girl, and beg as though your life depended on it. 

You took a heaving breath and looked into Emily's eyes, sporting your best puppy eyes. "I need you. I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me with your big cock, mommy. Make me scream out your name. I need it." 

"There's a good pet," she cooed, mesmerising you with the bating of her lashes as she looked down to where your bodies were so close to touching. 

It all happened in a blur. The next thing you knew, your nails were digging into muscled shoulders, legs wrapping around a slim waist as the brunette filled you, wasting no time in picking up a brutal tempo. You barely recognised the sound of your voice as high-pitched obscenities spilt past your lips. You felt your whole body light up, heard blood pulse in your ears, and saw in real-time just how easy it was to aid Emily in calling upon your impending orgasm. 

Your vulgar mouth, luckily, seemed to amuse Emily enough for her to let you continue rutting your hips against her. The corners of her lips curled, and her smirk lasted only so long for you to see before she inched forward and kissed you with passion and hunger. It was easy, so easy, to melt into the brief moment of intimacy. The butterflies felt tangible, and the sparks crackled in your ears; it felt so fucking good you'd almost forgotten just where you were. Of course, bubbles eventually popped, and this one was demolished by rustling outside Emily's office. 

What little movement Emily allowed, her hands holding you firmly against the desk by your waist, was not enough to wriggle free and glance behind to see what was happening. Instead, the possibility of being caught weighed heavier with each drawled-out second. 

"Emily," You tried but were cut off by a tongue sliding into your mouth. "Emily, stop."

With a bite to your lip, the older woman backed off, confusion marking her features, "What is it?" she punctuated her question with a hard thrust. 

"Someone's o-" another hard thrust. "Someone's outside."

Emily smiled, picking up her pace, forcing you to breathe so deep you felt your lungs expand. 

"You'd better be quiet then." 

Whatever protest you were about to give died in your throat when nails skirted up to your chest and dug painfully into your breast, and Emily pushed herself so deep within you that you felt her hitting your cervix. A strangled cry was briefly heard before you managed to clasp your hand over your lips and silence your own mewls. She was fucking you as if her life depended on getting a reaction out of you that would draw attention. Nevertheless, you held firm and stayed as quiet as your muffled sobs would allow you to be. 

"Emily, please," you were pleading for release and for the brutal fucking stop because you knew there would be no chance you could keep a lid on your volume; there would also be no chance you would survive not cumming. 

Taking note of this, the older woman took the route of giving you your release, dragging a thumb down over your clit and applying the right amount of pressure to have your tense legs turn into a shaky mess of tremors. She didn't stop there; with a brief slide, she ran your slick over your bundle of nerves and started to circle steadily. 

"Fuck!" You screamed out, missing the way the ruffling outside suddenly stopped. "I'm cumming. I'm cumming." 

"That's it," the brunette encouraged, her fingers coming up to crook and tangle through the mussed mess of your hair, nails slowly working against your scalp. "Let everyone hear what a slut you are, letting me fuck you over my desk." 

She didn't stop, though, not when your clit felt raw and your pussy tender, not when you begged and not even when you reached out and tried to grab her wrist. Emily only yanked you down by your hair, relishing the thud the brutal move made. She fucked you harder till stationary fell to the floor from your thrashing arms, and by then, her lips were already wrapped around a nipple, sucking firm whilst you cried through a second orgasm. 

When you finally felt empty, you didn't even try to open your eyes. You knew your vision would be blurred if not blacked out. Instead, you focussed on coming back down to earth, steading your breath and not thinking about how you strangely missed being filled by Emily despite being so fucking sore. 

"Are you still alive?" a smug voice asked from above, and you pried your bleary eyes open to weakly smile. 

"I think so," you whispered, peeling your sweat-slick back from the desk. That was when you remembered the unknown personnel outside and shot a look at the door. 

"They're gone," Emily said, cupping your chin and turning you back to her. Again, you were greeted by that conniving smirk. "After your commentary, I think they understood we didn't want to be disturbed." 

"But-" 

"Uh-uh." she silenced you with a finger to your lips, the smell of yourself still narrowly fragrant. You took the digit into your mouth, patting yourself on the back as you watched Emily's eyes turn dark. "You want to make Mommy feel good now, don't you?" She knew the answer, but oh, how she loved to watch you sink to your knees and eagerly nod anyway. You helped unclasp the straps of her harness, then set to pealing the last barrier keeping you from her heat down her legs. 

"My good little pet," she said, smiling down at you and happily watching you beam. Her hand cupped your jaw before moving to the back of your neck, where she pulled you to her core and began singing a melody of moans. 

Tags: @ssa-sapphic @aws-l @babygirlscout @red1culous @7thavenger @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @jenna-ortega-is-pretty17177 @supercorpstan97 @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @summoned-lust-demon @maxinehufflepuffprincess @whosprentiss @asolitaryrose3 @imlike-so-gaydude @maybe-a-humanbean @taylorswiftsboyfriend @bossofcriminalminds @asphodelvamp @jareguiromanoff @lilfartbox1 @lovelyy-moonlight @patronagrona @lostenby @storiesofsvu @mrs-prentiss @romanoffsho @paulilvsremus @waitaminutebaby @jarexuslover @lesbodietcoke @homo-oddity @milfsincrime @noahrex @pnsteblnme @asolitaryrose3 | click here to be added to my taglist

[andersonlore]

omfg i meant rayne gosh thats embarrassing autocorrect hates me but yeah sub abby and reader sharing a double-sided dildo

crave | a. anderson

tags: eighteen+, wlw sex, penetration (r + abby!recieving), double sided dildo, mommy!kink, switch!abby but she's being a sub, desc of reader is vague so masc +fem!reader, yeah very close to ovulating so, but whimpering abby bc that needs to be a warning

a/n. real ones know i'm a sub!abby truther so this is for you just as much as it is for me. going to start working on requests y'all have sent me over the past few months. hopefully, the first of many to come. stay tuned!

DO NOT BUY TLOU, FUCK NEIL DRUCKMANN + EDUCATE YOURSELF + DAILY CLICK FOR PALESTINE + DONATE TO PALESTINE.

divider creds — @cafekitsune

for once, abby is subjected the feeling she offers you everyday. it’s not only you whose moaning pathetically, it’s fucking her. she hates to admit it, fuck, she doesn’t even like moaning the way you’re making her. so fucking loud and desperate as her pussy clings around the cock while she’s trying to fuck you.

now, she understand why you can’t fucking talk whenever she’s fucking you because she’s having trouble uttering a word.

“are you good, baby?” you reach for abby, cradling her freckled cheeks in the palm of your gentle hands. you’re trying your best to make an effort, but it’s difficult.

she’s so deep, thrusting her hips into you deliciously, biting her pretty pink lips in concentration. blue eyes morphed to gray as she gives what you can take. it’s too much for you to handle. almost.

“yeah honey, i’m good. why wouldn’t i be?” she leans down to kiss your pretty lips. abby devours you completely trying to convince you she’s fine but then she whimpers.

quite pathetically.

“mhm, knew you would like it.” you say with a smirk on your face.

abby’s eyebrows furrow in annoyance, but it holds as much weight as a feather. you lift your hips up to meet hers causing her to mouth to drop open, a whimper of your name falling from your girlfriend’s lips.

“shut up.” abby grits her teeth as the cock wedges further inside her, moans bubbling in her mouth and she isn’t sure how much longer she can control it.

you can see the faint hint of a smile. abby knows you’re right but she would never admit. too proud to be a whimpering mess but you’ll get her there. the way her abs clench is a clear indication. this is fucking effecting her, not being able to focus on you. simply overpowered by the way her cunt is getting fucked.

for you, it’s a beautiful sight to see.

“not as easy to take as it is to give it, huh?” you move your hips up again, the dildo reaching further inside her cunt. strong thighs beginning to tremble.

“fuck, ah, shit baby.” abby begins to whimper like you’ve never heard her before. never this vocal to you, ever. it’s a beautiful symphony personally crafted for you. secretly, you hope this wouldn’t be the last time.

you needed more of her her, like this.

“oh? my baby likes being fucked like this? mommy’s taking my cock like a pretty little slut. being s’good.” abby’s trying to fuck you, fuck, she really is. but it seems impossible. tonight, the power shifted in the air and she can’t hide how much she loves it.

you’re used to this feeling and she’s simply not.

the blonde pushes herself further into you, letting the dildo slide deeper, until she’s hiding her face in the crook of your neck. gentle moans being smothered against your skin.

“fuck…take it, baby. wanna see my pretty girl cum. m’kay?” abby can’t control herself as her body shakes. you’re splitting her entire being in half. you’re so perfect for her. fucking her so unimaginably good, it feels like a figment of her imagination.

so, abby gives herself. she’s never done it before, not like this, but it’s done easily and without resistance. she lets herself groan at the fingers woven in her hair tugging at the root. she rests her hand on your waist gently instead of making a pretty necklace around your throat. she’s lost in whatever this is, craving to be fed more of everything you have to offer.

reblogs are appreciated! ♡

[murdrdocs]

having to be quiet while modern!coryo is fucking you because your visiting your family for the holidays PLEASE

when picking rooms for the stay, you failed to remember that the bed in your designated room for the next two weeks was known for knocking against the wall with any harsh movement. unfortunately, every movement you were currently making was harsh.

you're facing the opposite direction, a hand held steadily onto the end of the wooden sleigh bed, but there's still an obnoxious knock! knock! with each thrust from coriolanus, your own body almost collapsing against the flannel sheet from the intensity of his hips knocking against yours.

you wince each time, the sound melding with your moans that you're struggling to stifle, and every time you try to speak you interrupt yourself.

"coryo, the — mm — the fucking, ah, right there..." eventually, you resort to looking over your shoulder, praying that coriolanus would understand what you're trying to communicate with just a look. and he does. unfortunately, he just doesn't care. at least not enough to stop fucking you to fix it.

he's determined, eyebrows pinched together, core tightened with the effort he's putting in, skin glistening along his clavicles and shoulders, a bit along his hairline, sticking the grown out, short, blond hair to his forehead. you almost get lost in staring at him, completely enamored with how glorious he looks.

but then he angles one thrust to the right spot and you can't help but gasp entirely too loud.

"please, coryo. the headboard." it takes all of your effort to get it out, the same way it takes all of coriolanus' effort to pull out of your cunt. he's grumbling something under his breath while he grabs a pillow and lodges it behind one side of the headboard, doing the same with the other.

"happy?" he asks when he's done, far too much attitude woven into his words. maybe you would get on him about it if you weren't feeling incredibly empty right now.

you hum appreciatively, wiggling your hips to gather his attention. he gives it to you in the form of a slap against your left ass cheek, grinning to himself as he realigns his cock.

as just as he enters, he says, "don't know why you're so worried about the fucking bed when you make twice as much noise."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Take Me Home Tonight

Summary: You run into a familiar face while working. (Bucky Barnes)

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, fingering, dry humping, flirting.

Note: look, we didn't expect Applebee's to inspire one fic, but now it's done two fics. Shit. We are deranged.

Please enjoy and let me know what you think. Please also reblog because it’s a lot longer than I intended.

You hug the menus to your chest as you approach the booth of four newly sat in your section. As you do, you stutter step, unsure if your eyes are seeing clearly. You know that hair, the subtle wave of brown with strands of silver woven in. You step up and give a smile to the men.

“Good evening,” you place a menu in front of each of them; the burly blonde comedically crowded into the corner beside the man with dark hair and darker eyes, the blonde you vaguely recognise from his acquaintance with the most familiar face at the table, “Mr. Barnes.”

“Oh, hi,” he sits up and sets the drink menu back at the centre of the table, “uh,” he gives you a peculiar look, “I thought you worked down at the Denny’s.”

“Used to. Just got hired here,” you chime, “uh, so, are you all ready to go with your drink orders?”

“You mind?” The blond with the short hair nudges him.

“Yeah, go ahead, I’m still thinking,” he sits back.

“Heineken,” the man orders with a tweak of his eyebrow.

“Seems you don’t carry Hansa so I’ll have a jolly rancher cocktail,” the big blond intones. You almost laugh, thinking of him with the bright blue drink with a gummy worm for garnish.

“Shirley Temple for me,” the other says, “designated driver.”

“Oh, of course,” you note each order in your head, “and you, Mr. Barnes?”

“Mr. Barnes,” the man across from him goads.

“Bucky,” Mr. Barnes corrects you, “uh, I’ll take a Corona.”

“Alright, Heineken, jolly rancher, Shirley Temple, Corona,” you list off, “I’ll be back with your drinks and to take your order.”

“Thanks,” Bucky smiles.

“Yeah, thanks, doll,” the blonde at his shoulder winks. You don’t miss the elbow he receives from his seat partner.

You go to the bar and put in the order. You do a round to check in on your other tables, grabbing a few napkins at request and clearing plates. When the drinks are set out neatly on a tray, you carry them to the booth and dole them out.

“So, are we starting with an appetizer?” You ask.

“We’ll do some nachos,” the man across from Bucky says, “thanks, sweetie.”

“Beef, chicken, or veggie?”

“Chicken,” he answers.

“Hey, I know you,” the blond drapes his arm over the side of the booth, “you’re the neighbour girl.”

“Steve,” Bucky reproaches under his breath.

“What? It was killing me. I just couldn’t place the face.”

Bucky utters your name, almost reluctant to do so, “I’m just out with buddies,” he explains, “buncha old men catching up;” he jabs his thumb towards the man beside him, “Steve, Thor,” he points to the other blonde then to the man across from him, “Sam.”

“Sounds like fun,” you chirp, “well, I’ll go get those nachos. Are we planning on entrees?”

“We’ll just share the chips,” Bucky assures.

Sam leans back and pats his chest, “heartburn.”

You humour him with a smile and nod before spinning away. You flit off and head for the kitchen. It’s strange seeing Mr. Barnes– Bucky outside the neighbourhood. He’s always just been next door. Odder even seeing him without his family. Well, you guess he deserves the break. Every time you see him, he’s on his way somewhere.

🍻

The night wears on. Your shifts always pass quickly as you’re kept afoot by patrons and managers alike. Several times you find yourself visiting Bucky’s table to top up drinks and they grow rowdy as the game comes on the big screen. 

You’re almost amused as you’ve never seen your neighbour like this. He’s always so stern and standoffish. A small wave as he mows the lawn or a ‘morning’ as you pass by him unlocking his car. Even your father claimed he was the most serious man he’d ever met.

“Sweetheart,” Sam smiles at you as clear the empties, “can we get our check? I gotta get them out of here before they break something.”

“Sure thing,” you say as you stack the tray with bottles and glasses, “separate or together?”

“Together. I’ll have to chase them down for the difference,” Sam answers.

As you take the clear Corona bottle from in front of Bucky, he rests his chin in his hand and watches you. Your eyes meet his and your cheeks round even more. He’s definitely drunk.

“Hi,” he babbles.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes,” you return.

“I told you, it’s Bucky,” he grins.

“Bucky,” you repeat, “you want some water?”

He sits up and drags his elbow off the table, “I guess I should…”

“For all of them,” Sam says from your other side, “please.”

“Alright, check and waters.”

You almost click your heels before you sweep off on your mission. It’s almost closing time and the place is sparse. A few stragglers along the bar but no more hectic families of screaming toddlers breaking crayons and tossing napkins.

You go to the till and print out the bill and grab a handheld from the charger. You place both on your cleared tray and fill three glasses of water. You carry them back to your last table and gently set the condensating drinks before each diner. Sam takes the bill as he holds his card between two fingers.

“You go to school?” Steve’s voice startles you before you can summon small talk.

“Uh, yeah, second year,” you answer him.

“I thought so,” he says, “college girls…”

“Shut up, Rogers,” Bucky grumbles, putting his hand up to block out Steve, “ignore him. He’s trashed.”

“Speak for yourself,” Steve swats his hand down and receives a swipe back. 

The men slap at each others’ hands as Thor stands and leans over, his size deterring the men as he shoves their arms apart, “enough. Or I’ll drag you out like stray cats.”

You try not to show your discomfort as Sam hands you back the machine and it loudly prints his receipt. You offer him a copy but he insists you go and enjoy your night. You bid them all the same and set off to clear the last of your tables.

Your coworkers start their own closing tasks and the music turns off as closing time hits. You glance up, everyone’s gone. You go back to the booth and gather up the mostly untouched glasses of water and wipe it down. With your tables done, you turn in your apron and go to get your cut of the tips. Your tally comes up higher than you expect thanks to the table of middle-aged men.

You head out the back door and round to the front of the shining marquee. You’ll uber home since your mom is out of town. As you step up on the little pavement lip in front of the restaurant, a figure stands from their perch on the ground. You don’t recognise Bucky until he says your name.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” You ask as you lower your phone.

“Ah, well, me and Steve…” he rubs his neck and chuckles, “I’m waiting on a cab but none have passed by.” He shrugs, “plus, I figured we’re headed in the same direction…”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess,” you say, “I was just ordering an uber. Kinda don’t like taking them alone so late at night anyway.”

“Great,” he slurs, “uh, sorry about tonight. My friends are… a lot.”

“It’s fine, you were having a good time,” you select a ride and black out your phone. “Just make sure you drink lots of water.”

“Hmm,” he hums, “you’re so nice… I’ll be fine, you know? I can take care of myself.”

“I know, I just… I hate hangovers.”

“Oh? Didn’t take you for a drinker?”

“Well, don’t tell mom but once in a while.”

“My lips are sealed,” he surprises you as he reaches to squeeze your shoulder. “And I’ve never broken a promise to a pretty girl.”

You want to laugh. He’s tipsy and it’s kind of cute. The glare of headlights flash over you and he drops his arm away from you. The uber approaches and you check the plate, pointing Bucky in ahead of you. 

He sidles over the seat and yawns as you climb in next to him. The driver confirms your destination as you let yourself relax against the seat. The tension of your shift slowly drifts away.

Bucky slowly slides until he’s leaning against you, “I’ll pay you back for the ride,” he grumbles as he rests his head on your shoulder. 

The tension seeps back into you but you try not to overthink it. He’s just your neighbour, a friendly neighbourhood dad, a bit discombobulated from his night out. He probably doesn’t get many of those.

“Been a long time since I went home with a girl like you,” he chuckles.

You laugh, a nervous tickle in your throat as his weight bears down on you. You can smell a hint of citrus from his hair. Hopefully he’ll forget this all by the morning.

You’re quiet as the driver continues on. By the time you get to your street, you’re sure Bucky’s fallen asleep. You’re worried about getting him back to his place. As you get close to your house, you point the driver to the house right beside your own. That’ll be easier.

To your surprise, Bucky sits up and lets out a sleepy grumble. You thank the driver as your neighbour grabs onto your hand and tugs you towards his side as he opens the door. You let him and he clings to you as the uber leaves you in the shadow of the Barnes’ abode.

“Let’s go to bed,” he pulls you towards the walkway.

“Bucky,” you utter, “uh, Mr. Barnes?”

Is he that drunk? He must not realise you’re not his wife. You look around. You don’t see her car. That explains his little boys’ night. She’s probably visiting family again so he’s all alone.

“Hey,” you laugh unevenly as he drags you up onto the porch. He’s very strong. “Mr. Barnes, it’s me.”

He stops and sways. He squints at you and feels his pockets, jangling his keys through the fabric. He steadies himself and grins. His eyes hold yours, drowning you in pools of oceanic blue.

“I know,” he says soberly, “it’s you.”

You stare at him in confusion, blinking as he slides his hand into his pocket. You glance over your shoulder at the dark siding of your parents’ house. You face him again as he pulls his keys out but drops them between his shoes. You put your phone in your purse and shift the bag to rest on your hip.

“I should– oop,” you look down, “Mr. Barnes,” you bends to grab the keys, “alright, I’ll just get you inside and head home.” You stand up and hold up his keys, “which one?”

He points to the square gold one and you shove it into the slot. You push the door inward and gesture him ahead of you. He shuffles over the threshold, tripping before barely catching himself on the frame. You follow him in and look around cautiously. You’ve never been inside.

“Let’s get you to the couch, Mr. Barnes,” you grab his arm as he wobbles, “you just need to sleep this off–”

You tug on his arm but he doesn’t budge. Once more, all unsteadiness fades and he’s suddenly immovably still. He turns his head slowly and puts his hand over yours.

“I told you,” he faces you as he guides your hand up his arm, “it’s Bucky.”

“Um, alright, uh–”

He backs you up and you collide with the door, the impact forcing it shut. You gulp and press yourself against the inside as he pens you in, clutching your hand to his shoulder. The beer on his breath mingles with the citrusy scent that cloys from him.

“Mr. Barnes, what–”

“Shhh,” his hand slips from your and he grips your chin, “it’s okay–”

“St–”

He smothers your protest with a kiss. You’re too stunned to do more than flatten yourself against the door. His grip makes your jaw ache as his other hand crawls up your thigh. You squirm and push against his shoulder with a whine.

He doesn’t relent. He pushes his foot between yours, edging them apart as he picks your fly open. You curl your fingers, jabbing your nails into him. He growls but doesn’t stop.

You turn your head, forcing your mouth away from his.

“Mr. Barnes… Bucky, please–”

He hushes you again as his hand falls from chin to throat. He squeezes, crushing out any hope of screaming for help. He nuzzles into the side of your neck, his nose tickling the line of your jaw. You whimper as his hand delves beneath the cotton of your panties.

His fingertips brush along your trimmed vee of hair and he swirls the short curls with a purr. He extends his middle finger, feeling along your folds and dipping between. He flicks his finger back and forth, exploring you until he finds your clit. He rolls his finger, stoking a heat beneath his touch.

You wriggle and trail your hand down his arm, gripping his wrist as you fight him. You’re too weak. You croak through your tight throat as you try to fight the swirling tide building with the friction of his roughened fingertip. This can’t be happening.

He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not like this.

A million thoughts race with as many sensations. You stand on your toes as your muscles knots and the tension coils in your core. You shouldn’t feel like this. This is wrong. This isn’t real. Your eyes roll back and you hide behind your eyelids.

His finger glides as you slicken against him. He quickens his pace, toying with you as he breathes against your neck, puffing damply as his hand remains firm on you. He keeps you pinned as he goads your body on, fueling a fire you’ve never lit before.

You squeak as you twitch without permission. You succumb to the brewing storm, blown away in the whirlwind as your mind is stifled by your body. You gulp and gasp, your hand slipping down to his chest as your other falls away from his arm.

“You’re so sexy,” he purrs as he lets you go.

You brace yourself against the door, breathless and paralysed as you watch him raise his hand. He presses his fingertips to his mouth and you see the glisten on them. He pushes them inside and sucks them clean with a growl.

“And so sweet, baby,” he steps forward, crowding you again.

The afterglow has you helpless. He feels along your side as his other hand wanders down your leg. He pulls your knee up and brings himself flush to you. He bends his knees as he presses his crotch into yours. You murmur at the hot weight between you. 

He curls his arm around your neck and your head lolls back. He bows to kiss you, devouring you as he slowly rocks his hip. A fiery heat builds between the layers of fabric, the friction of your seam rubs you through the damp cotton of your panties.

He gasps into your mouth as his pace quickens. The door shifts and squeaks with his motion as he pounds you into it, hips pumping as his bulge pokes through his jeans rigidly. Your head droops to the side and his wet lips smear over your cheek. He bites into your ear lobe and snarls.

Another tickle flares and you moan. A small burst that has you just as senseless. Your delight leaks onto your panties, spreading to the edges.

“Mmmmm,” he hums and releases the pinch of his bite, “fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me go– right in my–” he chokes as his fingertips sink into the bottom of your thigh and he pulls your leg higher, “jeans–”

He shakes and lets out a long rattle, sprinkled with deep groans and soft mewls. He leans into you completely and shudders, stilling at last. He sinks down with you, bringing you to straddle him as his knees meet the floor.

You heave and lift your head, gaping at him as his eyelids droop sleepily. He smiles, the expression crinkling around his eyes. He leans in and kisses you again, nibbling on your lower lip before pulling away.

“I won’t tell your mom about that either, kitten.”

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter ten

summary: you and luca spend the first weekend of september on holiday in skagen, and luca reflects on the impact your relationship has had on him.

warnings: smut (18+ only) fluff, eventual angst not use of y/n, conversations about divorce, slow burn, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 3.3k

listen to: the official 'burn your life down' playlist

a/n: a shorter, smutty, yet pivotal little chapter to get us through the week, friends. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist.

part nine | masterlist | part eleven

As the season begins to turn, Luca remains a constant in your life. It’s not like you expected anything to change about it. The relationship has been good – like, really good – and yet you somehow still find yourself surprised that he’s so easily woven himself into your life. 

It takes you a few weeks to pull it all together: the time off, a trip, accommodations, like where you’ll stay. Change is in the air – a reminder of how far you’ve come – that a romance that started in the summer has flown so effortlessly into the beginning of Fall that it’s almost gone unnoticed. 

You’ve been looking forward to the first week of September for almost all of August, eager to go on your first holiday with Luca. After suggesting the idea, you got right to work, pulling off some fancy footwork to get coverage between everyone else’s end of summer holidays, and now that it’s here? 

What’s another five-ish hours in the car?

You can’t wait to get to Skagen, and at the same time, you want to savor every single moment of this, as you listen to Luca sing softly along to Elton John while he drives. It’s in the way the sunlight hits his golden locks so perfectly, the way the soft low hum of his voice reaches your ears with such a gentleness, the way his fingers fit so perfectly entwined with yours. 

And five hours later, you arrive at your airbnb, a rented cabin designed for romantic getaways in mind, not too far from Grenen Beach. You and Luca take your time unloading the car, hauling your bags from the car port and into your home for the next few days. While you’re not in a hurry, Luca, for the first time all day, seems a little impatient, hasty to get the car unloaded as soon as possible. 

You don’t blame him. He has done all the driving. 

As part of the agreement you made, he proposed to do the drive on the way there (since he’s lived in Denmark for longer) if you did drive home. 

“What do you want to do first?” you ask curiously, wrapping your arms around his neck as Luca sets down the last of what was in the car. 

“Well, after five hours in the car with you, my love,” he begins with a sigh, as he melts into your touch. “I’ve only got one thing on mind.”

“Oh yeah?” you smirk, picking up on his more-than-suggestive tone.

“Yeah,” he grunts, hoisting you up off of the floor so that it’s all too easy to wrap your legs around his waist. You laugh, squealing as he does, ghosting your lips teasingly over his as Luca murmurs, “I can’t wait to get you naked, my love.”

And of course, you let him, giving him exactly what he wants as you strip your clothes off, letting him chase you upstairs and into the lofted bedroom. The hour spent in an unfamiliar bed making love to the man that makes your stomach flip, leaves you breathless, boneless, and bewildered that he’s yours. 

It’s not until he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, that your eyes begin to flutter open, snapped shut in response to the way he made you come. You begin to come back down to earth, the reality that you have consecutive days of this to look forward to. 

“You’re amazing,” Luca murmurs against your skin, watching your body react to the way his fingers drag across your skin in soothing patterns. 

“I could say the same thing about you. I think I lost my mind for a second there,” you sigh, letting out a satisfied chuckle because you’re only half-joking. 

He grins, letting out a small laugh as he shakes his head in pure disbelief that you’re here and that you’re his. 

You swear you’ve got stars in your eyes as you look at him, as you open your mouth to ask:

“So… what do you want to do next?” 

-------------------------------

You had been antsy to get out to the beach, and who was Luca to deny you that? 

Right before dinner, you’d discussed. 

That’s when you’d go. 

Luca watches as you play around with your film camera, the sleeves of your Northwestern University sweatshirt pushed up to your elbows as you mutter something about how perfectly the textures of the beach will work for what you’ve been playing around with: double exposure. With wet sand pushed between your toes, you direct your camera lens from the waves of the ocean over to Luca. 

As soon as you catch him staring, a half smile spreads across his face as his eyes land on you, and with a click of the button, you’ve taken the photo. 

“Watcha thinkin’ about, babe?” you ask curiously, looking up from behind your small film camera. 

He shakes his head, the smile becoming bigger as he answers, “You.”

Luca’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches the wind whip through your hair, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore filling his ears as you smile back at him. Your eyes are filled with such love, such adoration, that he almost says it – almost blurts it out – the three words that have been weighing so heavily on his shoulders as of late. 

Lost in a shared look of love, the feeling of the wild waves slapping against the cuffed hem of your jeans hits you, startling you as it soaks the denim material. 

“Holy shit!” you shriek, taking a few steps back. As you run away from the wild and out of hand crash of the waves, Luca leads you into the other direction, realizing that you’re being chased by the ocean. 

You giggle, because it feels playful, joyous, free, and as you jump a few feet, using the momentum of your running pace, Luca is there to catch you. Like earlier before, but under different circumstances, you wrap your arms and legs around him again, holding onto your film camera for dear life. 

“You got me,” you grin, your voice soft as he holds you in his arms. 

“Yeah,” he replies, certain as the word leaves his lips. 

“It’s good to be gotten,” you say, knowing that the double meaning isn’t lost on either of you. 

-------------------------------

You spend your mornings waking up slowly, exchanging lazy kisses and soft touches, whispering promises to each other of ‘five more minutes’ that are more like thirty (but who’s counting, really?). 

Your days are bright and sunny, spent exploring with Luca as you search for adventures: trips to the museum, walks along the beach, exploring the little downtown area. 

And tonight, on your last night, you don’t want to leave.

Yes, you love the life you built for yourself in Copenhagen, and yes, of course, it’s not too far from what you and Luca do in your spare time when you’re home. 

But there’s something different about the quiet beach town that’s left you devoid of any distraction. It’s just you and him and the love that grows between the two of you. It’s undeniable, unignorable, its sound like a siren in every silence, an alarm clock that wakes you in the middle of the night, shaking you to your very core.

It’s also a kind and a safe love – something you never knew could still feel this enormous, this all-consuming too. 

Luca moves his lips over your jawline, nipping at the skin as his tattooed hands wander, sliding underneath your sweatshirt. You’re more than eager to help, slipping the knit material right over your head before you’re pulling him back down to you, your lips drawn to his like magnets. 

He hadn’t bothered to put a shirt back on after your shower together, and it hadn’t taken long for you to push his sweatpants over his hips, knowing very well the effect his shirtless showboating had on you. It’s no surprise that you’ve found yourself here, underneath his body, gasping as heat pools between your legs. 

Luca’s more than happy to discover that you’re not wearing a bra, groaning into the kiss, as he stacks his body on top of yours. Your legs wrap around his waist with practiced ease and you're left only in your panties. 

You arch your back as his mouth continues its journey south, his blue eyes stealing a glance up at you as he takes one of your erect nipples into his mouth, earning a gasp that escapes your lips. You can feel him smile against your skin as you sigh his name, your body shifting underneath his. 

“Luca,” you repeat, completely at his will as you let him consume you. 

He gives equal attention to both breasts before leaving hot, open mouthed kisses down your belly. His hand with the ‘A’ tattoo slides into your panties, dragging two fingers through your slick. 

“You’re so wet for me, love,” he coos, pressing his index and middle finger just enough into you before withdrawing them, teasingly. “Always so wet for me.”

“Yes,” you gasp, as you feel Luca’s steady hands dragging your panties down your legs, your wetness leaving a trail down your inner thighs. 

You’re eager to kick off your panties, and as Luca tosses them behind you, his hands are back on you in an instant, smoothing up your legs and pushing them open so that he can fit between them. Your eyes flutter closed as he uses his skilled tongue to lick a broad stripe up your hot, wet heat. You cry out, bucking your hips up into his mouth as he eats you out. It’s like he’s memorized every single thing you’ve ever liked, every single thing that’s ever made you scream, that’s pushed you to pull at his hair while you came on his tongue, and created a cheat sheet of how to get you to your orgasm fastest. 

“Baby,” you pant, your hands tangled in his hair as he drags his tongue over our clit, tracing tight circles over it as your body twists itself underneath his mouth. “Fuck, you’re so good at this. You’re-, OH!”

You shout in pleasure as he slides his fingers in and out of you, and Luca has to admit that he loves the way you feel squeezing around him. He’s rock hard, the sounds of your moans, of your cries, of his name on your lips, unbearably beautiful. He ruts his hips into the bed as he can feel you getting close. 

He knows. 

He knows exactly when you need two fingers instead of one. That when your voice raises in pitch, it means he’s found the exact right spot. That when a string of curses leaves your mouth because it’s all too much and not enough at the same time and that if he keeps going, you’re sure to explode, topple over whatever mountain you’re climbing, ready to fall off and fall with him. 

“Luca, fuck, I’m coming, god, baby, don’t stop, fuck, it’s so good, you’re so fucking good,” you chant, lost in the pleasure he brings you.

You’re not sure that the string of words are even English anymore as they tumble out of your mouth. Luca takes you higher, then higher, the crest of pleasure peaking and crashing around you, as you cum on his tongue. 

Luca takes his time, cleaning you up with his tongue before making his way up your naked body, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips. He kisses you with a passion, a fervor, a desperateness that tells you he needs you just as much as you need him. 

“You are so beautiful,” he says against your lips. “When you cum like that.” Another kiss. “So out of control.” You reach up to catch his mouth once again. “So lost in how you feel.” His tongue slides against yours this time as he manages to complete his sentence this go round. 

“And all for me.” 

And with that you’re rolling him onto his back, your mouth trailing over his neck, his shoulders, his chest, and then the hard planes of his abdomen as you make your way down to the top of his briefs. You drag the waistband of his briefs down, up and over his hard on, tossing them somewhere on the floor after you finally get them off. 

Your eyes meet his, catching his gaze as you look up at him, your tongue snaking out just over the head of his cock. Luca hisses, his hands propped up behind his head so that he can watch you as you take him into your mouth. 

“My god, babe,” he groans, as you suck on the tip, sliding your mouth down a little further this time. 

“Fuck.”

You take your time using your mouth and saliva to get him ready for you, bringing your hand up and around his shaft for what can’t fit in your mouth. You use your hand and your mouth to take him, setting a pace that Luca really seems to like. 

You can hear it in the way he moans, the way he seems to be holding back, trying his best not to thrust his hips into your mouth, in the way that he gathers your hair in his hands, moving it all to one side so that he can watch you take him. 

It’s not until you feel him tug at your hair, his hands used as a makeshift ponytail holder, that you lift your head to look at him. 

“Get up here,” he rasps, and you’re more than happy to oblige. 

Your mouth is on his instantly, swallowing his moans as you continue to stroke him in the palm of your hand. 

“How do you want me?” you ask him, your voice low and desperate with need. 

Instead of answering, he flips you over so that he’s on top again. You part your legs so that he can fit between them, and you feel him jerk your body down towards him, causing a small laugh to escape your lips. The laugh turns into a moan as Luca presses his thick tip at your entrance, pushing in. You both gasp, sharing a look, a moan, a breath as he stretches you open. 

It doesn’t matter how many times you take him, you swear. You’re:

“Always so tight, fuck,” Luca murmurs, sighing out your name as he buries himself in to the hilt. 

He pauses for a moment, his mind short-circuiting as he feels the way your walls pulse around him. 

With each slow drag of his cock, you keen, feeling every single inch of him as he takes his time teasing you. Without setting any kind of pace, Luca lays one of your legs over his shoulder as he sits tall, grinding against you in a way that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

He watches as he grinds himself into you, his gaze fixed to where you’re connected, unable to tear his eyes away from how you take him. 

“So deep,” you mumble, lost in the way he feels inside of you. “You’re so deep.”

Luca begins thrusting his hips this time a little faster, earning another keening sound that escapes your mouth. And soon enough he’s folding his body over yours, testing your limits of flexibility as he keeps your leg bent over his shoulder, your thigh pressed towards your chest as he pounds away inside of you. 

You can tell that he likes it – what you’ve said so far – so you decide to continue as he fucks you. 

“I love it when you’re this deep. Inside of me,” you pant through each thrust, sure you’re so close to cumming again. “Stretching me.” Another moan. “Filling me.”

Luca can’t help himself. He pauses, wrapping both of your legs around his waist this time as he chases that high pitched gasp he knows means you’re about to come. 

“You fill me so well,” you gasp, your voice getting higher as you squeeze around him, your walls contracting, building a tension that means you’re on the cusp of release. “Feels so good.”

“Luca, I’m gonna cum. Please don’t stop,” you beg him, as you hold onto his biceps. 

And he wouldn’t dare. 

With a few more deep thrusts, you’re cumming, squeezing around him, grasping at his back like you’re holding on for dear life. 

Luca slows down his pace, giving you short thrusts as he stays deep, letting you come down from the pure euphoria you just experienced. He leans down, pressing a searing kiss to your lips as you catch your breath, your hands exploring his shoulders, his upper back, his arms. 

“You like me deep, hmmm?” Luca asks, his voice low. There’s a quiet dominance – there’s always a quiet dominance – with the way he talks to you, the way he praises you, the way he calls you his. 

“Yes,” you nod, your eyes glassy as you look up at him. 

With a knowing shake of his head he kisses you once more before giving the order:

“Get on your knees.”

Your body shaky, still reeling from your orgasm, you nod in agreement. Your arms may feel like spaghetti, but you somehow make your way onto your hands and knees, immediately feeling Luca’s warm hands smooth over your ass. You push your body backwards, offering more of yourself to him as he sighs in pleasure, remarking once more about how fucking sexy you are like this before pushing himself back inside of you. 

From this position, Luca feels unbelievably deep, and unbearably good. With his first thrust, you fall to your forearms, resting your head against them like all you can do is moan and push your ass back against him. 

“Luca!” you cry out, as he begins to speed up the pace of his thrusts. 

“You are so fucking sexy, baby,” he grunts, noting that he’d die a happy man with the view from where he kneels behind you. 

Slow deep thrusts turn into fast jerks of his hips and yours, chasing your highs simultaneously. You know he won’t last long in this position – everything feels too good. Stilling his hips inside of you, Luca gently guides you so that you're laying on your belly while he lays on top of you. It’s his scotch bonnet hand that goes to your clit this time, reaching around your body to rub feverish circles as his thrusts become sloppier, more unpredictable, always a sign that he’s on the edge. 

“Where do you want me?” he asks, his voice strained as he maintains his furious pace. 

“Inside of me,” you managed to get out in between high pitched whines, moans, and heavy breaths. 

“Inside of me, Luca.”

He grunts, because your words alone might get him off right here. 

“Make me yours.”

“Yes, love.”

It doesn’t take long, just a few more thrusts before Luca is spilling himself inside of you with uneven breaths and tense grunts as you both cum, riding out your highs together. 

Whispers of ‘so good’ and ‘incredible’ and ‘yes, baby’ are met with ‘unreal’ and ‘fucking beautiful’ and ‘my love.’ 

Luca leaves, only for a moment, to grab a towel and get you both cleaned up. You lay in each other’s arms for what feels like forever before you begin drifting off to sleep. Luca runs his fingers through your hair as he feels your body relax into his. He’s fallen asleep with you enough times to know that you’re probably no longer listening, off to dreamland. 

As Luca watches the rise and fall of your chest, he smiles to himself, the words on the tip of his tongue. He’s known great love in his life: once in his early twenties and once more, a few years before he met you.

But nothing was this – nothing’s compared to this. 

Almost as if it were a practice round, because he’s not sure whether or not you’ll even hear him, he opens his mouth, trying his best to formulate the words. He turns them over in his head, delicately, gently, then mouths them silently, before finally saying them out loud:

“I think you may be the love of my life.”

[kisskiss-slashslash]

hi could you write like a blurb of reader knitting a baby onesie to tell the slasher(preferably Thomas Hewitt, my love<33) that they’re pregnant. Reader has been knitting all day and won’t let anyone see it until she’s done. Plss and thank you<333

Yes I could <3

Announcing your pregnancy to Thomas Hewitt by gifting him a baby onesie

You have been avoiding Thomas all day, and he is starting to get a little annoyed. And the rest of the family is also put on edge by your odd behaviour. You spend an unusual amount of time alone, and leave every room as soon as another family member enters it.

Come evening, he sits at the table, grumpily staring into his supper. There is a lot of tension in the air.

"Thomas?"

He looks up, surprised and happy that you finally decided to acknowledge him again. The whole table goes quiet, all eyes on you.

You clear your throat. “I have something for you.”

Luda Mae’s eyes widen for a moment and never leave the small package, wrapped in this morning’s newspaper and held together by a bit of the yarn you use for knitting, tied into a neat ribbon, as you hand it to him.

Thomas furrows his brows. It’s not his birthday, neither is it Christmas, so what is this for? If it were just one of the small gifts you occasionally give him to “show your appreciation”, you wouldn’t have drawn so much attention to it. He turns the gift in his hands, finding its content soft under his meaty fingers.

Then he slowly, carefully opens up the ribbon, and unfolds the paper around it. When he sees that it is something knitted, he first assumes you made him a scarf or hat… something usually useless in a state as hot as Texas. Then he unfolds it and reveals a small onesie, knitted from dark blue yarn with strands of silver woven through it, making it look like a starlit sky.

His eyes wander to you in confusion. Then back to the item in his hands. Back to you. Slowly, the realization what this means creeps up on him. Again, he looks at the onesie and back to you, faster this time. His eyes widen, while you return his gaze with a shy smile.

He stands up to quickly that the force almost throws his plate off the table, and within a heartbeat, you find yourself crushed against his chest in a backbreaking hug.

Once he lets go of you again, he looks around to his family members and finds them speechless.

Thomas’ mind is going a million miles an hour. The crib that first Hoyt and then later him have slept in as babies should still be somewhere down in the cellar. The water down there undoubtedly did some damage to it, but nothing unfixable. What else would a baby need?

While he thinks about all the things that need to be prepared before the child arrives, he holds onto you like a drowning man, his hands on your stomach as if he could already feel the small life growing there.

[thepixelelf]

Band of Silver, Remember my Vow [Teaser]

Based on and inspired by the Sanskrit play, Sakuntala; or The Ring of Recollection, by Kālidāsa, which dramatizes the story of Sakuntala as told in the epic, the Mahābhārata

genres: romance, angst, past civilization au (set in a made up land inspired by joseon and influenced by other asian (and hints of european :/) cultures), subtle magic, not e2l just people who annoy each other at the start to people hopelessly in love w each other pairing: healer reader x lord scoups. platonic reader & soldier dino teaser word count: 2.2k estimated fic word count: ~15k teaser warnings: injury by weapon to an animal (hunting). animal attack. estimated fic warnings: descriptions of blood, injury, and illness. (possibly) sex but not smut. animal gore. notes: this was meant to be for caratlibrary's fall collaboration, but I flubbed it on the deadline (no surprise there!). I'm still not done, but I wanted to post this to see if people are as interested in the story as I am! I will not be making a requestable taglist, however I will be tagging people who comment/show interest in the tags of reblogs

In the story of Sakuntala, the king Dusyanta ends a hunting trip before he comes across the beautiful Sakuntala in a nearby hermitage. He is immediately captivated by her, courts her, and marries her soon after. However, he must return to his royal duties in the capital. He leaves his signet ring with her, promising to return. While distracted with her love for Dusyanta, Sakuntala forgets to greet a visiting and easily irritated sage. Angered by her disrespect, he curses her by making Dusyanta forget her existence. He is later convinced to lighten her punishment, and revises the curse so that the king will remember everything upon seeing the ring he left behind.

teaser under the cut!

The bowstring pulls taut as Seungcheol draws his arm back. His aim is unwavering— it better be, with all the years of training his breath to even at will, all those days spent shooting arrows at dyed targets and skittering rabbits. He kneels in the grass, still as a corpse, and waits for the stag to lift its head from where it’s dipped at the base of a tree.

Wait. Patience. That’s what he was taught.

Patience. Wait. Wait. Breathe.

But — air huffs through Seungcheol’s nose — why isn’t it lifting its damn head? The entire forest surrounding him is quiet. Nothing is here to disturb this perfect moment. This almost perfect moment.

Seungcheol fills his chest with air again, even and silent.

Wait. Patience. Breathe. Lift your damn—

“What are you doing?”

Startling at the sudden whisper in his ear, Seungcheol swerves to the side, his fingers slipping and releasing his arrow into the air. It slams into a tree, right where the stag’s neck would have been had it lifted its head. The sound echoes through the forest, and it spooks the stag. It dashes off out of sight, and Seungcheol curses under his breath.

“Why would you—” He whips his head around and finds you crouching next to him, a woven basket resting on your hip, held there by one hand. For only a moment, he is distracted by your face, and the way the sunlight, broken through the leaves of the forest, dances on your cheeks. He clears his throat. “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

You blink and tilt your head. “What have I done?”

Abruptly, Seungcheol stands, gesturing his bow towards where the stag disappeared. “My— you…” He huffs, then looks away, returning the bow to its spot on his back and tearing off his gloves in muted frustration.

He came here for a distraction, but you are closer to an annoyance, albeit a not unattractive one. He prefers to lose himself in the concentration of the hunt.

As he moves to follow the deer, your voice stops him.

“Where are you from?”

When he turns, you’ve already stood up, and you regard him with slightly furrowed brows.

“You must be from rather far,” you say without giving him much chance to respond. “Were you planning on shooting him?”

“Him?” Seungcheol echoes. “You’re referring to that animal?”

You hum, nodding to yourself. “Rather far indeed. He may very well have been the patron spirit of these woods.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a terrible dishonour to harm an antlered one in this forest. A dishonour to what this place provides, and the vast life within it,” you explain, though the words mean nothing to Seungcheol. You step closer to him, tilting your body to peer at the quiver of arrows on his back. “You’d be a fool to attempt to kill one, and invite grand misfortune by doing so.”

His jaw clenches, and air comes out of his nose hot. “Who are you to call me a fool? Do you know who I am?”

You straighten. “Am I supposed to? You’re quite far from home.”

“I am Lord Choi Seungcheol,” he announces with pride, though it tastes of the arrogance his mother always tutted at on his tongue. “General of the Four Peak Soldiers, and— and future ruler of the Eastern District.”

You make a face, and it only makes the anger in Seungcheol burn hotter.

“A lord, huh?” you taunt. “Or a general. Which one is it? Or does it not matter?” Leaning back slightly, you study his face. “Certainly, it doesn’t matter to me. I am neither a Four Peak soldier, nor a citizen of the Eastern District, so I will say as I please. A fool is a fool.”

Seungcheol raises his hand, and you flinch, but only slightly. Your eyes remain firm on his.

He lowers his hand, tired of your presence and of having to listen. If he and you were in his district, you’d have serious punishment awaiting your next sunrise. However, he was out on his own, alone on a rogue, spontaneous hunting trip far away from home because he wanted some space to get his thoughts together. It’s something he’s done before, two or three or nine times. His mother shows contempt for this habit of his, but she does not try to stop him. All she asks is that he not bring home trouble.

You seem like trouble.

How was he supposed to know that the woods he ventured into had such trivial myths to abide by?

He is Choi Seungcheol, damn it. Your silly fairy tales won’t deter him.

Deciding to spare you this time, Seungcheol breathes out and turns away, walking now in the direction of where he tied his horse. Perhaps this trip was a failure. To expect to clear his head the same way he has done before was foolish — though he would never admit that. What is on his mind now is much heavier, much more inevitable than the other things he would run away from in his youth.

A marriage to the country’s princess.

His marriage to her.

Seungcheol’s hands twitch, and he yearns to draw his bow again.

“Lord General,” you call out, the tone of your voice itself a warning. “Don’t be a fool.”

He ignores you.

=

Ricecake seems to have had a much better experience in this forest than Seungcheol. He finds her munching on the lush, untrodden grass, and he almost feels bad for interrupting her meal. However, that feeling lessens when he remembers that if he were successful in his hunt, she'd have to carry the spoils all the way home. At least she has that.

Seungcheol rides for not half an hour, following the river, before another stag dashes alongside his path. He spends no time thinking. Pulling his bow from his shoulder, he notches an arrow and lets it fly. A second arrow leaves his fingers before he blinks.

The stag rears on its hind legs, one arrow in its thick neck and one pierced directly through its eye. It shrieks, haunted and low.

But it does not fall.

Seungcheol dismounts from his horse and draws another arrow, aiming again for its neck so it cannot escape far before it dies. He expects it to run in the opposite direction.

Its hooves dig into the dirt beneath it, and the stag charges towards Seungcheol.

He has no time to react, his arms moving instinctually to protect his head, before pain blooms fiery red from his torso. An icy cold engulfs him, and everything goes dark.

=

Pain is what wakes him up, dull and aching, but when he attempts to right himself, Seungcheol winces. A fierce pang rings in his body from his stomach to his right ear, which sparks a jolt of pain throughout his head. He falls back again, though his head doesn’t hit the hard earth. Instead, a steady hand catches his head, and another gently touches the front of his shoulder, as if to calm him.

“Easy there, Lord General.”

Your voice, and the way you patronise his titles again, make Seungcheol frown. It hurts to breathe, but he can’t help the annoyance that refills within him. What the hell are you doing here? Did you follow him? Why are your hands so gentle?

Though his headache may worsen with sunlight, Seungcheol pries his eyes open. His eyelids are heavy, and for a moment, he thinks he must not have opened them fully. He can barely see you, even though it was midday when he’d been knocked unconscious. It then registers that he is no longer outside, in the woods, but in a room, lowly lit with sparsely strewn candles.

The realisation makes him want to jump up again, but the pain in his torso forces a groan from him, and he falls back onto the support of your hand. He strains his head to assess his surroundings. “Where am I?” he grits out. It hurts to speak.

“Be careful,” you say, concern sewn into your brows. “You may have broken your ribs.”

He demands, though perhaps sounding weaker than he likes, “Answer the question.”

Your lips settle into a straight line, and you breathe out through your nose. “You’re in my home.”

“Why?”

“I found you nearby,” you begin to explain, pulling your hand out from under him to cross your arms. He feels a thin layer of folded cloth under his head. “You were washed up on the riverbank, unconscious. Bloody…bruised…” You tilt your head. “Perhaps even more bruised now, since I practically had to drag you here, though the balm should help with the scrapes.”

“Balm?” Seungcheol echoes. Now that he thinks about it, there is a strange warmth seeping through the skin on his face. “You’re a healer,” he concludes.

You nod, and for the first time, Seungcheol sees a smile on your lips. In the candlelight, it only adds to the warmth.

“You’re lucky it was me who found you. Who knows how long you were lying in the cold water.” You sit back, eyes thoughtfully gazing over Seungcheol’s blanket-covered body. They pause around where Seungcheol’s left hand is. “I was able to save almost all your fingers.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen, and he jerks his hands out from under the blanket to hold above his face. The pain this causes is in the background compared to his panic, but that fades soon after he sees all ten fingers, wiggles them, then glares at you.

You’re smiling wider now. “That was a joke, Lord General.” At his glare sharpening, you let out a small laugh. “Your fingers are fine. They might be stiff for a few days, though.” Your expression shifts to a more serious one. “Your ribs, on the other hand… You’re severely bruised. I suspect they may be fractured.

Breathing in again, Seungcheol watches the way you eye his chest as it rises and falls. It hurts like a bonfire has sparked in his lungs.

“What happened?” you ask, no residual hint of playfulness in the simple question.

“I…” In the back of his mind, Seungcheol sees the stag again, sees the blood rivering from its eye and neck, sees its antlers as they bouldered into him. He sees you, and how you spoke to him in the forest. An enchantingly bright bad omen.

Don’t be a fool.

Yet here he is, under your care in your home, for doing the very thing you warned him not to.

"...I fell," he says after a moment of quiet. It’s only a half-lie. He did fall, even if that wasn’t how he sustained the injuries to his ribs.

One of your eyebrows rises up your forehead. “You fell.”

“...Yes.”

You hum, doubtful. “Off your horse, I assume. I’ve seen similar bruising and fractures when people are kicked. It happens to someone around here at least once a year; there’s no shame in getting unsaddled.”

He’s never fallen off Ricecake — she’s the perfect companion, but Seungcheol grits his teeth and says, “I suppose there’s not.”

A triumphant grin appears on your face, and you turn slightly to reach for a small notebook. “Well, Lord General—”

“That is not my title,” he interrupts on principle, though he instantly regrets it with the waking pain in his chest. Still, he cannot stop himself from correcting you. “You will address me as Lord Choi, or ‘my Lord’.”

Your eyes don’t leave your notes. “Alright Lord General, it—”

“You can’t—”

“—is my professional opinion that you should be on bed rest for three days, though your full recovery could take two to three moons. I’ll need to monitor your breathing until it regulates.” You speak as if Seungcheol is just anyone, not someone with power or higher standing. To you, he is just a patient.

Why does that thought not continue to anger him?

“I need to find my horse,” he tells you. “There are healers in the Four Peak fortress that can oversee my recovery.”

You shake your head. “Riding is out of the question. It will only worsen your condition.”

“I can’t stay here. I am needed as their leader.” And his mother is going to kill him for being gone more than a few days without a word.

“Do you have a palanquin?”

Seungcheol frowns. “Do I look like I have a palanquin with me?”

“Could you send for one?” you rephrase.

He ponders on that. It is rare for him to ride a palanquin, even back home. The cart is used more decoratively these days, reserved for events like longevity parades through the city, and no longer for extended trips over uneven ground like the forests he travelled through to find himself on your land. 

Still, he can’t stay here. Certainly not for three moons. “I’ll write a missive.”

“Alright,” you say with a nod. “There’s a merchant group that travels every two weeks between here and a city in the Eastern District. You can send it with one of them.”

“When are they travelling next?”

“You’re lucky, Lord General. They leave for the east in five days.”

Not as soon as he’d like, but at least the merchants hadn’t just left. Then he would have to stay here for one full moon before he’d even be able to send for help.

“For now,” you continue, “you should rest. It’s late, and your body needs time to recover.”

do not send an ask/reply just asking to be on a taglist!! I will only be tagging people who reblog and comment in the tags!!

[sidekickjoey]

In the summer of '86, fresh off of saving the world, Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler get blonde highlights.

Be it a coping mechanism after handling the hell that was spring or simply a mutual need for change, the decision is made without nervousness from either party. They enter the salon together, swear up and down to their assigned hairstylists that, yes, this is what they want and no, they do not care that their hair already looks perfect as is, thanks, and leave donning notably different looks.

Steve's signature chestnut ends up woven between streaks of gold, giving him a sort of distracting glimmering effect when he walks out into the sun. Nancy's waves, though still shoulder length and crimped to perfection, sway almost completely and utterly blonde in any light.

Needless to say, their new looks quickly make them, the former it-couple of Hawkins, the talk of the town once more - including that of their two closest friends, Eddie and Robin.

They, unlike the general public of Hawkins, have spent the past few months slowly building massive crushes on Steve and Nancy, entranced by their might after surviving the horrors of the Upside Down. While to most a change in hair color for Steve and Nancy is merely an oddity, to them? It's like someone hit the panic button and left them to scatter in a secluded room.

Robin has only been over her gaga-for-Vickie phase for a few weeks now. The wound is still fresh, and she knows she should not be looking once again into a possible unrequited love situation until she is better healed emotionally. She also knows he has a weakness for blondes that goes beyond all reason, i.e. Tammy Thompson and her muppet singing voice. She shouldn't act and possibly jeopardize one of her most sincere female friendships over a silly little weakness like that.

However, Nancy looks like a vision in blonde.

Robin thinks it's her big doe eyes that do it. They pop when the blonde meshes with Nancy's fair skin, and it makes her heart swoon in the most debilitating of ways. Not to mention, the softer cut she got along with the lighter coloring frames her face so well. Robin swoons over it. If not for her fear of rejection, she probably would have already taken the leap and done something stupid, like confess how Nancy's scrambled her brain.

Eddie's not doing much better himself with Steve.

He had been there in the early days, when Scoops Ahoy's newest worker showed up in his first edition of golden highlights. Like any good Hawkins resident, he had handled it with poise, class, and lots of extra trips to Scoops Ahoy whenever he happened to be at the Starcourt Mall, along with frequent whisperings of 'what the hell' expressed in the confines of his room where no one could hear him freak out. T'was standard™.

This look, though...it blows Scoops Ahoy Steve away by miles.

It's bright. It's golden. It's like he slipped and fell into some kind of radiant daydream, only to emerge like a ray of sunlight to distract Eddie Munson and Eddie Munson alone, and Eddie can't shut up about it.

Seriously, Wayne has heard enough.

The issue is, he has next to no idea what to do about these feelings. His mind is screaming to make a move on the guy, because you only live once and, well, he's already on his second try. However, his little worried heart loves Steve's newfound companionship and whatever odd-couple friendship they have going on right now. He doesn't want to lose that because of some dye job and a trim. It's too important, too good.

So, like Robin, he finds himself refraining.

They both refrain, and over the next week or so, the decision to do so eats at them like mad. They stumble over their words when speaking to Steve and Nancy. They actually stumble physically, in Robin's case, when Nancy walks by one morning. They tell anyone and everyone they can about it aside from Steve and Nancy, and by the end of that week, it all hits a breaking point. Word slips for the sake of everyone's sanity to Steve and Nancy.

It should mark the beginning of havoc and betrayal.

Instead, it breeds two plans.

Because, here's the thing: Steve and Nancy are not dumb, contrary to what some might think. They are wildly observant people. They know what their friends are up to, and Robin and Eddie are high on that friend list after spring. They've seen their behavior and, though Nancy had to spell a little bit of it out for Steve, both have come to the conclusion that something is definitely up in the crush department. If they want to capitalize on it, they know there is no better time than now while their haircuts are still new and their own crushes are seeking an opportunity to spill their feelings.

Nancy's plan to handle Robin, to the untrained eye, is simple. She's known for carefully thought out strikes when people least expect them, and the last thing she's going to do is stop using that tactic to her advantage now.

So, she invites the other girl on a trip to the mall for new bracelets. She claims it's on account of Holly taking hers hostage (not a total lie) and needing time out with someone her age (also not a total lie), and Robin buys it in seconds. A day later, they meet up at a boutique mall just outside of Hawkins and roam for a few hours together. It's simple. Casual. Subtle enough to be innocent from afar yet just intimate enough for Nancy to make her move when the time is right.

The time becomes right when they're sitting at a booth in the food court, chatting about Holly's other jewelry-related crimes. Nancy accidentally knocks the fork for her salad off the table, catching the attention of them both. Robin is quick to say she's got it, but Nancy is faster. Ready. She reaches down, picks up the fork, and in a fit of bravery, makes damn sure she holds eye contact with Robin the entire way back up. Robin swallows and looks away, clearly flustered and trying to behave over such a small thing as eye contact. But, Nancy doesn't want her to ignore it this time. So, she pulls a cheesy line from Steve's old book (that she totally did not rehearse with Steve, not at all) and misbehaves, just to get the ball rolling.

Batting her eyes, she asks in her most casual drawl, "Sheesh Robin, do blondes always make you this nervous?"

Robin chokes on her milkshake. 'Accidentally' knocks over her own fork. Goes down beneath the table to - not subtly - whisper-scream about what the hell that just was, because what the hell was that? Hello?

Nancy finds it incredibly endearing. She kind of wants to tell her about it.

She joins Robin on the floor to do so and giggles, freakin giggles, at Robin's shock and awe over her being there. Robin, panicked, reaches for the fork she dropped and holds it up to Nancy for her to see like it's some kind of explanation for her huddling under the table a full minute after it fell. She then stutters out a small 'got it,' despite Nancy being a goddamn journalist who notices things for her job and is fully capable of using her own two eyes to see, what the heck Robin??

Nancy still finds it all so endearing, though she doesn't think saying it out loud would be the best course of action anymore. Her last words sort of sent the poor girl into a spiral, and as fun as it is sharing this cramped space with her, she kind of wants to get off the gross tile if at all possible. So, instead, she does the next best thing and expresses her fondness physically.

With a kiss.

On the mouth.

Hidden by the table but all-too-real and seen to Robin, who forgets how to breathe because oh my gosh. Oh my GOSH.

It's perfect. It's effortless. It's everything. It's hands-down worth the hours of waiting Nancy had to do under a hairdryer in foils to get her here, and even more worth Robin's adorably rushed confession after the fact that she's always liked blondes, just a little bit.

~~~~~~

Steve's plan is a lot different than Nancy's.

He is a tried-and-true passionate romantic after all, and Eddie is about as dramatic as Shakespeare. A casual outing or demure kiss under a table is just not going to cut it in terms of a confession for either of them. Steve knows this. He tells it to Nancy. Repeatedly.

After hours of back and forth over the phone, he eventually finds himself at a music store, equipped with a wad of cash and his eyes set on an, admittedly, badass looking guitar. It has blue flames along its black exterior that rise to its very top and are lined with a reflective silver, making it glimmer even in the dim light of the shop. Eddie's been moaning about losing his sweetheart to the Upside Down for weeks -- no, months at this point. Steve thinks this blue beauty would be a perfect replacement for her. He also thinks it might just be what they need to stop dancing around each other's feelings too, if he's lucky.

He purchases it and stows it away in his bedroom before calling Eddie over the following day. The boy is all nerves when he finally arrives. Steve doesn't help ease them by running his hand through his hair more than once, but what can he say? It's a tough habit to break, and he's been doing it ever since he's hand anything more than a buzz cut. Sue him.

After pleasantries about their day are discussed and Eddie appears to be more calmed down, Steve invites him upstairs for a 'surprise' that just about undoes all the poor boy's progress at once.

Because Steve didn't just place the new guitar in its case and put a bow on it to surprise Eddie. No, he propped that sucker on its stand, bought a small light to illuminate the silver and blue, and placed a little card on the case that said, 'To Eddie, from your sweetheart.'

Steve watches as Eddie physically has to reboot upon seeing it all. He then rushes to cover his ears as Eddie returns to consciousness with a full-blown yell, running over to his gift with repeated 'no way's that get higher and higher in volume with each utterance. All noise ceases when he finally reads the card, though. That's when Steve feels safe enough to drop his hands to his side and make his approach, a shy grin on his lips.

"Like it?"

"Y-You're my sweetheart?"

With a shrug, Steve once again cards a hand through his hair. "If you want me to be. I-I mean, I assumed you would want me to be with all the looks you've been giving me, a-and everything with the Upside Down. But if I've got that wrong, if...shit, maybe I should just-"

Their first kiss is messy, wet, and way too enthusiastic.

Eddie's all teeth from how wide he's smiling into the kiss, and Steve nearly falls over from the sheer force of the guy barreling into him. He grows a bit dizzy, too, from how firm Eddie's grip on his hair has him, and that does little for his already frazzled balance. But, it's perfect. It's so stupidly them and perfect and wild like Steve had hoped it to be, like Eddie hoped it to be.

Later, when Steve leaves Eddie to enjoy his guitar in peace and breathe because, yeah, he finds himself making a mental note to call Nancy when he's home. If this is what one round of highlights gets him, he'll be damned if they don't plan another round for touch ups soon.

Stepping inside, Steve catches sight of a blinking light on his answering machine that tells him Nancy'd be damned, too.

He smiles.

[cupidsdolll]

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; best friend!harry styles x best friend!fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 2.8k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲; harry’s always been there to lend a listening ear to his best friend. he shows her just how much he cares for her in the best way he knows how.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬; childhood friends to lovers, just fluff.

Y/N and Harry have been friends for as long as either of them can remember, all they can remember is that as little kids Harry would constantly come up to her in school and compliment her choice of nail polish. Time seems to blur by after that, the two young kids would spend their time discussing anything and everything that came to mind, the conversations never seeming to dull as they grew older. They stayed close throughout their school years and the years after they graduated, that was until he signed up for the X-Factor and won, being grouped together with four other boys and hence One Direction was born.

She was always supportive of his dream and wanted nothing more than him to be happy, so she happily sat on the sidelines and cheered from a distance. She was always one of the first to get their albums and she would attempt to get in contact with Harry as much as she could, but his rising fame and busy schedules it was hard to find the time to carry out a conversation. Conversations over the phone skimmed down to brief texts to check in, FaceTime calls filled with jokes turned into seeing him on the television screen, he barely had time for her anymore and it sucked.

Neither one had ever thought about the idea of not having the other in their life and now that it seemed it happening, she wishes they’d gotten the chance to talk about everything before Harry left to be a star. It was a big change to try to adapt to if she’s being honest, she went from seeing him numerous times a week and hanging out in her room to only being able to see him through a screen, it’s almost as if he was never there to begin with. If it weren’t for the woven bracelet sitting on his arm, she’d think he’d completely forgotten about her and that’s the worst thought ever. As happy as she is for him, the thought of him never being in her life again stirs a terrible feeling in her chest.

Years go by and it seems like Harry’s trying harder now to bring back the friendship, he’s texting more responses and making conversation while he’s getting his hair done, she expects pictures each time, sending her snippets of the songs they’re currently working on and she listens to each one right before bed in order to feel closer. She watches him grow up through a screen and magazines, his band goes on more interviews and they release more music and they go on tour. It seems as if so much is happening in such short time, and that feeling in her chest is back again when she realizes she’s missing out on all the major turning points in his life.

It saddens her to think about how much information she actually misses out on one day when she’s sprawled out on her bed in comfy clothes, her phone propped up on a pillow as she stares at the screen. Harry’s face fills the screen as she’s on FaceTime with him while he’s getting his hair ready for their tour.

“I still say you do a little ponytail.” She can’t help but laugh at her poor excuse of a joke, she’s been at this for the past couple minutes and the hairstylist has given up on listening to her ideas. He laughs loudly before clearing his throat.

“I’ll stick with my curls. How’s everything over there?” He asks and she sighs sadly, it’s when she has to be reminded that he isn’t here sucks.

“S’fine, I just miss you.” She doesn’t miss the way his face lights up at her admission.

“Miss you too, hopefully I’ll be home soon for a bit.”

More years passed, he came home whenever he was able to their friendship remained the same, while it’s not back to normal - it’s as normal as it’ll get when you’re friends with a member of a very popular boy band. He’d eagerly wrap her up in his arms before greeting the rest of his family, breathing her scent in deeply and he pulls away with a smile reserved just for her. It’s one that’s full of happiness and longing, she know that smile all too well because it’s the same one she gives him over the phone. She’d follow him around as he talks with everyone, only adding her input in when necessary. His family is hers as well, she’d even started making jokes with Anne about calling her mom in which she’d laugh before agreeing in how she sees her as one of her own.

It was the days he left to go back to his fame that hurts the most, a day full of holding back tears as she bids him goodbye with a tight hug and word’s whispered in each other ears. He would always promise to call as much as he can and she would simply nod with teary eyes. After several emotional goodbyes, Harry finally tears away from her and waves one last goodbye and he’s off. He’s off to go back to being a pop star, surrounded by his new found friends and his adoring fans and she already misses him more than ever.

She stayed with him throughout the entire span of his band and when he’d come home years later and said the band had broken up, she couldn’t help the part that was relieved that he was back for good now. He was home and she couldn’t have been happier, well maybe Anne and Gemma were happier but it doesn’t matter, she has her best friend back and that’s all she cares about. He spent as much time as he could with her and before they know it, the friendship was actually closer than it was before. He’d never judge her for her choice of men she’d date and she was always the one to reapply the coat of paint onto his hands.

Years passed and he released two albums, and in the process of writing another one, he was just stuck on a couple of songs. So while he was stuck working on his music, she’d go on dates. She’d managed to have several relationships throughout the years but Harry was always there to lend an ear as she would about horrible they are. He’d always known how a date when by how she entered the house, a door slamming shut accompanied by the sound of her bag hitting the floor her bag and plopping herself on the bed indicates a bad date or an ending of a relationship and today is no different.

He hears the sound of the door slamming shut accompanied by a loud huff as she stomps towards his bedroom. He can’t help but to sigh as he turns off his phone and setting to the side, ready to give her all of his undivided attention. Her footsteps become louder as she gets closer until he can hear her in front of his door, a soft knock fills the space and he quickly tells her it’s unlocked. She barges in with teary eyes and her body radiating anger, plopping herself into his bed and looking at him for the green light to begin her rant.

“Go ahead, what happened this time?” She nods softly before her mouth opens and words spill out of them.

“He’s such a dickwad, Harry. A misogynistic asswhipe. It’s been a month Har and he’s already talking about he wants me to stay home. He barely even talks to me as is!” He nods as he listens, he can’t help but to feel bad for his best friend to listen to her stories about guys that don’t care about her the way she deserves.

He’s heard almost every story in the book and he despises every time she gets excited about a new date. She’ll get happy and bounce around while she asks for his opinion on what to wear. He listens as she rambles on about hopefully this is different, she just has a feeling, and every time it’s just the same outcome just a different story line. It’s always ghosting after they hook up, they take advantage of her sweet personality, or they always assume she’s gonna put out before they even start the date. He knows she hates having to constantly have sex with so many people but in her words, it’s the only way she’s able to have somewhat of a love life.

It seems almost every other week, it’s the same story just different people and he takes notes of all the names listed. He remembers the most recent one, the one that would barely converse with her until late at night because he doesn’t wanna sleep alone, the conversation would linger for the day after in order to keep her hooked just for it die right back out and get her hopes up. All of her stories break his heart piece by piece, it clicks in his head as he holds her on his arms and allows her to let out all the emotions.

He’ll stay up late as he writes down lyrics in his notebook and record voice notes on his phone as he plays with the structure. He needs this to be just right, to portray the story and emotions he has in his head from his best friend. She never once questioned why he listened more intently now and would tap his thigh after she said certain things, would just bask in the moment and care for her best friend after a bad day.

At the beginning of April, Harry would mention how he’s performing for Coachella and offered to take her with him, so she can experience him in concert first hand. He’d beg and plead but ultimately left the decision up to her. He’d never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, he just wanted to experience this first hand in a futile attempt to show he was listening to every word she said, to show he cares for her deeply and to attempt to make up for the years they’d lost while he was in One Direction.

She ended up agreeing to go, and he quickly bought her tickets and make sure she has the best seats and the best view always, after all this could possibly change everything and it’s important to him that she gets this experience. So they drove over to California, the sound of their curated playlist just for this occasion blasting through the speakers as they drive down the street. Both parties happy as ever as they continue their journey across states, taking turns singing their favorite songs when they happen to come on.

----

The crowd is loud, full of fans waiting to see their favorite artists. The air is filled with the buzz and excitement mixed in with eager anticipation. Harry slowly walks up on stage and the crowd yells, going crazy as he prances down the catwalk wearing a rainbow sequined jumpsuit, catching the light and reflecting it back onto the fans. She watches with eager eyes as he introduces himself, resulting in more screams and she can’t help but to chuckle lightly at his adoring fans.

The show passes, he sings and she’ll sing along to the ones she knows, she’s happy to be able to watch him in his natural habitat. He pauses the show real quick to introduce the next song.

“Alright, we’re gonna sing a new song for you. This is the first time we’ve played it for anyone, so please be gentle. Who in the audience has ever had a boyfriend?” The crowd erupts into loud yells and whoops in agreement, and her eyes stay on Harry drinking him in.

“Who in the audience has never had a boyfriend?” More screams fill the air and she laughs lightly.

“This song is special to me, and I hope that someday it’ll be special to you as well. To boyfriends everywhere… fuck you.” He smiles lightly and grabs onto the mic, the crowd becoming even louder as the beginning chords begin to play through the speakers.

Boyfriends, they think you’re so easy. They take you for granted.

She can feel her heart shrink and then begin to swell as the melody and the soothing sound of his voice flowing into her ears. His eyes are closed as he sings, and she can’t help the tight feeling in her chest with every line. She knows why he was so adamant on her coming to this show and why he didn’t let her hear the album when he finished with it, it’s all clicking with every minute that passes.

You, you love a fool who knows how just to get under your skin. You, you still open the door. You’re no closer to him, now you’re halfway home. Only calling you when, don’t wanna be alone. Oh, and you go. Why? You don’t know.

She can’t help the sob that escapes from her lips, her body shaking at the realization of just how good of a best friend she has. He’s been there since day one and hasn’t let the fame or fortune change their dynamic and she’s never been more grateful. His eyes open and they wander over the crowd until he spots her, teary eyes as she furiously wipes them away in an attempt for him not to see them.

His heart softens as he watches her, her gaze never leaving him other than to close her eyes to try to stop more tears from falling. He can’t help the warmth rising through his body at the sight, he’s proud of himself for being able to write this song so perfectly but he’s mainly proud of her for choosing to wanting to continue dating, for choosing to keep putting herself out there. He tears his eyes away from her to look over the crowd again, smiling softly at a fan before waving at them, their faces match hers and he smiles. He’s made such an impact and the album isn’t even released yet.

The show ends and he runs off stage only to be greeted with his best friend’s angry face, her cheeks coated with tears as she walks towards him.

“This is why you wanted me to come so bad?” He nods his head as he holds out his arms, he knows she needs a hug.

“Don’t want it! You should’ve told me, you fucker.” He knows she’s been bad at expressing her emotions so she doesn’t mean it to sound so harsh. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots his bodyguard standing straighter, preparing to protect him from the emotional girl but he simply holds his hand out and shakes his head.

“M’sorry lovie. Didn’t wanna ruin the surprise. Wasn’t meant to make you cry.” His voice is soft and she shakes her head and laughs.

“Well you did, and everyone else watching was crying too!” Her voice wavers as she yells, her fist coming in contact with his chest so he quickly wraps his arms around her.

“I will listen to you always, you deserve the best. You don’t deserve the way those boys treat you, promise you’re worth so much more than that.” She sniffles as she wraps her arms around his waist, burrowing her face into his chest.

She feels overwhelmed with everything happening, all springing in her face at once, emotions she never realized she had for her best friend hit her like a truck and that’s all it takes for the dam to break, tears flooding onto his t-shirt as his grip on her tightens. He gently kisses the top of her head before she pulls away, her eyes glassy and puffy but full of love and appreciation.

“Love you, Har. So much.” He smiles before kissing her head once more and she sighs happily.

“I can give you the world, it’s always been you. No one else, just you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.” She nods before her eyes glance to his lips and back, quick enough to see his eyes dart back to hers. The world seems to fade away as they stand in their embrace, staring into each others eyes, in this moment it’s just them.

No crazy fans, no cameras, no loud music. He’s not some famous celebrity, he’s just Harry and she’s just his best friend as they teeter over the thin line. She leans forward slowly, allowing him time to reject her advances and for them to stay friends, but it never comes. He leans in as well, and before they know it, their lips mesh together softly. The kiss is soft, sweet and tender, one that replicates their friendship over the years and the amount of pure and genuine love they shared. She pulls away with a soft giggle and he gives her a gentle squeeze before they head back to their car, hand in hand and both of their bodies radiating nothing but happiness.

He’s never been one to keep secrets, but he’s glad he kept this one.

[justgowithitplease]

jason todd with the valentines day special pleasee

YOU'RE SO GOOD TO ME

It was Valentine's Day, yet Jason still had patrol. God you hated it. You couldn't have one night home with your boyfriend without it being disrupted or cancelled. Not even on the holiday of love. Fuck, even Bruce and Selina had taken the night off.

You were in yours and Jason's apartment, laying on your bed in the dark. The only light in the room was from your phone, which was filled with images from your friends Instagrams of their boyfriends and fiancé(e)s and husbands.

They were having an amazing night with fancy restaurants while you were worrying if your lover would make it back home or not.

You let your phone flop out of your hand and onto the bed as you reach to his side of the bed. Your fingers dig into his pillow as you drag it over to you. You hug it tightly, taking in a big breath to inhale the scent of rain and motorcycle grease. An odd yet comforting smell.

You slowly start to drift off to sleep, the warmth of the blankets and the darkness of the room pulling you into it's depths. Your breathing slows down as your eyelashes flutter, you finally sleeping.

An hour or so later, you're woken up by the familiar sound of military boots and kevlar hitting the ground. The door opens a few seconds later, revealing an exhausted looking Jason.

He's in black cargo pants made with kevlar woven in, and a long sleeved black shirt. His dark brown hair is ruffled and messy. The white stripe in the front of his hair is on the right side of his face instead of the left where it usually is.

"Jaybird?" You mutter sleepily, looking over at him as you rub sleep from your eyes

"...hi love..." he whispers softly "I gotta cut on my side. D'yah mind patchin' me up?"

You nod, getting up. You stand up and trudge over to the bathroom, flicking on the lights. Both yours and Jason's eyes squint from the sudden intrusion on your corneas.

Jason leans against the sink counter, you rummaging through the drawers. You pull out some hydrogen peroxide, gauze, and pre wrap you bought for things like this.

You turn on the sink and wet a square of gauze. You press it to the gash on the side of his ribs, getting rid of the dried blood crusting the shirt to his body. He helps lift his shirt up, keeping it off the wound as you clean it.

He's done this enough times, been beaten and cut so much the sting of the cleaner doesn't hurt. And he's not really one who's sappy, so he's never tell you this, but it hurts a little less when you're cleaning his wounds.

You put the gauze over his wound, wrapping pre wrap around his ribs to keep the gauze on. He takes off his shirt and replaces it with a spare green T-shirt from off the bathroom floor. He watches you put the med kit back, his grey eyes tracing you.

You walk out of the bathroom, flicking the lights off as you leave. You lift up the covers on the bed and crawl under, the warmth threatening to take you immediately if it weren't for Jason's weight appearing next to you.

As you two lay comfortably in the silence and darkness, Jason shifts over to lay his head on your chest and have his arms draped over your hips. His body heat soaks into you, pulling you deeper and deeper into the almost irresistible urge to sleep. The only reason you don't is because his whispers reach your ears before you can.

"You're so good to me." Jason whispers softly "Happy Valentine's Day love. Sorry it sucks."

[tsawksyul]

『 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 』

· Pairings: Neteyam x Na'vi Reader

· Summary: He shows how much he cherish everything that comes from you.

· CW: 2k // Fluff. Slight Hurt/Comfort.

It was the afternoon when the people of Omatikaya clan were actively doing their own thing. Neteyam is currently talking to his father. The Olo'eyktan was calling him on our walk around the village so he had to stop by. You wait for him to finish as you sit on the log nearby, grabbing a string with beads from the small woven pouch attached on the back of your loincloth band, and start making a simple bracelet to pass the time.

A few minutes later, Neteyam's conversation with his father concludes, and he turns with a smile on his face when he sees you. He walks towards you and sits down beside you on the log.

“Hey there, darling,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist. He leans his head against your shoulder and brings his cheek closer to your face. “What are you working on?” he asks, looking at your bracelet.

“Just a very simple bracelet, nothing special,” you say as your thumb traces the beads. Your body, mind, and soul are always in peace when you feel him close like this.

Neteyam hums in response to your words as his fingers trail down your arm gently. His warm, loving touch is always welcome, and it never fails to send a tingle down your spine. He looks down at the bracelet once again.

“It may be simple, but I find it beautiful nonetheless.” His fingertips run down your hands, caressing your fingers as his thumb gently strokes the beads of your bracelet. His eyes meet yours, and his lips curl into a warm, loving smile.

“Your conversation with your father got rather long so I decided to do something,” you say with a slightly playful tone, giving him a peck on his temple.

Neteyam chuckles at your tone and kisses you back on your temple. “Sorry it took so long, I didn't mean to keep you waiting. We had a lot to discuss about the clan's future plans. I'm glad you kept yourself occupied while I was gone,” he says, nuzzling his cheek against your shoulder.

“How is your little bracelet-making project going? Are you almost done?” he asks, still caressing your hand. “Yes, I'm done. Besides, it's just a string filled with beads.” You show him the full length of the bracelet.

Neteyam smiles at you when you show the bracelet to him. “It's just a simple string with beads to you, but it is a piece of art in my eyes.” He takes the bracelet in his hands, examining it and running his fingers over the beads. “There is something beautiful in the things you deem insignificant.”

“You're too kind with your compliments, love.” You shake your head with a small chuckle as you see the way he holds on to it, like this simple creation of a few minutes is equal to hours of work that creates a more complicated piece.

“I merely speak the truth. A couple of beads placed on a string can make for a beautiful moment if it is crafted by your hands.” He looks at you intently as he says this. “You have a talent for making simple things seem grand and beautiful. You truly are amazing, my love.”

“Well, thank you.” You chuckle again at his compliments but accept them nonetheless. “Will you accept it if I give it to you?” You ask him rather playfully.

“I would be honored to accept your gift.” He smiles warmly and lightly touches your cheek. He reaches out and brings the bracelet closer to him, staring at it for a while. “Thank you, my love. I will keep it with me always.”

True to his words, he'd always keep the bracelet. The small string decorated with equally small beads is always there around his wrist, everywhere and every time. If anyone asked why he always wears it, he simply answers, “Because I'm bringing a piece of my love with me,” with a warm smile.

But a few months later, he lost it. He enters the tent in a rather sulky mood after his hunt for the day. “Welcome home, my love.” You sit up from the sleeping mat to greet him and kiss him on his lip, your arms wrapped around his waist to hug him as you rest your head on his shoulder.

He comes into the tent with a weary expression on his face, clearly tired after a long day's hunt. Seeing you greet him as he enters the tent brings a small smile to his face as he returns the kiss. Neteyam sighs and looks down at the ground as you embrace him. You can notice that his demeanor is more sullen than usual, he is quieter and seems a bit distant from you.

“What is it, my love?” You caress his hair as he rests his head on your shoulder as well, noticing how down he looked since he came back home. “What has gotten you like this, hm?” You ask again, your fingers running along his braids.

“Something happened during my hunt today... I lost something dear to me, and I'm not quite sure how to handle it.” He looks down at his wrist and notices that the bracelet you made is not there.

“What…?” You pull away from the embrace to look at him rather concerningly and curious about what he's implying. “What do you mean? Are you alright?” your other hand reaches up to his face, caressing his cheek with your thumb gently to comfort him.

“I lost the bracelet you gave me. I'm so sorry.” He says with a soft voice. “I have been searching for it all day after the hunt, but it seems I won't find it again.” His voice is sulky, like he blames himself for the loss.

“Oh...” You hold his hand where the string-beaded bracelet always embraces his wrist. You sigh in relief when you realize that nothing terrible happened during his hunt. “You lost it?” You ask for confirmation, looking up at him as your thumb caresses the inner side of his wrist.

He nods down at you. “I lost it during my hunt.” His voice is still sulky. “I know you say it was only a simple string with beads, but it meant a lot to me. I do miss having it around my wrist.” He glances down at the wrist where the missing bracelet used to be. A look of loss crosses his face as he thinks about it.

“I'm sorry I lost it. To think that I have lost the bracelet you gave me is making me feel terrible. I wish I could make it up to you somehow, but I have to accept that I was irresponsible and careless.” His expression is now completely dejected, and he looks down at his hands in defeat.

You look at him with a mix of awe and surprise that he takes this very simple piece of small ornament seriously to the point he's sulking and blaming himself for losing it. “My beloved...” You sigh as you keep caressing his cheek, internally trying not to chuckle at this dramatic but reasonable display. “Don't beat yourself over it. It's okay... It's just a string filled with beads, remember?” You try to comfort him.

“I know it's a simple string of beads, but it was a gift from you, my love. This is what makes it special. I don't care how simple it is. The fact that you made it is enough to make it the most precious thing in the world to me.” He looks into your eyes, his gaze full of emotion. You can see how much he truly cared about that bracelet.

You smile at his words, appreciating the way he cherishes every little thing that you give to him: words, action, material, anything you have to offer, he will gladly accept it with open arms. You know how that string of beads has become really important to him, especially when he wears it all the time for a few months since he first received it, despite how replaceable it is. The fact that he managed to keep that small thing attached for a few months is already surprising. You thought it would get lost after days since it's delicate due to the size of the material.

“How about I make you another one? This time, I will make it out of love, not out of boredom.” You suggest. “It will be more special. I will make it stronger with more strings and beads, so it won't run away from its rightful place.” You give him a cheery smile to comfort him again.

Neteyam's eyes light up as you make the offer to make him a new bracelet. “You would do that for me?” A genuine, warm smile spreads across his face. He reaches up and gently traces your cheek, his thumb drifting down to your lips. “You are too good to me.” You can see the love and gratitude in his eyes as he looks at you.

“Hm,” you nod in confirmation with a hum. “It will be way better, I promise.” You smile in assurance, leaning to his hand on my cheek. The look of appreciation on his face speaks volumes. He softly squeezes your hand and rests his head on your shoulder again. “You are too kind, my love. Thank you for making me another one. It truly does mean a lot to me.” He looks at you with soft, loving eyes. He takes your hand and gently kisses it.

You make the bracelet from strings and beads with stronger structure which takes a longer time. He never leaves your side, he even pulls you onto his lap as he hugs your waist from behind, resting himself on your back, and leaving soft kisses on the back of your shoulder every once in a while.

“There, all done.” You announce, trying to stretch your body from long time sitting in the same position in the limited space of his hold and show it to him. Neteyam takes the bracelet from you and inspects it with a smile. “It's beautiful. You put so much time and effort into this.” He brings his wrist closer to you and gently holds out his arm. “Would you mind putting it back on me again?” The look he has is that of a child happy about a new toy. You can tell he truly loved the bracelet you made for him.

You gladly put the bracelet of strings with beads around his wrist, admiring the way it fits and decorates his hand. Neteyam's face lights up as you put the bracelet on his wrist. He turns his head towards you and smiles. “I love it. I love everything you do for me. You are truly wonderful, my love.” You can see the happiness on his face as he looks at you. The bracelet really is precious to him, and he promises you and himself to take good care of it.

“Don't I deserve a reward?” You ask with a playful look. His gaze runs down your face, and his eyes light up at your request. His expression is full of admiration as he leans in closer to you. “I think I have just the reward for you,” he says, his voice low. He takes your chin and gently turns your face towards him, his eyes locked with yours, your lips just an inch away. You lean a bit more to press your lips together in a sweet kiss.

Neteyam hums as your lips meet his. His lips are soft and tender as they explore yours, and he takes his time, enjoying the feeling of your lips against his. He holds the kiss for a long time before finally pulling away. His gaze is filled with passion, and his breath heavy. He gently caresses your cheek.

“I wouldn't lose this bracelet even for the world.” He gently presses his forehead to yours, breathing in your scent. “It's perfect, just like you.” He gently pulls your face closer to him and kisses you again. 

Once again, true to his words, he keeps the bracelet dearly. If he can't wear it due to some circumstances, he would just hang it on the band of his loincloth. The bracelet made of strings with beads always embraces his wrist ever since.

My first Neteyam piece ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و♡

[storiesoflilies]

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N: Aaand he’s here!!!! Happy Valentine’s Day everyone, spread the love and feels, enjoy the chapter! <3 Ko-Fi.

Next Part - Chapter 5

-•-

Chapter 4

In the stillness of the dead of night, she felt it. An aura that somehow cast a veil of darkness so profound that it deepened the already foreboding sky of Hell. It was a spine-tingling symphony, a waltz of electricity, setting her heart pulsating with tantalizing anticipation. Unfolding in hues of emerald and midnight, it crept towards her, fueled by desire and urgency.

He’s here.

Y/N could feel him acutely, a phantom presence that transcended the actual physical distance between them. In the hushed serenity of her room, she sensed his approach to her – for her. Was she to be gathered and taken to his kingdom like a cherished flower? Or was she to be claimed and ripped away from Geto like a debt owed? It was as if she was a coveted prize rightfully won for eternally silencing the very thunder and might of the Angels.

Only a few hours had passed since her conversation with her brother, and she had only experienced bouts of fitful sleep amidst the pulsating back pain. So she had been awake well before she heard the door creak open and the light pitter-patter of footsteps approaching her bed. A hand placed itself on her shoulder, softly shaking it, and Y/N opened her eyes to look at who had disturbed her.

“Apologies for waking you,” a young girl with dark brown hair whispered softly. Another, her twin, with caramel hair, stood silently behind her. “Your presence is required, and we have been instructed to dress you.”

She knew these girls; she had seen them in Heaven not two moons ago. They were Geto’s young protégés, taken under his wing after their parents had died: Nanako and Mimiko. They must have chosen to follow him on his mission to rain hellfire upon Heaven. Y/N nodded her head, slowly rising from the bed, the sheets rustling as she moved. The twins hurried over, their arms hovering around her to support her while she found her footing. Despite the fiery pain in her back, she managed to stand, albeit shakily. Nanako swiftly moved over to the deep wooden wardrobe opposite the bed, and retrieved a black yukata from within it. Together, the twins donned the garment on her, and tied a simple white sash belt around her waist to complete the ensemble. Guided to the vanity table, Y/N settled onto the small wooden stool before the extravagant mirror, allowing the girls to brush and smooth her hair into a style reminiscent of Geto’s.

Indeed, she almost laughed at how similarly dressed she was to her brother. Had the twins done so intentionally of their own accord, or perhaps they had been ordered to? It was a powerful statement regardless; as if her and Geto were bound together by blood woven into the same familial tapestry, boldly asserting that she wouldn’t be so easily surrendered to him - to Toji. The twins seemed unperturbed by the charged atmosphere; Nanako looked almost irritated, while Mimiko displayed no particular emotion on her face.

Impatience.

“Mimiko, where is Suguru?” Y/N asked, hastily rising from the stool, spurred on by his emotions coursing through the bond, while the girls hovered close by her as she took urgent steps outside the bedroom.

Mimiko raised her eyebrows, perhaps surprised that Y/N even remembered her name, “He’s waiting for you in the throne room. We’ll take you there.”

The trio walked wordlessly down the seemingly endless corridors of Geto’s halls. The walls were made of dark stone, adorned with grand paintings depicting portraits, landscapes, and great battles fought both in Hell and on Earth. Memories of Gojo’s tower came to mind, but where his abode was pristine and crisp, Geto’s palace reflected his new enigmatic and frosty personality. Windows lined the top of the walls, yet no light shone through them, and Y/N doubted any ever had before. Perhaps no light could penetrate this deep into the Earth. How then, were they able to detect the passing of time? Did the residents of Hell simply yield to their passing whims, indulging in eating and sleeping whenever they felt like it?

She didn’t dislike that thought, it was almost liberating.

His aura intensified the longer they walked, and Y/N knew they must be approaching the throne room. She swallowed a thick lump in her throat, the gravity of impending events settling deep in her stomach. Her scar seemed sinister, a damning signature of Toji’s ownership; physical evidence that would be hard to deny his claim. After enduring her seemingly impending death in Mahito’s prison, she was going to face him again. Could he feel everything she experienced during her imprisonment? The air thickened in anticipation as Nanako opened the doors to the throne room, and they all stepped forward.

Y/N eyes immediately locked on to him.

The tension was palpable, charged with both peril and allure as they faced each other. His deep green eyes bore into her, dangerously enticing, moulding a direct connection between them that cut through the space separating them. His whole essence exuded power; his burly build commanded attention as he stood a considerable distance from Geto’s throne. His midnight hair was tousled, framing the contours of his jawline, and she couldn’t help but notice the scar gracing the corner of his lips; as deep and violent as he was. She was magnetized, her soul yearned for her body to be close to him, and yet she stayed put. The twins placed her to stand a step below the throne where her brother sat pensively, then quickly scuttled out of the room. The atmosphere seemed to have finally provoked a reaction from them, and perhaps they were wise to run from the scene.

Toji’s eyes hardened as he took her in, his jaw tightening, and his thick forearms flexed with barely restrained fury. A peculiar, worm-like Curse coiled around his build like a snake, reacting to the movement of its master. Y/N looked down, unable to bear the anger in his gaze, while Geto shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Bring him here,” Toji commanded lowly, prompting her to look up sharply at the sound of his voice.

He sounded like the rumbling of a distant thunderstorm; Y/N thought she could listen to him forever.

Geto nodded and waved his hand at an unseen servant lurking in the shadows behind the throne. Within seconds, a flaming portal materialized in the center of the room, and a disheveled Mahito tumbled through as if he had been forcefully shoved. He fell to the ground, undignified and pathetic, yet his eyes gleamed with all the madness of a cornered animal about to strike.

Rage.

A black flash tore through the air.

Toji reacted instantaneously, a violent burst of movement as he closed the distance between him and his prey with supernatural swiftness. He struck Mahito in a symphony of uncontrolled chaos, the ferocity of his brutal blows leaving no room for even an ounce of mercy. The air crackled as the tension broke through the whirlwind of Toji’s relentless attack, and Y/N felt an unsettling, sick sense of satisfaction, entranced by the visceral ballet of vengeance unfolding before her. Every strike echoed not only physically but also emotionally, as her kidnapper and Nanami’s killer finally faced his punishment. It was thrilling to even think that Toji was driven to such a profound level of violence just for her.

How much had she had changed since descending into Hell? Y/N found herself actually wishing pain upon a living soul – even one as black as Mahito’s – and it was a startling realization.

“You’re. A. Fucking. Child. You don’t know. What. The word. NO. Means,” Toji hissed between blows, his fury punctuating each word as he struck right into Mahito’s throat, robbing the Curse of any possibility of a reply.

His onslaught ceased as abruptly as it had begun, leaving the air heavy with the remnants of violence. Toji stood over the broken form of Mahito, his broad chest heaving; displaying a calmness that starkly contrasted against his previous fury. An uneasy stillness seeped back into the room, and Geto leaned forward on his throne, meeting Toji’s expectant gaze.

“What exactly did you have planned for this one?” Toji inquired, his voice now resonating like a loud thunderclap.

“I thought I would leave that decision to you, given the circumstances,” Geto replied carefully, his words deliberately measured.

Her brother appeared uncharacteristically reserved, walking on eggshells, carefully considering every word and movement in the presence of the superior king.

“Smart, but the question still remains of what to do with him,” Toji hummed, giving Mahito’s crumpled body a pointed kick. The Curse made no sound, lying there almost lifeless, yet his eyes and mouth were wide open, staring at Toji in shock.

“You can kill him if you wish, I have no objection,” Geto suggested.

He chuckled darkly and raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with her brother, “I don’t need your permission or approval. Do you need another reminder of your place here?”

Geto said nothing, and Toji’s threat settled heavily in Y/N’s chest. What sort of torment had he inflicted on her brother? Moreover, what had Geto done to warrant it?

“I can’t kill him, the others would ask too many questions,” Toji muttered, crossing his arms. “I assume you haven’t told anyone else about… this situation.”

“As far as everyone is aware, you are hunting Satoru Gojo’s wife to eliminate her and his possible spawn. Nobody is aware of Mahito’s involvement in all of this… or your bond with my sister,” Geto replied smoothly.

Toji’s eyebrows raised once more, and he smirked, “Sister, huh? What a happy family reunion.”

His forest green eyes swept over Y/N again, and she sucked in a breath as she felt her body sway under his intense gaze. Their connection snapped into focus again, and she could sense all the churning emotions within his soul swirling like a stormy sea. It was so curious how he somehow managed to maintain his cool and collected exterior, while she was crippled and barely able to speak. Geto cleared his throat, visibly irked, abruptly interrupting their moment. Toji’s eyes flicked over to her brother, annoyance flickering in his irises, and his anger rose steadily like a wave building momentum to crash onto the shore. She tensed, fists clenching, readying herself to bear witness to another episode of violence between him and Geto. Yet, she refused to stand by idly and watch; Y/N would defend her brother just as he had defended her. He had saved her life more than once, and she was worth less than nothing if she didn’t attempt to do the same. Of course Toji noticed her shift in energy, his eyes flashing as he let out an exaggerated sigh, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Effort… dwindling anger.

“Mahito is to remain in prison for the rest of his days,” Toji gritted, eyes opening again to glare at Geto. “You say to the others that he deliberately hid her from me, despite knowing about the bounty, and this is his punishment. Is that clear?”

“Agreed,” Geto said, waving his hand once more. The same fiery portal appeared once more, sucking Mahito’s battered body back through it and zapping closed.

It was deathly silent now, and the pair watched and waited for Toji to continue his demands, the gears in his head turning as he deliberated.

“As for your sister, well… I have no cause to kill her. She is not pregnant with the Six Eyes’ child, and has obviously become one of us now. That’s what you and I will say if any of the others ask about her,” he continued.

Toji stalked towards the throne, his steps deliberate and menacing, until he stood a mere foot away from Y/N. He towered over her, staring deep into her eyes. Geto stood up abruptly, clearly unhappy with his proximity. What exactly he planned on doing she didn’t know, but her soulmate ignored her brother this time.

“Hey you, what’s your name?” Toji demanded, voice deep and haunting, lingering like smoke, as he addressed her directly for the first time.

“Y/N,” she whispered.

He licked his lips, savoring her name like a sweet, and a jolt of energy rushed through her as he hummed, “Do you want me dead, Y/N? For killing your husband.”

Oh, how she loved the sound of her name on his lips; it was divine. She could listen to him forever.

“He wasn’t my husband.”

Interest… relief.

Toji smirked, head tilting to the side as he continued. “I corrupted you, little angel. My sinful soul is bound to you now, and you’ve been cast out of Heaven because of me. Are you sure you don’t want to kill me anyways?”

Her heart hammered as he took a step closer, and she thought he might just reach out and touch her. Toji had figured out the reason for her becoming a curse quicker than she thought, but it wasn’t the only reason. Geto’s energy shifted dangerously, Y/N could feel his power gathering; dark shadows gathering beneath his feet like a serpent ready to strike if Toji took so much as another inch forward – who wasn’t fazed in the slightest. He stood taller than them all; a storm that wouldn’t be deterred from its course. She knew if he wanted to take her away by force, he absolutely could.

“No,” she finally said.

“Hmm, good. In that case, I think it best we have a little arrangement, you and I,” Toji said, finally turning his head up to acknowledge Geto.

“Such as?” Her brother asked, suspicion lacing his words, as his eyes narrowed, his power subsiding just a fraction.

“Consider us allies from here on out. I will not attack you, nor you me, although I doubt you even have the strength to attempt that. So long as Y/N remains here with you, she is not to ascend to Earth for any reason, and in return I expect that your doors are always open for me.”

Toji continued, his words reverberating throughout the room like thunder. “Us three in this room will not speak a word to anyone else of Y/N’s bond with me. You have enough enemies as it is Geto, and my old family aren’t exactly fond of me either. They all don’t need much excuse to kill a Fallen, you know.”

“You may be sending us both to war with this secret alliance,” Geto said. “The others will not appreciate an agreement like this. We are far too powerful united.”

Toji snorted. “We are by no means united, but let them try. If you both keep it together, nobody will figure it out.”

It was silent, and Y/N looked up at her brother, who met her gaze. She could discern any hint on his face as to what he would decide, but was it really a choice? If he said no, what would Toji do? Would it be considered war if he denied another King? In a way, it was just as when Gojo had proposed; only offering an illusion of choice.

“Well?” He huffed impatiently. “Do you agree?”

“Agreed,” Geto gritted, his jaw stiff.

Toji smirked, and looked down at her once more.

“Well then little angel, I’m assuming you would like to stay and catch up with your brother. I’m sure there’s so much you still have to talk about,” he mocked, sly and cruel, his scar stretching as he spoke down to her.

Y/N could only nod, his proximity both exhilarating and debilitating, but she was surprised. Toji had given her a choice, like a fleeting and fragile bloom that lingered just within her grasp. Geto had made it seem Toji would come plundering through his halls to whisk her away, dragging her deeper into his layer of Hell and all his sins. Y/N loathed herself in that moment, her injuries left her incapable of defending herself, and her grief silenced her from speaking up for herself. She was just a pawn in a chess game between monsters and gods; completely out of her depth, like a lost child, not much better than Mahito condemned in prison. Her back started to throb painfully, perhaps because she had been standing too long, or perhaps her self-depreciation had reminded her of the pain that had been there all along. Toji cocked his head at her, his eyes flashing, questioning her without words.

… apologetic?

“I suppose it’s getting late,” he yawned widely, fake and exaggerated. “Take care of yourselves and stay out of trouble, yeah?”

Toji snapped his fingers, and a flaming portal opened up behind him with a thunderous roar. He strode towards it, his back turned to them, the worm slithering menacingly around his arms in loops. Suddenly, he stopped just before the portal, his presence casting a looming and ominous shadow over the room.

And then, he was gone.

-•-

Soon, Y/N discovered, was entirely subjective to Toji’s passing whims.

Two months had dragged by since she, and even Geto for that matter, had seen her Curse in the flesh. Every morning, her heart leaped and mind raced, wondering whether that day would be the day she saw him again. But it never happened, and her brother thought it strange too, considering how fast Toji had arrived when he found out where she was. She couldn’t feel any of his emotions through their bond; perhaps it only sparked to life like a wildfire when they were about to stand face to face. Still, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling a piece of his puzzle had slotted comfortably into her being – a constant and comforting presence that she yearned for, but remained in the background just out of reach.

Despite Toji’s absence, Y/N threw herself wholeheartedly into her recovery process, taking it one day at a time. Her wounds had healed over nicely, leaving two large scars resembling whip lashes on her back where her wings had once been. Though they twinged from time to time, she was no longer crippled, and that was what mattered most. Geto had even resumed sparring with her, trying to help strengthen her muscles and body again, which stirred deep memories with her of her old life.

“You and Nanami fight exactly the same way, and you don’t even use anything I taught you,” he had commented under his breath, as he easily dodged Y/N, preventing her from landing a critical blow.

“That’s not a bad thing,” she huffed, irritated that she had not managed to land a hit on her brother yet. She was still too stiff and wildly unbalanced, partly due to the missing weight of her wings. However, she found she was far more agile than she was before – if only she could control it.

“Hah, you’re like a baby learning to walk,” he snorted, as she fell over quite hard into the dirt, having overestimated how far up into the air she could leap.

She glared at him hard, wiping the sweaty grime from her forehead. “It makes no sense. How can I jump higher without wings?”

“It’s a blessing about becoming a Curse,” Geto smirked, holding a hand out to help her up. “I like to think it was done to help us fight Angels flying in the sky, although most of us learn how to fly without wings with cursed energy.”

“I know that already, but why can’t I control it?” Y/N snapped as Geto hauled her up. She wasn’t really angry; it was more annoyance of her own failings, and her brother’s perfection: his perfect robes, his perfect hair with not a single strand out of place, and his perfectly annoying ability to excel at everything.

Geto laughed gently, “You will sweet sister, one step at a time. Now… let’s try again.”

And such was the routine most days. The mornings and afternoons were spent with sparring, while the evenings were dedicated to swimming in a large, deep pool underneath the palace. It was connected to different rooms within the palace, like her bedroom and Geto’s room, via secret passageways carved into the foundations of the mountain where her brother’s abode was built. It led to the center of the mountain, where there was a large pool, and another small, narrow passage that led directly out of the mountain. Y/N enjoyed it; the water was warm, perhaps even scalding, but her body had well adjusted to the heat of Hell. It was also secluded, which she greatly appreciated, allowing the pair to swim without any other Curses overlooking them.

It was during these evenings that Geto taught her the politics and ways of life of her new world, and it was not long after Toji’s visit that Y/N had asked him about the threat against him.

“In Hell,” Geto began, a dark look ghosting his face like a fog. “If you challenge a King to a fight to the death and they lose, you have every right to take their place. And that’s what happened. I won against the previous King – Kashimo Hajime.”

Kashimo had commanded the very lightning of storm clouds; Y/N had seen his portraits still proudly hanging in the hallways of the palace. With hair as vibrant as a cyan sea and eyes to match, he looked every bit as crazed and untamable as the power he wielded; a force of nature confined to a Cursed form. Their battle would have been a sight to behold, a spectacle beyond compare.

“You challenged him when you first turned?” Y/N asked, surprised, her eyebrows raised as her arms rested against the edge of the pool while Geto sat with his legs in the water.

He shook his head. “No, he tried to kill me. I killed him first.”

“Why’d he want to kill you?”

Geto kicked his legs in the water, splashing her from the side. “How do I put this? Not all Curses here seem to think beings like us are equal to them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that true-born Curses do not deem Fallen Angels to be proper Curses. They think we are inferior to them, and they do not trust us or respect us because we were born in Heaven.”

“So… he tried to kill you for being an Angel? But you chose to fall, and other Fallen Angels are no different to true-born Curses energy, they’re all the same.”

“I know that sister, but how can you try and explain prejudice? Because that’s what it is, and that is the way Hell is. There are more true-born Curses nowadays than Fallen than in the olden days of Sukuna.”

Y/N was perplexed. “Well, what about Sukuna then?”

“What about him?” Geto asked, using his arms to push himself off the ledge and propel himself into the pool. His broad strokes cut through the water, and he leaned his head back as he swam, soaking his silken hair.

“He is a Fallen, or have they all forgotten?”

“They conveniently forget, I suppose. Sukuna’s power as a Curse is so great to the point that one forgets who he ever was before. It simply doesn’t register that he is anything other than a Curse. He was the original Curse, from where they were all born, even if his origin wasn’t a true-born.”

They were silent for a while, and Y/N did a few more laps of the pool before taking a break and swimming back towards Geto.

“So Hajime tried to kill you for being a Fallen?” she asked, bringing the conversation back around.

“Not exactly,” Geto said, letting her hang from him behind from him in the water, her arms draped over his shoulders like a cloak. “He claimed he didn’t like my plans for the war against Heaven, but I think he undermined in front of the others, so he tried to kill me to teach a lesson to other Fallen about what happens when they try to lead.”

“That obviously didn’t work,” Y/N remarked quietly, leaning her chin on his shoulder.

“No… no it didn’t.”

“So, how did you manage to anger another King of Hell during your first month here? Idiot.”

“Hmm, I admit after killing Hajime that I became a little… cocky. I challenged Toji for the rule of the Second Layer, my reasoning being that it would be easier to wage my war if I had two of the most powerful armies behind my back. I’d acquired power rather quickly, I wanted more, and I suppose it got to my head.”

Geto grimaced, and looked down at the giant ragged scar that reached all the way from his torso to his chest. “This is the result of my said idiocy.”

We’re both marked forever by his brutality.

“Why he let me live, I don’t know,” Geto continued, gently shaking her off his shoulders and exiting the pool. “Maybe you can ask him the next time you have a chat.”

Her stomach churned and bubbled with nerves at the thought of meeting Toji again, but she said nothing.

“Is he… a Fallen?” Y/N asked uncertainly, apprehension in her voice. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“True-born, traditionally procreated between Curses,” Geto replied smoothly, squeezing the water from his hair. “He belongs to the Zenin Clan of the Fifth Layer, where his cousin Naoya is King. Toji left the clan hundreds of years ago; I think it had something to do with his lack of cursed energy. He changed his last name to Fushiguro some time after that.”

“I see.”

Geto motioned with his hand for her to come over. “Come, let’s go and eat. I’ll tell you more about the rest of the Kings.”

Her brother was true to his word. As they ate later that evening, he told her everything he knew about them all. Sukuna himself had never ascended to Earth since the day he fell from Heaven, keeping much to his own kingdom – the Malevolent Shrine was his palace where he was almost a recluse. He apparently only bothered with Curse business within Hell, and even then he rarely emerged. Whenever the Kings of Hell decided to meet all together, Sukuna himself never came – instead sending his representative Uraume to watch, listen, and report back to him. What he did with that information, nobody knew, for there never was a reaction or repercussion.

The Fourth Layer King was called Jogo, a cruel and ill-tempered Curse that seemed to be born from the very volcanic mountains that spewed the Earth in ash and malice. Him and his retinue were the most mistrustful and hateful of her brother, turning up their noses to him as if they smelled something foul. Geto guessed they would be the first to declare open enmity toward him if it ever came down to it. Meanwhile, Naoya Zenin was a smug and pretentious bastard, according to Geto, who spread venom and lies with his honeyed words. The Zenin’s had ruled the Fifth Layer for nearly as long as Sukuna had been a Curse, and their prejudice was by far the worst, especially against those they deemed lesser than themselves.

Choso Kamo was King of the Sixth Layer, and Geto didn’t seem to know much about him. However, he was the first instance of the product between a Curse and Angel procreating together. Therefore, he had received much abuse from the other Kings before Geto had arrived – who was now the new target of their malice, but his strength as King kept them from overstepping thus far. He ruled both the Sixth and Seventh Layer; the latter not really a kingdom, more so a breeding ground for Curses to be conceived and born. It was Choso’s duty to root through the dirt and find gold, and more often than not his prodigies were taken away by other Kings to join their armies instead of his. Y/N couldn’t help but pity him, wondering what became of his parents, for she’d never heard of his story before.

Until it happened to her, Y/N never even thought a Curse and Angel could become soulmates.

-•-

Y/N pushed open the door to her bedroom, her fingers absentmindedly twirling her freshly washed and smoothed hair. Another thing she couldn’t get used to in her new life was the twins. Nanako and Mimiko waited on her, helped her bathe and dress every morning and night, and changed her bandages whenever her wounds were more severe. They helped her to navigate Geto’s palace, a blessing; the amount of times Y/N got lost was too numerous to count, and the twins had somehow known where she was every time. From what she could tell, the twins seemed to like her well enough, though perhaps that was only due to her relationship with Geto, whom they adored. Which was fair enough – trust and respect had to be earned. But she couldn’t help but feel they all shared the same battle of being Fallen amidst true-born Curses, and therefore she felt some kinship to them already.

Y/N hadn’t faced open disdain from any of the other Curses in her brother’s court. Perhaps some hesitant and suspicious looks, but nobody really went out of their way to speak to her. However, they weren’t entirely opposed if she came up to them with a question – mainly about her brothers whereabouts, or about the identities of the faces in the portraits on the wall. It was strange; she hadn’t considered the possibility of prejudice until Geto had mentioned it, and now it weighed heavily on her mind. Y/N felt she had to tread even more carefully to avoid inadvertently causing offense; her brother had already risked enough to save her life and keep her hidden.

She shut the door behind her, and clicked the lock shut for the night. Her eyes had somehow sharpened over the past two months, and she could now discern the slight darkening of the sky, signaling night had fallen on Heaven and Earth. It helped to structure a rough routine for a time to sleep. The twins had changed her bedsheets for her, opting for a deep mauve color instead of bla–

Y/N froze.

Her balcony door was swung wide open, definitely not as she or the twins would have left it.

She cautiously approached the door, her senses on high alert. Had someone managed to breach through all of Geto’s defenses and entered her room? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and her mind raced with terrifying possibilities. Had the real reason she was in Hell become public knowledge, prompting an assassin to come and kill her? She lightly stepped just before the doorframe, peaking out onto the balcony.

Toji stood leaning casually against the bronze railing of the balcony, an air of nonchalance about him as he gazed out into the dark expanse beyond the mountain.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N exclaimed, apprehension and relief flooding her, her paranoia crashing down like a waterfall. His presence was equal parts alarming and comforting.

He turned to look at her, shrugging casually. “Just passing through,” he replied cryptically.

His gaze lingered on her longer than necessary, and she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“Does my brother know you’re here?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as if he was going to burst through her bedroom at any moment.

“Probably not,” Toji smirked, turning his body completely towards her, his green eyes gleaming. “I did say I would be paying you a visit, didn’t I?”

“Yes, it’s just… been a while.”

“I’ve been busy, little angel. Hell doesn’t run itself you know? I would have come sooner if I could.”

Y/N studied him for a moment, trying to detect any deception or malice in his expression or through the bond, but could discern nothing but familiarity and a strange sense of intrigue. However, here was her chance; now that she was stronger and more resilient, she wouldn’t let him dictate the course of this situation any longer.

“Well, whatever it is you want, next time don’t surprise me here. These are my private quarters,” she said, injecting irritation into her voice, a spark of bravery edging her on.

Respect.

Toji raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not expecting her to respond that way. “My apologies. Next time, I’ll make a formal announcement and wait for you in the throne room where everyone can see us together.”

It was silent for a moment, a little bit of tension seeped through the air with his sarcastic response. He cleared his throat, leaned his arms behind him, and tightly gripped the rails.

“Well, I hope Hell has been up to your standards. I know it’s probably not as nice as to what you’re used to,” he said bluntly, an underlying tone of nervousness in his words that satisfied her.

“It’s… different,” she said, not really sure what else to say and not wanting to cause offense. “But I’m content, if that’s what you really want to know.”

“Hmm, I’ll bet. Your brother being good to you, yeah?” He pressed, his arms rocking him back and forth against the rail.

“Always.”

“Good good. I’m glad. You both staying out of trouble?”

“Is that why you’re here? To see if I’m behaving?”

“Sure, why not?”

This side of Toji was a stark difference to when he was in front of Geto in the grandeur of the throne room. Now, in the quiet and suddenly intimate setting of her balcony, he was almost… softened. Did he not feel the need to flaunt his power in front of her? His apprehension was surprising, but Y/N felt almost empowered by this unguarded side of him. It gave her a newfound sense of control she didn’t have before, and she was growing into her new world, like a fragile blossom emerging from the soil trying to reach for the sun.

“You seem… much better than before,” he said slowly, gruffly, snapping her out of her train of thought. “Stronger.”

“Yeah, I’m managing,” she admitted. “All my wounds have nearly fully healed. Geto has started training me again, it’s been good for me.”

Toji smirked at her, “Good to hear, you ever beat him?”

She smiled, a real one, and his green eyes sparkled at the sight of it. “Not yet.”

More.

“Hmm, maybe I can teach you my way to fight,” he suggested, a playful tone lacing his words.

“Maybe,” Y/N mused, walking slowly towards the railing and leaning against it, still keeping some distance between them.

She felt Toji looking at her with interest, making her face burn, and he turned around to lean against the railing once again. ““Humor me on this, though. How did you actually fight properly with wings? I mean, surely they’re just in the way.”

“Not really, I just did I suppose. The same way you can tell when night falls in Hell, even though it’s always dark.”

They stood together in silence, the warm night air carrying the distant sound of the city below the mountain. Toji wasn’t here to stir trouble, Y/N finally decided, as her earlier apprehension melted away. There was no hint of anger from him; instead he seemed almost… relaxed.

“I don’t think I would wish for them back though,” she continued, not sure where the urge came to open up to him, but it was there nonetheless.

“No?”

“No, I think I’m too used to being without them now. I feel… different, but it’s better.”

“I see.”

It was quiet again, before Toji asked slowly, “Did it hurt when you lost them?”

“I think so… I don’t really remember. I was in a fever dream; I couldn’t really feel or see anything at all really.”

He tensed, gripping the rails tightly. Y/N almost swore she could see the bronze metal bend just slightly.

“I could feel you were sick, you know?” He stated, his voice hard.

She was surprised at this. “Really? I can only feel you when you’re close.”

“I don’t really know how all this works, maybe it’s different for each of us.”

“Maybe…”

“Anyway, I could feel it. I didn’t know exactly what it was. It makes sense now you’ve told me, but at the time I thought your mind had broken.”

Y/N sighed heavily, “It did… I think I saw strange things. I don’t really want to remember.”

“I can imagine,” Toji muttered, his tone almost gentle.

They were silent for some time, comfortably so, watching the horizon. Y/N was the one to break the silence this time.

“I don’t think our bond was the only reason I became… a Curse,” she admitted, her voice trailing off.

“How so?”

Y/N bit her lip nervously, grappling with the sheer weight of what she was about to admit. Toji tilted his head at her curiously, patiently waiting for her to answer, his rapt attention making her even more shy. She took a deep breath in to steady herself before continuing.

“I was willing to stand with you against Satoru… I didn’t want you to die by his hand.”

Interest… surprise.

“And that’s enough for you to get exiled?” Toji asked slowly, digesting the information. “That’s harsh,” he added, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Yes, because I made the choice to betray my own kind, and I would have been in between you both if Nanami hadn’t stopped me. He would have done it too, I think, if I wasn’t… injured.” she said the last part slowly, carefully, softly. The memory of Nanami still brought her to tears if she didn’t steel her heart against the onslaught of emotions.

His emerald orbs softened, and he moved just a fraction closer to her. “Your friend must have cared a lot about you to risk condemning himself to Hell.”

“He was the best of us,” she sniffed, her firsts tightening, holding her breath to steady herself.

It was quiet for a long time after that. The gravity of Nanami’s sacrifice weighed heavily on her shoulders, and Y/N doubted she would ever be free of it for as long as she lived. She stole a glance at Toji, trying to find solace in his presence, but the question remained – was he going to prove himself worthy enough to justify Nanami’s death? The wind whispered mournfully, lamenting everything she had lost to bring her to this moment: her home, her wings, Satoru.

“Listen, I-,” Toji started, closing his mouth abruptly, clearly searching for the right words to say as he avoided direct eye contact with her. “I just wanted to say, I’m sorry for what happened.”

He was tense; clearly this was new to him – apologizing. She whispered, “What for exactly?”

Toji rolled his eyes and huffed, “For nearly killing you, what do you think?”

The scar on her stomach tingled with a faint, phantom-ache, and she instinctively placed her hand over it. Toji’s gaze followed her movement, his frown deepening, and his fists clenched the bar even tighter this time.

Shame… self loathing.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, and you didn’t know any better,” she said, her voice soft as she placed her hand back on the railing.

He pursed his lips but said nothing, his gaze fixed on the city below. The air fell thick with tension again, heavy with both their emotions, as they both grappled with the weight of their unspoken regrets. Y/N wanted to change the subject to lighten the solemn veil over them, and to unravel the stories and battles that had sculpted the myserious Curse standing beside her.

“So you can feel me, huh?” Toji said suddenly, nearly making her jump, but there was a lighter tone to his voice. “What does it feel like?”

Y/N smiled shyly, searching for the right words. She couldn’t possibly tell him that he felt like smoke and lightning – powerful and elusive, utterly out of her grasp, and she doubted she would ever understand it.

“You feel… familiar. Like I’ve known you for a very long time,” she finally said, settling for a much less daunting truth.

His gaze became kinder, and he rested his head against his hand, staring at her and making her feel shy all over again. “I know what you mean.”

“What does it feel like for you?”

“Hmm… like you’re there all the time now, in my head. It’s like you know what I’m doing all the time, and you’re watching me. I feel I don’t have to tell you things because I think you already know everything.”

“I actually don’t, and I have been wondering what does a King of Hell do all day long?”

Toji’s lip twitched, “Oh? Does your brother not tell you what he gets up to?”

“I’m asking you, not about him,” Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling.

“Well,” he grunted, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I mainly handle my armies strategies and organization. I make sure they’re running well, and if they’re not, well, then that’s where I come in.”

“And when all is well in war, what then?”

“And then… maybe I’ll lend an ear to whatever squabbles the other Curses are having, but if I can avoid it, I will.”

“So that’s what you’re doing here then?”

And he finally laughed, a glorious and heart-stopping smile spreading across his face. Y/N was transfixed, her soul suspended in time at provoking such elation from her soulmate.

“No,” Toji chuckled. “Your company is just so much better than theirs, obviously.”

“Obviously?” She teased, feeling a flush of heat grace her cheeks.

He hummed in agreement, “Of course.”

An endearing and shy silence filled the air, and they enjoyed each other’s presence in comfortable tranquility, a paradox to the supposed suffering and agony in the depths of Hell. Toji shifted beside her, lifting his weight from the railing, and cleared his throat.

“Well… I suppose I better take my leave,” he announced softly, taking a few steps backwards from her.

“Might be best, I’m sure your subjects are wondering where you are,” Y/N jested, smiling. Her inner soul was jumping, and she tried her best to ignore it. She knew it wanted him to stay, screaming don’t go in a silent cry through their bond.

Toji’s eyes glittered, a genuine smile quirking his lips as he chuckled lowly, a gesture just for her. “You might just be right.”

He lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers together, conjuring a sizzling portal of flame that opened up behind him in a mesmerizing display. Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from him as the warm orange glow of the portal enveloped him, casting him in an ethereal light that illuminated every contour of his face. She felt a pang of longing as he stood there, a transient and fleeting embodiment of sinful allure against the obsidian backdrop of Hell.

“Sleep well, little angel,” Toji mumbled, soft and rumbly, his green eyes almost glowing.

“Goodnight, Toji,” Y/N replied, her voice quaking with all the unspoken feelings of her soul that she couldn’t possibly express in that moment.

He smiled at her and disappeared through the portal, leaving her grasping at the lingering wisps of his presence.

-•-

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[doumadono]

Savoring the moment - Douma x fem!reader

Warnings: smut w/o plot, oral (m receiving), minors DNI

MASTERLIST

Your supple lips grazed against his, playfully taunting him as you tightened your grip on his hips. Douma let out a throaty moan, and you responded by deepening the kiss, savoring the taste of his lips and the sound of his moans. He hesitantly explored your face with his hands, gingerly tracing your cheekbones.

It was almost surreal, too good to be true. You found it hard to believe that you were actually kissing him.

With a whine, Douma protested as you pulled away from him. Your foreheads rested together, your flushed lips curving into a small smile as his nose brushed against yours. He couldn't help but want more, almost begging for your mouth to return to his, but when you lowered to your knees, the air left his lungs. Your gaze was so intense, it felt like you were trying to devour him with your eyes as you pressed small pecks onto his hip bones and then onto his outline. It was something Douma had thought about countless times since you came to his cult, but now that it was happening, he couldn't believe it was real.

You stared at him through the rim of your lashes, desperate to taste him, and he knew he wasn't going to last very long. The moment you pulled the waistband of his pants down, the cold air hit him and his cock emerged from his clothes, twitching achingly. As you wrapped your hand around the base of him, Douma's hips jerked at the sudden contact.

The heat of your hand was different than his own, entirely different yet exceedingly better. Then, your tongue licked the tip, and Douma moaned, his knuckles whitening as he tugged on your hair a little. The gleam in your eyes was hypnotic, and he knew he was done for.

You skillfully traced your tongue from the base of his length to the tip, taking in the taste of the pre-cum that had begun to ooze from him. You parted your lips and took in as much of him as you could manage, hollowing out your cheeks to create a pleasurable suction. The moans that escaped him were a mixture of pleasure and frustration as he tried to keep his eyes open to witness the pleasure that you were giving him. The way you moved your mouth around him was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, even though he lived for centuries.

As Douma gazed down at you, he could see tears welling up in your eyes as you gagged on him. The majority of him relished the view of you on your knees, struggling to take in all of him. With his hands, he brushed away the tears that cascaded down your cheekbones. "My beautiful lotus, you're looking so fucking beautiful down there. Keep on doing that and I'll cum," Douma started to warn you, but your tongue swirled around his tip, and your hand caressed his balls while the other gripped whatever portion of him couldn't fit inside your mouth.

"My beautiful petal, that's so fucking hot," he managed to say between moans of ecstasy.

The sound of Douma's moans echoed through the room as he climaxed, his essence spilling into your mouth. Despite the pathetic nature of his sounds, Douma found no shame in the pleasure coursing through his body. His muscles trembled as he lost control and instinctively pulled on your hair. His eyes never left your flushed face as he thrust his hips towards your mouth with fervor, savoring the sounds of your gags. Douma felt no remorse for the way he used you to satiate his desires. Breathless whispers escaped his lips, a mantra of profanity and your name woven together.

As his movements gradually decelerated, you separated from him and wiped the corners of your mouth, extracting whatever oozed from it. His chest was heaving, beads of sweat forming on his hairline as you stood up from the floor. Your lips were swollen, flushed, and glistening with his cum, and the way you were gazing at him, Douma could've reached orgasm again, right on the spot. This couldn't be real - he couldn't have just witnessed you swallowing his semen and seeming eager to repeat the act. Oh, it was going to be a long night.

[doawks]

reminder, yoon jeonghan.

pairing. father’s bestfriend!jeonghan x f!reader.

warnings. some crying. dirty talk. unprotected sex━ missionary. some degradation mixed with praise. possessiveness. sir kink (2). hard dom (ish)!jeonghan. angst ?? or maybe not i could be exaggerating lol. age gap.

♫ reminder, the weeknd. 

˗ˏˋ#XiMENA SAYS! not proof read, per usual. ANYWAYS!!! this felt kinda rushed & i don’t know if i like it yet && it’s 4am so i’m tired lol ´ˎ˗

“Do you enjoy disrespecting me, YN?” 

Jeonghan was highly upset━ fuck that, he was enraged. The tips of his ears tinted a cherry red, nostrils flared, veined hand tightly wrapped around your throat whilst his lips were slightly parted - his warm breath fanning against your face. 

He had you placed on your knees in front of him ━  rough material of the woven floor covering underneath bruising your skin. 

He looked so fucking scary and honestly you should’ve felt intimidated or frightened, but it would be a complete lie if you said you were. Though he looked daunting, he also looked so, so good. Strands of his black hair partially covering his eyes, the light weighted gold jewelry delicately dangling from his neck, the head of his tongue prodding at his inner cheek━  God, you should not feel this turned on right now. 

“I asked you a fucking question, slut,” His lips were so close to yours, you almost thought he was going to kiss you. Oh how painfully wrong you were. “You enjoy sneaking behind my back and having boys fuck that dirty pussy of yours?”

No matter how it may sound, Jeonghan doesn’t get jealous. Or that’s what he tells himself, at least. 

You shake your head, jutting out your bottom lip, “No, Sir.” 

He chuckles, so dryly and humorlessly, an unamused look taking over his handsome features, “No?” His unoccupied hand reaches down to your panty clad pussy before his fingers sneak under the soaked fabric. He then scoffs in what sounds like disbelief, “What a messy little cunt,” Licking his lips, he begins to toy with your clit while looking into your eyes with a glint in his, “Can’t believe you let some little ameteur frat boy stick his dick in my pussy.”

Jeonghan clicks his tongue, tilting his head to the side, “Did he fuck you nice and good, at least? Did he hit that spot that has you arching and begging for more? Hm? I guess not since you’re here on your knees grinding onto my fingers like a little bitch in heat.”

At this point, you’re a complete mess and Jeonghan hasn’t even done anything yet. He seems to have that effect on you.

“Please, Hannie . . . I’m sorry.” 

Jeonghan lifts a eyebrow, “Hannie?” Shaking his head as he continues to speak again, “That shit isn’t going to work on me, YN. Not tonight. So save all that whining and pouting ‘cause it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

There was no doubt in your mind that Jeonghan was going to go anything but easy on you tonight. You deserved everything he had coming your way.

When Jeonghan was mad, he could get mean. Very, very mean. Eye watering and lip trembling mean. And rough. Not too rough, though. 

As soon as he entered his spacious room, with you tailing along, of course, he simply turned his body around and gripped your waist - instantly pressing your bare back to closest wall, causing to softly wince at the coldness. For a split second it looks like Jeonghan’s eyes hold softness before they’re switched back to his dark gaze. “Should I fuck you up against this wall?”

The question was rhetorical. He didn’t expect you to answer though even if you did it would fall on deaf ears. 

His lips attach themselves to your collarbone, “Leave your legs a wobbly little mess while you’re gripping onto my shoulders for balance as I pound your cunt? It’s not like whores including yourself deserve to be properly fucked on a bed.”

“I-I’m not a whore.” You mumbled, coming out more brattier than you intended for it too. Immediately causing Jeonghan’s attentive ears to perk up in response.

He scoffs and removes his lips, peering at you with irritation, “Shut the fuck up. You are a whore and a nasty one at that. Getting fucked hours prior by some douche and now you’re here wanting to get fucked by your father’s best friend,” He shakes his head in disbelief, “It was silly of me to think that you were my good girl.”

It’s sad and embarrassing that out of everything Jeonghan had said, his last sentence is what caused your heart to clench. Jeonghan always referred to you as his good girl.

The day when you had your legs spread for him diligently as he brutally and animalistically lapped at your sopping pussy, after you came prettily on his tongue, he kissed up your soft, silky skin whilst whispering “my good girl.”

Or, the day you came home excitedly because you got the highest test score in your class and instead of squealing about it to your father, you found Jeonghan in your kitchen and decided to tell him about it in lieu. He was so, so proud of you and took you out shopping, fucking you in the backseat of his car after the long spree. The sounds of skin clapping was loud but not louder than Jeonghan’s praises as he was constantly telling you how much of a smart girl you were and how you were also his good girl. 

Jeonghan, noticing your long silence, brings a hand up to grip your chin, “Are you my good girl, YN?”

“Yes,” You nod slowly, “I’m your good girl, Hannie.”

A sigh flies from his divided mouth before he, finally, presses a kiss to your lips. One, soft singular kiss. It was so quick and unexpected. 

His hand releases your chin and comes up to cup your cheek, stroking the flesh tenderly, “I know, baby. But you’re also my little slut and I’m gonna fuck you like one.” 

Without saying anything else, Jeonghan guided you over to his bed, pushing your body down onto the mattress. He wastes no time as he’s unbuckling his belt, not breaking eye contact with you for a split second, after he’s finished, he pulling his boxers down and grabbing your ankles to pull you to the end of the bed. 

“You think you need my fingers to stretch you out a bit first?” His tongue pokes out teasingly.

“No! Please fuck me, Sir, please. . .” 

Jeonghan laughs, “You like calling me Sir, huh? You like me having authority over you?” He takes his painfully hard cock into the palm of his hand, giving it a few strokes before guiding it over to your pussy, tapping the reddened head on your puffy clit. “Can I slide in, angel?” 

“Yes, please,” You whine out, back arching off the mattress, “Want you━  Need you so, so bad.” You sounded so desperate, but honestly you couldn’t find yourself to care. You needed Jeonghan. You always needed Jeonghan. Truthfully, Jeonghan was one of a kind and it was extremely idiotic to believe that someone could even come close to him. 

“Of course you do. Needy little thing,” He tsks, shortly letting out a throaty groan afterwards once sliding into your fluttering hole. “Fuck,” His head drops, sweaty strands of hair dangling in front of your face. 

“Pretty fucking pussy,” He punctuates each word with a particularly hard thrust, “And it’s all mine, right?”

You heard him ask the question, but he was fucking you so hard, you really couldn’t find a voice inside yourself to answer. Which, of course, was not going to slide with Jeonghan. 

His hand comes to your neck for the second time tonight, the cold rings on his fingers contrasting with your warm skin, “I asked you a question. Don’t tell you’re that fucked out? I barely even started, YN. Fucking ridiculous,” Annoyance was laced in his gruff tone, “Don’t worry - you don’t even need to answer. You hear how loudly you’re squelching for me, baby? I bet she doesn’t do this for anyone else. This is all the proof I need.”

He was right. So right. 

Your hands sneak underneath his arms, placing your hands on his sides and pulled him closer to you, “Love your cock - Love you, I’m sorry . . .” 

You were a blubbering mess. The pleasure was so overwhelming, though so euphoric. You couldn’t think and could hardly speak properly. Tears began to prick your eyes, vision blurring. He was the only one who could do this to you. 

“You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean,” He places a kiss to your forehead, hooking a hand under your knee and pressing it to your breast - giving him better access to reach deep inside you. He was basically balls deep. “But I love you too, angel. My pretty girl.” 

The way your cunt was clenching down on Jeonghan so greedily was enough to make a sane man go mad. And Jeonghan could admit, he was a sane man who was about to go absolutely mad if he was in your pussy any longer.

“Ah!” You cry out when you feel Jeonghan’s scheming fingers toy with your sensitive clit. “Gonna - Gonna come, Hannie!”

Jeonghan’s pace instantly quickens. At first, before his cock was even near your cunt, he had it stored in his mind that he wasn’t going to let you orgasm. He was going to fuck you, though, nice and good, but as soon as you felt like you were going to come, he was going to pull out. But now that the time is here, it feels criminal to stop. And besides, you looked so pretty as you were going to coat his cock. Plump lips slightly parted - drool trickling out your mouth, Lashes wet from all the crying, cheeks red and flushed━  God, you were such a heavenly sight that would never get tired of. 

Jeonghan leans forward, huskily whispering in your ear, “Come for me, baby. Make a pretty mess all on my cock.”

Jeonghan’s voice never failed to push over the edge. Whether he was talking you through an orgasm or asking you something as simple as “how was your day?” 

“Jeong━  Hannie!” You were a broken record stuck on repeat. It was like the only two words you could properly say was Please or Hannie.

He lets out a breathy titter, “C’mon. Come for me.” 

You came, Jeonghan shortly following afterwards. He takes a breath. Then another one. His forehead rests on top yours, “I’m not gonna let this shit again. I said I love you and I do, baby, but if I catch you fucking somebody else who isn’t me, it won’t end well. You understand?”

“Yes, Jeonghan. I’m sorry.”

“Mhm,” He nods slowly, you can tell he has a lot more he wants to say, but he doesn’t, and you didn’t want to pry it out of him so you drop it. “Now let’s get you cleaned up.”