#am i clinging onto that one line way too hard? maybe.

[devilmademewriteit]

Drabble request for dbf!joel getting blown under the table or something while he's having a convo with reader's dad?!?! IDK I just love your dbf!joel!!

You Can Be the Boss

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

warnings: rough oral (m receiving); petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart); age gap; choking; hair pulling; (yall this is pure pure daddy issues FILTH, I warned you. I warned you hard).

Hi y’all ty for sending me all ur requests. ummm you guys are insane ! and so am I ! maybe more because I’m actually the one writing these ! this one is so dirty ! don’t say I didn’t warn you !

more to come hehehe. I don’t tag ppl for my smaller drabbles / fics so turn on notifs or whatevs ;)

-em<3

—

“As close as I’ll get to the darkness, he tells me to, ‘Shut up, I got this.’”

- You Can Be the Boss

—

It was still a secret, after all.

Sneaking into his apartment, late nights in alleys, abandoned cars lining the streets of the QZ… you’d managed to keep your joint intoxication with one another under wraps.

Today… today was risky. You usually waited until the wee hours of the morning to even walk by his place, let alone enter, but you’d needed to drop off a sweater that Tess had leant you the previous week, intending to leave it folded up on the doormat before bolting down the hall. Your footsteps were nervous and heavy, which led to the door swinging wide open on its hinges, a gruff “where you runnin’ off to, Angel?” and a set of rough hands pulling you through the doorway.

Then you were spread open against the tattered table cloth of his (busy) kitchen table, underwear shoved to the side, watching a hunched over Joel Fucking Miller spit on his hand and run it up down his heavy, hard length.

“Shouldn’t come here during the day,” as he’d lined himself up, “Can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

That’s when you heard the definite sound of a key twisting inside a lock. Joel’s head shot up — your eyes barely had time to widen before he was shoving you under the table, panties still twisted around your ankles.

A quick zip, then footsteps.

“Oh, sorry man—”

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“—Tess said you wouldn’t be home.”

It’s your father.

You thank God for your his poor observation skills (and the tablecloth) as Joel responds, “ah, no worries,” frustratingly non-chalant as ever.

“While you’re here though,” and your heart sinks, identifying your dad’s intention to stay, “Was wondering if we could go over the plans for our new routes. FEDRA assholes blocked off another south-east one today.”

Your blood turns to ice inside your veins as both men pull out their chairs, settling into a purely-business conversation. Joel barely hesitates, cool as ice.

Not fair that he gets to be so calm while you’re so… not.

Not fair.

If only there was a way to even out the playing field.

Crunched into yourself, you scoot closer to Joel’s calves, clinging onto his denim and doing your best to make as little noise as possible. When it’s clear, however, that your father’s far too invested in the practicalities of the conversation to suspect or inquire into or even notice anything else, your eyes wander towards the slowly softening bulge, still visible underneath Joel’s belt.

And you get an idea.

The man always tortured you, and you were well aware that what made your arrangement especially enticing — for the both of you — was the taboo-ness, the wrongness of it all.

So your pussy drips just thinking about it.

Slowly, delicately, you slide your hands up Joel’s thighs, feeling his every muscle respond, tensing, turning to stone, or jolting with electricity beneath your playful touches.

It’s hard, quietly pulling down his fly. Still, metal tooth by metal tooth, you eventually succeed, unable to hold back a smile of vindication when his cock springs up, swelling and hardening between your fingertips. Joel covers his choke with a cough.

Just as you duck down to lick a fat stripe up his cock’s dark underside, noticing how the lungs above you constrict — freezing — the conversation changes.

“You been seeing a lot of my daughter?”

Joel takes an uncharacteristically long time to grunt out a “here n’ there.”

You hold in a laugh, both at your dad’s timely question and the reaction it causes. Placing a hand at the base of him, you consider this the perfect moment to start teasing his tip with patient, innocent little kitten-licks.

“Been acting weird,” your old man continues, unphased and unassuming, “Worried she’s been gettin’ herself into trouble.”

Trouble? You’re looking at him.

Your dad’s whole “fatherly concern” (not like he’d ever shown any before) angle makes you bold. You want to make it harder for Joel to deny your father’s suspicion.

You want to make him lie through his teeth.

You part your lips, wrapping them adoringly around the entire head of his cock before gliding down, using your hand to assist you as you please every inch of him.

While he mostly manages to keep it together, his legs don’t, gently parting with desire to allow you better access.

“She-she’s a good girl, man,” Joel manages, and while his delivery borders a groan, he stays surprisingly level (your body doesn’t forget to note his praise, either, aching cunt growing wetter and wetter at his every word). “‘Bit juvenile sometimes, and reckless—” he pauses, and it’s very clear he’s not speaking to your father, “—but good—” you work every inch of him with your hands, throat, and mouth, savouring the feel of his ridges and veins, the taste of his salt on your tastebuds, “—so good.”

You freeze, scanning the room for tension as both you and Joel try to figure out if his desire-stricken tone’s given you away.

It hasn’t.

Of course it hasn’t.

Your dad continues on as if everything were normal, as if Joel’s tip wasn’t kissing the back of your throat. “Just not sure if I’m raising her right—or… or if I was much of a father at all.”

Yeah, probably not. You know, given that I’m under the table sucking your best friend’s dick.

You watch, head still slowly bobbing up and down his length, a hand carving a careful path down his leg. Joel’s fingertips breach your shoulder, his palm slowly graduates to cupping the back of your head.

And he shoves you forward, forcing every punishing inch of himself down your little, gasping throat.

“Just needs a little discipline,” your torturer responds, raising his gravelly voice to mask the definite sound of choking.

“A heavy hand.”

You huff against his abdomen. Just like that, Joel’s taken the reins of your little operation.

Like he always did. Like he always does.

“You’re probably right,” your father responds, sighing with concession. Tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes while your lungs burn for oxygen, mouth stuffed and nose pressed into Joel’s skin. He chuckles, slapping the table. “Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile, huh?”

“That’s right,” Joel responds, a soft coo, tightening his grasp in your hair and somehow forcing more of himself between your lips.

Making his point.

You hold back a whimper, nails hopelessly clawing at his jeans.

Your dad raps his knuckles against the wood, pushing his chair back to leave. Unfortunately for you, Joel doesn’t move, holding you there like a prisoner — suffocating you.

He clears his throat. “I’d walk you out, but, you know—” your eyelids grow heavy, little stars beginning to dance in your vision “—been goin’ hard recently. Wearin’ myself out.”

A huff of understanding and concurrence from the other side of the room.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, hinges squeak, goodbyes are uttered, and your father’s left you alone with his buddy again.

Joel’s chair scrapes back — he pulls you along with him, attached to him, out from underneath the table.

Finally, finally, he releases his grasp.

You jump off of him, strings of saliva trailing from your lips, gasping for air as if you were seconds from drowning.

You aim to collapse against his knees, but he quickly grabs you by the throat, presses his big thumb under your chin, and forces your wet, tear-lined eyes up to meet his.

They’re filled with a lust so dark, you wonder if just that look might swallow you whole.

“Prouda yourself?” He speaks, voice low.

Dangerous.

And you just smile, dazed, nodding. Nodding because you know where it’ll get you. Nodding because you just know how much it’ll entice him.

“‘Course you are,” he continues, softer, “Shoulda been honest — shoulda told your old man he raised a fuckin’ slut.”

Joel lifts you up, indelicately shoving you down on the table, right back in the position you’d originally started the visit in.

His eyes darken to black when he sees how wet you are, how fucked-out, needy, and unapologetic you are.

“And you know what, baby?” A deceiving coo as he lines himself up at your entrance, using his other hand to squeeze your jaw — tight.

You look at him with big, begging doe eyes, eyebrows already knitting together from the tantalizing contact.

“I’m really fuckin’ glad he did.”

And as Joel Miller roughly sheathes his cock inside your young, tight cunt, you find yourself agreeing with him.

—

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

AO3

[mysicklove-main]

"I could kill you in a heartbeat."

Akaza bites back a smile, turning to you with a blank expression, as if he was annoyed. "Threatening me again?"

You let out a cat-like grin, and he raises his eyebrows, knowing something ridiculous is about to come out of your mouth. "They are thinking about making me a Hashira, ya know. I would be afraid if I were you, Akaza."

You close your eyes, satisfied with your cocky words, and rest your head on his crossed knee. You kick one leg over the other and hum to yourself, waiting for his next words. The mischievous smile hasn't fallen from your face and he's staring at it, his own matching grin pulling at his lips. Your antics always do amuse him, whether he likes it or not.

"What a strange thing for them to do, all considering you haven't touched a Nichirin sword in your puny lifetime." He places the tip of his finger on your jaw, the sharp, red nail slightly digging into your skin. A small reminder that he is a demon, and you are not. Probably another ridiculous act of physical dominance that you couldn't be bothered by.

You aren't phased by his strange actions anymore. The way he kisses you and purposely bites your lip to show off his fangs, the way his grip on your wrist sometimes is just a little too hard, or when he truly does get upset and shows you just a glimpse of what his opponents see that sends a shiver down your spine. He is trying to scare you, probably away from him.

You love him too much to go anywhere, even if he is afraid of himself. What is best is to ignore it, he seems to relax whenever you don't react to it. Act normal. You hold onto the finger with your own and continue to poke fun at him. "Way to ruin the mood. Mentioning how much older you are than me, you pervert."

"Deflecting now, are we?" He says, now tapping on your cheek. He seems to relax again and instead indulges your words.

You sigh dramatically. "I guess it can't be helped. I am in love with a pervert. And a demon non the less."

He scoffs at you, but he's smiling. You can hear it in the tone of his voice. "You are of age, stop whining. Besides, don't act like you didn't cling to me first. Maybe I'm the one getting taken advantage of. "

You gasp at him, and he barks a small laugh. He exposes his fangs, and his eyes hold a light in them. He is always pouting, it's nice to see him smile every once in a while.

"Sorry you know I have a thing for men who have blue-striped di—"

A hand covers your mouth in an instant and he shakes his head, as if disappointed. "And you think I'm the pervert."

You lick the palm of his hand and he pulls away with a disgusted groan. His snide comment makes you laugh, and play into it. "You know I can't help it with you."

He peers at you with amusement, but his mouth remains in a hard line. "You're gross."

"You love it."

He blinks at you and stares for a long second as if he was assessing your face. The corners of his mouth creep upward, and he lets out a breathless sigh. "Yeah. Guess so."

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Congratulations!

Can you do “Why do you need my approval?” W/Santiago Garcia?

Thanks!

100 Follower Celebration: Don’t Be Stupid

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!Reader

Warnings: Aggressive and Possessive Santi, language, allusions to creepy older men, bad Spanish because I’m a no sabo

A/N: Hello angels!!! I know that this isn’t my typical bread and butter but… this is my guilty pleasure and I had soooooo much fun writing this. A couple of housekeeping measures… I am a no sabo kid. To my non Latinx friends that means that while I am Latinx, and did speak Spanish as a primary language for the first 5 years, I was moved to another part of the country and lost my ability to speak Spanish. So I’m trying to learn it again. It’s hard. For my Spanish speaking sisters and brothers, give me so grace, because I am trying. Secondly, I think I have two more 100 follower Drabbles, and then we can finish Interviews for New Beginnings and the other requests I got! Love you all so much my darlings!! Have a wonderful dayyyyy - Mo 💕

Summer nights in Florida were always far too hot. It was the price of living in paradise. The heat of the afternoon's sun baked into the pavement and stucco walls now radiated back onto your thinly covered body. The surrounding water made the air far too wet, and immediately upon going into the outside air did you feel the thin film of sweat and honeyed air cling to your face, arms and legs. Summer nights were brutal in heaven.

But you would never leave it. Not for a million dollars. And neither would your Delta Force boys.

It was on these brutal nights where you tried to beat the heat and the stickiness by going out to the dive bars in Ybor City, the smaller and rowdier younger sister of Tampa. The crowds were easy to get lost in, and the music was thumping no matter where you stood; which was just the medicine you and your friends needed on a night like this.

In the back corner of such a bar, you were squished between Frankie and Santi, trying to fit in the massive and unruly Ben and Will to this too small table. "Whats good boys!? And baby girl, looking beautiful as always." Ben laughed out with a toothy grin. He was always all too happy to be with you all. And if a night out also involved a couple drinks, he was more in paradise than usual.

You laughed mirthlessly at his flirtatious jokes. He always threw one your way whenever he got the chance. You only wished that Pope would do the same.

Though you met the rest of the boys when you joined the Delta Force, you had actually known Santi since middle school. Your mom moved you both to the apartment next to his back in the 6th grade. When the creepy older men were harassing you on the way down to the school bus, Santi stepped in. And from that day on you never walked to the bus, or rode the bus alone. He kept the creeps and bullies away. You helped him with his math homework. Perfect partners. Best friends. A perfect pair. And God how you were in love with him.

You both had had your flings and boyfriends and girlfriends. But they all came and went. You were there and he was there when it eventually went to out the window. Some times you wondered if maybe he felt the same ache in his chest as you. But you pushed it to the side. He never saw you that way. He never would. You were best friends. A sister to him. It would never be more. And it never bothered you until recently. Maybe it was because you were getting older. Maybe it was because your girlfriends were having babies and in serious and solid relationships. Yet you were still here. Drinking barely cool enough beer with the Delta Force ding bats. You loved them. You loved them more than life and would and have put your life on the line for them. But you were getting older. You wanted to be seen as a woman. Not just another teammate.

Santi smirked and ruffled your head like a child, messing up the hair you had corralled into a pony tail, "Chiqitita muñeca is pissy tonight. Heat is getting too much for her."

You rolled your eyes and pushed him away. Frankie looked up from his ever present hat, "Pissed because she is stuck next to you and you won't let her up. Querida vamos. Let's get you another drink. This white boy at the bar has been giving you eyes all night and I wanna put him out of his misery."

Benny and Will whooped and laughed and your eyes widened, "Fish stop no he's not."

Frankie stood up, stretching out his long limbs and shaking his head, "He is. C'mon you haven't been putting yourself out there and it's dumb."

Frankie was right. You hadn't. In the past 3 years you hadn't even gone on a date because you were hoping, HOPING, that Santi would maybe make a move. That he would do something. But he hadn't. And you were tired of waiting. Frankie pulled you by the hand out of the booth and out of Santi's orbit. You smoothed out your cotton sundress, turning to the rest of the boys in the booth you hold yourself out to be appraised, "Yay or nay? Do I look gross?"

Will gave a thumbs up while Beni gave theatrical worshipping bows, "Hot sexy hot sexy hot sexy. Go get em tiger."

You noticed that Pope hadn't said anything, you turned to him waiting, "Pope??"

Eyes stern and cold he didn't even look up from his beer, "Why do you need my approval?"

You stomach dropped, and your face crumpled. Frankie rolled his eyes, "Coño la madre, don't listen to Pope you know how he gets when he's PMSing. You look nice. C'mon white boy is waiting. "

White boy was indeed waiting for you. His name was Connor. Clean cut. Not a Florida native which you clocked before you even made it up there. Worked in financing in downtown. Loved the Florida lifestyle but was still getting used to it. Super polite. Cute. And wanted to get to know you and buy you drinks and call you pretty. Soon any insecurity you had about Pope was miles away.

Frankie was pleased with himself, and brought back a round of beers to the table. Will and Benny were snickering in their seats, and Santi... well... Santi was fuming.

"What the fuck was that Fish?"

Smirking, he took a sip of his drink, "Que paso? No te queires chiqitita si?"

"Cabron, tu sabes quiero ella."

Benny cut in, "Hey hey hey. Don't let the gringos out man! Pope why are you getting pissed off? Nothing happened?"

Will spoke up, "He's pissed because Frankie basically delivered Chiqi to khakis boy over there."

Benny shrugged, "And??"

Will turned to him, looking as if Benny had grown another head, "And... Pope has been in love with Chiqi this entire time?? And Frankie knows that?? Benny did you get too many punches to the head or something?"

Benny’s eyes widen. The pieces fitting together. Will rolled his eyes, but Santi couldn’t care less. He was enraged with Fish. And Fish didn’t even care!! Fish knew that Santi had been in love with you for years. That he wanted you more than anything or anyone. That he had purposefully cut in on past relationships to keep you to himself. That he had building the courage to finally ask you to be his and only his. And yes here comes Fish. Delivering you to some… to some guy at a bar?

Frankie finished his beer and looked into his best friend’s eyes, “Hermano… I love you man. But you’re being a little bitch. No in fact you’ve been a bitch. Chiqi has been free and available for three years and you’ve done nothing about it. She’s clearly head over heels for you and you have been tiptoeing around it for no reason. You’re stupid. Chiqi deserves more. And if you’re angry about it you can go fix it.”

Frankie held his arm opened, lighting the way to you. He saw you laughing, your smile bright, things that he wanted to reserve for him and him alone. The things he had said were for him. The moment he saw Khaki’s hand brush up on your thigh, he saw red. He downed the rest of the beer that Frankie had gotten for him, and pushed his way out of the booth. The whoops and laughs from his brothers faded into the buzz behind him as he made his way to you.

“So… if it’s alright with you, I’d really like to take you out to dinner. Maybe next week?”

Connor was cute you thought. Not the same breathtaking handsomeness that Santi had, but Connor looked sweet. He looked honest. He would do for a boyfriend. You smiled, about to accept and give him your number, when Santi shoves himself in between you and Connor. “Oye Chiqi. Come dance.”

Connor gets up to look at you, “Hey man she’s with me relax.”

Santi turned around, “She’s not actually she came with me.”

You pushed Santi’a shoulder, “What the hell bro? Connor I’m sorry. This is Santi, we grew up together and he’s stupid protective and drunk. Santi can you please go back with Frankie I’m talking to someone.”

Without looking away from Connor Santi answers, “mm not drunk. I’m just making clear what’s mine.”

Connor looks at you and then Santi. Before he sheepishly smiles, “It was nice meeting you. I hope you guys figure things out.”

Connor walks away and you feel the rage building inside you, as Santi triumphantly turns back to you. You shove Santi’s shoulder, barely moving him, “You’re such a fucking asshole Pope. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Dance with me.”

“I’m not fucking dancing with you.”

He rolls his eyes and pulls you to the dance floor despite your protests, your skin burning in shock and anger where his hand clutches your wrist. You make it to the center, him hungrily grasping at your waist. You’re pissed off but also so confused at this change in temperature. Santi won’t stop looking at you. Those dark lashes attempting to hypnotize you back into his orbit. He brings his mouth to your ear, “When’s the last time you danced with me Chiqi?”

You scoffed, but brought your arms to wrap around his neck as he tugged you closer, chest to chest, “Senior prom. After Michael Vazquez left me for Torrence Sheltzer. And I stepped on your toes all night.”

He laughed, “Michael was such an idiot.”

You stay like that. The bass coursing through your body, right in time with the pounding of your heart against Santi’s chest. He was always a good dancer. Too good of a dancer, it was almost obscene the way he had you moving against him. You don’t know how long you had been spinning, and you had to rest your head on his shoulder because of how light headed you became.

“You shouldn’t have done that Pope. He was nice.”

“He was a wimp. Wouldn’t be able to take care of you.”

“What you’re going to chase away any man who comes up to me? I’m tired of being alone.”

“You’re not alone. You have me.”

“You know what I mean.”

He pulled your face off his shoulder to make you look in his eyes, “I do know. And i know what I said. You have me. You’re mine. I’m yours.”

You feel tears in your eyes. Either from the smoke, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, “Santi stop being stupid. You’re being mean. You know I love you and you’re making fun of me.”

He presses his dry lips to the tear that escapes your eye, then puts his forehead to yours, “I’m not Chiqi. I’m not. Chiqi I’ve loved you since the 8th grade. I’ve hated every one of your little boyfriends and I’ve coveted you for years. I’m not joking.”

“Then why haven’t you said anything? Why didn’t you come get me when I was right here?”

The tears fall more now. And he keep kissing your cheeks to remove them, “Because I’m an asshole. I’m a fucking asshole who was too afraid of you saying no. Too afraid of when you left. I didn’t want to lose you. But I can’t take it anymore Chiqi. I can’t take another boyfriend. I’m selfish. I’m a selfish asshole. I want you for myself. I want you to yell at me and call me stupid as long as it means you never leave my place and you never leave my side. Cmon Chiqi…. Let me call you mine.”

You stared at him. He was telling the truth. He was being raw and real and you knew that this wasn’t some act. This was Santi in his rawest form. He wanted you. You brought your hand around to squeeze his cheeks together, “I want you to take me on a date. A real one. Not the bar or the bowling alley with the boys. I want dinner that you pay for. And flowers. And for you to wear a real shirt.”

He shakes your hand off and smiles, “Tomorrow night. I take you to The Colombia. I pick you up. With roses.”

“Do I get to order flan?”

He smiles even wider, “Only if you let me feed it to you like those stupid romance books you read.”

You shove him and he laughs and pulls you closer, “Kiss me and seal the deal Chiqitita. C’mon don’t be mad. Kiss me and tell me you’re mine.”

You couldn’t keep yourself from laughing, making him work for your kiss. You finally relent, pulling him in for the best kiss ever. The best kiss of your life. Until tomorrow’s

[steveharringtonat3am]

Somnophilia with Steve

kinktober masterlist!!

pairing: steve harrington/fem!reader

word count: 962

warnings: somnophilia (previously given consent), penetrative sex, morning steve (he's just so bf)

When Steve had first brought up the idea of doing stuff when one of us was asleep, I didn’t think it was that weird. I mean, what guy wouldn’t want to be woken up with a blowjob? And I sure as hell wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to be woken up by Steve’s amazing oral skills.

So we put it on the table, but made sure to set a few rules. If either of us was wearing a certain set of pyjamas, doing stuff was fair game. For Steve, it was his plaid pyjama pants that he never wore anything under. For me, it was this silk pyjama set that I had to keep re-buying because everytime Steve saw me in it, he immediately ripped it off.

It was also fair game if either of us were naked, which is what led me to this predicament I was in now.

When I walked into our bedroom, the sun just starting to rise, I don’t expect to see Steve fast asleep in bed. He looks so pretty I had to admire him.

And then he shifts.

The blanket slips down his hips and I get a glimpse of his bare thigh. It’s insane how much the sight turns me on, but it does. I had spent many nights perched on his leg, grinding against the rough denim of his Levi’s as he mocked me for being so desperate for him that I would resort to this. But even with all of the teasing, he would always help me fall over the edge.

I gently crawl onto the bed, trying to gauge how deep his sleep is. When soft snores fill the bedroom, I take it as my cue to gently pull the blanket off of him. I thank whoever’s up there that Steve runs hot, and doesn’t cling to the covers like I always do.

When I finally get the fabric off of him, my mouth is practically watering. Steve has always been hot. I had a crush on him for years before we got together, even when he was a douchebag. But there was just something about him that drew me to him.

Maybe it was that one time he saw me walking in the rain and offered to drive me home, despite the fact I was soaking wet and definitely left a puddle in the passenger seat. But maybe it was that other time he gave me his jacket after one of his crazy parties when it got a little too chilly.

It was little things that made me fall in love with Steve, but his looks were definitely a welcomed bonus.

And the sex was amazing.

His legs are just barely spread enough for me to settle in between them, his cock half hard. My mouth is watering but as much as I want to suck him off, I’m too wet to do anything other than ride him.

Climbing on top of him while trying not to put my weight on him is a feat but I manage it nonetheless. I know I have to take this slow, so that I don’t immediately wake him and ruin the surprise, but it’s torture to slowly line his cock up and sink down on it.

When he moans softly, I think I’ve blown it. But then his snores begin again and I relax. I take my time sinking down on his cock. He’s still asleep when I take all of him, biting my lip to keep from moaning loudly.

“Fuck…” I whisper into the silence of the room as I rock gently back and forth. I want him to wake up when he’s close, but I know that will be unlikely given how desperate I am for him to fuck me.

“So good…” He mumbles, shifting and pushing himself deeper into me. It takes everything in me to be quiet but I just about manage it. I wanna wake him up now, but I don’t wanna do it with a moan.

I start to bounce up and down on his cock, not taking him all the way so there’s no loud slapping of skin like there normally is. But he’s still so deep and I fist the sheets desperately.

“God you feel so good…” I mumble.

“Well isn’t this a lovely surprise?” Steve’s raspy voice teases me as his eyes flutter open to drink me in. I don’t falter, but I let myself drop to take him a little deeper each time.

“W-wanted to wake you up n-nicely.” I moan in between words, finally letting myself collapse against his chest. He laughs loudly, and the sound fills my chest with love.

“This is very nice baby. But you know what would be nicer? Feeling your tight pussy cumming on my cock.” His hips start thrusting up into me, and my brain fully short circuits.

“M’so close Steve….p-please? I’m almost there.” I know I probably don’t need to ask permission right now, but the last time I came without asking I didn’t sit properly for a week.

So it’s better to be safe than sorry.

“Go ahead love.” His voice is strained and I know he won’t last long either. It only takes a few more deep thrusts, and I cum with a loud moan.

Steve clearly isn’t far behind and I feel a flood of warmth as he slowly works me through my orgasm.

“Fuck…” I whisper, snuggling into his chest. He just laughs, kissing my temple and hugging me tightly.

“Well good morning to you too.”

hope you enjoyed!!

[shamrockqueen]

She thinks my tractor’s sexy

Pairing : Sweet country boy Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings : Sex outdoors, Farm boy Stevie, country aesthetic (messy braids, overalls skirt, boots, no panties.) R18

Word count : 1798

AO3 page Link

Steve had been chugging along under the heavy beat of the hot summer sun. It had made the sweat build up under his shirt and down the back of his neck.

Tilling up the fields would be the last chore for the day and definitely the longest. The old tractor still kicked up half a dozen rocks, and he could hear each one as it bounced off the old metal.

At first, he hadn’t seen you out near the front gate, boots up on one of the bottom metal rungs as you held onto the top.

You always get so excited when you come around and find him riding through the fields. He could always tell by looking at the big smile that pulled up on your face.

But, how could you help yourself? Watching Steve work up a sweat like this always had a way of getting you all hot and wet.

His shirt would often cling to the sharp cut ridges of his toned stomach, and if you looked hard enough, you could make out the tan lines on his biceps left behind by the sleeves of his shirt. It kind of drove you crazy.

You often liked to walk over to the farm to pay him special visits, and it wasn’t long until you spotted the sweet blonde goofball from the front fence near the gate.

You jumped right over the bars instead of waiting to be let in, and a brush of air flew under the skirt of your overalls. It sent a chill over your body as you vaulted yourself over and scampered up towards him.

When he saw you jogging up the field towards him, he had to stall the tractor just to hear you. He swears up and down that the sun shines just a little brighter when you show up.

The engine slowed to a low rumble as you got near the side of the tractor and shouted up to him so he could hear you.

"Hey there, Stevie."

"Hey yourself, you goin my way, Cutie."

"You gonna give me a ride?" You rock back and forth on your toes and heels as he repositions himself in his seat and shouts, "Hop on, little lady."

You can’t help but laugh as you twirl one of your braids around your fingers. He makes a little room, patting his lap for you to climb on up. A big grin spreads across his face as he watches you pull yourself into the cab of the tractor.

Once you situate yourself on his lap, you let his arm wrap around your belly to keep you steady.

He opens up the throttle and stirs a little dust as he gets the tractor back up and running.

"You want to steer?" He took his hands off the wheel briefly, giving you room to grab it as he let you navigate the tractor along the path he’d already made. All the while, you were wiggling excitedly in his grasp.

He’s sweet enough to have his hand on your stomach instead of letting it wander wherever he would have liked.

Such a gentleman.

For now, you have one hand on the wheel and the other pressed to his knee to steady yourself.

"Am I doing it right, Stevie?" You asked, trying to sound cute and sweet as you readjusted in his lap.

You wiggle your plump behind so that you can sit right on top of his increasingly growing bulge. You can feel him harden through a layer of denim, as your skirt didn’t cover your bare core as it pressed against his pants. It made his breath catch in his throat with a strangled groan, and he absentmindedly slid his hand up to better steady you on his lap.

“Doin fine, sweetheart.” He chuckled as his thick fingers absentmindedly slipped their way up your body.

Steve thumb snuck under the top of your overalls and over your T-shirt covered breasts.

In the same instant, his hand squeezed around one of them before he realized what he was doing.

"Doin a little too good, maybe." He chuckled at you as you wiggled your ass back just a little harder onto where he'd grown stiff beneath his jeans.

"Why?" you had to shout over the noise of the tractor, but your lips curled into a filthy smile as your hand guided him under the t-shirt to squeeze the globe of your breast.

His dirty nails dug into your soft skin as he kneaded at the tender flesh of your breast. You twisted your body to steal a kiss while keeping one hand on the wheel to help steer.

His lips were dry, but you made them wet as you flicked your tongue against his bottom lip. He let you slip it between them, letting your tongue tangle with his as his hand began to squeeze your exposed mound and slip his thumb over the sensitive bud.

That's when the wheel starts to pull from under your grip and turn on its own, nearly messing up the row he’d made. It has him nearly tearing himself out of your grasp to lock his hands around the wheel to steady it before locking one around your waist to keep you from falling off of his lap.

"Hey!" You shouted as you grabbed at the low roof of the cab of the tractor.

"Sorry, doll, we were about to go off track." He apologized as he tried to hold you closer to keep you from squirming out of his grasp in retaliation. An effort that proves to be fruitless.

You use what little room there is in the cab to turn and face him. You're practically hunched over as he scolds you for moving around while he's trying to drive. His hands are still firmly set on the steering wheel as he strives to work around you.

You boldly unclip the bib of his overalls and snake your hand up his t-shirt before turning south towards his pelvis. All while he’s trying to keep the machine steady. "Hey, get out of there."

Steve could yell at you all he wanted, but you knew he didn’t really want you to stop. You unclipped the denim at each hip before tossing the front of the overalls.Your hand runs right over the spot where his boxers were tented by his solid cock.

"You be careful down there!" He was genuinely worried but also very curious about what you had planned.

You try not to pay any mind to the mild spray of dust and stray pebbles that got kicked up at you, but you have half a mind to at least keep your knees locked while you're down there.

Decisions, decisions. Would it be a precarious handjob as he tried to keep the machine steady, or would you wrap your beautiful lips around him and swallow his seed?

He could still remember the first time he got you to put his member down your delicate little throat. You cried at first and made a terrible mess, but somehow he’d made a monster out of this sweet girl, and you kept coming back for more.

As much as you loved being able to run your tongue along his cock, you opted for something else. You give him a good few pumps before turning back towards him to push up your skirt with one hand while angling him towards your slick folds.

It dealt a hefty blow to his concentration and nearly fucked up the row again as his fists white-knuckled the wheel to keep it from jerking around. You didn’t miss the gravelly sign that you pushed from his chest as you sat back and slowly took him in.

"Woah! Here, really?" In contrast to his question, his arm tightens around your body as he presses his hips up to bury himself further into your beautiful heat. The rumble of the tractor shook the both of you together.

"Why not here?" You answered with a breathy laugh, the buzz of the machine sending sweet vibrations to tickle your core and, no doubt, his shaft as you felt it twitching within you.

He has to hold on to the wheel tightly with his free hand so as not to let the tractor wobble out of line, but you make it so difficult. Especially when you tried to move.

It was time that he took control of this wicked game of yours, so Steve anchored you tighter to his chest and kept a steady foot on the gas pedal as he fucked his hips upward. It drove his cock up nice and deep until he heard you squeak.

"Ah, baby. I can almost hear you over the engine." He laughed as he bucked his hips up a little harder, letting his thighs slap the back of yours.

Every bump on the path and shake of the cab could be felt as he bounced you on his cock.

"St-evie..ha.I’m gonna..." You whined as your head rolled back and your hips moved as much as he let them as you chased that sweet ending.

"Cum on my cock, baby. I know you wanna." The hand loosens from around your body to press towards your breast that wasn’t held down by your overalls, squeezing into your skin as his hips stuttered.

You unravel in his lap as your climax sends little electric jolts up your hips and back. You ground your hips into his as he spilled into you with a gruff "F-fuck..Baby."

In the same instant, his hand slipped off the wheel, letting the tractor take itself off the initial path and fucking up the entire row for a good few feet.

He’ll be scolded for it later, but that worry would be miles away from him at those moments. For now, he had to roll the tractor back on track.

When you pull him free, you give him a few good pumps with your hand, as he is still stiff to some degree. You could try and coax him into another round, but when you turned towards the horizon, you saw how the sun had turned orange as it started to set over the field.

"It’s gettin late, sweetheart." Steve voiced a similar concern as he almost pulled away. You grabbed his arm before it left your body as you sat back and pressed yourself against his member.

You left him plenty slick as you slid your slit along his shaft, eliciting a happy sign from his chest as you pressed him back into you.

You leaned in towards Steve’s ear as a bead of sweat made its way down his neck and whispered, "Just one more ride, please, Stevie."

How could he say no?

[prettyboykatsuki]

Ari… you know you must elaborate on dad Gojo… do it for the father fuckers like me ❤️

cw ; dead dove: do not eat, dark content, father / daughter incest, manipulation / coercion, reader has their own set of problems <3, use of the word daddy + papa at some point 18+

a/n ; answering u aleks. my brother (gn. pun not intended) in arms. also this is just. thirst becausde my brain is rotted with no sleep

i am . just . well

i just wonder you know. how gojo copes with you bringing boys home. the thing is gojo loves you so terribly. he has since the minute you were born. fatherhood is a little different to mentorship and it is so different having a child mold by the palms of his own hands to raise.

gojo is a busy man through your childhood but he's adoring. but he's sweet and tender. all through his life - you may as well be the only person who never resents the fact he was born. always looked at him so warmly, approval seeking and affectionate. you were always a little shy - but when gojo was away long enough you would come crawling into his arms and crying.

that habit of yours never changes. you have all encompassing love for your father and you let it embody you. it doesn't occur to him how much his absence and frivolity ruined you until you're twenty and you come onto him. and he must've ruined you a little too, because he doesn't have the courage to stop you. gojo can't see it as wrong, though he tries his very best.

but ultimately the scales of wrong and right do not like the same for gojo satoru as they do everyone else. gojo encourages you to take what you need. there's a sense of normalcy as the lines blur, a relationship that is so rotted from the inside out that you can't remember what it looked like before. rot is a strong color, a strong taste.

even ruined things can look beautiful, he figures.

when you start bringing home boyfriends - it's then when gojo realizes that these feelings can no longer be solved by seeing you or hugging you or playing father. gojo is the man of the house. the one of your life. so he makes it a habit. leaves the crack of your bedroom door open at night when they come to visit, and lets himself into your room. you're the same, groggy as you stir awake.

he gives it time. makes sure they take the guest bedroom right across the hall. he attends to you, a nightly routine. his darling girl who always cries for her father, for her papa she loves so much. maybe it's only natural you get along so well with him. he starts slow. kisses gently but works his way down your neck. you've grown into a woman, with soft breasts and hips that feel firm and heavy in his palms.

but he likes when you leave those frilly little socks and shorts on when he fucks you. his beautiful daughter who accepts him. who wants him. he wants you too. he wants the boy you've brought home to listen to the sound you're making as he sheathes his cock into you so slowly.

his hand on your tummy as you face the door, your back to his chest with you both on your side. gojo loves the way you whine when he ruts himself into you so slow and so deep. your crying is comforting, you know? to him anyways.

gojo fucks you good and hard and makes sure there's enough hot noise to travel through the house until that silly boy you've brought over wakes up. gojo stares with a wicked smile when he defiles you right in front of them. sometimes they look on in horror.

other time they look on in awe and arousal, as you pussy swells and stretches for him. as you cum so sweetly all for your daddy who you love so much. those boys always last a little longer than the others.

you always come crying to him when you break-up, and gojo always cheers you up how he knows best, rocking you in his lap - so deep you can't do anything but cling to his shoulders.

a feeling he wants to keep trapped in time forever and ever.

[zilabee]

- Oh, George Martin, looking at a hidden camera with the greatest of expressions known to mankind. Thank you for everything.

The Beatles are meeting in a room downstairs... still uncertain about performing on the roof.

- I love that they're all just setting up anyway. I love that MLH is clinging to this performance for all he's worth as the only possible way to save his film. I love watching them getting ready and taping things down. I love the street level and how old fashioned it is and how beautiful everything is.

- LSKDJFoijweoi jsodijfowejfsdfwpejfsdf. Everything about Paul coming onto the roof is lkJfoIJOfijoweifjsdsd. All my feelings are everywhere.

- The men by the chimneys on the other building, trying to work out what's happening <333

- Ringo being sweet with Maureen. Then messing with his kit. Then yelling to Mal cos they've nailed him down in the wrong place. I ADORE HIM.

- Paul jumping up and down on the incredibly wobbly floorboards, to see if he crashes to his death? Utterly perfect in every way. Magic. Couldn't love him more.

- I am freezing cold just looking at them. I want to eat them. Paul's hair is ridiculously perfect for a windy rooftop.

- Paul is smiling lovingly at John within two minutes. It's mad and it's stunning. And then the way they're moving as soon as they get into it. Little jigs of utter content.

- Incredibly horribly touching that Maureen is there, representing for all the cavern girls.

- Everyone coming out onto their roofs and balconies. Pavements filling up even though nobody can see them from there. The colours of it all.

- John coping heroically with hair in his face and in his mouth. The beautiful moment he knows he doesn't know the next line. The beautiful moment George hears him singing gobbledegook. Paul watching him lovingly to see where he wants to pick up. DON'T LET ME DOWN IS THE BEST SONG IN THE WORLD OKAY, IT JUST IS. And they're just playing it out for people who have never heard it before, and it's a wonderful thing to fill the streets with and I love them.

We've had thirty complaints in the space of half an hour. It's got to come down.

- Paul living every second, unaware that downstairs all his dreams are coming true! And the sad PCs, aware there's nothing they can do but that they will have to do something. Debbie <333333 She honestly doesn't really know what it is, it's for some feature, but she doesn't know.

- All sneaking over between songs to see their crowd that they're rudely hiding from.

Interviewer: The Beatles are doing a free concert on the roof. Man: I think it's very good. Why aren't they doing it in the street? Interviewer: They thought you'd want to hear it. Man: Yeah, well we'd also like to see them.

GOOD POINT FAIR ENOUGH. PEOPLE JUST LOVE YOU AND WANT TO LOOK AT YOU AND I KNOW YOU'RE ALL VERY AFRAID BUT OHGODDDDD MAYBE A BALCONY LIKE THE QUEEN????

- Halfway through one after 909 they smiled at each other and I felt myself wanting to scream. The absolute pleasure of them. Performing is so good for them, everything everyone has said about getting great takes if they just do it in a show is true and right and lskfdjowieosijdfwjef. Kicking their little legs up at the end. FUCK.

- Not me literally warming my fingers up before they play the next song, as if I will magically send warmth through space and time to them.

"Rock and Roll!" "You too!"

- The way Paul moves when he's singing is obscene anyway, but the way he moves when the police are behind him and he's thrilled by music and altitude and adventure all at once, oh my god arrest him at once.

- I like that Ringo's closest to the police, so he sort of keeps an eye on them in case they might just grab him. (In all the other Beatle films he was the central character, it'd be very fitting if they just arrested Ringo and took him off. It would circle us back to hard day's night.)

- What's been nice for me watching the concert today is that my dog was trying to sleep after a very long walk. She's been really annoyed that I keep letting the beatles sing, and that I am 'overreacting' to them. She humphs at me and turns away and furrows eyebrows. She's my very own grumpy crowd member who thinks they're interfering with local business <3

- Oh Mal. Letting them down. Unplugging them like a traitor. BETRAYAL SO LATE IN THE GAME. They trusted you. They thought you loved them. Years together and now this.

- I love Paul and Ringo carrying on regardless, and John and George turning to glare. George turning themselves back on is pure bliss and makes up a good 60% of my love for him.

You've been playing on the roof again! And your mommy doesn't like that. She's going to have you arrested. Get back!

- In the control room listening back you get to see George Martin being all overcome by how wonderful they are again and it didn't make me cry so that's good.

- Mo and Paul grooving to one after 909. Their hearts pure and true.

- Ringo holding Linda and Paul's hands, and then scoffing the camera for noticing. MY HEART. MY BLOOD GROUP.

- slkdjfowosoosoo. The almost child voice that George has when he says 'if we got the police we could pretend in the film that we had to get it down for them', he sounds so different, I love it. I love that people keep telling him that there's no plot for a film and he is making one in his serious voice.

I think the Beatles are cracking. You can't beat them. They're all out on their own. They've got a style of their own. And in my opinion, I think they're a lovely crowd. They've got good qualities. They sing well.

[sacrificialblood]

drown your misery - pt. 3

ha! i finally finished it! took me like forever but it’s done. there might be an epilogue but thats up in the air so until like further notice this little series is done!! thank you for reading!! also any dialogue said by vincent is signed unless otherwise stated!

word count 4.5K | vincent sinclair x gn!reader

warnings: violence, LOTS of violence directed at reader, vincent is violent and needy and moody and whatnot

part one | part two

“Ya done hoggin’ Vincent’s time?” 

You look up from the steps to see Bo lounging around in an old recliner chair and an old paperback in his hand. 

It’s easy to pick up on who is walking in the house, especially knowing everyone’s routines. You know how easy it is for him to hear you coming down the stairs and hate it. Just once you’d like to catch the man off guard. 

“I am not hogging his time.”

Bo glances up at you from his book, and you know he’s just trying to be mean, embarrass you—a new favorite pastime of his—but he just sounds downright petulant and jealous. You understand their relationship is complicated, just like yours and your sister’s, but perhaps it’s something different with them. Twins forced to compete in a dysfunctional, abusive home.

“Sure looks like it to me.”

“Okay, first off, he was helping me grab the traps, he chose to be around me. Second, I can’t help it if he happens to enjoy my company,” you roll your eyes, “And that I enjoy his. Maybe if you weren’t such an ass all the time he would hang around you more often.”

You take the last few steps, Vincent trailing a good distance behind you. He waits until you’re off the stairs to even begin moving down. Bo looks at him sharply then to you. 

“You gonna let ‘em talk to me that way?”

He shrugs.

“Vincent, hurry on down so we can throw all these traps out.”

He doesn’t rush to make his way down but it’s a noticeable new pace he sets, and then he’s nipping at your heels, following you out to the metal garbage can outside. So eager to please. But he doesn’t stay around long after that— too put off by Bos comments or struck with inspiration maybe, but he skulks back to his workshop when you go back inside. 

You fling yourself onto the couch and sigh. It’s hard getting yourself to do what needs to be done. Every chore seems a daunting and impossible task. You’re just tired, the kind that seeps into your bones and doesn't want to come out no matter how hard you force it to, settling and making a home in your forever. These months have been long and it’s finally catching up to you. You don’t pay Bo much mind, shutting your eyes and laying your head back for just a moment. 

He’s noticed your sudden lack of enthusiasm to work, to pull your weight around the house, and he’s chewed you out more times than you can count. He’s been surprisingly patient with you, all things considered.

He works his jaw, “Don’t you got laundry to do?”

“You gonna fix the damn washing machine?” You hold his gaze for a few seconds before he dog ears the page he left off on and heads to the front door, shoving his hat on with a huff. 

“Are you gonna fix it or what?” you yell out to him. All he does is wave you off and jogs down the front steps. Bo leaves the door wide open. Jackass. 

***

It takes you two hours to actually start on the laundry Bo had been bitching about. Vincent’s been glued to your side this week, something that’s taken getting used to, but his presence is a welcome one. It gets lonely in the house. Even the dog doesn’t make good company. It will end soon though, he’ll take on a new project or simply lose interest in you after a while. But for now, he clings in a way that toes the line between suffocating and endearing. 

Vincent follows you through the house, holding a plastic basket against his waist. He’s helping you collect laundry today. You’ve picked through his room and Bo’s. It’s easy enough to handle him like this; he’s like a lost puppy, he only wants to be around what’s familiar. 

You have a lot to get done today. The linens need to be done, clothing and towels too. You stripped every bed in the house bare and hunted down every last sock strewn about the rooms. This is the one chore you enjoy. There’s nothing quite like crawling into a bed with fresh sheets and clean pajamas at the end of the day. It’s one of the little pleasures you have now.

He loses interest when you make your way back to the living room to sort light and dark clothing. He dumps the clothing on the floor next to you, drops the basket and turns around. It’s just one thing you can’t stand— his willingness to help is flighty, only going so fast before he finally wanders off to do his own thing. Inconvenient, really. 

“Where are you going?”

He shrugs and points vaguely over his shoulder with his thumb. 

“Thought of an idea for a sculpture. I don’t want to forget it.”

You frown. The laundry looks overwhelming now that it’s all piled up in front of you and you’ve lost your partner. Why can’t he stay? You don’t dare ask, he’s temperamental at best and downright cruel at his worst. It would be better for everyone to keep your head in the sand— you know where you stand on the totem pole. 

“Thanks for the help.”

***

All things mechanical are lost on you. If you had any sort of knowledge about washing machines, you would fix it yourself but here you are, scooping buckets worth of water out of the drum and dumping the soapy mess down the utility sink. You still have to wring as much water out of the clothes before you can even think of putting it in the dryer. You thought things like these were built to last– the older models that are that horrible beige color– the set has probably been around since the brothers were kids, so why does it have to act up now?

You’ll just have to catch Bo in a good mood, maybe kiss his ass a little, and he’ll fix it up for you.

The front door opens and closes. Whoever shut it closed it much softer than anyone else in this house would, like they didn’t want to alert anyone that they’re in the house. You clutch the bucket of water tighter. You wait desperately for anything, for Bo’s voice, Lester’s whistling, the three knocks Vincent places on the door frame to let you know he’s back. It’s not Vincent– he hasn’t left his workshop and it couldn’t be Lester since he’s working today.

Bo’s the only option, but whoever is out there is too quiet, too subdued to be Bo.

Your breath catches in your throat, tongue tying up over the prospect of calling out. It’ll be okay, there’s no one else in this town. You’re just tired and being tired makes you paranoid. There’s a perfectly sound reason for the noises. You count forward to five and back. Your heart calms from its thumping pace.

You’re worried over nothing.

The utility sink still glistens from the last bucket of water you dumped in it, you can only hope you’ll have one more before you can start the next load. You heft the bucket onto the rim of the sink and pause. A trail of goosebumps crawl up your spine and a sharp feeling in the back of your head alerts you to something. You’ve only felt like this once before. 

Blood and silver blades and an unknowable face.

The floor shifts and squeaks behind you. Something’s not right.

The person behind you is breathing heavily through their mouth. Please, go away, you think as your shaky grip on the bucket finally causes it to tumble over the side and spill out over the floor. The man behind you reeks of blood and sweat and the humidity of Louisiana. He kicks up some water that lands on the back of your ankles, daring you to turn around and look at him. You don’t think you can. 

“Turn around.”

This man is haggered, completely run through the mill. His skin is caked in blood—from what you can tell, it’s mostly his—and mud. Nobody warned you. He heaves out a long, heavy breath and watches you with wild eyes, fingers curling and tightening around the handle of the kitchen knife. The stranger is working something out and whatever it is you’re sure it won’t be in your favor. It’s the longest moment of your life, staring each other down, waiting to see who will make the first move. 

This could be it, your only chance to escape. The man looks strong enough to get out of here. Hell, from the looks of it, he survived whatever Bo put him through. He could get you out of here but there’s nothing about him that says he’s here to save you, not with the hunting knife he’s pointing toward you, gripped tightly and held close to his hip— a warning to keep you in place. 

Somewhere in the house you hear a groan. 

Vincent, please—

“What are you doing in my house?” you try to sound unafraid but it’s a vain effort. He knows. 

“You’re with them,” he raises the knife to you, knuckles gone white, tendons and veins pushing up against the taut pull of his skin. 

“Wait,” you hold your hands up and take a small step back but there’s nowhere to go, “Wait, please, I’m not—”

At first you don’t feel it, too shocked at what’s happening, but as he digs the knife around—and you swear he catches bone—you scream. It's pitiful and agonizing, but you scream and cry because that's all you can do. He tears the knife out from you, the serrated edge pulls up skin and tissue, and you turn your head to the side and vomit from the pain all over the floor. 

You grab onto the edge of the sink for support but he’s too strong and too fast, violently whips you over to the washing machine with a single hand on your injured shoulder. You wail, the pain is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, burning hot and red. 

“You’re one of them!”

The stranger thrashes your head, hitting it against the top of the washing machine. All you can feel is the ringing in your ears and the throbbing in your head. You can’t feel him shift against you, or the slight jostle of your head when he lifts the door of the washing machine. His hand moves from your throat to the back of your neck and he pushes. You’re helpless as the door slams against your head; one, two, three times and you’re only seeing stars and black spots. You lose count. He just keeps going. 

You can’t tell if you’re still breathing.

“Vincent!” you can hardly recognize your own voice, his name is cracked and warbled, and oh, you heard something crack in your mouth. 

His foot loses traction on the wet linoleum, and with his hand on your throat, he takes you down with him, he’s fortunate enough to land on his knees, straddling your thighs and wraps his other hand around your throat too. He’s got all the leverage again. He presses down hard, thumbs crossing over each other, and all you can do is wheeze and weakly bat your hands at him. 

Where is he? What was the point in keeping you if he wouldn’t protect you? The man keeps bearing down on you, cutting off your air, and still your thoughts linger on Vincent. Sure, you’ve thought of your mother and your sister but if you think too hard about them you’ll cry messy tears and use up what’s left of your oxygen. The thought of your Vincent keeps you calm because he just has to come. 

It’s too much, the pressure on your throat and lack of oxygen is making you panic, giving you that extra surge of adrenaline to try and fight him off. It’s all in vain. The most damage you can do is tug at his hair. 

But there he is — he appears like an angel behind your attacker and you manage a smile. There’s no need to fight anymore, Vincent will do it for you. 

The force that Vincent hits him with takes you down as well. Your head slams against the floor but you can finally breathe again. You sputter and cough against the air. That man just stares at you, expression dazed, trying to work out just what happened to him. Vincent didn’t knock him hard enough. As soon as he sees you breathing evenly again, he lunges at you — he doesn’t get very far. 

Vincent grabs him by the ankle and drags him into the kitchen with ease. To an outsider he seems perfectly composed, emotions tightly under wrap, but you know him, can make out the heave of his chest and shake in his shoulders. Rage is brewing in him and he’s calculating how best to take it out on this next victim. If the pain in your shoulder and head weren’t so pressing, you could fully appreciate Vincent. The graceful move on his foot coming down on the victim's chest, holding the sniveling man still. He blubbers while Vincent pulls the twin knives out of his apron pocket. 

You think of the first time you saw him, slinking around the wax museum, just a brief reflection of black hair that disappeared like magic when you turned around to find it. You don’t know much about that day but you’ve pieced it together. He’s been watching you all day, creeping around Ambrose to finally get you at your most vulnerable. You don’t know why you were spared the knife and wax that day and you’ll never find out by yourself — you refuse to ask him — Vincent’s inner workings will always be a mystery to you. 

It's a dreadful thing to witness but you can't turn away from it.

He’s the ultimate predator: silent, swift and strong. As scared as you are of Bo, there’s something so much worse about Vincent. He plays a part, subdues himself enough around you and Bo, hides muscle beneath thick sweaters and makes himself look smaller, but he’s the one who comes back without more than a scrape or a bruise. He always has the upper hand, and it works. You almost forget it every time. Now, you won’t, you never will.

Vincent slices at the man’s prone body with efficient, precise cuts: after all, he knows the human body more intimately than anyone should. He knows just where to cut to demobilize him, and from the howls and wailing of pain the man lets out, Vincent has found his tendons and ligaments. You can't imagine the snap inside, the connective tissue would reel away and how helpless it would be, looking up at the man that had done it to you.

The man blubbers beneath him, something completely incoherent to you, but for all you know he could be speaking clear as day. You don’t care what he has to say, you want him gone. The thought might sicken you later but you don’t care, not with how much he hurt you, how much pain you suffered because of him.

You close your eyes and just listen to the carnage continue. Screaming and gargled breathing as Vincent's blades cut through flesh like butter — he always keeps his knives in perfect condition

You hear the impact, something heavy against bone and the crack that follows, again and again and again. You’re not sure anything could stop Vincent. The cracking keeps coming and at this rate, you’re sure that man isn’t alive. 

The front door slams open, and there’s only one person it could possibly be if Vincent is still hitting the man. Bo curses when he gets closer. There’s silence for a moment, only interrupted by Vincent’s harsh breathing. Something clatters against the floor.

“Aw, hell, Vince. Look at the mess you made.”

***

The cast iron skillet Vincent used to beat the man sits, still bloody, on the counter. There hasn't been much of an effort to clean yet, you suppose their attention is too focused on fixing you up or maybe they’ve gotten used to you cleaning up their messes. The man is still there too, propped up now against the lower cabinets, watching you like it’s a punishment. For who, you don’t know. 

You’re barely holding it together. Everything is flooding you. The pain you felt had succumbed to adrenaline and endorphins but now it’s come back with a vengeance. You’re sure you’re quite the sight, hair mussed and clothes soaked with blood and water, sniveling pathetically as Vincent inspects your injuries. You feel like a child again, wanting to call out to your mom so she can soothe the pain. She’s not who you get. Instead, it’s Bo holding your hand and gently wiping your tears away. 

Never — not even in your wildest dreams — would you have thought he would be the one comforting you. 

He pats the top of your hand as Vincent works. The movements are fast and effective, pulling at cutting at your clothes to examine every injury. His fingers probe at the stab wound, clinical and just the right amount of detachment. There’s no reveling in your pain or blood. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” The apology isn't real, you know there’s nothing for you to apologize for but it’s still so easy. And it’s better than the silence. 

“None of that now. It ain’t your fault.”

You flinch when the needle pierces your skin and feel the thread run through it. 

“Stop. Stop, Vincent, please, just put a bandage over it.” 

“‘m sorry, sugar, but that cut ain’t gonna heal without closing it up.” Bo squeezes your hand gently. This man can be downright cruel and mean, but not to his family, not like he is with outsiders. this softness he’s showing you, this comfort he offers, maybe you’re no longer an outsider to him. “Trust me, I know.”

“Vincent! It hurts too much.”

“Darling, either you be good and let him work or I’m gonna let him sedate you and let him take you downstairs.”

The threat of sedation works you over, scares you right down to the bone. You don’t know what Vincent puts in his little sedative cocktail and you never want to find out. You don’t want to be a prisoner in your own body, unable to move, voice out your pain and discomfort while Vincent works on you. You sit up straight, fast enough to knock Vincent's hand out of the way with your shoulder and you cling to Bo’s arms. “No, no, no! I can be good. I’ll be good.”

“Alright, then,” he smiles and shoots a glance up at his twin, “You heard ‘em.”

***

You were right. As soon as the pain and adrenaline vanished, you were sick with yourself. You know well what you wished, what abhorrent thoughts you had, and it makes you sick. You almost want to die. This place has changed you, made you a predator in your own right. it isolates you. You stick to yourself, change your bandages without help from either of them, and scuttle around the house. Your chores have been reduced while you get better – it gives you too much time.

Vincent makes himself scarce around you and when he does spend any time around you, he treats you like glass on the verge of cracking. So, as much as you loathe to, you spend your days down in the garage with Bo. He doesn’t avoid you, doesn’t baby you – something you’re incredibly thankful for – and makes you work. He fills up your time with busy work because he doesn’t actually trust you around the cars he works on, not that you think he actually knows what he’s doing.

“Your brother’s acting weird.”

“Vincent’s a weird guy.”

You roll your eyes. So much for having a deep, productive conversation with him. It’s just like talking to a brick wall.

“Bo, you know that’s not what I’m saying.”

He closes the hood of the car and looks at you through the windshield. Bo places his hands flat against the hood, head hung low and it worries you, this change in demeanor. He doesn’t present himself so open and vulnerable, it’s not his style, it’s nobody’s style in this town of three. 

“Listen, Vincent just gets these moods. There’s not much you can do ‘bout it but wait it out.”

“Yeah, but he makes time with you.”

“‘M his brother. It’s different with a sibling. You know that just as well as I do.”

You nod. You do know. Nobody sees you like a sibling can, they see you at your best, your worst, go through your formative years knowing exactly what you’ve gone through. No one knows you like a sibling. You deflate. You remember what you're missing again. Your poor sister, you wonder what she thinks. It’s been so long, you must be presumed dead by now, would she have accepted that so easily?

“Give him time. He’s just worried. He doesn’t do well when people he loves are hurt. You gave him a right good scare, gave me one too. We thought you were dead.”

You look at him. The softness of his voice makes you, but it’s gone in a moment. He sniffs and pulls his hat back on and smacks the hood of the car once.

“Alright, give ‘er a start.”

***

“Vincent?” you call down the stairs. You wait a moment, hoping that he’ll peek his head around the corner. Nothing. You sigh. This is the last place you want to be, it’s far too warm and the wax has started to soften because of it. But you can’t just turn around now, whatever mood Vincent’s been in has been going on for too long. You’re not even sure if he’s come up to eat in the last three days. With your free hand you cling to the wall, in the other you hold the plate stacked high with red beans and rice and andouille sausage. Hopefully this will make him feel better.

You find him hunched over his desk, sketching on a pad of paper. He doesn’t look up from his work, doesn’t even seem to notice you, too focused on the opera music or in his work. Or he doesn’t want to acknowledge you.

You place the food in front of him and sit yourself on the edge of his desk.

“It’s a thank you.”

“Don’t. Don’t thank me.”

“Why not?”

You place your index and middle finger beneath his chin and gently push his head up to look at you. Even if his head follows, his eye stays downcast. You smile and move your head down to catch his eye. No matter how low you go, how far to the side, he avoids you. The smile falls away.

“Vincent, why not? What did you do?” You pull yourself off the desk to stand. He still doesn’t look at you. You take his shoulders and turn him on the stool and he still won’t look at you. “Answer me!”

You’re starting to panic. And now, now he decides to look at you. He watches you. He doesn’t attempt to sign or speak, just watches you with a careful eye. What is he waiting for? But you know. All the pieces are falling together. That noise, the other creak when that man had approached you — Vincent was there too. He was listening and waiting for your move. It was a test. There was no way he could have come up from his workshop so fast. 

You freeze in place. How could he? Was it all just a game to him? Did he want to see you hurt, crying out for him and bleeding out on the damn floor so he could play hero? No. He doesn’t want to play the hero, he knows he isn’t. He tested you and you’d been hurt enough for him to think you had died.

You push and slap at him. Your nails drag through the wax of his mask. 

“How dare you? After all this goddamn time? Why would you do that? I’ve been good, haven’t I? I’ve listened to your rules, done all the goddamn cleaning and cooking around here because apparently two grown ass men can’t fucking take care of themselves. I’ve taken care of you, I’ve been loyal to you to a fault! And this?” you point to the wound on your shoulder, “This is how you repay me?”

“I could have died.”

You claw at the mask again, taking bigger chunks of wax out. You want him to feel just as angry, just as hurt and betrayed as you do. There’s no better place to start than with his mask. It makes you sick to do it but it’s what he deserves. He grabs your wrists but it doesn’t stop you, you still reach for what you can, fight against the pressure of him trying to pry your arms down to the side. You just can’t let him win. You refuse to.

“I could have died!” you scream.

Your strength is no match against his in the end. You panic when he begins to force you back through the room, away from where he works to the twin mattress he’d chained you to. You’re flat on your back, arms held above your head, and he just stares at you with his one eye. The mask is ruined, you’ve made your mark on it. You thrash against his hold but he just presses harder against you, letting his full weight lay on you, and with ease he holds down your wrists with one hand while the other grasps at his mask.

You freeze when you realize what’s going to happen.

His fingers curl beneath the jaw of it and he rips it off and throws it to the side. You don’t get much time to look before he presses his lips against yours. It’s rough and hard, not close to the sweet kisses you imagined he would give. He pulls away from you, chest heaving, and watches you. You blink up at him, shocked by the sudden display of trust and hunger. You’re still so angry but coupled with the rough kiss, you feel that heat in your lower belly. He presses harder against you, brings himself closer, waiting for you, daring you to examine him.

You do and he’s the most beautiful, tragic thing you’ve ever seen. You know all the potential he had, had it not been for his juncture with Bo, he would have been so handsome, and he knows that. There’s a softness to him that Bo doesn’t have though. His skin is soft, pale, barely wrinkled from his lack of exposure to the sun. You manage to pull one of your hands from his grip and bring it to the back of his head.

“Again,” you demand. He looks at you, his eye wide and mouth agape, like he can’t believe it. You pull his hair and wrap your legs around his waist, “Kiss me again.”

[yogurtified]

peroration

I sit here as waves of sunshine roll over me, blanketing me with their warmth and hope.

Sing to me, I whisper to them. Sing your songs of tomorrow, of a new dawn—after the fall, before the day breaks. One day we’ll make it out of here, wait and see.

But then the clouds cover the sky and the sun disappears, leaving me alone with the thoughts that keep getting closer. Those thoughts, like the darkness that keeps pushing me closer to the edge, like the fire that keeps fading with every frosting breath, like the goosebumps on my arms as I sit here, typing this at 23:27 in a room that’s way too cold for the oversized t-shirt I wear.

The flickering lights inside of my head.

Where are you now, when I need you the most?

It’s too quiet here—there’s so much space for these thoughts to take over. Where’s your voice, your calming presence, your soft words as you whisper that I’ll be okay?

…

What would you say if you saw me writing this?

Would you call me an idiot? A dumbass?

Or simply the sentimental fool that I am—holding onto things that aren’t meant to be?

Only when it’s dark do I realise how much I truly need you. How much I rely on your hand in mine. How much I cling onto your ever-fading presence.

Only when it’s dark do I become acutely aware of how dangerous “we” have become.

I wonder if you’re still awake. Maybe you’re thinking of me too.

You know, I think I oughta tell you… sometimes I wonder if I ever was in love with you.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m even ready for love. Maybe just a best friend is enough.

Then again, what’s the difference? Do you know? Is there one?

Can you tell me what to do?

Can you see how hard I’m trying—trying to…

To…

I don’t know.

All I know is that I need you in a way I never knew I could need someone.

And I don’t know what it means, or what I should do.

But at least at the end of the line…

You’d hold me, right?

--

// sorry for the brief period of inactivity—life got pretty busy for a while, but I’ll try posting more now!

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 Girls Like Girls Book Review 🦇

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐

❝ But you, the girl not like other girls...you look down the road, and it's not shiny and bright. The thought of it doesn't make you feel any of the ways ever described in story or song. And those people, they're not all lying—which means there's a secret you're keeping even from yourself. That feeling you can't—and now maybe won't—name. You push it down. You ignore it like it's a plan that'll shrivel away. But you're the thing that's shrinking. And one day you learn: it's not that you're not like other girls. It's just that you've never met a girl like you. And then, you do. You meet her. And suddenly the songs make sense. ❞

❓ #QOTD What song changed your life growing up? ❓ 🦇 This coming-of-age YA romance follows 17-year-old Coley, who arrives in rural Oregon to live with her father. No stranger to loss, Coley is wary about risking an already aching heart; a risk she's willing to take when she crashes into Sonya. Despite trying to conceal their feelings, there's an undeniable spark between them. Can they fight through fear to accept the love neither of them think they deserve?

💜 Hayley Kiyoko's debut novel captures all the heartache of trying to navigate the complexities of love with a young heart. Every time Coley questions her feelings for Sonya, every time past pains or society's expectations make her pause, readers feel that ache. Kiyoko creates realistic characters who are frustratingly unreliable, as most feelings are. This beautiful story is as chaotic and messy as young love, but it's far more than a romance; it's the coming-of-age story most people don't allow themselves. Coley's story explores topics of homophobia and grief, giving real layers to the emotions Coley is forced to confront before she can heal and realize who she's meant to become.

❝ I know now. I can't run away from it the way she does, now that I know what it's like to spark and burn under another girl's hands. What it is to blossom at the mere thought of her. Kissing Alex is a wet match, fizzling dark compared to her. It's not his fault. It's not my fault. It's just...who I am. There it is: the truth. No running from it anymore. It's living in me, and I can try to kill it or try to grow it. ❞

🦇 Unfortunately, this novel lacked the poetic prose or lyrical lines you'd expect from a strong songwriter like Hayley Kiyoko. Since this is a literary debut, an adjustment period is expected, but it felt like Kiyoko relied too heavily on the limited plotline from the music video; limitations that made this a very simple story. Some of the writing, namely the dialogue, is cringy, but I'm not sure whether to account that to Coley's social awkwardness or inexperienced writing. Despite spending almost every day together, we needed more from Coley and Sonya's relationship to really invest in their messy story. Usually, when a character clings onto a mantra, it repeats more than once as a way of bringing the story together. Coley's mom used to say "You gotta love hard and live hard," and I wish that line repeated near the end of the novel, as a way of encouraging Coley to do just that. I honestly didn't expect a HEA in this one, which made it feel a little forced; a pretty bow to finish the story off just as the music video did.

🦇 Recommended to anyone looking for a complex coming-of-age story and sapphic happily ever after. I hope this one wins your heart.

❤️ YA Coming-of-Age 🧡 Debut Novel 🤍 Lesbian Romance 💗 Friends to Lovers 💜 Summertime Vibes

🦇 Major thanks to the author Hayley Kiyoko and publisher St. Martin's Press / Wednesday Books for providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book.

[citrinekay]

one line any fic! rules: pick ten of your fics, scroll to somewhere midpoint, pick a line chunk and share it, and then tag ten people. I was tagged by @tiffanylamps Thanks, this should be fun!! I'm going to blatantly use this opportunity to do some self-promo for the next fic I will be publishing, as I'm very excited to be sharing this project (it's maybe my favorite thing I've written for the fandom so far 🤭) The rest will go in chronological order of publication. from "history of a monster" (coming this weekend) Dong-sik, I don’t want to die … Sang-yeob murmurs from the depths of his addled brain. What was the last thing that Yu-yeon ever said to him? He can’t remember now because it’s been too long, but it must have been something mundane when he was leaving the house that morning with his guitar slung over his back, intent upon escaping the memorial mass for his grandmother. Maybe she told him not to be such a punk. He’s said a lot of things to her in return since then, whispering to her memory in the hollow of his own home and promising to find her. If only she could see him now and where his supposed vows of justice have led him - right here, to this opulent hotel room, to this filthy, degenerate act of self-punishment, selfish and soulless. In all her pure and righteous faith, she would despise him. (midway through this fic turned out to be the most depressing bit lol I am putting this man Through It)

from the bitter and the sweet

Before Joo-won can make sense of their limbs, Dong-sik is on his feet and leaning over to slip his arms under Joo-won’s armpits. Joo-won struggles to stand, feeling no more stable than a newly birthed fawn. He clings onto Dong-sik’s shoulders. His senses are dull as a butter knife, yet he’s still hyper-aware of breath against his cheek, the texture of Dong-sik shirt against his fingers, and the warmth of his skin underneath. 

“You had almost as much as me. I don’t think you should drive,” Joo-won mumbles. 

“I walked here.”

“I-I don’t think you should walk … anywhere. It’s dangerous … I just told you there's robbers out there, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” 

“Stay here,” Joo-won says, the unfiltered suggestion leaping past the usual boundaries he would have barred it with had he been sober. He swings his chin toward the couch. “You can sleep here. Don’t go.” (i just love this moment; sweet, sappy, drunk jw begging ds not to go .... you know he drove ds absolutely mad with this 😳) from fractures

Something in Dong-sik’s eyes shifts. The hollow chasm of suffering remains unchanged, but the need that he had cloaked in compassion and gentility rips open like the maw of a great and terrible beast. Taking a step back, he yanks Joo-won away from the counter by the shirt. 

“You want to be on your knees for me so badly?” he asks, his mouth quivering around the question. 

Joo-won begins to nod. “I deserve it,” he whispers, hearing his own voice raspy and breaking like waves against a shore. 

Dong-sik lets go of his shirt, doesn’t bother to smooth the rumpled fabric. He jabs his chin toward the minefield that is the kitchen floor dappled in broken glass. “Then do it.” (umm I am just absolutely Weak for dom!Dong-sik) from like no one else could

Verbal indicators are the surest way for him to know, and when they first began doing this, he’d scolded Dong-sik on more than one occasion for being tight-lipped. It wasn’t humiliation, per se, that had kept him quiet, but an impulse to endure in silence, to only cry when he’s alone. He’d been doing it for years, after all, so long that it felt natural.  It hadn’t taken long for those barriers to break down when Joo-won had finally pushed him hard enough to draw tears one night. He’d held Dong-sik’s face in his hands and looked into his eyes while the rivers of agony seeped into his palms. They didn’t fuck after - they rarely do - but it was the closest Dong-sik thinks he’s ever gotten to what some people might call nirvana.  (the dom!jw spanking fic that is, imo, so underrated. i love this concept and dynamic and I'd like to write more of it one day) from never enough

“I fucked you so thoroughly last night that I thought you would be satisfied,” Joo-won says, his critical gaze wandering over Dong-sik’s torso, straining softly between the handcuffs and the weight of his body. “Enough is never enough with you, is it?”

Dong-sik huffs a laugh, but his throat is dry. “I can never have enough of you, Joo-won-ah.”

This sugary response avails him nothing. Joo-won hums a low sound, and leans forward to run his fingertips along the exposed flesh of Dong-sik’s triceps as he says, “That would be cute if it was me you were having. But it wasn’t, was it?” (did I ever think I would be writing a tickling kink fic in my life?? no but here we are and it fits these two perfectly) from steel trap teeth Dong-sik's been living as a pariah long enough that something like a kinky sexual preference is, in his mind, inconsequential to the question of whether or not someone is a good person. The conflict had arisen inside him for having broken his mother’s cardinal rule which he has been attempting to live by since Yu-yeon’s case was closed - don’t hurt anyone. He hadn’t just hurt Joo-won; he’d helped Joo-won hurt himself. There exists some middle ground between these two things, he's sure, but trying to get Joo-won to this place presents a challenge.  Joo-won’s teeth still get sharp, set with a snarl like any soft creature that’s been kicked too many times when the depth of his wanting is exposed. Dong-sik can only stand here, holding out his hand as a gesture of safety until Joo-won realizes there's no harm in asking for what he wants. (the other spanking fic!! which is funnily enough, one of the more fluffier/sappier things I've written. i just love reducing jw to a pathetic, begging, subby mess) from only our love can suffice

“Joo-won, if you’re going to lecture me about going to the barber again-”

“No,” Joo-won says, holding up his hand. “I’m not. I’ve accepted it’s not going to happen.”

Dong-sik blinks, his brows rising. “You have?”

“Yes. You can gloat about it later,” Joo-won says, briskly, and snatches the bottle of shampoo and conditioner from the cart. “I’m talking about this.”

Dong-sik looks at the bottle, then back at Joo-won, a frown of genuine confusion knitting his brow. “What about it? It was on sale.”

“Did you even look at the label?” Joo-won asks. “Of course it was on sale, Dong-sik, because it’s the worst thing you could possibly put in your hair.” (I don't claim to be funny but I thought this scene was pretty amusing. i think jw is the kind of person who would be 100% neurotic about his beauty products.) from fragments

“Joo-won-” Dong-sik tries, without any forethought to the address. He doesn’t want to object, even though he knows he should, and the utterance is neither combative nor authoritative. It sounds to his own ears like little more than a plea. 

Joo-won, taking it as such, steals away the last bit of distance between them by pressing his mouth hard to Dong-sik’s parted lips. The gesture, while lacking coordination or even gentility, destroys what last fragments of inhibition Dong-sik had been clinging to. Joo-won’s mouth - his pretty, plump mouth that Dong-sik had privately fantasized of kissing with this exact fervor more than once - is against his lips, with a moan following close behind. The inner seam of lower lip is exactly as soft as it had felt grazing Dong-sik’s cock - his memory had not embellished it - and the slip of his tongue is even smoother, wetter; it laps against him, hungry and desperate, no finesse or restraint, only pure, unbridled intention.  (ds may be a nutcase but jw is an obsessive little freak. he was thinking about kissing ds like that for Weeks 😌) from a cruel and futile miracle

“And if you don’t kick me out?”

Joo-won uncurls his fist from Dong-sik’s collar and pushes upright, gripping the back of the couch for balance. Shadows from the lamplight crest over his shoulders and turn every soft, innocent curve of his face to a sharp and perilous ravine. The weepy shimmer is gone from his eyes, replaced by a hardening varnish of determination. He drops a hand to his belt buckle. 

“If you whisper a word of this to anyone,” he threatens, softly, “I won’t wait for you to turn yourself in.” (it's sadhorny hours!!!) from terrarium (this is a porny one-shot WIP ft. shibari. no ETA on completion or publication for this one)

Dong-sik barks a laugh. “Give him a couple years, Joo-won-ah. How many did it take you? All of twenty-eight?” 

Joo-won pivots his glare upward to see Dong-sik’s eyes sparkling. Some days it’s more humiliating than others that Dong-sik is the only person he’s ever been interested in; today is certainly one of those days because it makes how desperate he is more prominent, and Dong-sik knows it. 

“It might have taken even longer if I hadn’t nudged you,” Dong-sik continues, clearly pleased with himself. 

“Nudge?” Joo-won echoes. “Is that what you call it?” 

“Mm, I suppose it was more like a shove.”

from the bitter and the sweet

Before Joo-won can make sense of their limbs, Dong-sik is on his feet and leaning over to slip his arms under Joo-won’s armpits. Joo-won struggles to stand, feeling no more stable than a newly birthed fawn. He clings onto Dong-sik’s shoulders. His senses are dull as a butter knife, yet he’s still hyper-aware of breath against his cheek, the texture of Dong-sik shirt against his fingers, and the warmth of his skin underneath. 

“You had almost as much as me. I don’t think you should drive,” Joo-won mumbles. 

“I walked here.”

“I-I don’t think you should walk … anywhere. It’s dangerous … I just told you there's robbers out there, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” 

“Stay here,” Joo-won says, the unfiltered suggestion leaping past the usual boundaries he would have barred it with had he been sober. He swings his chin toward the couch. “You can sleep here. Don’t go.” (i just love this moment; sweet, sappy, drunk jw begging ds not to go .... you know he drove ds absolutely mad with this 😳) from fractures

Something in Dong-sik’s eyes shifts. The hollow chasm of suffering remains unchanged, but the need that he had cloaked in compassion and gentility rips open like the maw of a great and terrible beast. Taking a step back, he yanks Joo-won away from the counter by the shirt. 

“You want to be on your knees for me so badly?” he asks, his mouth quivering around the question. 

Joo-won begins to nod. “I deserve it,” he whispers, hearing his own voice raspy and breaking like waves against a shore. 

Dong-sik lets go of his shirt, doesn’t bother to smooth the rumpled fabric. He jabs his chin toward the minefield that is the kitchen floor dappled in broken glass. “Then do it.” (umm I am just absolutely Weak for dom!Dong-sik) from like no one else could

Verbal indicators are the surest way for him to know, and when they first began doing this, he’d scolded Dong-sik on more than one occasion for being tight-lipped. It wasn’t humiliation, per se, that had kept him quiet, but an impulse to endure in silence, to only cry when he’s alone. He’d been doing it for years, after all, so long that it felt natural.  It hadn’t taken long for those barriers to break down when Joo-won had finally pushed him hard enough to draw tears one night. He’d held Dong-sik’s face in his hands and looked into his eyes while the rivers of agony seeped into his palms. They didn’t fuck after - they rarely do - but it was the closest Dong-sik thinks he’s ever gotten to what some people might call nirvana.  (the dom!jw spanking fic that is, imo, so underrated. i love this concept and dynamic and I'd like to write more of it one day) from never enough

“I fucked you so thoroughly last night that I thought you would be satisfied,” Joo-won says, his critical gaze wandering over Dong-sik’s torso, straining softly between the handcuffs and the weight of his body. “Enough is never enough with you, is it?”

Dong-sik huffs a laugh, but his throat is dry. “I can never have enough of you, Joo-won-ah.”

This sugary response avails him nothing. Joo-won hums a low sound, and leans forward to run his fingertips along the exposed flesh of Dong-sik’s triceps as he says, “That would be cute if it was me you were having. But it wasn’t, was it?” (did I ever think I would be writing a tickling kink fic in my life?? no but here we are and it fits these two perfectly) from steel trap teeth Dong-sik's been living as a pariah long enough that something like a kinky sexual preference is, in his mind, inconsequential to the question of whether or not someone is a good person. The conflict had arisen inside him for having broken his mother’s cardinal rule which he has been attempting to live by since Yu-yeon’s case was closed - don’t hurt anyone. He hadn’t just hurt Joo-won; he’d helped Joo-won hurt himself. There exists some middle ground between these two things, he's sure, but trying to get Joo-won to this place presents a challenge.  Joo-won’s teeth still get sharp, set with a snarl like any soft creature that’s been kicked too many times when the depth of his wanting is exposed. Dong-sik can only stand here, holding out his hand as a gesture of safety until Joo-won realizes there's no harm in asking for what he wants. (the other spanking fic!! which is funnily enough, one of the more fluffier/sappier things I've written. i just love reducing jw to a pathetic, begging, subby mess) from only our love can suffice

“Joo-won, if you’re going to lecture me about going to the barber again-”

“No,” Joo-won says, holding up his hand. “I’m not. I’ve accepted it’s not going to happen.”

Dong-sik blinks, his brows rising. “You have?”

“Yes. You can gloat about it later,” Joo-won says, briskly, and snatches the bottle of shampoo and conditioner from the cart. “I’m talking about this.”

Dong-sik looks at the bottle, then back at Joo-won, a frown of genuine confusion knitting his brow. “What about it? It was on sale.”

“Did you even look at the label?” Joo-won asks. “Of course it was on sale, Dong-sik, because it’s the worst thing you could possibly put in your hair.” (I don't claim to be funny but I thought this scene was pretty amusing. i think jw is the kind of person who would be 100% neurotic about his beauty products.) from fragments

“Joo-won-” Dong-sik tries, without any forethought to the address. He doesn’t want to object, even though he knows he should, and the utterance is neither combative nor authoritative. It sounds to his own ears like little more than a plea. 

Joo-won, taking it as such, steals away the last bit of distance between them by pressing his mouth hard to Dong-sik’s parted lips. The gesture, while lacking coordination or even gentility, destroys what last fragments of inhibition Dong-sik had been clinging to. Joo-won’s mouth - his pretty, plump mouth that Dong-sik had privately fantasized of kissing with this exact fervor more than once - is against his lips, with a moan following close behind. The inner seam of lower lip is exactly as soft as it had felt grazing Dong-sik’s cock - his memory had not embellished it - and the slip of his tongue is even smoother, wetter; it laps against him, hungry and desperate, no finesse or restraint, only pure, unbridled intention.  (ds may be a nutcase but jw is an obsessive little freak. he was thinking about kissing ds like that for Weeks 😌) from a cruel and futile miracle

“And if you don’t kick me out?”

Joo-won uncurls his fist from Dong-sik’s collar and pushes upright, gripping the back of the couch for balance. Shadows from the lamplight crest over his shoulders and turn every soft, innocent curve of his face to a sharp and perilous ravine. The weepy shimmer is gone from his eyes, replaced by a hardening varnish of determination. He drops a hand to his belt buckle. 

“If you whisper a word of this to anyone,” he threatens, softly, “I won’t wait for you to turn yourself in.” (it's sadhorny hours!!!) from terrarium (this is a porny one-shot WIP ft. shibari. no ETA on completion or publication for this one)

Dong-sik barks a laugh. “Give him a couple years, Joo-won-ah. How many did it take you? All of twenty-eight?” 

Joo-won pivots his glare upward to see Dong-sik’s eyes sparkling. Some days it’s more humiliating than others that Dong-sik is the only person he’s ever been interested in; today is certainly one of those days because it makes how desperate he is more prominent, and Dong-sik knows it. 

“It might have taken even longer if I hadn’t nudged you,” Dong-sik continues, clearly pleased with himself. 

“Nudge?” Joo-won echoes. “Is that what you call it?” 

“Mm, I suppose it was more like a shove.”

[iridescentlemoncandy]

Kuromi x Osborn [Part 2]

[Tune of Amusement]

Pic source: here

Part 2

Osborn and I eventually made it to the roller coaster zone, both sporting Kuromi’s headband. There is a lot of screaming and squealing from the direction of the moving roller coaster. Those who are waiting in line show a range of emotions, from excitement to nervousness.

MC: Ahhh, it's a roller-coaster! 

Osborn: Wanna ride? 

MC: Of course! They say you can’t visit this amusement park without experiencing this. But this is probably just a piece of cake for the Great Osborn, isn't it? 

Osborn: What gives you that idea?

MC: A race car travels far higher speed than a roller coaster, right?

Osborn: Of course, but you can’t sit beside me while I’m racing.  

MC: Quite a shame, to be honest. I have no idea what you look like when you’re racing because I couldn’t witness it with my own two eyes. But a roller-coaster ride with you squealing your lungs out isn’t half terrible, either.

Osborn: How cheeky. We don't know who's gonna scream first later~

MC: Hng, hng! Bring it on! 

As we continue to chat, we find ourselves next in line for the ride. 

Osborn: Dare to sit in the first row?  

MC: Yes! 

Although I tremble internally, I nod eagerly, remembering all the ruthless words I spoke of just now. Complying with the staff instructions, we removed our headbands and put our stuff in the provided locker. Osborn holds my hand and confidently makes his way to the front row. 

Osborn: Once you sit down, there are no take-backs. 

I didn’t answer right away but waited for him to try to get on the ride’s seats before pouncing on him with a smug. He bursts out laughing as he stretches his leg and climbs aboard the roller-coaster to the seat right beside me. In a short period of time, the roller coaster makes a slow ascent towards the sky.  

My visceral fear takes over me almost immediately. I hear a chuckle from the person next to me as I grip the safety bar with both my hands. I turn around and see him looking at me, unperturbed. 

MC: Don't laugh at me! I wasn't afraid; it was just a normal nervous reaction! 

Osborn: Right, I believe you. But if you’re scared, you can hold on here. 

He makes a gesture towards his arm. As the roller coaster starts to ascend, I finally grab onto his arms.   

MC: You can’t say I didn’t warn you if I squeeze too hard!

Osborn: Got it. Go easy on me, okay? 

I was about to say something, but the roller coaster has reached the top. Since we are sitting in the front row, I have a perfect view of the ground. My hands spontaneously cling even more tightly to his arm. 

To make it worse, the train stopped at the top, making my already nervous heart accelerate its rhythm.  

MC: Why does it have to stop? It can't be— Ahhhhhhh!!! 

As I mumble in my bewilderment, the roller-coaster swings swiftly down the trail. Everything in front of me is moving at what feels like full speed, and all I can feel is a powerful breeze on my face.

I could no longer keep to my ruthless word as I screamed along the roller-coaster trails. Perhaps it's because Osborn is sitting next to me that I’m having so much fun riding this. When the ride almost comes to a close, I recall my earlier comment about wanting to hear him squeal. When I turn around, all I can see is Osborn's cheerful expression as he reverently looks at me. 

Osborn: You recovered? 

MC: Ah, have I been screaming too much? 

Osborn: Nope, I’m still interested in seeing the terrified face of one particular silly person. But it seems like you're having fun and enjoying it. 

MC: Maybe it’s because I think of the roller coaster as your race car and kinda have the feeling that I am riding shotgun with you in a race. 

Osborn: Then we should do this more often in the future. 

MC: Sure! With you by my side, I'm not afraid at all. 

Osborn and I each grabbed the gifts the personnel placed there upon exiting the roller coaster.

MC: It's Kuromi's stickers! 

As I look at all the different Kuromi stickers, an idea abruptly crosses my mind. 

MC: Osborn, look, there's a giant Kuromi! 

Osborn: Huh, what? 

I point to his back and take the chance to slap a Kuromi sticker on his face as he turns away. 

MC: Hehe~ Gotcha! 

Osborn: What kinda prank is this? 

He rubs his face and looks at me with amusement.

MC: You put the headband on me while I wasn't paying attention just now, so I gotta act fast this time! 

Osborn: Then did you forget I also have a "secret weapon" in my hand? 

He takes off one of the stickers and tries to stick it on my face. I make a hasty attempt at running away, but I end up in his arms instead. Screams from the roller coaster riders in the distance mix with our own, making the atmosphere more festive and fun.

[Introduction] [1] [2] [3] [4]

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

Am I the only person that doesn’t want YNSH back together?

I stumbled across this series recently and while I was binge reading and I just can’t seem to let go of the feeling that Seonghwa only decided to end the relationship because of the blackmail that Juliet had on him.

Ever since debut Y/N has been hated on for the most ridiculous reasons and has had false rumors/scandals centered around her. A part of me thinks that if Juliet never revealed that she also had dirt on Seonghwa he would have not broken up with her because scandals are nothing new to her. He probably would’ve thought that since it wasn’t anything new it she would be able to handle it.

While Seonghwa on the other hand is an idol that was welled loved ever since he debuted and if not one but two audio recordings of him basically slut shaming his own girlfriend were to ever get released it would be not only his but Ateez’s first official scandal and would impact the whole group. It would tarnish the groups reputation and they would also lose a lot of fans because if a regular person were to listen to those audio clips it would come off as misogynistic. Especially if he planned to ask her out properly the same day one of those audio recordings took place. Nah I want this ship to sink

He still hasn’t been transparent about these things with her and don’t even get home started on the whole “you can have her” 😒 Genuinely disgusts me. Women don’t exist to be viewed as objects for men.

Seonghwa already broke her trust once and I think that’s more than enough reason to cut him out of her life. And I know she hasn’t been the best at dealing with the whole break up situation either but that doesn’t excuse the things he said about her before they dated. Yes people can change but they don’t just change in a matter of months.

Maybe I’m just projecting cause I have major trust issues after having been too nice my whole life and had to learn the hard way to set boundaries 😅 and also had to the hard way two not give people second chances because all the times I’ve had just showed me that I shouldn’t have.

I know this story is fiction but I got invested so quickly can’t wait to see how you plan the rest out.

Sorry I’m advance for the long ask and the typos I have I just got carried away😅

Long response so it's going under the cut!

Ooooo this is an interesting take and one I definitely understand. Firstly, I'm glad you're invested enough to binge the whole series! She's a real long one so I'm glad that it stayed really interesting all the way! And ahhhh I'm happy that you left such a great ask too! I love seeing the different sides when it comes to these two.

But, onto the meat of it yes. You mentioned something that I haven't seen a lot of people talk about to me in my asks. (Y/N), as she's written, is a frequent scandal target simply because it's easy to pin a scandal on her, just as it's easy to prove them false. A silly scandal with a previous lover is almost nothing to her, especially given her rather "free" personality.

That's Seonghwa's flaw, and maybe one person did point it out before, but he's selfish. Or, at least, prior to now. Not once has Seonghwa been seen in a serious scandal aside from when his relationship with (Y/N) was outed to the public, and even then he was still being coddled by the fans while (Y/N) was being berated. I'm not sure how well I wrote it then, but I tried to imply that (Y/N) almost ended the relationship because of it, but it was Seonghwa who convinced her to stay. Regardless, his reasoning for breaking up with her had selfish roots, and even in the current chapter, he's yet to actually tell her about that selfish reason and he still clings onto the "I wanted to protect you" idea, when it isn't the whole truth. (God dammit, Hwa, communicate!)

Also, side note, I'm so glad I got a majority of readers to second guess him with that one line, it really allowed Yangyang to evolve into his Bestie Final form lol, but seriously, fuck misogynists. Seonghwa, at least, acknowledged that it was fucked of him to say that. But also I will confirm that the audios are prior to him actually asking her out, which doesn't change much, they're still incriminating with or without the edits. Especially with ATEEZ being, well, ATEEZ. It wouldn't just break their image, it'll absolutely shatter whatever was left of what he and (Y/N) had in (Y/N)'s eyes because how could you say that about me? You didn't even know me.

But, I understand you, and so does (Y/N). She very nearly cut him out too if not for her group members meddling, but a flaw they share together is that they're both too stubborn. God forbid those audios come out, that might destroy them for good. You're right though, change takes time, and that's part of the reason why they both agreed to wait it out until they had that time to properly work things together, and if they work out, then they do, and if it falls apart at the seams, at least they tried.

And, trust, you should read a few of my other fics, especially Covalence, wow, I really projected onto that (Y/N) when it comes to trust issues. My ex used to go through my texts when he thought I wasn't looking at that just changed me fundamentally, trust became a huge thing for me, which is part of the reason why I decided to use it to really add drama to Prominence, I'm glad it's working out well!

I have to say though, me adding YNSH back to Prominence has me scratching my head sometimes because I've always had this at the back of my mind, then I remember that it's fanfiction lol so I know you're all not expecting a New York Times best seller quality of writing. Sometimes I wonder if I started setting them back together again too soon or if I shouldn't have given them the chance at all.

Luckily, this reckoning will come through a certain character, and depending on how evil I am or how everyone reacts, I will say he's got people rather split on whether they should like him or hate him, which is exactly as I planned muahahaha

But again, thank you so much for sending in an ask! I really enjoyed reading and responding to it <3

[lunaprincipessa]

ENTRY SIXTY-SIX

I found this pic and I loved it so much at first because I feel the same way. I've always been either thrown away or rejected in general and it feels so damn good when someone actually puts effort in!

But that word, "clingy..."

I am more than aware that the author meant no harm but I wanna get into that word a little bit because it makes my skin crawl to be brutally honest. Best to know what signs to look for if you ever encounter it because it's affection and attention you want, not clinginess. Let's find out why.

While the author is not advocating for anything unhealthy, clingy behavior within itself certainly does.

Clinginess is defined as the act of resisting separation by tightly grasping onto something. This is not known to be a benefit in relationships. There is a huge difference between you both putting the work in to stay together versus one person putting 100% of the effort in, in order to prove themselves.

In our relationships, this causes issues because as we get into it, we will see how being clingy is actually being controlling with an anxious attachment style.

Sad part is, clingy people are amongst those that can't see themselves. They are not aware of how they're coming off when they engage in such behavior(s).

Lets get into the detail. There are four attachment styles.

1.) Secure (an ability to build healthy, long-lasting relationships).

2.) Avoidant (failure to build long-term relationships due to an inability to engage in physical and emotional intimacy).

3.) Disorganized (having extremely inconsistent behavior and difficulty trusting others).

4.) Anxious (insecure attachment characterized by fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, depending on the significant other for validation and emotional regulation; codependent tendencies too).

So, which came first, the chicken or the egg? The clinginess or the anxious attachment? 🤔

Attachment styles will often reveal the premise of our upbringing. They are formed when we're babies, based on the emotional attachments we had with our primary caregivers. And yes, they absolutely impact our interpersonal relationships in adulthood, it's what we're exploring in this blog!

For example, people with healthy upbringings will have a secure attachment style, honoring independence for the sake of functioning effectively as a person in society. People with unhealthy upbringings may have an anxious attachment style, wrongly interpreting independence as a lack of connection with someone.

See where the problem is? And keeping in mind, this is in reference to people who don't work on themselves.

A couple's therapist stated, "Clingy behavior comes from a person's desire to fulfill their unmet needs, whether it be emotional, spiritual, physical, or mental. The person is experiencing fear and anxiety that is attached to a belief that they won't get their needs met, so they cling hard to a person to prevent this from happening."

So, if you're anything like me, you're wondering where the line gets drawn or if there is a line at all.

I mean, don't we all want our needs to be met, isn't that normal and common? Yup! Does this alone make us clingy and controlling? Nope!

There is a line that gets drawn. In my view, that line is drawn at emotional immaturity.

Emotional immaturity is a person's inability to regulate their emotions in an age-appropriate way. There is a severe lack of self-awareness in emotionally immature individuals and they can overreact quite frequently. I think this very element enables clingy mindsets and behaviors.

None of us are perfect. However, the goal here is to bring light to the fact that we can't put unrealistic expectations and standards on our significant others because that just paves the way to disappointment, resentment, maybe even burnout or breaking up depending on how severe it is. We need to regulate our own emotions. That's no one else's job. Asking for help is one thing, using a human being as a crutch is another.

I have a list of behaviors here that are categorized as "clingy:"

*needing constant reassurance and/or affirmation, the amount of which is discernable as excessive

*has no hobbies, nothing else to focus on, although they seemingly have made a hobby out of throwing pity parties every time someone suggests taking charge of their life/feelings in some way

*intense and disruptive jealousy, this type causes frequent fights and embarassment

*reaching out excessively, expecting constant communication and interaction although it's an indirect communication of needs, often resulting in mixed signals and manipulation

*expecting immediate responses, conflict and possibly accusation(s) if not

*refuses or makes excuses out of giving you personal space/personal time

*needing to spend every moment with you, often accompanied by following you around

*possessiveness to the point of discomfort and potential isolation from others - they have a tendency to feel insecure around the people in your life and will attempt to pull you away

*stalks you on social media, monitoring all activity and every conversation; above average amount of notifications, often causing them to be the only person you see when you log-in to check them

*hypervigilance and surveillance in multiple areas of life

*you notice yourself remaining completely aware of your significant other's mood, but it's draining and often at the cost of your own contentment - especially since they often withdraw to induce guilt

Some things that make a person controlling include gaslighting, playing the blame-game, constantly criticizing/judging, insecurity they don't work on but make decisions from, causing you isolation, guilt-tripping, enabling one's own emotional instability, passive-aggression from dissatisfaction, often using the silent treatment as a response, consistent moodiness, and micromanaging.

Clingy people engage in these types of things but it's often overlooked as controlling because it's not outwardly aggressive, like loud verbal threats and physical abuse.

Passive or aggressive, it is still the act of manipulating someone to conform to only their wants and needs in an attempt to control everything around them. Don't use the word "clingy" loosely. Know the differences; seek and demand something healthy and wholesome.

Before I conclude, let's let these two duke it out for a sec. Aaannnddd FIGHT!

Affection vs. Clinginess

Affection: Gives

Clinginess: Takes

Affection: 1, Clinginess: 0

Affection: Expresses desire and love in a healthy and respectful way that leaves you feeling excited and comforted.

Clinginess: Excessive and draining pleas for attention and validation that robs you of the ability to maintain other areas and relationships (family&friends) in life.

Affection: 2, Clinginess: 0

We have a clear winner here! 🏆

Side note: May all of us that have never been loved right find happiness someday.

More thoughts later.

[lostglassguitars]

“Like I said, nobody has ever beaten “Life Is Yours To Choose”!”

Is that because of us, Mark? Or is it because you never gave us a choice? After all, we’re really just wrapped up in your story. So of course we’ve never beaten it. You’ve never given us the opportunity to.

[sukirichi]

black magic [01]

REQUEST. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife)

CONTENT/WARNINGS. some suggestive scenes, but overall fluff and romance! slight crack fic, I guess? I was laughing when I wrote this lol

NOTES. I NEED A HUSBAND! SUKUNA I’M GOING TO CRY GOODBYE THIS HAS ME SOFT. also anon i’m not sure if you wanted something with more ~sexual tension~ since this is kind of just comedic, but I hope you like it anyway!

part one | part two (nsfw)

“This is new,” you comment with a glare, your ankle propped on Sukuna’s knee.

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes, pushing your skirt aside to clean the wounds you attained through exorcising curses. You’ve taken a particularly strong curse today and you’re caught off guard, barely finishing the mission unscathed. Limping all the way back home isn’t easy especially since you live on top of the darned mountain, but if Sukuna’s going to kneel in front of you like this...maybe it wasn’t too tough a journey. “You should stop going to missions you’re not ready for. Look at you, all wounded and bloody.”

“You sound like you care.”

“You’re my wife,” he huffs while dropping the bloody towel on the floor. Sukuna wraps the bandage around your ankle and carries you bridal style even though you’re perfectly capable of walking, but he shoots you a silencing glare. You’d have knocked him in the face any other day, but he’s particularly warm and smells nice today – plus you’re beat – that you bury your face in his chest, ignoring that stupid fluttering in your stomach. “Of course I do.”

You snicker, mind tracing back to your earlier years of this dreaded marriage.

It definitely wasn’t the best – the memories blurring between strangling each other to making out as if breathing was never a thing – and it felt like forever ago when you first met him.

You’d never say it out loud, but... you don’t regret this arranged marriage. Not when Sukuna is tucking himself beside you on the bed, your head above his muscular chest a place similar to home. He covers both your bodies over with a blanket, pulling your body closer to him with a strong arm, his lips pressing onto the crown of your head.

Ugh, you think to yourself, giving in to the need to cuddle your husband after a long day of work. You still refuse to say it out loud, though, and you irk him further by muttering, “That’s not what you said two years ago.”

“I wasn’t in love with you then.”

 “I refuse to be married to you!”

Sukuna fights back the urge to cover his ears. Ever since your clan decided to visit his land and started exorcising curses one by one, his life has been nothing but hell. Not only are your relatives the most arrogant people ever with a consistent god complex, they just had to let their little mortal child be in charge of taking on the stronger curses. Seriously, what were they thinking, sending you – who’s barely even out of their training bra years – to deal with curses like him?

Everyone knows Sukuna is a no bullshit man. He won’t hesitate to cut your head off the moment you came raging at him, but then he sees how young you are and decides to send you back to your family.

Expecting that everyone would just call it a day and he’d get offerings for his unexpected mercy, Sukuna is beyond stupefied when they send you back to his temple, all dressed pretty with a basket of fruits and flowers braided in your hair. He remembers growling because you look adorable, but that’s easily wiped away when you open your mouth, your voice scratchy against his ears as you stomp your feet like the young mortal you are.

Sukuna pushes a thumb to his forehead to ease the impending headache, and that’s just from your presence. Something inside him tells that you’re going to be a bigger pain than you look.

“You don’t have much of a choice. You should’ve thought of that before deciding to run rampage over my land,” he reminds, turning boredly to his lone servant from above his throne. Sukuna isn’t impressed, to say the least, especially with your clan’s audacious proposition to gain his favour just this once. “Is this really the woman you bring me – the one they insist to be my wife?”

“She is their best fighter, my Lord.”

Well, he can’t disagree to that. You did, after all, single-handedly give him a cut on the cheek. “She’s feisty indeed.”

“Don’t talk as if I’m not here!”

“Mouthy too,” he mumbles to himself, but your sorcerer senses are sharp and easily picks up on it. He sees you flush angry again, looking immensely adorable with your tiny fists clenched like that and he snorts, waving a hand in the air. “Whatever. Get the wedding over with,” he nods to his servant, his sigh loud and tired as he makes his way to you.

You don’t stiffen at each haunting step, his eyes only glimmering harder with entertainment. It’s rare to find a mortal that doesn’t quiver at the sight of him, the urge to break you only growing stronger.

Even as he cups your face, making sure to not let his claws dig into your precious skin, Sukuna smirks. You’ll be entertaining indeed.

So Sukuna makes a promise, four eyes surveying the way your body is starting to fill in curves at the right places, the swell of your flesh just perfect in his hands... He chuckles to himself, daunting you further as he leans down to your ear, taking pleasure in the slight way your breath hitches. “Maybe then I’ll get to teach you a lesson or two.”

You’re definitely something else, taking advantage of each presented opportunity and not wasting any time before you make your move. Right after the wedding and everyone’s left, leaving you alone with your new husband behind closed doors; you push him until he’s on the ground, legs straddling each side of his hips while you growl above him – the sound similar to a battle cry.

Sukuna merely smirks, barely moving a muscle as his large hands come up to rest on your hips to steady you. “I’ve imagined countless ways you’d be on top of me like this,” his eyes light up with humour upon feeling the cold blade on his skin, “None of them included a knife on my neck though.”

“Shut your mouth. I will kill you myself,” you warn, pressing your knife harder until it draws a slight tinge of blood.

You hardly look threatening above him like this, dolled up to look the best in your wedding with this cursed being. If anything, you look more divine than deadly, and Sukuna thinks that perhaps your beauty could be your best weapon. You are bewitching, after all.

“I refuse to be your Queen and sit next to your throne.”

“Then why didn’t you stop the wedding?”

“I—”

Sukuna’s teasing grin grows wider when you pull back, trying so hard to not trip over your words. It takes all of his self-restraint to not take you right then and there, but he does a good job of holding back, enjoying this view above him instead. “Could it be you’re attracted to me after all, hm, little one?”

“Do not test me, Curse. I’m more than capable of exorcising you myself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’re the strongest in the Gojo clan, are you not?” he prompts to appease you, “I don’t even want to see what you’re capable of, but maybe, just maybe...” just as his eyes darken, the edges of his lips turning up into a smirk, Sukuna digs his claws into your thigh in a possessive show of ownership, a painful reminder that you’re his now. “...You could put on a little show for me?”

“I hate you!”

Experienced and strong as you are, you’re nothing compared to a thousand year old curse who’s killed a lot more people faster than you could blink. Sukuna immediately notices the animalistic way you draw your blade, arm swung back with rage written all over your face. Before you could so much as bat an eye, he easily switches the positions until you’re under him, using only one hand to pin your arms above your head, your blade effortlessly thrown to the other side of the room.

“As I thought, you’re a lot prettier under me like this,” he observes, roaming his eyes shamelessly over the fabric clinging prettily to your body. You’ve fallen silent at his unconcealed attention, your compliance enticing him to lean closer just to inhale your intoxicating scent.

“Not so feisty now, little one? Where’d all your hatred for me go?” Sukuna pulls back with widened eyes, “Oh? Am I hearing it wrong or is your pathetic human heart beating so loud right now?” You refuse to look at him, wriggling your hips in an attempt to leave, completely unaware that the mere movement is hypnotizing the curse above you. Sukuna grips your hips in warning, not wanting to destroy you – not now, anyway. “You know all you need to do is say it. I’d gladly take you right here and then.” His words spoken with that deep, throaty voice immediately sends a wave of heat down your core, but you turn away from him, breathing hard and nervously; something Sukuna picks up on in an instant. “Little one...have you never had a man hold you like this before?”

“N-no...”

“I see. Pure and innocent behind that ferocity, huh?” He surprises you by pulling away, smoothening his white robes down as he leaves you panting still on the floor. “Fine. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

“I’d rather die before that ever comes out from my mouth.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, winking at you before he shuts the door. “Little one.”

There’s a lot of weird – and utterly inconvenient things – about being Sukuna’s wife. The man eats everything, absolutely everything, and it doesn’t help that he sucks at hunting too. For a man so huge and burly, he sure is lazy, preferring to do the laundry in the riverside instead while you go out every day to prepare your meals.

You actually don’t mind, but it’s very fun to complain around him.

You’re on your way back to the temple when Sukuna grabs at you, making you drop the freshly caught birds onto the ground. Your brows furrow, about to scold him for being too eager again when Sukuna stares at your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Following his line of sight, your lips form an ‘o’ shape. There’s blood trickling down your forearm from his claws accidentally cutting you, guilt written all over his face. Another weird thing about Sukuna is that he babbles a lot when he’s emotional, and you’re too tired to hear him beat himself over it that you just drag him inside your room, sitting his ass down before taking a clipper.

Sukuna scoffs when you start cutting his nails. It irks him that you don’t even bother wiping the blood off first and he tsks, eyes narrowed at you. “You should have thicker skin.”

You roll your eyes as you file his nails; you’ve been married to him long enough to know it’s his way of saying sorry. Not wanting to let him wallow in guilt any louder, you pad kisses over his knuckles before swiping the black ink off your desk, using a pen brush to colour your nails instead. Sukuna hovers behind you, head tilted to the side as he watched you. “Are you painting your nails black?” he utters in disbelief, trying to ignore the fact he feels...proud and even a little smug. “Not so fitting for the angelic sorcerer now, isn’t it?”

“I’m only doing this so you don’t feel left out.”

“Maybe I’ll add markings to your pretty face too,” he cups your jaw to make you turn to him, landing a solid kiss flat to your lips which makes you sigh, pretending to be annoyed but leaning over for another peck anyway. Sukuna laughs and pulls you onto his lap, kissing your neck this time around, a little annoyed that you don’t stop in brandishing your nails. “Wife, what do you think?”

“I have work, Sukuna. You flirting with me doesn’t change the fact I need to go.”

“Come home safe for me, at least?” he breathes down your neck, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You’ve definitely changed since the first time he’s met you, starting from a mean (although he stands strong that you are still mean to him sometimes) temperamental little one to a mature, stronger sorcerer who’s secretly weak for his wife.

Unable to resist him as always, you turn around once you’ve finished painting your nails, rubbing your nose over his until your strong, scary husband is turning into putty at your hands. “Of course I will,” you peck his lips one last time, Sukuna’s eyes closing as he dives in for a deeper kiss. “I’ll always come back home to my handsome husband.”

If anyone were to ask how it’s possible that the King of Curses is actually very soft for his sorcerer wife, everyone would claim it’s impossible and a heresy – but if you ask Sukuna, it’s probably just black magic doing its wonders.