#and every time i swallow the pain doubles for a second

[misspelled-url]

wisdom tooth pain ranting in the tags don't mind me

[prettymonegasque]

Can you maybe write smut about Charles and Lando after their 2-3 finish in Australia? <3

Charlando x Reader (Charles Leclerc x Reader x Lando Norris)

A/N: I got a little (very) carried away

Warnings: Straight up porn with absolutely no plot'

Seeing your boyfriends soak each other with champagne on the podium turned you on more than you expected. It was their first podium together in over 4 years. They celebrated like starved men and you wanted to feed them. You got to Charles’ driver's room as fast as you could knowing that’s where they’ll be headed.

A few minutes later, your very sweaty boyfriends entered the room deep in conversation. They didn’t see you lying on the bed with nothing but a pair of red lingerie that left very little to the imagination. Charles was the first to notice you and he had to do a double take to believe what was before him. Lando saw his boyfriend’s jaw drop and followed his eyeline.

“Hi boys” You called out softly. “Fuck” “Putain” You giggled at their surprised faces. “Baby anyone could’ve walked in on you” Charles breathed out as he walked to you. “That’s what makes it more exciting huh? Anyone walking in and seeing how I’m laid out for my sexy winner boyfriends waiting for them to fuck me good.” He let out a groan and dropped his trophy on the floor. “Lando look at our little slut so desperate for us.” Lando was in a trance. He looked at you like a mad man but he didn’t move.

“Lan. You okay?” You pulled yourself up slightly worried. “Lay the fuck down” He demanded without blinking. Charles turned to see him. Lando wasn’t usually the one to be dominant. He was glad to let you both take the reins. But clearly, something had come onto him today. He got in front of Charles and kissed him so hard, that the poor guy stumbled a little. Lando was quick to undo both their race suits without breaking the kiss.

You couldn’t help but slide your fingers down your body. Charles finally broke the kiss to catch his breath and looked flushed. Lando turned to see you touching yourself through your panties. “Aw, my baby couldn’t even wait till I finished kissing him huh? So impatient” He tutted and harshly pushed your fingers away.

“Charlie finished second. Don’t you think he should be the first to cum today?” He got to work pulling down Charles’ boxers and taking his swollen cock in his mouth. Charles groaned and whined but he felt helpless and had no choice but to watch his boyfriend ravage him. You moaned at the filthy sight in front of you and squirmed in your place unable to do anything. Charles could feel himself getting close and he pleaded Lando not to stop. But the little shit had other plans as he pulled his cock out and smiled innocently. “Merde. Why would you do that amour? I was so close” Charles felt like he could cry.

“I want you to cum in her baby. She obviously wants us to fill her up and let everyone know who she belongs to. Look at her, we haven’t even touched her and she already looks like she’s about to cum.” Lando got rid of his boxers and pulled you to the end of the bed by your leg. He admired your body for a good minute before kneeling and tearing the tiny fabric of your body. He licked a long stripe on your pussy while Charles crawled on the bed to kiss you, swallowing your moans. Lando sucked your clit and fingered you, forcing an orgasm out of you.

You had to muster every bit of energy to not scream and let the entire Ferrari Motorhome know about your little sex capades. You didn’t have much time to recover before you were on fours and Charles lining up on your ass. Lando stood in front of you with his cock in his hand. Both your boyfriends pushed their cocks in it at the same time and you wanted to scream in pain but you stuck to sucking the cock in your mouth like there’s no tomorrow. It was their turn to now hold back their moans and avoid making any loud noises.

Charles pounded mercilessly in your ass while spanking it. “Fuck look at our slut Lando. Taking us both so well. If only everyone could see you now baby. Letting yourself be used by not one but two F1 drivers.”  “Look at how helpless she looks Charlie. Wish I could take a picture of this baby.” He moaned and fucked your face harder.

  “Putain. I’m getting close. I’m gonna cum baby. Do you want me to put a baby in you huh? Should I do it Lando? Make her look all nice and swollen for us.” Charles moaned out. “Do it Cha. Fucking cum in her. Let everyone know who she belongs to.” That was enough to tip them off the edge as they both came in you. Caution was out the window as the room was filled with pornographic noises. You were dripping from all your holes.

A minute later when you all caught your breath, they pulled out of you and you whined at the instant emptiness. Your boyfriends snuggled to you from both sides and held you tight while your body relaxed. “Was it too much baby?” Charles asked as Lando gently moved your hair out of your face. “No, it’s okay. I’m good” You smiled at him. “I hope you both realise this is only round 1. Next time I get to fill her up.”

[v3nomly]

𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 — 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐃 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

• characters — Gwayne Hightower ; Davos Blackwood ; Cregan Stark ; Jacaerys Velaryon ; GN Reader

• synopsis — I made this post, stating I can describe any fictional characters cock in detail. As promised, here is the second batch of characters requested.

• tags & warnings — smut, hand jobs, penetrative sex, outdoor sex.

• a/n — Wowza, another one in the bag. I had told myself I was only going to write 100 words per character, but I wrote nearly double. Anyways, next up Genshin men. Request are open!

Main Masterlist | Other Parts

— 𝐆𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

Gwayne is a man of honor, and as such the intricacy of his cock were hidden away until your wedding night. At first, he was almost bashful at your hasty hands, which had ducked under his waistline before the door closed. When your hands wrap around his already hardening length, he can’t help but lean into you. 

You bite your lip as you guide him back to bed, giggling slightly at the speed at which he removes his layers. Freeing cock, which sits leaking and flushed, his shaft freckled and tip partially pink. 

Ser Gwayne may play the part of a cocky knight, but within the privacy of your room, he is loyal to nothing but you. He’s practically on the verge of coming undone and you’ve barely touched him. Delicate are your fingers as they dance across his flesh in curiosity. Eye wide as you watch every twitch of his cock and hitch of his breath.

— 𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝

You learned quickly that Davos is insatiable when it comes to you. It doesn’t matter where you are, somehow his hands always find your hips, pulling your ass against his clothed cock, and grinding it into you with a needy groan. Even through the fabric, you can feel the strain of his thick cock, begging to be buried inside you. 

“Need you,” he begs, voice heavy with lust. 

You’ve grown used to the rough feeling of bark against your back. Davos will take you anywhere and everywhere he can. He can’t deny he loves the risk of getting caught, of someone catching you in such a debauched state, taking his cock so well. 

He holds your legs, bracing your weight against himself as he ruts into you again and again. His fat tip stretches you to swallow all of him, your juices leaking down his shaft in a way that drives him crazy. At this angle, you can feel every inch of him, every minute twitch of his cock, and the subtle curve that drags inside of you so perfectly.

— 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

One wouldn’t need to fuck Cregan to gather that he’s well-endowed. The man is large and imposing and his cock is no different. It didn’t matter how many times he took you or how he took you, it always had you seeing stars. He could fuck you fast or slow, it didn’t matter, you’d be a cock dumb mess by the end of it. 

It doesn’t matter how needy you are for him, Cregan is insistent on making you cum at least once before he fucks you. Little does he know you crave the burn of stretching around his fat cock. The light pain quickly turns to blinding pleasure once he sets his pace, leaving you clawing at the bed sheets and whining for more. 

“Doing so good for me, sweet girl,” he praises, his eyes trained on the sight of you taking him.

— 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧

Jacaerys Velaryon was surely closer to the gods than an average man. He was handsome in every sense of the word, from his looks to his princely charm. Yet, he had this air about him as if he didn’t know it. He sits before you, not as his mother's heir, but as your lover. Sweet nothings fall from his lips as watches you with half-lidded eyes. 

Not afraid to let you take the lead, his hands ball into his sheets. His breath catches in his throat as you kiss along his thighs growing oh so close to his long aching cock before continuing upward to his navel. 

“Stop teasing,” Jacaerys finally moans, lifting himself to try and rut against you, desperate for some sort of friction. You can’t help but giggle, he sounds so cute when he begs, and you can’t deny him when his cock looks so pretty. It was as if someone had ripped a page from a romance novel giving you the perfectly crafted man and his perfectly crafted cock.

© 2024 v3nomly do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing to any other site.

[seeingivy]

logical

megumi fushiguro x f!reader

an: do not enable a megumi as olivia rodrigo songs series. because I will write a bad idea right? one with drunk asf megumi drunk calling the reader. anyways, this one is based off of logical HEHE

--

it’s quite simple. you refuse to go on a mission with megumi fushiguro. but of course, satoru gojo, sees no reason. which is why the two of you are sitting on the train together, knees brushing against each other in the silence. swelteringly uncomfortable - as you fidget with your hands and he types away on his phone - and you both bite the bullet on what to say. 

every thought that passes through your mind makes you hyperaware of that deep rooted, soft spot that you’re always going to hold for him - that despite all logical, rational thought - megumi fushiguro will always be scored on your heart in some way or another. 

you’re not sure what it’s a byproduct of. you’d love to write it off as something simple, something as trivial as first love. that he was simply the first person to shower you in love that way, to show you that it was real, and that this tenderness would quickly harden over when you found someone new. 

except as more days went on, almost a month since the two of you had fought and broken up, it was becoming more of a silent, naive hope of yours. because of course, the stupid cliches, not the ones that you wanted to be true, were of course the ones that were. that all rational thought, went out the window, when it came to megumi fushiguro. 

that distance made the heart grow fonder. that your heart longed for him every time you passed by him in the dorms and shared those awkward, pinched smiles instead of the soft, sweet ones that he only saved for you. that whenever nobara said something stupid or yuuji irritated nanami, that you’d both instinctively turn to look at each other and laugh, just to now do it on instinct and get a painful reminder. that you can’t, that you shouldn’t, turn to one another anymore. 

that it isn’t like that anymore. that you and megumi aren’t together anymore, and that of course, megumi could have any girl, so why would he possibly be with you?

“this is the stop.” 

you look up, noting that he broke the silence first, as you give him a nod and exit the train car with him. you keep a considerable distance as you two walk up to the abandoned elementary school and lift the veil. 

“emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. purify that which is impure.” you murmur, as you both give each other a curt nod and split onto other sides of the hallway. 

--

when the two of you make your way back on the train, megumi can’t wrack his brain on how you were able to tell. and that itching, guilty feeling that’s turning over in his stomach - associated with the crimson red blood that’s pouring down your cheek and his own shortcomings, as always. 

he had already shot a quick text to shoko, swallowing the guilt of waking her up in the middle of the night, to fix it the second that you got back. 

“quit feeling sorry for yourself.” 

megumi looks to your side, to find you folding his handkerchief, now coated in your blood, before you hand it back to him. 

“what?” 

“i can tell. that you’re brooding. but it was an honest mistake. that’s literally how the curse is supposed to work, y’know? it wouldn’t exactly be a curse otherwise.” you add. 

megumi frowns, his retort dying on his tongue. that it’s not an honest mistake, because if you were able to discern the truth, he should have been able to do so too. 

that when he was faced with it - that there were two manifestations of you, one that was the curse and one that was you - that he picked wrong. 

and that worst of all, the thing that he had struck, with full force, was you. that the crimson red blood that was leaking from your cheek was because he had lifted his hand on you, before the curse had doubled over and pushed him over too. 

when he came to, it was your turn. because standing to his left was another manifestation of him, so much so, that it left a lump in his throat at how much it looked like him. that when it was your turn to pick, you’d quickly sliced your sword straight through it’s stomach, like it was nothing instead of attacking him.

“i’m sorry that i did that to you.” he murmurs. 

you look over at him, at the clear disdain in his eyes for himself, as you deflate. 

“i wasn’t just saying that. that’s how the curse worked. you can’t exactly beat yourself up about it.” you respond. 

“you could tell. i should have been able to as well.” he states, rather curtly. 

you hum in response, that sickening soft spot burning. 

“well, you were never the mind reader were you?” you respond. 

he scoffs in response, the smallest makings of a smile on his face, as he lightly elbows you in the side. one of your stupid jokes, from your first date where you had dragged megumi to a tarot reader just for him to quite literally wish upon his death. you elbow him back, before you link your arm in with his and watch the way he deflates under your touch. 

megumi does it a few times, before you finally bit the bullet and ask him to speak. he opens his mouth, like he’s almost about to talk, before he stops himself short from ever doing it. 

“just ask.” 

megumi looks to your side, not even half shocked that you were able to tell. 

“how were you able to tell? that it wasn’t me?” 

“easy. that megumi was pleading me. told me that he loved me, all that.” 

“and?” 

“you wouldn’t do that.” you murmur, before you get off the train and march back to campus on your own. 

--

you see megumi again three days later. or more appropriately, you open the door and he barges into your room with a book secured under his hand. 

“just come in, i guess.” you murmur, irritated. 

it’s only when you turn around that you notice his haphazard appearance - that he’s panting, his cheeks are flushed, and that his hair is an unruly mess. you take the seat across from him, pinching your eyes at him, as he hands the book over to you. 

the five love languages. 

“what is this?” you ask. 

“i get it now. what i did wrong. why-why we aren’t together anymore.” 

you’re shocked at the bluntness in his word, that he’s willing to face it full on, as you take in his appearance. the pink near near his waterline and the darkness surrounding his eyes. 

“i was talking to gojo-sensei and-” 

“oh?” you respond, smirking at him. 

“shut up.” he grumbles back, flipping open to the book. 

“is this rock bottom for you? asking gojo-sensei for help of all people?” 

“if i say yes, will you let me continue?” he asks. 

“yes.” 

he glares, before sighing, and murmuring under his lips. 

“anyways. like i was saying, he gave me this book. and-and i get it now.” he states. 

he opens it up to the marked page, each of the little lines highlighted, with his handwriting scribbled on the side. 

quality time 

physical touch

acts of service 

receiving gifts

words of affirmation

you’re hyperaware of the fact that the last one, words of affirmation, has been circled and that megumi had neatly scribbled your name next to it on the line. 

“i don’t get it.” 

“it’s a thing in the book. that-” 

he swallows hard, the edges of his lips quivrering, before he talks again. 

“you can love someone but that person might not feel loved by you.” 

you turn your head to the side, in confusion, as you gesture for him to go on. 

“you feel most loved when i say it to you. and that’s not how i was showing love to you. it’s why you think i don’t love you.” megumi states. 

you scoff. 

“that’s not why we aren’t dating. we aren’t dating because you basically insinuated that you could have anyone but me. that i was lucky to be dating you.” you respond. 

his face curls up in anger, as he tightens his fists on the able. 

“when did i ever say that?”

“i asked you why you were so intent on the two of us staying together when all we do is hurt each other, i specifically asked you - how was i supposed to know that you loved me? and all you responded with was that there are lots of other girls out there and that you could easily have any of them. and then you had the audacity to try and kiss me after i tried to leave?” 

megumi deflates, fluttering his eyes closed in frustration, as he uncurls his fists on the table. he flips to the back of the book, before turning it over to you. 

“what the hell is this?” 

“it’s a quiz. you take it to figure out which language is yours. and it ranks them - from best to worst or whatever.” 

you look down at his results scribbled into the little lines. and at the fact that words of affirmation is dead last for him. 

“so?” 

“my love language is physical touch. that’s why, when i saw that you were upset, i was trying to make you feel better. in the way that i feel better.” 

he stops, the pink dusting on his cheeks, as he awkwardly looks down at his hands. 

“whenever you kiss me, i feel better. gojo-sensei can get on my nerves, nobara and yuuji can steal all my clothes, or…or i remember that my sister is dead and i feel better. when you hold my hand and trace those little shapes into my palms. or when you kiss my cheek. It-it’s stupid but-” 

“it’s not stupid.” 

“but for you. words are your thing. you-you have to hear them, right?” 

you deflate. 

“i guess, megumi. i would like to hear it sometimes. i know you’re not a big, talky feelings guy but…i’d just like the reminder sometimes. just so i know that-” 

“i love you.” 

you swallow hard, fighting the burning tears in your eyes, as you shake your head. 

“you could have any girl you wanted. you said it yourself.” 

megumi sighs, standing up from his side of the table, before he kneels at your side and leans his cheek against your shoulder. you can smell his soap, the irish spring smell enveloping your space. 

“you want to know how pathetic i am at this whole words thing?” 

“enlighten me.” 

“i was trying to say that…there are lots of other girls out there and i could easily have any of them. but the one i want is you.” 

you’re not sure what it is, more of the fact that the burden of hurt, right next to that soft spot of yours is slowly alleviating, but you can’t help but laugh in his face. at how ridiculous he is. 

“it’s not funny.” 

“megs! it’s kind of funny. in what world was i supposed to think that was what you meant?” 

“you’re the mind reader. you should have been able to tell.” 

you elbow him in the side, before you stand up, gesturing for him to stand up with you. and you loop your hands under his shoulder, leaning into his touch, hoping that it makes sense to him. that he understands that he’s forgiven. 

“i’m shocked you humbled yourself to gojo-sensei to ask for advice, megs.” 

“ugh. it was so embarrassing. but at least it was worthwhile.” 

“aw. you did that all for me?” you joke, pinching the side of his cheek. 

he smiles in response, leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of your cheek. 

“i’d do anything for you, if that much wasn’t clear. but i’ll keep reminding you if i have to. say it a hundred times, properly, if you need it.” 

you frown in response, giving him a nod, as you burrow your head into the softness of his neck and squeeze as hard as you can. 

“don’t start thinking i don’t want you to kiss me though. i don’t need kiss deprivation.” you whine. 

megumi laughs, pulling back, to tuck your hair behind your ear. he’s smiling ear to ear, so warm, that it makes your stomach rumble. 

“okay. what else?” 

“well, i still like gifts. and you and i should always be spending quality time together. and would it kill you to do something nice for me?” 

“so…you want me to do all of them?” 

“exactly!” you respond sarcastically, poking the side of his cheek. 

he reaches forward to flick your forehead, before he pads into your kitchen. 

“what are you doing?” 

“well, i’m making you dinner. that’s an act of service. and technically a gift too? and we’ll eat it together, so that’s quality time.” 

he quickly runs over and peppers three kisses over your face - one on your forehead and on each of your cheeks - before he continues. 

“that’s physical touch. and you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. words. that’s all five.” 

“you tag teamed two of them. that doesn’t count.” 

“okay, you can have my credit card and buy yourself something.” 

“that’s gojo-sensei’s credit card.” you deadpan. 

“shut up.” 

you roll your eyes, as you join him at his side in the kitchen. 

“i was joking, you know? you don’t actually have to make me dinner or do all of them.” you murmur. 

“i know that. i just want to.” 

you give him a smile, as the two of you shuffle around each other, and fix your plates together.

--

taglist:

@porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome  @mykyoon  @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme  @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg

[smuttysabina]

Commission: A Touch Forceful

(Girlcock QuarterJade & Leslie x Janet & Valkyrae, 3.5k words) Tags: Commission, WARNING: NONCONSENSUAL SEX, The R-word shows up a lot (twas requested), Big throbbing girlcocks, Hand fetish, Foot fetish, This one is pretty harsh ngl, Creampies, Double penetration, Sloppy seconds, Brutal sex, I cannot say the two girls are having a good time lol, Wow I got paid for this?

"Well this sucks" "I mean, does is it though?" Valkyrae groans and looks over at the friend perched next to her on the bed, as starkly naked as she is, "Yes Janet, because being a free-use slut for several hours sucks!" "I mean, does it though?" Rae's retort is cut off as the bedroom door creaks open and their first and final customers enter the room; Jodi and Leslie, both nude, both with massive penises swaying between their legs. Jodi's cock was slighter shorter than her fellow's, but made up for it by being far girthier, while Leslie's dick was thickly hooded with foreskin. The pair of them give their waiting friends falsely reassuring smiles, they all know how this was going to go down. "Well this is wonderful..." "I mean-" "Would you shut the fuck up, Janet?!"

Rae lets out a pained gasp as Jodi grasps her hair and hauls her off the bed and onto the floor, shoving her head against the side of the mattress. She moans in terror as Jodi rubs her hefty meat against her face, the bitch already panting with desire, more than eager to violate her friend. Rae groans as Jodi finally pushes her bulbous tip against her lips, forcing her jaw uncomfortably wide as her dick slowly fills her mouth until it is hitting the back of her throat. She can hear Janet screaming nearby as Leslie simply shoves her member into Janet's bare asshole, forcing her long meat agonizingly into her friend's guts. Not that Rae had much time to worry about her friend's travails, as Jodi was busy trying to cram her cock down her throat, to little success. Jodi snarls in frustration, "Open your mouth, wider you filthy fucking whore!" She slaps Rae across the face until tears run down her cheeks, blindly humping her face as she tries to force her dick deeper inside of Rae. Growing frustrated, Jodi halts her assault long enough to pull a coughing Rae back up onto the bed, holding her head back over the side of the furniture as she lines up her dripping meat once more. This time Jodi was able to start pushing her meat down her friend's throat, as Rae's legs kick at the air in distress as her airway is blocked off. Now Jodi was able to use Rae's throat like a pussy, and she wastes no time in roughly fucking it is if she were intent on impregnating her stomach. Grunting like a beast in heat, Jodi finally lets out a primal groan, her thick balls smothering Rae's nose as they pulsate, unloading their thick load into the slut. Rae convulses as the cock cream spews down her throat, her face growing purple as she struggles to breath, forced to swallow every last drop of Jodi's cum.

Just as Rae was about to pass out, Jodi relents and unstoppers her friend's throat, her cock now thoroughly coated with spittle, allowing Rae to gasp and gag as she tries to recover from her rough handling. Sneering contemptuously, Jodi slaps Rae a few more times, "See, all you had to do was open up you stupid bitch!" before stalking off to join Leslie, who was still quite busy ravaging Janet's tender asshole. Whose owner had yet to cease screeching in agony as her butt was brutally pounded, clawing at the sheets with her delicate hands as she struggled to escape from her tormentor. Her relief was soon to arrive however, as Leslie pinned the writhing slut for long enough to get a solid rhythm of thrusts that allowed her to finally climax. Janet howls as Leslie's turgid load sloshes into her guts, with Leslie's cock painfully impaling her to the fullest as she shudders atop her. Janet whimpers as Leslie drags her dick out of her abused hole, her asshole bruised and left gaping, the cool air stinging her sensitive flesh.

Jodi gives Leslie's handiwork an approving look, before asking, "Switch?" Leslie grins in reply, "Thanks for stretching out Rae's throat, I've always wanted to face-fuck that whore." Jodi smirks, "The pleasure was mine, and I'm looking forward to fucking your load out of-" The pair are interrupted as Rae starts to noisily puke up the creampie Jodi had so graciously filled her stomach with, reams of semen erupting from her lips as she spasmodically clutches at the sheets. The two make noises of exaggerated disgust at the mess their friend was making, before cheerfully going their separate ways to their new partners. Janet lays moaning upon the scrambled covers, clutching at her abused ass, she whimpers as Jodi joins her on the bed, begging her friend to not use her already injured ass. Jodi merrily agrees, so long as Janet bends over like a good piece of fuck meat and begs for it like a good slut. Janet hurries to comply, hoisting her rear into the air and spreading her cheeks, mewling insincerely for Jodi's cock. Jodi licks her lips as she presses her meaty head against her friend's moist entrance, before pausing, and admiring the ruin Leslie had wrought upon Janet's blown out hole; globular strings of cum still clung to her innards... Jodi sighs, before announcing, "I lied," and sadistically shoving her dick into Janet's wounded ass. Janet shrieks like a banshee as her butt is stretched even wider by Jodi's fat cock, though this time her ass was at least lubricated by Leslie's filthy semen.

The owner of said sloppy seconds was currently trying to get Rae to clean off her cock, but Leslie's habitual unwashed stench had not been improved much by her time in Janet's guts; so Rae was occupied with gagging and hurling the dregs of Jodi's loads. Eventually, Leslie cajoled Rae into licking clean her foul, hooded tip, sobbing as she lapped at the filthy fluids coating Leslie's cock. Meanwhile Jodi is violently plowing Janet as she howls in pain and sobs into the sheets, sadistically fucking Leslie's slimy load out of her. Piqued by her own partner's lack of enthusiasm, Leslie gives up on trying to get Rae to suck her off properly and instead moves on to something more fuckable; namely Rae's feet. Leaving the bitch to gag and spit into the puddle of semenal puke, Leslie hops onto the bed and manhandles her friend's feet until they are pushed together, toes touching as if in prayer. Which Rae is no doubt doing as Leslie squishes her cock into the cavity formed by her feet and starts to vigorously fuck them. The degenerate pants perversely as she humps Rae's extremities, relishing in their soft soles and rough heels until she groaningly spews a stinking load of semen over them; shuddering so much that a decent portion of her seed ends up splattering over Rae's back and butt. Nearby, Jodi has reached her own peak, and is busy refilling Janet's guts with thick reams of jizz, even as her partner screams and begs for mercy.

Leaving her friend to wail into the sheets and clutch at her brutalized anus, Jodi rejoins Leslie as the other girl is hauling Rae's butt into the air, already eager to pleasure her cock once more. Rae groans as she feels Leslie's bulbous tip pressing against her entrance, wincing as Leslie's starts to force herself inside of her pussy. Rae's attention is drawn elsewhere though as Jodi prods her face with her cock, causing Rae to baulk as she notices the bloody cum-filth coating it. Jodi callously slaps her, "Clean it. Clean it off, and perhaps I won't rape your asshole. Well? Begin you slut." Rae whines as she unenthusiastically licks the mess left by Janet's ruined ass off of Jodi's twitching shaft; only hurrying to finish when Jodi smacks her a few more times to encourage her. All the while Rae trembles and shakes as Leslie pokes her guts with her long cock, barely able to take more than half of it as Leslie grows ever more frustrated. Luckily for her though, Jodi has a clever idea of what will satisfy both of them, though probably not Rae. After some wrangling, Leslie lays back, pulling Rae with her so that her entire body weight now presses on her ropey meat, gradually forcing it deeper, but then Jodi kneels in front of Rae's open legs. Some understanding flashes through Rae, and she immediately starts to plead, but Jodi simply smirks, "What? I told you I would spare your asshole, so now I have to use your cunt, it's not my fault Leslie and I have to share your worthless fuck-hole."

Rae blubbers as Jodi slowly attempts to cram her cock into Rae's already full cunt, even as Leslie continues to mindlessly try and stretch Rae's pussy out even more. Rae shrieks in pain, shaking her head in denial as if that would stop Jodi from slowly forcing her thick tip in alongside Leslie's slick shaft. Rae screams as her perineum tears in a sick parody of birth, as Jodi's cock shoves itself into her pussy until it is resting alongside Leslie's. Overcome by shock, Rae passes out, which was likely for the best as Jodi and Leslie proceed to use her cunt like a cheap fleshlight, pumping furiously away at their unconscious friend. Their slimy cocks slide against one another as the fuck Rae, and overcome by lust, their owners' start to sloppily make out as they share their friend. Wet sloshing noises echo around the room as they both start to leak copiously, and Rae's abused cunt drenches them with fluids in an attempt to reduce the damage they are inflicting upon it. After ten minutes of unrelenting sex, Leslie finishes first, baptizing Jodi's dick with turgid semen as she moans shrilly, lost in the sensation of her climax. Jodi follows soon after, grunting like a boar in rut as she fucks Leslie's cock almost as much as Rae's cunt, before finally spewing her own load into Rae until it leaks out and down Leslie's quivering balls. When Jodi pulls out, a slurry of congealed cum slops out afterwards, Rae's slack hole burping obscenely as it tries to close itself. Together, she and Leslie shove Rae on her side, leaving her passed out with her cunt drooling a foul mixture of sexual juices onto the soaked sheets.

The pair by this point were a touch exhausted from their depraved exercise, but their cocks still bulged with obscene excitement; and with Rae now thoroughly used, that just left... Janet whimpers as her friends kneel next to her, their dicks still dripping from their sojourn inside of Rae's wrecked pussy. Janet's bruised asshole is still leaking Jodi's seed, but she has otherwise been left unspoiled, until now at least. But after the heady pleasure of breaking Rae, the two would prefer something a little less stimulating; this time. "Stroke it," Jodi demands, thrusting her cock emphatically, "stroke us off or we'll break your cunt like we did with Rae." Moaning in horror, Janet hurries to comply, and soon the other two girls were moaning as well, though this time with pleasure. Janet's pretty hands slide up and down their cocks with an enthusiasm born of desperation, her dainty fingers curling seductively around their slippery meat. Her perfect digits squeeze and massage their womanhoods, until Leslie's cock is slobbering precum, and even Jodi is groaning and humping the air. To everyone's surprise, it is Jodi who finishes first, gasping erratically, she curls forward as her diminished load spurts all over Janet's face; who closes her eyes and grimaces as she is painted with watery semen. Aroused by the sight of Janet receiving a facial, it is not long before Leslie's seed leaks out all over Janet's clenched fingers; now that Jodi was finished, Janet could jerk Leslie off with both of her hands. Janet screws up her face as the stinking mess slowly slides down her wrists, her friend's gooey cum squelching as she opens and closes her hands.

Unfortunately for Janet, her travails were not yet finished. Jodi gives Leslie a knowing look, before asking, "Want to fuck her face this time? I feel like raping her cunt instead of her ass for once." Leslie giggles in acquiesce, already more than excited to get stroked off with her own cum while she fills Janet's face. Janet however whines in protest waving hands in a warding gesture, Jodi had promised that she wouldn't fuck her pussy! Jodi was inclined to remind her that she wouldn't break her, just fuck her, but the sight of Leslie's thick semen coating Janet's hands fills her mind with degenerate thoughts. She had always loved the sloppy sensation of her friend's jizz on her cock, so why not take it a step further and enjoy it in other ways as well...? Jodi gives in to the perverse urges, voluntarily allowing herself to indulge in her darkest fantasies for the rest of this fuck-fest. She pulls one of Janet's hands up to her face, and locking eyes with Leslie, Jodi licks her smelly load off of Janet's skin. Leslie's cock bulges with arousal, and the pervert joins in the fun, eating their shared load off of Janet's other hand, whose owner shivers as the two rapacious bitches lick and suckle upon her fingers. Soon they are messily making out, smearing their cum-laced spittle across one another's lips as Janet's watches with undisguised, if relieved, disgust. But the pair had not forgotten about their last pet, and as Jodi murmurs something in Leslie's ears they both look evilly at her. "You're right Janjan," Jodi smiles, "You did a good job stroking us so this time I'm going to violate your feet; if you aren't squealing like a whore then I will break your pussy, got it?" Janet can only blubber in acquiesce.

Jodi is panting like a degenerate as she squishes Janet's dainty feet together, on her knees humping her delicate toes as the slut whines noisily. Janet moans like a pornstar as her friend debases herself dirtying her soles, her vulnerable cunt on full display as she lays on her back; watching with trepidation as Leslie strokes herself voyeurishly. But she needn't worry much, as Leslie instead positions herself behind Jodi, her long member already leaking with excitement, as she lines it up. Jodi groans as Leslie's huge cock slips into her ass, her own monstrous member emitting a slurry of precum as her prostate is stimulated. Leslie for her part is already orgasming, the novelty of using her friend's asshole already too much for her sensitive dick. Leslie presses herself against Jodi, their sweaty skin sticking together as she waits for her fellow streamer's reaction. Jodi was in rapture, a naturally sadistic dominatrix, giving into her more "submissive" side had driven her wild with lust, and so naturally she demanded more. "Rape me Leslie," Jodi growls, "Rape me until you're satisfied, use me until you're empty!" What remained of Leslie's restraints snaps, and she begins to plow Jodi even harder than she had even Rae; she had always wanted to fuck Jodi, and now she had been given permission to go wild. Janet watches with fascinated horror as Jodi's belly bulges repeatedly as Leslie jackhammers her friend, as fresh semen slops out of Jodi's cock and all over her feet. Jodi's load explodes all over Janet, covering her with thick streamers of jizz as Leslie fucks Jodi's load out of her, not even pausing as her friend shudders with overstimulation. Nor does Leslie stop for the next hour, rapaciously plowing Jodi's guts as she howls her name, filling her with load after load until her stomach is bloated from all the cum inside of it. Jodi had climaxed almost continuously, forcing Janet to pleasure her with her feet and hands and mouth as her jizz had spewed all over her until she was almost coated in stinking semen.

Leslie only stops raping Jodi's asshole when she notices her seductively sucking and licking her own cum off of Janet's extremities. Leslie joins her friend in cleaning up the fruits of her labor as Janet moans and shivers as the pair clean up Jodi's massive mess. She is more than happy though that the pair were not violating her own holes anymore, at least now the bitches were fucking each other rather than good girls like her! Janet has little time to gloat however as Leslie finally pulls out of Jodi, whose asshole sputters thick stinking jizz down her thighs before she turns around and forces Janet's face into her butt. Janet gags as she chokes down the vile meal, and her delicate hands are forced to stroke Jodi's dripping cock once more. Jodi herself is far from lax, as Leslie slaps her filthy member against her face, as she greedily opens her mouth, lapping at the sticky meat. Shuddering, Leslie forces her flexible meat down Jodi's throat, she had always wanted to fuck her friend's face, and Jodi does not disappoint, taking it all like a woman should. She doesn't even gag as Leslie's sweaty balls slap against her chin, she even shoves her groomed fingers up Leslie's ass to stimulate her prostate. Torrents of jizz spew down Jodi's throat as Leslie pumps her stomach full of turgid sperm, as she unceasingly fucks her mouth even as Jodi's face turns purple from lack of air. Eventually, Leslie tires of her sport, and when she pulls out a welter of semen follows her back up, as Jodi pukes her load all over her cock.

After some rather messy cleanup, where poor Janet was once more forced to have her throat used to clean off Leslie's cock, Leslie returns to brutally plowing Jodi in every position imaginable. All the while the perverted pair indulge in their depraved fetishes by constantly licking and kissing Janet's feet and hands, smearing them with cum before cleaning them off. Janet can only writhe in unwanted pleasure as her extremities are worshipped, though she much prefers this to having her cunt destroyed like Rae's... Who at this point was feigning unconscious, and surreptitiously attempting to shove her prolapsed cervix back into her cunt; which unfortunately for her does not go unnoticed. By this point Jodi looked as if she were pregnant, her innards so bloated with semen her tummy was bright red and grotesquely swollen, and was in urgent need to unburden herself. Groaning, Jodi stops sucking Leslie's cum off of Janet's and orders her to drag Rae over, it's time that bitch got back to work serving as their cum dump. Desperate to protect her friend, Janet refuses, and screams in horror as Jodi drags her beneath her and shoves her thick slobbering dick into her cunt. It seems like Jodi and Leslie will get to break Janet's pussy after all today...

Rae should enjoy having to suck Janet's blown-out cunt clean, speaking of, while Jodi is busy raping Janet, Leslie hauls a struggling Rae over and deposits her by the rutting pair. Jodi grunts in satisfaction before stopping, and together the two pull Janet and Rae off of the bed and force them to their knees, slapping their faces with their dripping cocks. The unlucky girls have their faces pushed together, as the other streamers warn them to stay put as they start to stroke their load out onto their poor friends. Groaning, Jodi and Leslie verbally and physically abuse them, slapping them and threatening them with brutal rape if they did not swallow every last drop of their cum. Sobbing, Janet and Rae have no choice but to comply as ropes of chunky semen splatter onto their faces, their skin painted with white as they drink the cum that leaks into their open mouths.

Unfortunately for Janet and Rae, Jodi and Leslie still have an hour of free-use left...

[thewulf]

Echoes of the Past || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Sooo, i have such a 😩😩 Hotch x reader idea. What if they have been to school togheter (you can decide whatever age and school they were in) and they were madly in love with each other perhaps they were even dating!!... Read Rest Here

A/N: Okay, wrote this one a lil different. Let me know if you guys like it or not. Trying to mature/up my writing style! And thank you for the request!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

He was your first and truest love. It was the way his smile lit up the classroom of your first law school class at George Washington University that made you do a double take. The first words he mumbled to you all those years ago are etched into your memory. His eyes held yours for every single second of that very first conversation, making you realize that he was a very special person.

On your very first date with Aaron, you knew you would love him for a very, very long time. When he took your face in his hands and peppered kisses all over your blushing cheeks, it dawned on you that you did indeed love him. You fell for him hard and fast. He was the first man who made you realize that another human could possibly feel the same way you did about him. He was a marvel. An enigma. Aaron Hotchner stole your heart and never gave it back.

With him, it was the first time you could truly let your guard down. You could just be yourself unashamedly. He was the first man who truly saw you in your rawest form. It was the first time you felt loved. So loved, without a second trace of doubt. He loved you, and you loved him for four beautiful years.

But as they say, all beautiful things must come to an end, for isn’t that what makes them truly beautiful? Your last kiss with him was the first time you kissed someone while crying harder than you ever could have imagined. It was the first time you realized the tears would never cease to fall.

It was the first time that you understood that the man who made you the happiest in this world was also the man who brought you the most anguish.

He was your first love. The first time you held the metaphorical bow and let him pull back the arrow aimed square at your chest. Your first love was trusting him not to let go, trusting him to protect your heart.

Your first love was never thinking, nor expecting, him to let it go. But he did.

The loss of your first love was like watching the sunrise fade into the twilight, a gradual dimming of the light that once illuminated your world. It starts with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, a gnawing ache that refuses to be ignored.

At first, it was a distant whisper, a subtle shift in the air that hinted at the impending storm. You felt it in the way his laughter no longer reached your ears with the same warmth, in the way his touch left a hollow echo in your soul.

As the days passed, the void he left behind grew larger, swallowing you whole in its depths. It was a constant battle between holding on and letting go, between clinging to the memories like a lifeline and accepting the harsh reality of their absence.

Everywhere you turned, reminders of him lurked in the shadows, haunting your every thought and action. The places you once frequented together became battlegrounds of nostalgia, each familiar sight a painful reminder of what once was.

And then came the moment of reckoning, the realization that he was truly gone, never to return. It hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you gasping for breath. The tears came freely then, a torrential downpour that washed away the remnants of your shattered heart.

In the aftermath of first love's loss, there was a profound sense of emptiness that permeated every corner of your being. It was as if a part of you had been ripped away, leaving behind a gaping wound that refused to heal.

But amidst the pain and sorrow, there was also a glimmer of hope, a faint whisper of resilience that echoed in the depths of your soul. For in the darkness of loss, there lay the opportunity for growth, for transformation, for the rebirth of a heart that had been broken but not defeated.

And so, you picked up the pieces of your shattered dreams, one by one, and slowly but surely, you began to rebuild. For though first love may be lost, its memory lingered like a bittersweet melody, a testament to the beauty and the pain of loving with all your heart.

The bustling streets of Washington D.C. hummed with the energy of a city in perpetual motion, a constant ebb and flow of life. Amidst the throngs of pedestrians, Aaron Hotchner navigated his way through the crowd, his mind heavy with the weight of his profession. As a seasoned agent with the BAU, his days were filled with the relentless pursuit of justice, often leading him far from the familiar streets of D.C.

It was amidst one such case, miles away from home, that the memories of you began to surface. You had been college sweethearts, your love a beacon of light in a world tinged with uncertainty. But as your careers diverged, your relationship faltered under the strain of distance and time.

The decision to part ways had been a painful one, a choice dictated by circumstance rather than desire. Aaron's commitment to his work with the BAU demanded his presence elsewhere, while you were on the brink of embarking on your career as a lawyer. It was a choice neither of you wanted to make, but one that fate had thrust upon you nonetheless.

And so, you said your goodbyes, your hearts heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unfinished dreams. It was a wound that had never truly healed, a scar that lingered as a constant reminder of what could have been.

As Aaron returned to D.C., the memories of your shared past haunted him like ghosts from another lifetime. And then, amidst the chaos of a particularly grueling case, fate intervened, bringing him face to face with you once more.

You stand before him, a vision of grace and beauty amidst the chaos of your surroundings. Your eyes meet on the busy streets of D.C., and for a fleeting moment, time seems to stand still as you take in each other's presence.

"Y/N," Aaron breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, a bittersweet curve of your lips that speaks volumes of the years you have spent apart. "Aaron," you say softly, your voice laced with a mixture of emotions.

The air crackles with tension as you exchange hesitant glances, the weight of your shared history hanging heavy in the air.

"It's been too long," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aaron nods, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggles to find the right words to say. "I never stopped thinking about you," he confesses, his voice raw with emotion.

And just like that, the floodgates open, words tumbling out in a rush of pent-up emotions and buried truths. You speak of the whispers of your long lost love, of the secrets that tore the two of you apart, of the regrets that haunted your dreams.

Over coffee, you expose your much more complex souls to each other, laying bare the scars of your past in hopes of finding solace in each other's arms once more. You reminisce about your college days, the late-night study sessions and impromptu road trips that had defined your relationship.

But amidst the laughter and shared memories, there is a lingering sadness, a sense of loss that hangs heavy in the air. For you both know that the reunion is bittersweet, a reminder of the years you have spent apart, the moments you can never reclaim. As the conversation progresses, you both find yourselves drawn deeper into the past, unraveling the tangled threads of your shared history.

"I still remember the first time we met," you say, your voice soft with nostalgia. "You walked into that classroom, and I couldn't take my eyes off you."

Aaron's gaze softens, memories flickering behind his eyes. "I was so nervous," he admits with a chuckle. "But the moment I saw you, everything just...clicked."

You share a smile, the weight of years melting away in the warmth of your reminiscence. It's as though time has folded in on itself, bringing you back to that moment when the world was full of endless possibilities.

"Do you ever wonder what might have been?" you ask, the question hanging between you like a fragile thread.

Aaron's expression grows somber, his eyes searching yours for answers. "Every day," he confesses, his voice barely a whisper. "I never stopped thinking about you, wondering if I made the right choice."

You reach across the table, your fingers brushing against his in a silent gesture of understanding. "We were young," you say softly. "We had our whole lives ahead of us, and we made the best choices we could at the time."

There's a heaviness in your words, a weight of regret and longing that threatens to pull you under. But beneath it all, there's also a glimmer of hope, a spark of possibility that refuses to be extinguished.

"We can't change the past," Aaron murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. "But maybe...maybe we can learn from it."

The words hang in the air, pregnant with meaning. It's a fragile hope, born from the ashes of broken dreams and shattered promises. But it's also the only thing you have left to hold onto, the last vestige of a love that refuses to die.

And so, you lean into each other, seeking solace in the warmth of your shared embrace. In that moment, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the city, you find a measure of peace, a fleeting glimpse of the happiness that once was and could be again.

The days that follow are a blur of stolen moments and whispered confessions. You walk hand in hand through the familiar streets of D.C., lost in your own little world of memories and dreams.

But among the joy of your reunion, there's also a sense of trepidation, a fear that history will repeat itself, tearing you apart once more. It's a shadow that lingers at the edge of your consciousness, a reminder of the fragility of your newfound happiness.

"I don't know if I can do this again, Aaron," you confess one evening, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Aaron's gaze softens, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pulls you close. "We'll take it one step at a time," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the ache in your heart. "Together."

And in that moment, as you stand together beneath the star-studded sky, you know that you are embarking on a journey far greater than anything you could have imagined. It's a journey filled with twists and turns, highs and lows, but above all, it's a journey you will navigate together, hand in hand, hearts entwined.

For who said first loves can't also turn out to be your forever love? You are determined to prove them wrong, to rewrite the story of your love in a way that defies all expectations. And together, hand in hand, hearts entwined, you know that anything is possible.

Aaron Hotchner/Criminal Minds: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: (Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @daily-evanstan @hardballoonlove @14buddy22 @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mrs-ssa-hotch @panandinpain0 @viscade @kreepja @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kajjaka @guacam011y @kreepja

[shaypie67]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐲 - Request

Summary: Reader shows his father Soldier Boy just how good he can be.

Pairing: Soldier Boy (The Boys) x Male Reader

Warnings: Bad Language/Cursing, Incest, 18+ (NO MINORS).

Word Count: 847

"There's a good boy... what this mouth was made for." Soldier Boy groans, leaning his head back onto the sofa as he relished in the feel of my skilled mouth wrapped around his cock.

To the public, I was America's Golden child, a young man loved just for being the son of Soldier Boy. But what the public doesn't know is I am just a little slut for my father's cock.

Which is how I ended up here, kneeling between my fathers knees, deepthroating his monster cock, freed of the confinements of his skin tight suit. A start contrast to my naked body.

"Whores don't need clothes." I remember him telling me the first time he asked me to suck his dick. But the sight of him fully dressed made him seem more powerful, having more of an effect on me that I would like to admit.

"You're enjoying this aren't ya?" Ben's voice comes out breathless, full of pleasure. I feel pride swell in my chest that I can make daddy feel this good, happy to be his good little boy and please him whenever he chooses.

I whimper and nod, looking up at him through my eyelashes, mouth stretched around the base of his cock, so deep I can feel it in my throat. I'm glad he helped me repress my gag reflex.

"Yeah you are... Good little cocksucker aren't you?" He grits his teeth, trying to hold in his moans of pleasure against the blowjob he's receiving.

The degrading comments get to my head, my hips bucking instinctively against his newly cleaned boots. My little cock leaking all over them, practically destroying them. I'm already thinking how daddy will punish me for that later, causing me to moan.

Soldier Boy looks down when he feels his son grinding onto his foot and he can't help but smirk, pressing his boot up and helping his son along.

I gasp in pleasure, grinding down harder onto his boot, searching for more of that delicious friction provided.

It ends when Soldier Boy grabs a fistful of my shorter hair, yanking my head back and off his cock, only being connected by a thin string of my saliva. I whimper at the sting as I look up into his eyes, panting heavier now.

"Daddy please..." I can't help but beg, my own arousal aching so bad. I would do anything for some relief.

Soldier Boy hums softly and relents his strong grip on my hair, stroking it instead as he continued to smirk at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You wanna come, baby." He mocks me with a fake pout, his hand moving to my jaw. I nod quickly, wanting nothing more.

Soldier Boy just looks me up and down, pressing his booted foot back into my groin with an almost painful force that I whimper some more, not knowing whether to back away or chase it some more.

"Since you were such a good boy for me this morning, I give you permission to come. But only if you can make me come first."

I listen to his ultimatum, not taking a second to think about it before I swallow his cock back down my throat, doubling my efforts to help him reach his climax. My tongue darting out to tease his balls, knowing daddy is sensitive there.

"There we go... daddy is so close baby boy." I hear my father groan out, by the way his dick hardens a little more and the tight grip he has on my hair proving his words.

Within seconds, my hips grind desperately onto the mans foot before I hear the loud roar of my father coming, before I feel the the flood of cum force it's way down my throat. But I don't pull back, opting to swallow every drop of my father's release, being addicted to the taste since the first drop I swallowed.

"Come on baby... be a dirty boy and come all over daddy's boot." Ben groans out, dick still buried deep into my throat as I finally reach my climax. I moan loud around him as my entire body tenses, ropes of come shooting across his boot and drops landing on his suit. The pearly white visible against the forest green of his pants.

I sit back on my feet, licking my lips to savor the taste of him as I watch my father tuck himself away.

"Dirty boy. I have a damn press conference to do in 10 minutes. Use that fucking cock sucker mouth to clean up your mess."

To anyone, they would have ran away at the sight of his grumpy look. But his anger only turns me on even more as I nod.

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir."

I lean down and kitten lick all my spunk from his suit, closing my eyes so I can't see the proud and smug look of my father's face. The father who loves nothing more than to use me, humiliate me and degrade me. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

[captainmalewriter]

Mishap

It all happened so quickly. One moment, esteemed professor Dr. Brown was on the cusp of hitting a breakthrough in his academic paranormal research. The next moment, Dr. Brown was hiding in a cabinet while an angry spirit ran loose inside his lab.

Dr. Brown held his hand against his mouth in an effort to stifle his breathing. The spirit was going on a rampage in his lab. He could hear the sounds of glass breaking and heavy machinery getting knocked over. Dr. Brown forced himself to swallow a breath. He could feel his heartbeat growing louder with every second spent inside the metal cabinet.

This isn't supposed to be happening... Not to me! Geniuses don't make mistakes!

Dr. Brown thought to himself. Having a PhD at the young age of 26 put him a cut above the rest. But unfortunately, the accolades and fame got to his head. He became cocky, and it showed in his work. Brown had been attempting to summon a creature from beyond our world for quite some time now. While he had accomplished his goal, he did it with reckless abandon. Now he was suffering the consequences of his carelessness.

Dr. Brown pressed his ear against the cabinet door. A cold chill ran down his spine as he heard the spirit let out a loud ghastly moan. Dr. Brown shuddered within the confines of the cabinet. He swallowed his breath again. He continued listening, and his ears perked up when he heard the sound of the lab doors opening. Dr. Brown waited a minute, and once he was sure the coast was clear, he proceeded to step out of the cabinet. First he peeked his head out, then left the cabinet altogether. He gasped at the sight of his prized lab in shambles after the spirit rampaged. But he knew there were more pressing matters at hand. He needed to stop the wild spirit before the general public could find out.

Dr. Brown hurried to the double doors, but just as he was about to exit the lab, he could hear the spirit's blood curdling scream getting closer again. The spirit was fast. By the time the sound registered in Dr. Brown's mind, the spirit had already slammed through the double doors and into Dr. Brown.

The force of the impact sent him flying. Dr. Brown landed harshly onto his back. The pain from the landing was unbearable, but he knew he needed to persevere. But unfortunately for Dr. Brown, the spirit was already on top of him. Using its psychic energy, the spirit lifted Dr. Brown up from the ground and stripped him of his clothes. Dr. Brown tried to fight back, but the pressure the spirit was exerting on his body was too much. Dr. Brown could only whimper as he was floating naked midair.

He could see the spirit up close now. The sight of its distorted face terrified him. Luckily for Dr. Brown, he didn't need to look at it for long as the spirit began forcing its way into Dr. Brown. Using his mouth, nose, ears, dick slit, and asshole, Dr. Brown was being penetrated in every hole his body possessed. The spirit was quickly filling up his body, and all Dr. Brown could do was gag and moan in pleasure as the spirit invaded his body. It only took a few seconds for the spirit to finish the job. Dr. Brown's body lowered to the ground. His possessed body began to wiggle on the ground as the spirit made itself comfortable in its new fleshie vessel.

"Dr. Brown!!" a man rushed into the lab. He was taken aback by the sight of his naked superior on the ground, squirming and groaning in an erotic way. The man wanted to look away, but his fantasy of finally seeing Dr. Brown naked had come true. He couldn't help but watch. "Dr. Brown? Are you alright?"

Dr. Brown's eyes snapped open. An eerie smile spread across his face as the spirit took full control over his body.

"Never been better... In fact, why don't you come over here and make Daddy feel even better? I can't wait to feel what it's like to get fucked again..."

The ghost winked at the man, and the man proceeded to fuck Dr. Brown, not knowing what had just happened in the lab only moments prior.

[diejager]

Hi:D👋 can I request again about the hybrid centipede!reader? Now I'm interested in that article again😋

Cw: insect stuff, canibalism?, human eating, death, gore, blood, imprisonment, torture?, tell me if I missed any.

One of the many things you could do as a myriapode, a creature made of many other beings - a hivemind, essentially - was the job you were employed for: doctoring and scolding. You could easily scurry under fallen rubble and metal pipes to get to the wounded when parademics and other aids couldn’t reach them in time. It was magic at times, the only excuse you had for your clothes and equipment to follow you in and out of shifting. You would dress with all the bandages, gauze, morphine and tourniquets you’d need and pop into the destroyed building. 

That was your main obligation, the second depended on your ability as much as it did on your resourcefulness. Your size and ability to seamlessly blend into your surroundings made infiltrations and spying easy. Arthropods were found on every continent, be it cold or hot, adaptable and evolutionarily ingenious, and if you couldn’t find any, it only meant that they were hiding somewhere they couldn’t be found. 

You, as a hybrid, was a double edged sword, one who could slip through the smallest of cracks and find your way into a nest of wolves, listening to their every whisper, any secrets that slipped from their lips were a meal for you; but then it could be used against the people you worked for, any ounce of attempted betrayal of planned misdemeanour - pranks, you’d like to call them - would be caught.

When you weren’t in immediate need for patching up someone, you would infiltrate first, gather intel on both the enemy and traps. Your little antennae feeling the subtle differences in textures and chemistry in the walls and floors, ears perceiving the distinct click and clacks of metal bolts and screws, or the deep vibrations of walking, conscious and careful steps over the relaxed or frantic ones. You’d report it all to Price or Laswell, help them build a better plan, careful of every trap and give any intel you gathered. 

and in this situation, where you weren’t needed for just a regular patch up, but a rescue as well, you worked in silence when there weren’t any windows, any opening big enough to get to into or guarded entrance. Gaz, a man unfortunate enough to fall out of a helicopter twice, was trapped behind a guarded door at gunpoint. Price sent you first while he and Soap positioned themselves around the guards and Ghost - as always - was the coverfire and sniper. 

Scattered around the room and under the floorboards, every steps were vibrations sent into your many limbs, the chatter over the radio and the hushed whispers of rats and others insects crawling around you. You were stalling, a small wiggle on the wall, another near the man holding Gaz prisoner and a stray centipede to comfort him with the familiar wiggle of your “ultimate” legs against his feathers, a dance you used for recognition. All you were waiting for was Prices signal, whispered over his shoulder for a piece of you to hear. 

“In 3,” Price counted slowly, his words running through the earpieces, “3. 2. 1- Now!”

Before Soap could rush at the guards, you had the man before you swarmed, a dark mass of biting and hungry centipedes crawling over the man. You ate him alive, his terrified screams drowned by the dying gargle of blood and the squelch of devoured meat. You weren’t slow, but you weren’t fast, eating in a mass of hundreds took a while —a painful while. You stripped him of his skin, the bigger organ gone in seconds as you reached the muscles and fat under it, rich and creamy to you, pinched and ripped apart by your forcipules and swallowed down. 

You were still eating by the time Price rammed in, freeing Gaz from his bindings. They watched the man fall, tripping over a chair and writhing on the ground until he took his last, dying breath, a raspy gag as you burrowed into his chest, eating lung and heart, diaphragm and liver. Anything that was fat and meat were gone, leaving him a pile of bones still weakly attached by tendons and the few ligaments you left. 

No one gaped at you, they neither stared in fear or disgust, they simply nodded at you with stoicism, motioning towards Gaz for his scrapes and dislocated joints that you’ll have to pop back in. 

“Let’s get you looked at.”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting @mysticalcollectionheartme @openup-yourmind

[feverishly-kpop]

Ateez - Nauseous at Work Vignettes - 2/8 - Seonghwa

Seonghwa had been worried about Wooyoung when he put him to bed the night prior after the two of them had gone out drinking. They didn’t have schedules the following morning, but the thought of looking after a hungover dongsaeng the following morning was not necessarily how Seonghwa had hoped to spend his day off.

So it came as a surprise to him when he was shaken awake by Wooyoung, who was already dressed and looking completely well.

“Hyung, the photo shoot got moved up to today” Wooyoung said with some urgency. “There’s a huge storm coming tomorrow so they moved it up.”

Seonghwa nodded, his head aching as he did so. He glanced up at Wooyoung, who had easily downed twice as much soju than Seonghwa himself and had to be carried home on Seonghwa’s back.

Damn him.

“No hyung, please don’t close your eyes again. Hongjoong-hyung is all worked up trying to get everybody up and out within the next half hour” Wooyoung pleaded with him, shaking his shoulder again.

“Okay, okay I’m getting up” Seonghwa said, the volume of his own voice coming out far too loud despite being hardly above a whisper. Wooyoung seemed to notice Seonghwa wince as he sat up, offering him an understanding smile as he pulled out some clothes for his hyung.

“Are you feeling okay?” Seonghwa questioned, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to dull the pain settling behind them. Wooyoung nodded in response, stepping out for just a moment before returning with a few pain tablets and a bottle of water.

“I’m fine, hyung. Sorry I was so…messy…last night.” Guilt seeped into Wooyoung’s timid apology as he realized how unwell Seonghwa was feeling after he had spent the last hour of their night sitting with Wooyoung, rubbing his back and offering him sips of water after round of sick.

Seonghwa smiled in response as he swallowed his tablets. “It’s okay, Wooyoungie, I’m just glad you’re feeling better this morning. I’m sure I will be too once the meds kick in.”

*~*~*~*~*~

Seonghwa did not feel better once the meds kicked in. Hell, he wasn’t even sure that they had kicked in at all. He did his best to keep the discomfort he was feeling to himself, not wanting to add additional stress to what was already a very stressful day for Hongjoong. This was one of the more complicated shoots they’d done and the fact that it was so suddenly pushed forward had the captain on edge. He didn’t need Seonghwa’s hangover to further complicate things.

He could sense Wooyoung’s eyes on him throughout the shoot. Luckily it was not physically taxing in any way, but his outfit was heavy and uncomfortable, and much too tight around his waist with his stomach, making the nausea that was beginning to set in that much worse.

They had just about finished with group shots when the photographer announced that they’d do individual shots next and that Seonghwa would be first.

Seonghwa did his best. He really did.

The hot sun overhead did nothing to help his pounding head and looming nausea. He knew if he waited any longer, he’d have an embarrassing mess on his hands. After making the split second decision, he bowed quickly to the photographer, muttering something about the washroom, before he stumbled off the set.

Wooyoung noticed immediately and instantly dropped the snack bar he had been eating to race to Seonghwa’s side.

“Wooyoung-ah” he managed to gasp between heavy breaths. “I’m going to be sick.”

With that, Wooyoung pulled off the long jacket he had been wearing, using it as a makeshift curtain to give Seonghwa some privacy as he doubled over, immediately regretting every bit of food and drink he had consumed in the last 24 hours.

“This is so embarrassing” Seonghwa whined once he felt like he had finished for the time being. Wooyoung didn’t respond, more focused on finding some solitude and shade for his hyung.

“I’m sure they got plenty of good shots to use. You were just about done when…” Wooyoung’s voice faded off, not wanting to rehash any details unnecessarily.

Seonghwa nodded before adding weakly, “I’m just so nauseous still. But Woo, you don’t need to stay. I’ll just close my eyes for a little while to see if it’ll pass…”

Wooyoung signed, brushing Seonghwa’s hair from his face. “Hyung, you took care of me last night. Let me return the favor so we can call it even.”

[dewedup]

would you be so kind as to provide us with a Mountain sick-fic bc I have the Flu and I'm projecting on my tall guy 😔🙏

please enjoy sick!Mount, pack dynamics, tour travel, and a concerned Zephyr 🖤🖤🖤

as per usual a huge and loving thank you to @jimothybarnes for betaing and making me feel like I wrote the next great novel 🥰

(i may or may not have started a part two of possessive mount breaking zeph's heat when he's feeling better, it ties into the ending of this one so if that's something anyone's interested in reading let me know!)

1.8k of fluff, comfort and cuteness below the cut or on AO3 HERE

It starts with a tickle in the back of his throat. Mountain finds himself clearing it periodically throughout the day, but never getting rid of the foreign feeling when he swallows. It’s a small thing though, something he can push to the back of his mind while he focuses on sound checks, travelling and performing- basically everything related to being on tour.

He wakes up a day or two later and feels exhausted. His bones ache, his brain is foggy, the cold grip of a headache approaching from the edge of his consciousness. The tickle has doubled down in its presence, now tender and sore with every breath, word, or swallow. He feels like getting hit by a vehicle on the highway they’re driving down would be swifter and less painful than the illness working its way through his immune system.

He’s like a zombie, sleepwalking through the motions. Luckily, it’s just a travel day, spent moving from their last location to the next venue. He’s stuck on the bus for the entirety of the day, tries to spend time out in the lounge area with everyone else. But Phantom is loud and overly excited, peering through the window in utter delight as he points out the unofficial eighth wonder of the world.

They’re driving past the Grand Canyon, which honestly isn’t that grand, Mountain’s seen bigger canyons in Hell. Being a ghoul of the earth means he’s very fluent in geographic abnormalities, erosion and rocks. Instead of giving Phantom a lesson in his rocky background, which Swiss seems to be anticipating, if the roll of his eyes as he looks at Mountain is any indication, Mountain simply pats Phantom on the shoulder. He mutters good ghoul under his breath, and retreats to the sleeping bunks.

His rest is pitiful, he’s hot and sweaty, then he’s kicking the blankets off only to be greeted with a chill that seeps into his bones, limbs shaking at the abrupt changes in temperature. He never succumbs to complete sleep, lingering in a half-state of lethargy and just feeling poorly.

It might be minutes, hours or days later, when he feels a cool hand press against his forehead. He’s hallucinating now, because it feels like the hand of his mate, the same one that’s still at home, a disgusting amount of distance between them. He knows it’s not real, their sweet scent of licorice and fresh linen doesn’t fill his nostrils. But then again, he’s pretty congested, hasn’t been able to smell anything in the last day and a half.

Mountain whines as the touch moves from his forehead, shifting down to his equally heated cheek and offering the tiniest bit of respite from the fever. He’s sweating again, wants to rip his own skin off to escape the burning inside of him, when a light breeze seemingly appears from nowhere. It dances across his body, giving him the first sense of relief since he laid down in his bunk.

“Pietra,” the demon caressing his face coos, and Mountain truly must have died and went to Hell, because there’s only one soul who calls him the Italian word for stone.

He squints open an eye, meeting the concerned face of his mate.

“Zeph?” Mountain’s voice wobbles, cracking on the singular word, as tears threaten to fall. Zephyr takes a second to assess their situation before climbing right into the bunk beside Mountain, pulling their mate close.

Mountain rests his head on Zephyr’s chest as he lets out a few pathetic sniffles, mainly just feeling sorry for himself.

“We’re at the hotel, love. The others went inside, they didn’t want to wake you. My flight landed early so I’ve been here for a bit, setting up our nest.”

Nest. That’s right, in Mountain’s deteriorated state he forgot Zephyr was scheduled to go into heat any day now. The Ministry opted long ago to pay for a flight for them if Mountain was away, rather than deal with an aggravated air ghoul who would take their frustrations out on the abbey and all who stumbled across their path.

If Mountain let out a few extra tears at the thought of his mate, already on edge from their own rising hormones, putting their needs aside to care for him, well, neither of them speak on it.

Eventually, Zephyr convinces Mountain to leave the safety of the bunk and retreat to their hotel room. It involves a lot of gentle encouragement and a few filthy promises for when he’s feeling better. Mountain can’t smell anything, so he misses the slight bite to Zeph’s scent, the telltale sign of the beginning of a heat that they push down forcibly with sheer willpower, knowing Mountain is in no shape to fulfill their needs at this moment.

They share a bath, slightly hotter than Zephyr would prefer, but the steam helps to clear Mountain’s congested airways and the warmth soothing the aching in his bones. It’s intimate in a nonsexual way, how Zephyr lathers up a washcloth and takes their time rinsing the sweat and sickness from Mountain’s skin.

Mountain’s soon dry and in his pyjamas, a steady hand at the small of his back guiding him to the bed in the centre of the hotel room. True to their word, Zephyr had created a fine nest, bringing blankets from their den at home to create a soft spot for them to connect with each other. Mountain falls into the pile, burrowing his way to the perfect spot and collapsing into the down pillows.

Zephyr seamlessly joins Mountain, wrapping their arms around him in a big spoon position. It is something Mountain usually takes up in their shared bed, but his need for comfort is apparent and Zephyr isn’t too put out by getting to hold their mate in their arms like this.

Mountain falls asleep to the soft hums vibrating from Zephyr’s chest, his own purrs mixing in at the same tempo, every single part of their being made for each other.

_________

Mountain wakes up, lying awkwardly on a couch too small for his big frame. He’s confused, disoriented, and doesn’t remember where he is for far longer than he’d like to admit.

His brain feels foggy, his eyes landing on a bottle of water left on the table in front of him, the condensation having dripped to the table, creating a small puddle of liquid around the container.

The bottle brings back the memory of Zephyr braiding his hair on this very couch, enthusiastically agreeing with Rain as the water ghoul tried to force some cold medication in Mountain’s mouth. He remembers putting up a good struggle, managing to knock Rain back a few steps before Dew intervened. With Zephyr yanking on his hair, tilting his head back and Dew lying on top of him, bodily restraining his movements, Rain was able to slide home a few of the abnormally large pills. Mountain fought valiantly, but Rain pulled a demonic move covering his mouth and pinching his nose until he was forced to swallow, begrudgingly and with a promise of murder in his eyes. 

Apparently, the cold medication was exactly what he needed. While he isn’t at one hundred percent, he feels the best he can remember feeling for the last week. His achy bones are no more, and he can even breathe through his nose a little, picking up the lingering scent of his mate all over his body.

A loud noise from out the hallway catches his attention, and Mountain realizes that he had the best nap of his life in the green room of the venue they were set to perform at tonight.

Except, no one else is hustling around in the usual pre-show panic.

The green room is usually filled with excitement and adrenaline, packed with bodies, as Swiss hogs the mirror to apply his black lipstick. But it’s empty, the remnants of the pre-show hurricane evident.

Mountain hears the opening rift of Kaisarion and bolts up from the couch, looking around wildly for his costume, but it’s nowhere to be found. He can’t believe they didn’t wake him up, what the actual fuck is going on. 

He gets to the side of the stage much quicker than he would have in the state he was mere hours ago, looking out from the wings as his band feeds the energy to the crowd before them.

His eyes shift over his pack, watching as they back up Papa who’s already pandering to the sea of people. A crash of cymbals pulls his attention to the back middle stage, to his drum set.

It’s like a punch to his gut, but in the best way possible, seeing who is undeniably his mate, in his costume, playing his kit.

Zephyr isn’t a small statured ghoul by any means, it’s just that Mountain’s well… Mountainous.

His costume fits his mate poorly, they’ve rolled the arms up, displaying the sleeves of delicate illustrations depicting the fall of Christ, ink woven in their skin that Mountain has spent countless hours admiring. The pant legs bunch up where they fall, too much extra material with nowhere else to go.

Mountain’s heart skips a beat when he realizes Zephyr is shoeless, exactly how he normally performs.

It shouldn’t surprise him that Zeph is a natural, they’ve spent long hours in the rehearsal room with Mountain, watching him work through tricky sections or just putting his own twist on Papa’s work. He’s filled with love, admiration, and just an all-around feeling of mine while watching his mate perform with his pack.

Mountain eventually just settles on the ground of the side stage, sitting cross-legged and just enjoying the show from his secret little viewpoint. He laughs along with the jokes Papa pulls out of his ass, his smile unshakeable as he watches Dew tease Rain from this angle. Swiss is chaotic, he usually only sees him leave his platform from the corner of his eye, unsure of what exactly the multi ghoul gets up to, but now he has his answers. He’s usually so focused on his own performance he doesn’t get the chance to just sit and watch the magic happen, and it is magical, the atmosphere they craft together and the beautiful music they create.

During Miasma, Zephyr opts out of a solo in favour of handing Dew and Phantom a drumstick each. Mountain grins wildly, watching lovingly as Zeph orchestrates with their free hands while keeping rhythm with the kick drum. They encourage Dew and Phantom to bang away at the snare and cymbals, Mountain cringing slightly at the force of some of the hits. A little wear and tear won’t tarnish the memory working its way into the deep recesses of his brain though, as the utter joy and happiness bubbles over into a delighted, trilling laugh when Zeph tosses him a smirk and secret little wave.

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

The Darker Days of Me & Him

DARK DRABBLE SERIES - PT3

Paring: Dark Alpha!Bucky X Fem Omega!Reader

Warning:  18+ ONLY. Mature dark themes.

Summary: Dark drabbles of an A/B/O relationship with Bucky. 1200 words.

A/N: I don’t know the ins and out of a A/B/O relationship. So excuse my errors if it’s not factually correct. This is just my playful take on it.  Not betaed any mistakes made are my own.  Feel free to check out the other date in the drabble series,  January 10th | February 13th for more content.

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.  

February 14th

"Here," Bucky whispered.

In front of your face was a plate of food, held aloft by vibranium fingers - a few washed strawberries and ruby-red grapes, a glass of orange juice, and toast; golden brown and evenly buttered. But despite the tempting spread, it did nothing for your appetite. Weakly, you pushed the plate away.

"You need to eat," Bucky urged, his voice low and steady.

But the mere thought of food made your stomach churn. "I'm not hungry," you grumbled, the sour taste of bile rising in your throat.

Undeterred, Bucky drew closer, the weight of his presence causing the mattress to dip. "It doesn't matter," he asserted. "You're only on day two of your heat. You need to keep up your strength."

"I’m fine, Bucky." Dismissively, you turned your head away, but he's on you in a heartbeat, fingers pressed into the hallow of your cheeks as he forced you to look him in the eye.

“The only reason you’re not doubled over in pain right now is because I'm taking care of you." He glanced at the mottled skin on your neck, a reminder of his ravenous kisses. "There's only so much sex can do..." he murmured as he met your gaze for the second time. "You need fuel. You need food. "

You couldn't help but scoff at his words, your eyes darting to the ceiling as you fought back the tears threatening to spill over. It was ironic that he had to remind you of his so-called acts of kindness, as if he wasn't the very reason for your current predicament. As if he didn't relish in watching you crumble beneath him, defiling and filling you again and again.

Your attention was briefly caught as Bucky plucked a succulent strawberry from the plate.  He brushed the fruit against your dry lips as he offered it to you. To an outsider, it may have appeared as a sensual exchange between two lovers.  But to you, it was a painful reminder that your bond with him was not one of choice, but of cruel, unrelenting force.

"Open," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You bristled at the order, your body tense with fury as you glared at him. But deep down, you knew there was no point in resisting. You were his, in every sense of the word, and there was nothing you could do to change that. With a heavy heart, you parted your lips, allowing him to feed you the strawberry. As soon as you opened your mouth, he pushed the fruit inside.

"Chew," he rasped, watching your mouth chew slowly. Bile rose at the back of your throat as you struggled to swallow. The moment you choked it down, he shoved another past your lips. Bucky remained silent as he continued to feed you fruit, his eyes darting between yours and your mouth, while you looked everywhere else except at him.

You had finished the strawberries, and Bucky was making his way through the grapes. He was placing them into your mouth one at a time when you felt it, the lurch in the pit of your stomach. It was instantaneous, and your temperature spiked from the rush. Breaking out into a cold sweat you pushed his hand away and fanned your face in panic. You whined in horror as the tingle in your core intensified and gnawed at your insides. In haste, you thought about touching yourself, but after numerous trials and errors over the last 30 hours, it became clear that masturbation could not satisfy your heat. You whimpered, and Bucky immediately came to your aid.

Placing the plate on the wooden floor beside his feet, Bucky's fingers immediately found the nape of your neck and pulled you close.

It felt like a balm spreading from your lips and cooling your insides as soon as he kissed you. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth, knowingly, hungrily, devouring every taste and sensation within you until he pulled back with a hooded gaze.

"Ple-" you paused, embarrassed that you had to once again plead with the man who forced his mark on you to end your suffering. Instead, you jerked the sheet off your naked body, your fingers tangled between your legs.

The sight of you touching yourself, lips parted and expression pleading was enough for Bucky to shift between your thighs. He removed your hand and slid his palm to your pussy.  You gasped at the contact, your fingers digging into his biceps, your toes curling. Your body trembled and bucked helplessly beneath him while he slowly thumbed your clit.  Two thick vibranium fingers made its way between your slick soaked lips and pushed its way deep within your weeping slit.

You’re sure his aim is to make sure you were ready and wet but you were well beyond foreplay.  You were burning alive, belly gnawing from the inside out and shaking with a need that had you wailing “Just do it already, Bucky.  Just fuck me.”

With a growl, Bucky balanced his weight on his flesh arm while wet vibranium fingers pushed down his sweatpants, his hardened cock bouncing between your thighs. He deliberately slapped his dick against your soaked pussy, leaving sharp aftershocks and coating him well in your slick.  His tongue entered your mouth just as he forced himself inside you.  Your pussy clenching in protest against his thick cock. But even as you whined into his mouth at the intrusion, he felt like heaven.  It felt like he belonged.

“Hard-” you gasped and Bucky complied. Gripping your thighs Bucky folded your legs against your chest.  Keeping you wide open as he fucked you without restraint. Your muscles tensed and stretched, trying desperately not to tear under the force of it.

Bucky leant forward, his mouth fervently placing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. The proximity between his face and yours allowed you to discern the intricate shades of blue that composed his pupils. It struck you that while his eyes appeared calm, a tempestuous storm raged within your own.

Bucky meticulously monitored your every movement, acutely aware of the slightest shifts in your breathing and the desperate sounds escaping your lips. The unwavering intensity emanating from his gaze unnerved you and instinctively you looked away. Yet, Bucky swiftly seized your chin, his grip compelling you to meet his penetrating gaze.

“Don't- don't hide from me." was all he said before stealing your breath with a suffocating kiss.

You felt your spine bow and strain as he moved inside of you, pushing you past the limits of pleasure and pain. Every thrust was relentless yet precise, as if he was trying to stake his claim on you with every movement. His gaze never wavered from yours, and you could feel yourself blurring his features in an effort to escape the intensity of his stare.

His muscles flexed beneath your fingers as his hips continued their hypnotic rhythm, until finally, a deep moan escaped your throat and your climax crashed through you like a thunderstorm, marking its passage with tingles that spread through your entire body. Pinned beneath him, Bucky pounded your pussy until his seed flooded you.  He groaned as he filled you, the sound a mixture of relief and overwhelming pleasure. You couldn’t help but preen at the sound a byproduct of your blood bond.

He stayed there for a long moment afterwards, languidly kissing your neck and stroking your hair before finally withdrawing from you. The rush of sensations had left you dizzied and drained, yet still humming with faint energy that refused to be quelled. Bucky shifted to face you, propping himself up on one elbow as he tenderly wiped away the tears that had begun to spill down your cheeks.

"It'll get easier," he whispered as his vibranium hand gently brushed away the last of your tears. But even in the twilight darkness of the room, you could see the doubt that lingered in his eyes. You could tell he did not believe it.

[itsdeniini]

hello, can you please do a inner demons and feminine energy for jake? tysm<3

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡ DOUBLE TAROT READING

ABOUT JAKE'S FEMININE ENERGY AND INNER DEMONS

The Emperor, The Lovers, The Magician

One of Jake's recent experiences taught him about surrender. He realized that true feminine energy isn't about the body, biology, or external actions. For him, it's the energetic experience of effortless, total surrender, combined with a feeling of safety, trust, and softness that exists in that tender, divine space. He genuinely didn't know he was capable of such deep trust. From a masculine perspective, he believes it also involves surrender and trust, but with the added responsibility of wisely protecting and cherishing a partner's surrender. Most will crumble under this responsibility, but some will ascend. Hm, I also feel like Jake doesn't need to be in his masculine energy to dominate all the time. He can control his partner, even with his femininity, and have them worship his divine self. There’s no bravado for him; there's no need to overexaggerate anything. He likes to be held down. Rarely, but he can even cry on his partner's shoulder. He embraces all qualities of a protector/provider and caregiver/nurturer, because that's on both sides of the table in a balanced relationship. Everyone has feminine and masculine energy inside them, and Jake would absolutely love his partner to bring him into his femininity and teach him how to tap into and embrace that side of him.

now we're moving to his DEMONIC side...

The Chariot, The Four of Pentacles, The Ten of Swords

Fighting his inner-brain demons can be a big headache for him. He's got those tendencies to doubt himself every second of every day. That feeling of "I did that" and being so insanely proud of himself is inconsistent. Sometimes he misses who he used to be some years ago. He is also afraid of the unknown and the fact that, in the future, he may have to work alone. He will try to find himself for quite awhile. He is okay when he's working with someone on something, but the second he's alone, the darkness swallows him again. Nobody in his personal life understands, and venting out loud to his members or parents is all he has.

Another trait is that there is nothing, and I mean, nothing he won't do for his lover. When he sees them hurting, his inner demon wants to strike in the most carnal of ways. He can be teetering on the precipice of good versus evil in moments like this. DEVOTION. He would move mountains if it meant easing his lover's pain. Yet, when confronted with their suffering, a darker impulse stirs within him, tempting him towards a more primal response. In these moments, he finds himself at a crossroads, grappling with the balance between his virtuous nature and the allure of his darker desires.

Jake's inner demon is incredibly fierce, longing to break free, yet he understands that unleashing that monster, even slightly, would cause such intense flames to engulf him that they would alter his entire AURA...

Despite this, he finds solace in the struggle, knowing that mastering this darkness will ultimately make him stronger and more resilient. This constant battle shapes his character, creating a complex and intriguing personality, the Jake that we all know and love.

⟡ MAKNAE LINE FEMININE ENERGY VER

⟡ SUNGHOON INNER DEMONS VER

[neopuppy]

Alpha Stepdad Johnny🥺

lmao you are soooo…

warnings. a/b/o, stepcest, covid mentioned(listen…I saw a tweet..), pre-heat, masturbation

“Took a good few months for my taste to come back after I had it.” Jaehyun shrugs. “Smell took a while longer, I think maybe 8 months.”

“It’s frustrating.” Johnny sighs, shoving his plate of food aside. “Waste of money coming to eat here, $80 steak I can’t even enjoy.”

“Have you tried those tricks people recommend online? Like burning an orange peel or something.”

“Hmm, no.” Shaking his head, Johnny grabs the bill to cover their lunch. “On me.”

“Thanks man,” Jaehyun clasps his friend's shoulder, eyebrows raised up. “How’s everything been at home?”

“A little quiet ever since she moved out,” he shrugs, sharing a knowing look with his most trusted friend. “It’s been nice to you know.. have our time alone, but my mate works a lot. She doesn’t have to either but, you know how it is.”

“She’s a real independent Omega.” Jaehyun says, scooting closer. “I know how fond you are of your step-daughter though, I’m sure her absence around the house is hard to get used to.”

Johnny’s lips pout, reaching for his phone to open a text with you, his routine daily check in. The usual, asking if there’s anything you need, offering to swoop by on the way home and bring you food. “Hmm, that’s weird.”

“What’s up?”

“I texted her earlier before meeting you asking if she wanted anything to eat.” Johnny’s forehead wrinkles, locking his phone. “I’ll just order her favorite to-go and drop it off when I pass by.”

Jaehyun laughs through his nose, nodding sarcastically. “You care about her a lot, as if she could be your actual daughter.”

Johnny smiles to hide a grimace, signaling for a waiter. “She’s a good girl is all.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Johnny tries to call once reaching your building, eyebrows wrinkling together when you don’t answer his second try. That’s unlike you, bothering him the more he sits and rechecks your messages. Maybe you went out.. but even then you’d always sent a heads-up to your family group chat to be safe(after much lecturing from him).

It won’t hurt to double check and make sure everything’s fine, maybe you were still asleep. You always left a spare key hidden inside of the lamp by your door for emergencies especially because of your habit of locking yourself out.

Johnny really disagreed with the idea of you living alone, a young pretty Omega that turned the heads of Alphas with every step you took living independently all on your own left an uneasy tight sensation in his chest, he’d do anything to take care of you. Despite not being blood-related, he’s always felt extra protective of you, having to control himself to not overstep his boundaries and smother you with love even worse after you’d presented.

Pocketing the key to your place, he knocks first, waiting for you to at least call out a response, maybe check your phone.

“Hello?”

Scanning the place, nothing seems out of the norm, your shoes and coats by the front, minimal decorations all in place, a purse flung down on the couch. He tries to sniff first, mentally cursing at the lack of smell hitting his senses. The bag of takeout in his grip a reminder of why he’s here to begin with, not because of his innate obsession of knowing your every move at all times.

If she’s asleep, let her sleep. He nods, quietly shuffling to your kitchen to drop off the food. You’ll wake up and break into a smile upon discovering your favorite meal waiting for you, and then you’ll call him up with your usual ‘Thank you so much daddy, I love you.’

Johnny tingles at the thought, clearing his throat as he strides toward the door only to stop in his tracks as an anguished moan sounds from the hallway leading to your bedroom.

“Alpha, please! please, it hurts!”

Your voice rings through his ears, broken whines following each word leading him closer to the sounds of your heavy breathing, painful cries. Johnny swallows, throat instantly drying up as he walks down the hall, the air thick and humid emitting from your cracked bedroom door.

“Please! Alpha!”

Scuttling ahead he nearly crumbles, feet tangling together having to grab the nearest wall as he reaches your door. Moans burst out louder, singing cries of pleasure between hisses of pain, desperate whimpers.

Fuck, he can’t smell anything, can’t taste your beautiful sweet scent.

Johnny’s neck cranes, inching closer to the doors opening, practically swallowing his tongue as he catches the sight of you sprawled on all fours jamming your fingers into your cunt repeatedly.

“Daddy..”

Snapping to your face he’s relieved to see your eyes squeezed shut, moaning and biting down onto your bedding with each fierce fuck of your fingers in and out. “Daddy, please, please fuck me.”

Johnny wipes at a trickle of spit sliding down his chin, gulping to alleviate some of the dryness filling his lungs.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. He should leave, he shouldn’t watch, he needs to pretend this never happened..

“Alpha…”

Each little wanton cry you let out echoes off your bedroom walls, swiping a palm across his face to calm himself as you reach between your thighs circling around your clit with a hiss. “Fuck, you’re so big daddy, please.. need you so bad.”

Johnny can’t tear his gaze away from each pitiful pinch your rim gives, the way your hole pulsates around your digits, pumping desperately as if three of your useless fingers could ever compare to what he could really give you to satiate your thirst.

Tucking in his bottom lip to suppress a curse, he reaches lower, palm dragging down to push in past the waistband of his slacks to grip around his hot girth, blood filling up his size painfully fast throbbing every vein lining the way down.

Harshly breathing through his nose he strokes just once, applying pressure around himself at the tip, thumb smearing the mess of pre-cum around his slit as his gaze burns into your core imagining how fucking tight you’d suck around him.

You’d beg, beg for him to stop, slow down, and give you more all at once. Johnny curses again, mind too foggy to even realize just how far gone he is, vocally muttering under his breath.

“Daddy?”

Oh fuck.

[peachy-panic]

To Steady Your Hand

Do No Harm, still early in the Sebastian Contract. 

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-Adjacent, past surgery, lingering medical issues, nerve damage, maybe the closest I’ve come to some genuine moments of fluff (sprinkled with some pain)

Sebastian is going out on a limb. He can recognize that. But even after several weeks in the house, Jaime gives very little outward indication of what he genuinely enjoys. What he likes. In no particular order, he seems to derive joy from exactly three things: running outside, cooking with Sebastian, and cleaning. The last one makes Sebastian nervous, because it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to infer that he might be feigning some of that enthusiasm to fall into the role he thinks he’s here to fill. It does, however, seem to bring Jaime a sense of peace sometimes, so he tries not to interfere.

Still, it’s not enough. His goal was never to give Jaime a place to survive in stasis until the next bad thing comes along. He wants him to be happy here. He wants to make him feel like he has the space to be a person, and that means knowing what he likes. So when Sebastian finally catches a glimpse, he latches on with both hands.

They are in the checkout line at the drugstore when it happens.

It had been a precarious trip, both of them a little on edge after their first attempt at a store-based outing went to utter shit. Thankfully nothing of note happened, other than Jaime hovering a little closer than normal, his eyes scanning their surroundings every few seconds as if they were being hunted for sport. By the time they’re ready to pay, Sebastian is so eager to get them both in the safety of his car, he almost misses it: they way Jaime’s eyes catch on the end cap closest to the register and stay there.

Jaime, who has been flighty and anxious since stepping foot through the door, is suddenly engaged and… curious?

Sebastian does a double take, then follows his eye line. He doesn’t know what he expected, but a flutter of endeared surprise catches in his chest as he looks at the display of nail polish.  

After a brief, internal tug-of-war, he decides to sit on the information for now. Buying it now might draw attention to the fact that Sebastian caught him staring, and he doesn’t want to embarrass him or worse. So he pockets his change from the bored-looking cashier, grabs his bag, and they head home.

A few days later, on his way home from work, Sebastian swings by the store to pick up more lunch meat, fresh strawberries, and a bottle of Essie sky-blue nail polish.

He places it on the countertop as he’s unloading the bag. Jaime, who is perched in a barstool across from him, blinks down at it. He is quiet for a long time.

Sebastian does his best attempt at casual. “The color caught my eye.” He shrugs. “Have you ever painted your nails before?”

Color blossoms in Jaime’s cheeks, and Sebastian feels the first pang of doubt. Maybe this wasn’t the right move. Maybe it’s too soon after the pharmacy and he thinks Sebastian is calling him out. But Jaime doesn’t look away from the small bottle as he shakes his head, so Sebastian barrels forward.

“I used to do it sometimes. In college, mostly,” he rambles. “I wanted to before then, too. I tried it once, in high school, but my dad—” Oop. No. Nope. Go back. Abort mission. “Well. Anyway, I haven’t done it in years, and I saw this and thought… Maybe we could try? Together? If you want. Only if you want to.”

To his distress, Jaime frowns. “I…” he starts, then stops, looking down at his hands all of a sudden. He places one over the other, his fingers delicately hiding what Sebastian knows to be an incision scar. “I can’t promise I’ll be very good at it. My hand. Sometimes it’s hard, with… It’s not always very steady. I have trouble, sometimes.”

A rising dread creeps up on Sebastian, one he cannot will away. He swallows. “Jaime.” His voice comes out a whisper. “When did that start?”

He knows. He knows the answer, and he’s terrified of it, and he needs to hear him say it out loud, all at once.

Jaime ducks his head, drawing his shoulders up half and inch, and Sebastian knows he needs to tread carefully. Needs to pull himself back before he upsets him even more. But he needs to know.

“It doesn’t get in the way, mostly,” Jaime says in lieu of an answer. “I hardly notice it anymore.”

Almost definitely a lie.

Sebastian notices his own hands are shaking now, so he presses them flat against the countertop. He just needs to rip the bandaid off.

“Jaime. Was it after the surgery?”

The surgery.

A piss-poor fucking euphemism for the institutionalized, medically-sanctioned torture that it was.

The surgery that Sebastian himself performed on a patient who was strapped down and screaming to the point of unconsciousness.

The surgery he performs over and over in his nightmares.

Jaime gives him all the confirmation he needs when he says, “It’s not your fault.”

A surprised laugh sputters out of Sebastian, but it sounds more like a sob. Feels like it, too. Because of course Jaime would say that. Of course his first reaction is to show Sebastian undeserved grace. Of course his first instinct is to take care of Sebastian’s feelings first.

“Can you…” He swallows, trying to be professional. “Can you tell me what it feels like? Is it painful? Numb?”

“It almost never hurts,” he says quickly, like he’s dying to reassure him further. “It’s…” He runs his fingertip over the inside of his opposite index finger. “I can’t really feel this part anymore, but really, it only affects me when I’m working with small stuff. I just don’t know how precise my work would be with painting nails.”

Sebastian is still caught in his own private tunnel of horror. The way Jaime is speaking about it so casually only twists his insides tighter. He is living with permanent nerve damage from a scalpel that Sebastian wielded. He had volunteered—insisted—to be the one to perform the surgery under some misguided notion that he would somehow be sparing him further pain and dehumanization, but his inexperience or his nerves or Jaime’s rightful panic or… or something had caused him to slip and sever a nerve, and he didn’t even know.

How did he ever expect Jaime to trust him? Or even like him?

He doesn’t know how to make this right. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to even come close.

“Jaime, I—”

“I’d like to try,” Jaime says quietly, looking up at him through earnest eyes. “Painting our nails. If you still want me to. If you don’t mind that it's a little shaky.”

Sebastian blinks away the burn in his eyes. These aren’t his tears to cry, anyway. And if Jaime doesn’t want to talk about this now, as he very clearly does not, the last thing he should do is force it.

He smiles at him, and it’s only a little bit forced.

“I don’t mind at all.”

****

Jaime really does want to do a good job.

He is a little more than suspicious about where this idea sprouted from, but at least Sebastian is kind enough not to admit that he found Jaime looking at the store.

He doesn’t really know why it caught his eye in the first place. It’s not like he’s ever been overly into nails before. The only association he has is a distant memory, almost completely faded with time, of him and his mother at the kitchen table. It was summer, he’s pretty sure. He can remember the natural light coming in from the bay window and the faint scent of his mother’s favorite peppermint tea mixed with the sharp, clean smell of nail polish. He would watch her paint each hand, and she would sometimes offer to do his, but he could only even sit still long enough for one or two.

He blinks away the half-memory before it can take him, resettling himself in Sebastian’s living room. They’ve each taken one side of the coffee table, legs folded under them on the soft carpet. The little blue bottle and a box of tissues sits between them.

“So,” Sebastian says, drumming his fingertips on the wood. “Who wants to go first?”

This catches him off guard. Jaime studies him for a moment, making sure he’s come to the right conclusion before speaking it out loud. “You… want to paint mine, too?”

“Oh.” Sebastian’s eyebrows raise a fraction, as if he hadn’t realized it wasn’t obvious to both of them. “Only if you want to! I was thinking we could paint each other’s, but if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine, too. We don’t have to even do this at all. I can return this. Or just throw it away. I can dump it down the toilet and we can pretend this never happened.”

Jaime has lived with Sebastian long enough to start to recognize his nervous humor, and he’s fairly certain this is it. It’s strange, the feeling that he might be able to laugh at something his Keeper says, but he has to press his smile into the side of his hand to keep it contained.

“What?” Sebastian laughs, seeming genuinely relieved by his amusement. He picks up the bottle, waving it between them. “You think I won’t go pour this down the drain right now? Because I will.”

Jaime nods, humoring him. “I believe you,” he says. “I… Yes. You can paint mine, if you want to.”

Sebastian’s smile falters, just a little. “You’re sure? You really don’t have to do it just for me.”

Jaime folds his fingers over his palm, studying the pink-pale color under his nails. Then he nods. “I want to try.”

Jaime offers to go first. He figures if he can study Sebastian’s technique, he might be able to emulate it when it’s his turn and do a better job. He watches as he shakes the bottle, a small clicking sound rattling around the bottle. Sebastian starts to reach for him but stops before he comes close to touching Jaime’s hand.

He looks up at him, smiling apologetically. “Is it alright if I touch you? Just here,” he says, tapping the table near Jaime’s fingers. “Just to steady your hand?”

When Jaime takes a moment to respond—not out of any real hesitation, but perhaps caught off guard by the request for permission—Sebastian pulls his fingers back an inch.

“You can say no. We’ll make it work either way.”

Jaime clears his throat, suddenly thick with saliva. “I think it’s okay.” It’s Sebastian who hesitates this time, so Jaime tries again, more confidently. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Yeah?”

Jaime nods.

“Okay.” Slowly, slow enough to broadcast his movements, Sebastian slips two fingers under Jaime’s, pulling his hand toward his side of the table. He checks in with a glance at least twice before he gets to work.

And this is… Jaime doesn’t know what it is. Sebastian’s skin is warm and soft under his, his touch so gentle and undemanding that he doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s not the first time Sebastian has touched him. A slew of memories from the clinic—most of which he would rather not revisit—come to mind. He had always been kind, both in spirit and in touch, but something about the tenderness he is showing Jaime now knocks him off balance.

He watches, a bit hypnotically, as his long fingers drag the brush over each nail, leaving him spotted in blue. Small flecks smudge onto his cuticles and the skin around his nails, but it still looks good. The color was a good choice, he thinks.

“Still okay?” Sebastian asks when he finishes the first hand.

Jaime nods and surrenders his other hand easily. Sebastian’s eyes only linger on his scar for a second or two before he sets his focus on the job at hand.

“I was thinking,” Sebastian says after a stretch of quiet, “maybe we can set you up with a physical therapist. Someone who… well, who works with…”

“Companions,” Jaime offers.

He winces. “Yes. Under the table, though. Someone who would treat you kindly. That would be non-negotiable.” Jaime looks up at him and Sebastian looks up from his work long enough to scan his expression. “Would that be something you’re interested in?”

“For my hand,” Jaime surmises. Sebastian nods. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

“Well, the matter of my responsibility to you as a human, a doctor, and the person whose name is on your contract is a whole other debate.” He flashes a smile that looks more like a grimace. “But all that aside, it wouldn’t be out of obligation. It would be because I genuinely want to help you. And this might be a real way I could do that.”

A few seconds pass. There is a strange sensation in Jaime’s chest, like stretching a muscle he hasn’t used in a long time. His first instinct is a collection of pre-conditioned responses that were hammered into him in training—polite agreement, smooth avoidance, gratitude. None of them feel right at this moment, and the indecision chokes him up.

Sebastian saves him by speaking again. He drops his freshly painted pinky finger and meets his eyes. “You know, Jaime,” he says, “I think maybe I haven’t done a good enough job of making that clear to you.” In anyone else’s voice, in any other inflection, the words might have set him on edge. The words don’t scare him now.

“Making what clear?”

“That I really want to help you.”

“You have,” Jaime is quick to assure him.

“No, but—” Sebastian pauses, breathes. “I want to do more than the bare minimum. You deserve more than the basic necessities it takes to survive. I know this is… I mean, I can’t even really imagine what it’s like for you to try and talk about this, so we don’t have to linger. But what happened to you? What keeps happening to you? You don’t deserve to live like this, Jaime. There is nothing about you that makes you any less of a person.”

Jaime knows, somewhere buried deep beneath layers of toxic conditioning and learned behaviors, that there is truth in what Sebastian is saying. He believed that once. But Jaime knows now that things aren’t so simple; that justice and righteousness are only as fair as the systems that uphold them. And in the eyes of this governing body, this law, this society, he is less. And ultimately, one man’s objection to that isn’t enough to change anything.

But maybe Jaime can let it be enough for this moment. Maybe he can let it be enough for him, just for a little while.

“You know someone?” Jaime asks tentatively. “A physical therapist?”

“I could find someone,” Sebastian promises. “There are people out there. Networks of them who feel the same way I do. I know people who—” He stops suddenly, the tips of his ears going a little pink. “Well. Anyway, yes I could find someone. You would have a say in it, too. I wouldn’t force you to see anyone you weren’t completely comfortable with.”

Jaime’s answering silence is heavy with ingratitude, he knows it is, but his head is spinning. This privilege that would have, should have, once been a right doesn’t feel like it belongs to him or that it ever could. Despite all that Sebastian has done to prove otherwise, the smallest part of him still bellows out in warning: Lie, lie, lie, trap, trap, trap. But it isn’t either of those things. Jaime knows it isn’t, deep down.

“You don’t need to answer me now,” Sebastian assures him softly before he can respond, and Jaime feels a little bit relieved and a little bit like a failure. “In fact, we can let this drop completely. This—” he waves the tiny paintbrush between them “—is meant to be fun. But… You know, just something to think about. Yeah?”

Once again, Jaime substitutes a nod where his words fail him, and they ease back into the task at hand.

When it comes time to paint Sebastian’s nails, Jaime does an okay job. Neither of them mention the slight shakiness in his grip or the way his precision sometimes veers off course. When he goes out of line, Sebastian just hands him a tissue, he wipes the polish from his skin, and they move on.

He mirrors the position that Sebastian took with him, sliding two fingers under his. As he works, he can’t help but study the hands in front of him. There is a faint pinkish-white to the flesh around his nails, and slivers of peeled skin beside his cuticles. Jaime thinks about the times he’s seen him biting his nails, usually when he is nervous. He always seems to be a little bit nervous around him.

He also notices a stillness in him that can’t be anything but intentional. The way every movement is slow and careful, and the way he keeps his contact overly gentle, convincing Jaime, reminding him, over and over, that his hands are not to be feared.

When they each have two coats of sky-blue at the tips of their fingers, they stay on the floor but lean back against the couch, side by side.

“Can I take a picture?”

Jaime blinks at him. “Of… me?” He doesn’t remember the last time anyone asked him that. He’s had photos taken in the last couple of years, of course, but always in much different contexts, and never with his permission.

Sebastian looks a little sheepish, pulling out his phone. “Of our hands. Would that be okay?”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Sure.”

They hold their hands out in front of them, close enough to fit into frame but not enough to touch, and Sebastian snaps the photo. Jaime doesn’t ask to look at it, but Sebastian shows him anyway.

A week later, when Jaime spots a four-by-four print pinned to the refrigerator with a smiley-face magnet, he finds himself smiling right back.

**

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[theicarusconstellation]

hi astra 🤭

80. “how can you think I’m anything but hopelessly in love with you?” for jegulus??

kit!!

i couldn’t figure out how to end this one but

prompt: 80). “how can you think i’m anything but hopelessly in love with you?” // jegulus // sfw // words: 563

Regulus does not know how to hold things gently.

His fingers curl around a wrist the way they would the hilt of a dagger. All he has ever known is violence, the sharp slap of a hand against the cheek. How could his love possibly be any different?

So, whenever James attempts to hold his hand, he tugs his away. When strong arms wrap around his waist, he finds an excuse to leave their embrace in favor of emptiness. At first, he doesn’t think James notices his aversions. After a lifetime’s worth of tucking himself away, making himself as small as possible to avoid detection, Regulus assumed he was so good at what he does that there was no chance of James picking up on his fears.

However, this all changes one day on the shores of the Black Lake, where they sit, framed by trees, and skip rocks. Or, James skips rocks, and Regulus fails miserably.

“No, Reggie, it’s more of a flick — like you’re throwing a Muggle discus,” James lectures. Regulus just stares at him, befuddled, drawing a laugh out of the other boy. “Here, let me show you —“

James reaches out to position Regulus’ hand, but Regulus snatches his arm back before he can make contact. He flinches at how obvious he was; James is sure to despise him now.

The boy in question backs away, his shoulders sagging.

“Why do you do that?” James asks quietly after a moment’s pause. “Why do you pull away from me? Why will you never let me touch you?”

Regulus ducks his head in embarrassment, studying the smooth stone in his palm.

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

“Of course I noticed!” James exclaims, as if the suggestion that he hadn’t has wounded his honor. “Every time I get nearer than five feet away from you, you shrink away. Are you…Regulus are you afraid of me?”

A pained expression takes over Regulus’ face, and he rapidly shakes his head.

“No…no, James, never. I’m — I’m scared of me.”

The admission is like the pulling back of a curtain, allowing light in after decades of darkness. Where he expected to feel dread, Regulus feels…relief. He continues on,

“Growing up, touch has always been something to be feared, or if it was soft, it was double-edged. Then you come along all gentle and kind and I — I don’t think I can return the favor. I worry that if you touch me, all you’ll feel is violence.” He swallows hard, fighting to get this next part out. “I don’t want to be violent. I don’t want you to stop caring for me.”

James watches him, just studies him for a while after he speaks. He’s giving Regulus a moment to breathe, Regulus knows. A chance to ease his anxieties before the conversation continues.

After a few seconds have gone by, James extends his hand to place it on top of his. This time, Regulus doesn’t pull away.

“Regulus, how can you think I’m anything but hopelessly in love with you? How can you think that there is anything you could do to change that?” James asks in earnest, and Regulus’ heart damn near stops.

Regulus looks at their hands, at how James’ hand seems so at peace over his.

“You don’t…feel anything? Any madness?” he dares to inquire.

“The only thing I feel is grateful that I have you.”